#drug treatment volunteers carry me.

[surekhakapoor]

Hugs are more effective than drugs – A lesson learnt in SOS village

https://www.soschildrensvillages.in/

During my mandatory 3-month rural posting as part of my internship, I was stationed at Chiraigaon, Varanasi. The hospital was dilapidated, situated amidst vast agricultural fields, with poor sanitation, inadequate healthcare infrastructure, substandard living quarters for medical personnel, sporadic electricity supply, rough roads, absence of tap water, an abundance of mosquitoes, and frequent encounters with snakes. Understandably, most interns left for college after a few days, unenthusiastic about the forced rural experience. This immersion in the realities of primary healthcare in India left me disheartened. After investing five years in the rigorous MBBS program, I struggled to reconcile my dreams of a prestigious career in a modern hospital with the harsh realities I faced.

Contemplating a career change, I considered following in the footsteps of some friends by taking the Civil Service examination. However, I chose to stay a few extra days in the rural setting. On the third day, I learned that the Primary Health Centre (PHC) needed a doctor for a school health program. Seeking a break from boredom and loneliness, I volunteered for the assignment at the SOS Village.

Arriving at the SOS Village, I encountered a group of sickly children accompanied by caregivers. Their warm reception and hopeful gazes were unexpected. Despite feeling unequipped to treat children and anxious about my lack of pediatric knowledge, I attempted to connect with them by taking their medical history. Simmy, a six-year-old girl with a high fever, shared her heartbreaking story of losing her parents in a car accident and being sent to the orphanage. Overwhelmed by her suffering, I struggled with my inadequacies as a physician.

Fortunately, a nurse with pediatric experience joined me, offering invaluable support and expertise. With her assistance, I administered treatment to several children suffering from measles, provided comfort, and transformed a playroom into a makeshift ward. Despite initial doubts, I gained confidence and organizational skills, earning the gratitude of the children and their caregivers.

The experience at the SOS Village taught me invaluable lessons about compassion, humility, and the transformative power of genuine care. It reaffirmed my passion for medicine and the profound impact a caring attitude can have on healing. Though my time at the village eventually came to an end, the memories and lessons learned continue to guide me in my medical journey, reminding me of the noble calling of serving humanity.

The bond forged during those intense days at the SOS Village remains etched in my heart. It was not just about medical treatment; it was about being present, listening, and offering empathy to those in need. As I reflect on that transformative experience, I realize that true healing goes beyond prescriptions and procedures; it encompasses understanding, kindness, and human connection.

Returning to my college after the rural posting, I carried with me a renewed sense of purpose and a deeper appreciation for the privilege of being a healthcare provider. The challenges and rewards of that time continue to shape my approach to patient care and remind me of the resilience and strength I witnessed in the faces of those children.

The SOS Village became a symbol of hope, resilience, and the power of collective support. It taught me that while medical knowledge and skills are crucial, it is our humanity, compassion, and dedication that make the real difference in people's lives.

[stupendoustrashmagazine]

It's 3:43am, Archimedes: Right On (Time)

[Sonnet] XLI

banging around in a cigarette she isn’t “in love”

my dream a drink with

Ira Hayes we discuss the code of the west

my hands make love to my body when my arms are around you

you never tell me your name

and I am forced to write “belly” when I mean “love”

Au revoir, scene! I waken, read, write long letters &

wander restlessly when leaves are blowing

my dream a crumpled horn

in advance of the broken arm

she murmurs of signs to her fingers

weeps in the morning to waken so shackled with love

Not me. I like to beat people up.

My dream a white tree

[lastsonlost]

These women have dedicated their lives to addressing a crisis of masculinity

Some have academic backgrounds or at first campaigned for women's rights

They believe society has developed a creeping antipathy towards all things male

So who are they — and what are the issues they are fighting on men's behalf?

The gender pay gap. The lack of women in top jobs. The #MeToo movement and the exploitation and abuse it exposed. There is a damning list of evidence that the fight for equal opportunities and rights for women is far from over.

This makes it all the more surprising that a small but increasingly vocal band of women is fighting for justice — not for women, but for men.

These women have dedicated their lives to addressing what they see as a crisis of masculinity and the unfair treatment of men by society.

They come from academic backgrounds or began campaigning for women's rights before focusing on problems of the other sex.

Of course, it is not the case that women's advancement can come only at the expense of men. And no one could deny women still face huge obstacles on the road to equality.

But the campaigners believe that in its attempts to rectify historical wrongs towards women, society has developed a creeping antipathy towards all things male, and this is knocking men's confidence at a time of intense cultural shift.

They fear that many men and boys are neglected, ignored and excluded. This, they say, is why men's mental health problems are on the rise. Suicide is now the biggest killer of UK men under 45.

Some of their views are highly controversial, and some activists have been accused of ignoring the harm done to women by men, or excusing it.

So who are these women, why on earth are they doing this — and what are the issues they are fighting on men's behalf?

COURTS PUNISH MEN – AND KIDS LOSE OUT

Alison Bushell, 57, from Suffolk, runs a social work consultancy.

Britain's family courts are engaged in practices that separate fathers from their children, knowingly or not, Alison believes. She says: 'The pressure groups springing up, some of which are advising the Ministry of Justice on domestic violence cases, have an anti-male agenda.'

In 20 years as a statutory social worker she saw a lack of effort to keep families together and an 'airbrushing out' of many dads.

'I see fathers marginalised and excluded from their kids' lives,' she says, 'while mothers are supported by out-of-date gendered views of parenting within the courts, and health and social services.'

And so, she believes, custody of children is often automatically given to women even when that isn't in a child's best interests.

'False allegations are more prevalent than people realise and supervision orders disproportionately happen to fathers.'

Every day, Alison gets calls from men who haven't seen their kids for up to five years. 'Having lost contact with their children, such men sometimes turn to alcohol or drugs out of sheer desperation.

'More become depressed. I had a client who took his own life. I believe the allegations against him were a major contributing factor.'

Alison has faced several complaints of bias while representing — largely male — clients in court, but none has been upheld.

Disillusioned and concerned to highlight these inequities, she left statutory social work ten years ago to set up consultancy, Child and Family Solutions. The agency works with families going through bitter separations, and carries out assessments for the Family Court and local authorities.

She has also worked with male domestic abuse victims. 'It has given me huge respect for those daring to speak out, because there is so little help available. It is a national scandal that so few refuge places are available for men.'

In England there were more than 3,600 beds in safe houses for women in 2017, but just 20 for men. The charity ManKind Initiative, which Alison supports, has told her that only 36 of 163 beds now available in refuges or safe houses are earmarked for men.

'Since Office for National Statistics figures state that 40 per cent or more victims of domestic abuse are men, this is alarming.

'When will people realise that holding on to a gendered narrative in domestic abuse is harmful?'

As for gender politics, Alison admits she has performed a volte-face. 'In the 80s I spent time at Greenham Common and lived in a women-only house. I even had a badge declaring 'a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle'. How times change.

'I can now be found reading [neoconservative author] Douglas Murray or listening to a talk by [Right-wing psychologist] Jordan Peterson.'

WHY I'M FIGHTING FEMINISM

Belinda Brown, 54, is a social anthropologist and co-founder of Men For Tomorrow. A widow with two children, she lives in London.

When she met her second husband, social scientist Geoff Dench — known as the architect of the socially conservative Blue Labour movement — Belinda's activism was ignited.

Together they set up Men for Tomorrow to research male problems — and fight against what they saw as a tendency to 'neglect or ignore issues affecting men'.

Shortly after their 2009 marriage, however, Geoff was diagnosed with a rare brain disease, progressive supranuclear palsy. He died on June 24 last year, aged 77. Belinda nursed him until the end.

She plans to continue his work by exposing what she sees as a deliberate attempt by feminist activists to undermine the traditional family unit.

She writes and speaks on a range of topics concerning men for platforms such as The Conservative Woman website, and carries out research aimed at reinforcing 'traditional' values.

As an anthropologist, she learned about feminism during her studies, but disagreed with much of what she heard.

'I was always aware of my own power and the power of other women,' she says. 'While I knew there were injustices which needed rectifying, today I see more injustices afflicting men.

'Most men work extremely hard to provide for their families, often at considerable cost to themselves. For women to ignore these sacrifices and instead blame men for all the problems in the world, it's divisive and damaging to gender cohesion.'

Belinda has worked for homeless charity Shelter, where like Alison Bushell she was shocked by the high proportion of men she saw.

'Almost all the rough sleepers were men and family breakdown was the reason so many were without homes,' she says.

'During divorce settlements it was always the wives who gained ownership of the house, leaving husbands stranded.'

According to charity Homeless Link, today 84 per cent of the homeless are men, and their average age at death is just 44, half the average male lifespan. She also draws a correlation between the current epidemic of gang-related knife crime and the rise in fatherlessness. Most of the offenders, she says, come from broken homes, according to her research.

As for the future of gender relations, she has this to say: 'I hope one day soon feminism will be seen as an interesting period of history, but one which caused tremendous damage to society.'

BOYS NEED MORE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT

Sonia Shaljean, 49, founded award-winning community interest company, Lads Need Dads. Married with three teenage sons, she lives in Essex.

Sonia has observed men at their lowest ebb during her 20-plus years as a substance misuse counsellor and anger management specialist within the fields of alcohol, drugs, criminal justice and homelessness.

'I was struck by how many of those men had grown up either without a father or with an abusive or unsupportive dad,' she says. So she founded not-for-profit Lads Needs Dads in 2015, with an initial grant of just £4,000.

The organisation has a team of trained male mentors, who encourage emotional intelligence in boys aged 11-15 with absent fathers. It also provides opportunities for youngsters to take part in outdoor activities, learn practical life skills and volunteer in the community.

She believes it helps to have a woman at the helm. 'If it were a man leading an all-male organisation, it could possibly be disregarded by some women.

'Our aim at Lads Need Dads is to provide support, guidance and encouragement — and a much-needed male voice to enable boys to open up.

'It's so rewarding to watch boys' self-esteem, emotional stability and motivation grow. They perform much better at school, too, as well as having improved relationships at home.'

According to the Centre for Social Justice, 1.1 million young people have little or no contact with their fathers, while 2.7 million live in lone parent families.

In his book The Boy Crisis, Dr Warren Farrell explains how fatherless boys, and to a lesser extent girls, tend to have less empathy and are more likely to break the law. According to a Unicef report on the wellbeing of children in economically advanced nations, including the UK, 85 per cent of youths in prison have an absent father.

Sonia was keenly interested in the link between fatherlessness and offending, in part because she started her career in a civilian role at the Metropolitan Police, where she managed a Community Safety Unit and helped refer victims and perpetrators to the right services.

Later she worked for the charity Refuge, setting up two women's refuges in South East London alongside volunteering on a national helpline for a men's charity that provided therapeutic programmes for men wanting to change their behaviour.

Sonia is keen to point out that not all boys growing up without a father end up as a statistic, saying: 'Other protective factors come into play, such as encouraging boys to join clubs and take part in sports, where they can find positive male role models.

'We aren't here to replace fathers. In fact our programmes have reunited many boys with their dads after years of absence.'

FATHERS PAY THE PRICE IN DIVORCE

Stacey Camille Alexander-Harriss, 41, a family support worker and children's novelist, moved to the UK from America ten years ago after meeting her English husband online. He's a City finance director and they live in Ilford with their two dogs.

A former Art and French teacher, Stacey now works supervising contact between fathers and their children after family breakdown, at Alison Bushell's agency.

'We tend to work more with dads than mums, as they seem to be the ones who have difficulty retaining a relationship with children after divorce and frequently become depressed in the custody battle.'

She believes this is the result of systemic inequalities and a bias towards mothers. 'Women hold all the power, especially when it comes to custody.

'It's unfair that dads have to pay for all the legal costs, paying people like Alison to advocate.

'Often men with good jobs from affluent backgrounds end up taking out loans. Even if you win you spend so much on this insane game.

'When mothers notice there is a maternal bias they realise they can say whatever they like about their ex. I've heard accusations of terrorism just to get custody. It's so ugly. And when mothers refuse to seek help for their emotional problems they tend to place the blame on men.'

Her books deal with troubled families — Myrtle Takes Tea, published under the pseudonym Alexander Stacey, is about a lonely nine year old with mean teachers and parents with money problems. All that matters to her is her prized toy rabbit Earl Grey.

Stacey thinks setting an example is a way to heal these injuries and help families.

'All the tools I use in my work are drawn from examples set by my own parents who were loving, strong and wise. My father was an orthopaedic surgeon and he and my mother were married for 40 patient years until they both passed away. I try to teach fathers about the importance of discipline, responsibility, self-reliance and confidence.'

I HAD DEATH THREATS - AND A BOMB SCARE

Erin Pizzey, 80, founded women's charity Refuge. She is now a patron of the charity Families Need Fathers. She lives in South London and is divorced with two children.

'I'm all for equality of the sexes,' Erin Pizzey says.

'But equality isn't the endgame for those feminists who believe women would be far better off without men.'

This may sound odd coming from the founder of the first women's refuge.

It's nearly 50 years since, aged 32 and with two young children, she set up The Chiswick Women's Refuge as a place 'where women could meet and use our talents'.

'Both my parents were violent and my mother beat me,' she says. 'So when the first battered woman came through the door and said 'no one will help me', I knew what she meant.'

The London house became women's charity Refuge — and led to the creation of hundreds more women's refuges. And yet Erin became a pariah, as she insisted many female victims were also violent.

'Of the first 100 women who came into my refuge, 62 were as violent or more violent than the men they had left,' she says.

'Therefore, domestic violence can't be a gender issue, it can't be just men, because we girls are just as badly affected.'

She became a hate figure for saying so. 'They branded me a 'victim blamer'. 'After a bomb scare, the police suggested my post be sent to them for inspection.'

In the Seventies, she tried to set up a refuge for men, with little success. 'The rich men who were willing to fund my projects for women refused to give any money to male victims.' Now she works with Families Need Fathers and is a patron of The ManKind Initiative, a charity which supports male domestic violence victims.

The subject may be becoming less taboo. Police in England and Wales recorded nearly 150,000 instances of domestic violence to men in 2017, more than double those in 2012 — which in part reflects a greater willingness to report problems.

The 2018 Crime Survey for England and Wales recorded that 7.9 per cent of women (1.3 million) and 4.2 per cent of men (695,000) have suffered domestic abuse.

It is women who are far more likely to be victims of extreme violence. Government figures show, for example, that 73 per cent of victims of domestic homicides from 2014 to 2017 were women, while most killers were male.

This leaves male victims in a difficult situation, which Erin is working to address. She says: 'I am fighting for my son, my grandsons and my great grandsons, so that they might have a future where men are no longer demonised.'

The War On Masculinity by James Innes-Smith will be published by Little Brown in spring 2020.

[malxlawson]

— && guests may mistake me as ( halsey ), but really i am ( amalia 'mal' lawson + cis female + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 8/6/1995 ). i am applying for the ( maintenance manager ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 202 ). i should be hired because i am ( + passionate, charismatic, thorough ), but i can also be ( - prideful, dramatic, argumentative ) at times. personally, i like to ( creating street art, volunteer community work, organizing protests ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration!

aaaand here we come with our favorite revamped heathen! mal hasn’t had quite as much changed - just a nice lil face lift and we love that for her.

before we get super into it: we have a stats page and a pinterest for your viewing pleasure.

going a little heavy on the triggers just because i want to be sure to cover all my bases!! most everything is just a mention, but we gotta be safe kids! take care of yourselves and remember ilysm.

( pregnancy tw, miscarriage tw, police brutality mentions tw, substance abuse tw )

- amalia raelle lawson was born august 6th, 1995 to marshal and cherisse lawson in oakland, california.

- marshal owned a local bbq restaurant and cherisse was an er nurse. both grew up in rough neighborhoods with rough childhoods, but vowed to make their kids’ lives better than their own.

- three years after mal came into their lives, they had a son; jayden.

- from that day on, mal had a best friend and confidant that she’d go to the ends of the earth to keep by her side.

- their childhoods weren’t easy in the way most kids are - their mom worked long hours and their dad spent most of his days at the restaurant. when their parents were home though (if cherisse wasn’t sleeping off a shift change), they spent their time with their community - be it at the restaurant or at block parties - trying to better it in any way they could manage.

- police brutality mention tw despite their efforts, their community was still plagued by all the injustices every other predominantly black community faces. from a young age, mal learned that the justice system wasn’t built to serve her or the people she considered family.

- police brutality mention tw she was six the first time she heard about a family friend being a victim of excessive force; nine when she saw it. for years after that, she saw mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and cousins coming to mourn their loved ones - either locked up or taken from them too soon.

- instead of becoming numb to these tragedies, a fire was lit in amalia to change the system - even if she had to dismantle it one piece at a time.

- in the mean time, mal found an outlet for her emotions in art - specifically painting. she started with watercolors and crayolas, but once her parents realized her abilities were beyond what they should have been for a kind her age, they put whatever extra they could manage into mal and her passion for art.

- she was fourteen when she was introduced to street art - graffiti, if you want to get technical. his name was trey and amalia was instantly enamored by him. trey ran with a rougher crowd than mal was used to, but he softened around her.

- pregnancy tw they were young, in love, and reckless. she was fifteen when mal found out she was pregnant. while she wasn’t thrilled about becoming another statistic, she was thrilled about the idea of having a child.

- not entirely pleased with the situation, but always willing to support their children, mal’s parents welcomed trey into the family with open arms and began planning what was sure to be a life full of love for the newest addition to the lawson family.

- miscarriage tw three months into the pregnancy, amalia started to experience cramping and spotting. worried it may be something serious, she had her mom take her to the hospital. it was there they confirmed that mal was experiencing a miscarriage.

- everything changed after that. amalia was no longer the girl who wanted to fight the world’s injustices - she was just a girl who wanted to fight the world. she was angry and bitter at everyone and everything.

- substance abuse tw her relationship with trey quickly began to deteriorate and she turned, for the first time, to the rougher crew he hung out with. booze and drugs quickly became a way for mal to cope with the pain she carried around. she started small - cigarettes and pot - before graduating to the harder stuff, like coke and prescription pills.

- substance abuse tw skipping school to get loaded became a regular occurrence and when the truancy officers showed up at the lawson’s front door, her parents sat mal down for an at home intervention. for as much as they yelled and cried and offered treatment, amalia wasn’t hearing any of it. it wasn’t until jayden snuck into her room late one night to ask if he was going to lose mal like one of his friends had lost his older brother that mal realized her actions weren’t only effecting her life.

- miscarriage tw just before her junior year - with the help of her parents - mal decided it was best for her to leave public school and finish the rest of her schooling online. the same time she started online schooling, amalia started painting again. something she hadn’t done since she found out she’d miscarried.

- being able to stay home meant mal had the space and time to heal in her own ways. when she wasn’t doing school work, amalia was painting to help clear her head. it took some time, but she was finally able to tell her parents what she was going through, both mentally and physically.

- miscarriage tw after she miscarried, mal started to suffer from chronic period and pelvic pain, as well as painful intercourse. she’d also been suffering from symptoms of depression, all of which help lead her down the destructive path she’d gone down.

- several doctor trips later, mal was diagnosed with endometriosis and depression and quickly began treatments for both. despite starting treatments for her endometriosis, doctors told mal the likelihood of her conceiving again was highly unlikely. 

- mal hadn’t expected to hear at 16 that biological children may never be in her future and she was devastated, but she had her support system and their love and willingness to do whatever they could for her helped her cope in a much healthier way.

- by seventeen, amalia was feeling like her life was back on track, though drastically different than she’d imagined. she finished her diploma early and began working for her dad in the restaurant; serving, cooking, even helping fix things when they broke down. slowly but surely, mal mended her relationship with her parents and earned back their trust.

- one day, after some kids had vandalized the restaurant, marshal asked mal if she’d help cover the graffiti. jumping at the chance, amalia spent three days finishing her first big piece - which is still her favorite to this day - a portrait of her family and the community that kept the restaurant going. abstract and colorful, full of life and vibrancy, mal’s piece drew a lot of attention and several offers for her to commission other pieces.

- for the next three years, mal worked at the restaurant and took commissions when she could. life seemed normal again. she even reconnected with trey, mending the relationship that had been broken.

- the day trey proposed was the happiest day of mal’s life. she’d been beyond thrilled! after everything they’d been through, he still wanted to be with her. unfortunately, the bliss didn’t last. their engagement abruptly ended and mal decided it was best if she get away for a while, so as to not slip back into destructive patterns.

- a quick google search brought amalia to the malnati website and their employee housing program. applying was a no brainer and a month later she and jayden were packing their bags and moving to chicago.

- she started as a maid and, in the four years she’s been there, has moved up to the maintenance manager position.

hcs!

- when she’s not working, mal’s usually painting in her suite or sketching at one of the many parks in chicago during the day. at night, you’ll find her taking full advantage of chicago’s nightlife. night’s in for mal lawson are few and far between.

- drugs tw she skates a fine line when it comes to sobriety. she’s careful to drink or use just enough to be sure she’ll have a good time, but it’s a slippery slope. in the four years she’s been in chicago, mal’s slowly started doing more and more, telling herself she’s got a handle on it. truth be told, she’s teetering on the edge of a full blown problem again. 

- super into video games, but partial to anything involving zombies. mal loves a zombie - don’t ask me why. she’s usually down to play among us, valorant, fortnight, and is always down for a little animal crossing when she needs something more chill.

- 90′s hip hop & r&b are mal’s shiiiiiit. she’s at her happiest when she’s got a little tupac on in the background.

- also don’t you dare try to tell her he’s not alive in cuba somewhere living his best life. she ain’t havin’ it.

- when she’s angsty/sad/angry her go to playlist is a lot of punk, rock, grunge. especially of the 90′s persuasion. she stays on brand. her favorites are the offspring, nirvana, the foo fighters, soundgarden, stone temple pilots, the smashing pumpkins, sonic youth, and pixies.

- she’s gluten intolerant and vegetarian.

- mal is a cult classic movie kind of gal. donnie darko, pulp fiction, rocky horror are all on her list of favorites. she’s never going to turn down a good horror/thriller marathon, either.

- she plays a little piano and a little guitar. she picked them up after she started online schooling. she finds both relaxing. she’s by no means going to make a career out of it, but it’s fun!

- hella resting bitch face, but she really is super friendly! she just doesn’t always look it.

- don’t test her, though. she’s got attitude for days and she isn’t afraid to let you know what she thinks or how she feels about you. we ain’t got no time for games, okay?! okay.

- amalia has also very much immersed herself in community work since moving to chicago, especially on the south side. if her parents taught her anything growing up, it’s that she should give back the her community as much as she’s able.

- a lot of her street art celebrates women of color and their beauty. 

- not a fan of cops, still. soz pals.

- when it comes to work, she does her best to make the malnati a decent place to work. she’s all about positive reinforcement and making sure she takes care of her employees. she’s not gonna shy away from telling you ya fucked up, though. she’ll say it with love, though, while also calling you a giant pain in her ass. but with love. okay?! okay.

wanted connections!

- hook ups! : mal is a RAGING bisexual and is not at all afraid to make her appreciation for someone’s physical appearance known. just don’t expect to stay the night. once the deed is done you’ve got about thirty seconds to vacate mal’s suite.

- softies! : make. her. soft. give me someone who makes her break her no sleep over rule, pls and thank. she’s a stubborn, pain in the ass, and sassy af but someone who can make her melt? and act like a teenager in love again? all gooey and gross? yuh. pls.

- good influence! : someone she doesn’t have to drink and party with to have a good time! remind her that she misses things when she’s not sober - that the world is still beautiful and inspiring even when she’s not in a drug induced haze.

- chill baes! : drugs tw people mal just ~ v I b E s ~ with! probs smokin’ a decent amount of weed together. 

- protest pals! : people who are also involved in the community and social justice movements. they happily bail each other out of jail (or, more likely, sit in the back of a squad car together) and attend protests together. bc the buddy system. overthrow the government safely ty.

- rivals! : mal’s got a big mouth and some seriously controversial opinions. she’s not afraid to call people out for being ‘wrong’ and calling them...creative names. she’s bound to have a giant list of people who aren’t her biggest fans.

- bad girl’s club : need i say more? give. me. the girl gang. constantly partying and constantly getting into some kind of mischief and leaving a trail of broken hearts as they go. 

if you made it this far, you deserve SEVERAL high fives and literally all my love. ily all v much and uh, yuh. let’s plot pals. :)

[theoppositeofadults]

Unless you lived through it, it is hard to imagine the sheer terror that gripped the world when the HIV epidemic broke out in the 1980s. There was no treatment, no cure, and death was certain.

In the early days of the epidemic, no-one was sure what this disease was, how it was spread or who was at risk. Because the majority of early cases affected gay men it was known as the ‘gay cancer’ and by 1982 HIV was called the ‘gay-related immune deficiency’ (Grid).

In September 1985, the Royal College of Nursing was forced to issue a warning that nurses refusing to treat patients with HIV or Aids could be struck off. There were cases of pathologists refusing to perform a post-mortem on anyone who had died from an Aids-related illness. In 1987, the General Medical Council expressed concern after learning a number of doctors were refusing to treat anyone with the HIV virus or Aids. Sadly, such incidents were by no means unique to the UK.

Doctors were scared to go into hospital rooms

Jon* was a gay man living in San Francisco during the HIV outbreak in the 1980s.

“I was young and I had just come out when the virus hit,” he explained. “I was lucky and didn’t contract HIV, but all of my friends from that time are dead. It just happened so quickly. There was incredible fear. People were dying so, so fast and there were so many of them. I remember doctors being scared to go into the hospital rooms where my friends were dying. I feel ashamed of this, but I was scared too. No-one knew what to do.”

The panic and misunderstanding that characterised the first years of the Aids epidemic are understandable. But despite the fear, people did step up to help and care for the sick. As the gay community struggled to process incredible trauma, grief, and homophobia, groups of lesbian women banded together to support and tend to the men dying from Aids. “I remember them,” says Jon.

“Suddenly, the hospitals were full of lesbians who were volunteering. Volunteering to go into those rooms and help my friends who were dying. I remember being so moved by them because gay men hadn’t been too kind to lesbians. We’d call them ‘fish’ and make fun of the butch dykes in the bars – and yet, there they were.”

Jad Adams is a UK historian who has researched the history of the HIV epidemic and the role of activists for his documentary ‘Aids: The Unheard Voices’ (1987). He told me: “In the USA and the UK throughout the 80s and 90s, lesbians were active and much appreciated for their caring role in looking after men with Aids – hospital visits, social security forms, befriending and so on. It is important to remember that a lot of these men were not out to their families or were explicitly rejected by their families. They really needed the support which gay-friendly women could provide.”

They also gave their blood

In America, lesbian activists were prepared to give more than their time and care – they also gave their blood. In 1983, MSM, or “men who have sex with men”, were banned from giving blood across America in an effort to prevent HIV being spread through blood transfusions. Other countries soon followed suit, and MSM are still banned from donating blood, or subject to severe restrictions, around the world today.

Not only did the ban on gay men giving blood deplete the reserves available, but the battery of blood tests and experimental treatments left HIV sufferers severely anaemic and in need of regular transfusions. HIV patients desperately needed blood, and the ‘lesbian blood drives’ were prepared to supply it.

In 1983, the ‘Women’s Caucus of the San Diego Democratic Club’ formed the ‘San Diego Blood Sisters’ and organised regular drives to ensure there was enough blood available to meet demand. Barbara Vick and her partner, now wife, had been a regular blood donor in San Diego when the ban on MSM blood donation came in.

Realising the demand for blood, Barbara established an account with a private San Diego blood bank which would allow donors to designate who would receive their donation – in this case, those with HIV and Aids. The Blood Sisters held their first drive on 16 July 1983. Barbara hoped there would be 50 or so donating; close to 200 women queued around the block to give their blood. From then on, the Blood Sisters held regular drives to ensure those with HIV and Aids had the blood needed for their treatment.

Similar blood drives were soon organised around the country, frequently hosted by lesbian and gay religious congregations. Blood drives were held in Denver, Boston, Los Angeles, Baltimore, Memphis, and Washington. In 1983, the Irwin Memorial Blood Bank and the National Organization of Women held a blood drive in San Francisco. Jon remembers seeing a poster advertising the event that simply read: “Our Boys Need Our Blood”. In August 1987, the San Francisco gay-lesbian newspaper ‘Coming Out’ urged the lesbian community to donate blood to “stand by our brothers in fighting the Aids epidemic”.

The blood drives ran throughout the 80s and into the 90s when the first antiretroviral drug treatments became widely available.

These drives also let gay men know they were loved

In 2016, Barbara Vick and the other founding members of the San Diego Blood Sisters were honoured by San Diego Lambda Archives’ in their celebratory event ‘Heroines, Pioneers and Trailblazers’. “There was a powerlessness that everybody felt, but the lesbian community seemed, in some ways, immune to the disease,” Barbara recalled. “I don’t want to say there was a sense of guilt, but then you look at your counterparts and feel that they are carrying the burden of this for no reason.” She added: “At that time, I don’t think that women economically had as much to give as men. But this was something that they could do, the giving of themselves. – and heart blood is such a basic thing.”

The drives offered much more than a ready blood supply. It was about reaching out and letting the sick know they were loved and part of a community. The stigma attached not only to HIV, but also to homosexuality, meant many young men were rejected by their families and left to die alone.

There was also a strong sense the gay community had been abandoned by a government who couldn’t bring themselves to talk about gay men. President Regan did not speak publicly about Aids until 1987 – after 36,058 Americans had been diagnosed with HIV and an estimated 20,000 had already died.

The support offered to the sick by ordinary people was vital in the fight against HIV, but also in challenging stigma and injustice. Groups like the Blood Sisters were about more than fighting Aids: they were about fighting prejudice, uniting a community and showing the authorities that blood really is thicker than water.

[awed-frog]

If I may ask, what do you think of the whole sea watch 3 mess? And indeed of the whole migrant situation in Italy?

Well - I have messy thoughts about that. Mostly I’m angry, disgusted, worried and pretty hopeless about the whole thing.

As a recap for people who haven’t been following this (complicated stuff ahead, so I don’t claim to be right about everything): 

1) In 1990, the EU decided on how to deal with migrants by drafting the Dublin Regulation, which came into effect in 1997. The idea was charmingly simple: people seeking refuge in Europe should ask for asylum in the first European country they got to. Optimists claim it was difficult back then to imagine any complications, since immigration was very low and European countries still had borders and everything else, but in hindsight, you have to wonder why countries like Italy agreed to this at all. You obviously can’t get to Germany or the UK without crossing through Italy or Spain first, so the Dublin Regulation was bound to cause huge problems. The other ridiculous thing is that the Italian government that signed this was headed by Andreotti, a nearly immortal ghoul princeling who’d been in politics since the 1750s and had been implicated in at least two murders.

(He’d also been found guilty of collaboration with the mafia, but was let go on a technical detail.)

2) In 2011, Muammar Gaddafi, ‘Brotherly Leader’ of Libya, was killed. We still don’t know exactly what went down - more on that in a second - but a general problem the West has in the Middle East and Africa is that we tend to support dictatorts, no matter how brutal, because it’s just easier to do business and get our way with one greedy and corrupt person than it is to deal with an entire Parliament, but the risk we overlook, time and time again, is that all-powerful dictators tend to become more and more ambitious and form their own plans, which may or may not align with Western interests. In the case of Gaddafi, Hilary’s emails (I know, I know) seem to indicate the real reason the West - and particularly France, as in former President Nicholas ‘I’m the son of an immigrant but he was the right kind of immigrant’ Sarkozy - suddenly got annoyed with Gaddafi is that Gaddafi was planning to introduce a new banking system in Africa - a thing that would rival the CFA franc. 

(That’s a currency used in fourteen African countries which is basically a leftover from French colonialism - it’s managed directly from the French Treasury, and that gives France more or less full control of those countries’ economies). 

So anyway, NATO got all tough on Libya, Gaddafi was killed, and as a result Libya is now a failed state with - if that’s possible - more human rights violations than before - particularly relevant for your question is a very harsh treatment of black Africans (down to and including literal ‘slave markets’ where people are bought and sold, also torture camps and everything in between). This happens partly because it’s lucrative af, and partly because there’s been bad blood between ethnic Arabs and black Africans for generations.

So, aynway, that’s the general context. What happened next is what we’ve seen for the last few years - an increase in the number of immigrants coming to Europe, therefore an increase of the number of deaths in the Mediterranean, therefore widespread panic leading to 

immoral and unethical deals with people like Erdogan (I say ‘people’, lol)

a sharp rise of the extreme right and 

a general inability to welcome those desperate enough to come here and offer them a decent life.

Most recently, Italy’s far-right Interior Minister decided to close down the harbours to prevent NGOs-operated rescue ships from docking. The Sea-Watch 3, which was carrying 42 migrants, decided to ignore this and go to Lampedusa, in Sicily - the closest and safest harbour. Now its captain has been arrested, but it’s unclear what will happen next.

If you’re asking me what do I make of all this - I don’t know. It’s a mess. 

For instance, there are studies showing that if NGO ships patrol international waters, the crossing gets more dangerous, because people smugglers don’t bother finding good ships - they know they just have to get migrants off the coast of Libya, and someone will pick them up. This means more risk for the immigrants themselves, and more money for the smugglers. But on the other hand, no rescue ships there means no help at all, so if something goes wrong, those people are doomed. The same ‘yes but’ applies to many other issues concerning migration. Like, a lot of migrants coming in (and these are people who were left with nothing, including ID) means more of them disappearing into thin air, because of the badly-organized and overcrowded camps. We know thousands of them end up exploited by criminal gangs - in Italy, a particularly brutal business is managed by the Nigerian mafia, which trafficks thousands of women into prostitution and terrifies them into obedience thanks to ‘black magic’, but there’s also agricultural workers, people forced into drug trafficking, kids who end up homeless and so on. Another major problem is that - other than the Syrians - the immigrants who got to Europe over the last decade are difficult to integrate into the legit labour market because they lack the necessary qualifications. Most of the European is now tertiary-based, which means you need some kind of post-high school diploma to do anything, and research shows about half of those coming here didn’t even finish primary school.

(To be very clear: I’m not saying this is in any way their fault, or something that can’t be fixed. But: it does encourage a battle of the have-nots, as people at the bottom - including chunks of the native population, immigrants from Eastern Europe and more recent immigrants from the rest of the world - compete for those few and miserable options open to them, like run-down housing, meagre welfare checks, and a handful of jobs you don’t need qualifications for.)

On top of that, many migrants would need a lot of support, because they escaped from horrific situations - not only those torture camps in Libya, but everything else you can think of: civil wars, political persecution, brutal rapes, whatever - that’s also something that has a cost no one wants to cover. And finally, since coming to Europe is so dangerous, most immigrants tend to be young men on their own - which is exactly the ‘worst’ group of people in any culture.

(Sorry if that sounds bad, what I mean is - we know that for whatever reason, young men everywhere tend to be more reckless than other social groups, and that increases the chance for risky behaviour - especially when the person is not ‘kept in check’ by a well-structured community. Thus, a young man without family or friends is more likely to make stupid or dangerous choices - for himself or others - than, say, a middle-aged father or a young woman.)  

All of this, as daunting as it is, could be solved - after all, this is not an invasion: it’s numbers we can manage - but probably won’t because:

1) There’s some interest in keeping the situation as it is. More migrants means more political success for right-wing and extreme right parties, not to mention huge profits for a lot of people.

2) Right now, the EU can’t agree on anything because of reasons. 

3) Nobody wants to do the right thing, ie treat Middle Eastern and African countries with a modicum of respect and actually support them and their development instead of propping up whatever strongman is convenient and robbing their citizens of whatever isn’t nailed down.

4) The countries on the EU borders have their own issues and right now it’s very hard to imagine those issues ever going away. Like, under many respects Italy’s basically a failed state that relies on the goodwill of half its citizens to keep trudging forward. It never rooted out clientelism, corruption, or tax evasion - plus, it still hasn’t defeated its own mafias, and despite an exceedingly brave and dedicated bunch of policemen and judges (plus all those ordinary citizens risking their necks every day by saying no and living an honest life), the battle against foreign mafias (like the Albanians, and more recently the Nigerians) is probably a task beyond its means.

So, well - sorry this turned into a novel. I guess what I think is - I admire people like Sea-Watch 3 captain Carola Rackete and everyone else who volunteers and fights for the most vulnerable, and I think the current government is a disgrace, but ultimately immigration is a political problem whose only solution is the usual solution to everything else: more courage, more competence, more transparency; less inequality, less greed, less corruption. More democracy, and a democracy operating without the (overt and covert) influence of powerful lobbies. Less support to dictators, fair wages for workers and fair prices for raw materials - even if that includes higher prices for Western consumers. And, above all, more regulations and less power to corporations and stakeholders.

Very few people actually want to leave their homes, but if we keep forcing them out, then they’ll keep fleeing - with all the consequences that entails.  

[archivist-bones]

❝ cause we live in a house of mirrors / we see our fears and everything ❞

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“To abstain from politics is, in itself, a political attitude.” - Simone de Beauvoir, Prime of Life

“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” - Abraham Lincoln

“The presence of evil was something to be first recognized, then dealt with, survived, outwitted, triumphed over.” - Toni Morrison, Sula

“Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.” - Anne Sexton, A Curse Against Elegies

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bare to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“I can, with one squinted eye, take it all as a blessing.” - Flannery O’Connor, The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O’Connor

“And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed.” - Sarah Waters, The Little Stranger

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME:  Amelia Susan Bones NICKNAMES:  Amy, chicken little [ Edgar, Gideon ], bossy Bones, bubala [ sweetie, dear, used by Amelia’s maternal grandparents ], little Susie [ used by her paternal grandparents ]. AGE: 23 BIRTHDAY:  December 28th, 1957 GENDER: Cisfemale PRONOUNS:  She/her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER:  Esther Bones née Levy [ 52, muggleborn ] FATHER:  Edwin Bones [ 54, pureblood ] SIBLINGS:  Edgar Bones, Gideon Bones [ deceased ]

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM:  Maude Apatow BUILD:  Amelia is 5′4 and slender, moving into a “waif-like” territory. HAIR:  Long, pin straight without any intervention. Amelia either pulls it back in a bun for work or curls it to have loose waves. HAIR COLOR: Brunette EYE COLOR:  Brown SKIN COLOR:  Caucasian DOMINANT HAND:  Right-handed ANOMALIES: A deep scar on Amelia’s left knee from childhood. She had been riding her bike, hit some rocks, and fell off. Gideon had to carry her all the way home as she sobbed. SCENT:  Rose and bergamot perfume. Freshly pressed laundry. ACCENT:  Normal English accent for a girl from Devon, England but Amelia has a rich vocabulary. Sometimes making her sound a little snobby, especially when she’s trying to explain something to you. ALLERGIES: Nickel jewelry, discovered when she was twelve and got a severe rash from a necklace she’d gotten on a shopping trip with her mother. DISORDERS:  Amelia has always been a little anxious and worrisome but after Gideon’s death it has been a lot worse. She’s suffering from a lot of grief, depression, making her much more reckless and less likely to think through the repercussions of her actions. FASHION:  Neat and bookish but stylish all the same. Feminine blouses, thick sweaters over collared shirts, pencil skirts and low heels with stockings. Looking professional helps Amelia feel more confident and prepared to face the day. When she’s at home or working on something, she’ll dress more comfortably, in jeans and t-shirts. NERVOUS TICS:  When Amelia is nervous, embarrassed, or afraid she’s in trouble, she hates looking people in the eye. Embarrassed by her own emotions and fearful that she might have disappointed someone. She also will compulsively push her hair behind her ear, over and over, if it’s down and she’s feeling nervous. QUIRKS:  Do not leave your muggle pens unattended with Amelia, the only thing she would never feel guilty about taking. She’s liable to chew on them when she’s studying or working [you won’t want them back ].

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES:  Moving between London and Ottery St. Catchpole BORN:  Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England RAISED: Born and raised in good ole Ottery PETS:  A 2½ year old male ragamuffin cat named Humphrey

CAREER: Archivist, Department of Magical Law Enforcement EXPERIENCE:  Amelia’s father worked for the ministry and would often take his tiny daughter along with him while her brothers stayed home with their mother. Edwin Bones is a man very interested in politics himself so it was natural for daddy’s little girl to pick up on that as well. Amelia was well known at the ministry before even getting a position there, volunteering in her father’s department during summer breaks. EMPLOYER: Ministry of Magic

POLITICAL AFFILIATION:  Amelia is aligned with the Order. The Bones children were raised to be forward-thinking and accepting of others. Amelia might seem a little uptight but she’s open-minded and empathetic. She believes in advocating for fair treatment of all people and social services for the less fortunate. BELIEFS:  Amelia is a feminist and would probably be considered a democratic socialist. Her mother’s family are Jewish. Amelia considers it ethnically a part of her identity but is not religious. MISDEMEANORS: None FELONIES:  None DRUGS: No SMOKES: No [ yes, she’s a goody goody ] ALCOHOL:  Occasionally Amelia enjoys firewhisky or a pint on a night out but she is a notorious light weight. DIET: Amelia eats well most days but has a real sweet tooth and prefers desserts over everything. She’s notorious for forgetting to eat or knowingly skipping lunch when she’s distracted or obsessively working on something. She also doesn’t eat when she’s anxious or feeling depressed.

LANGUAGES:  English, German, French, Hebrew

PHOBIAS:  Failure, pain, grief, torture HOBBIES:  Biking, reading, embroidery [ though she’s not very good at it ] TRAITS: { + }:  Empathetic, steadfast, analytical, perspicacious, ambitious { - }:  Headstrong, overbearing, critical, obsessive, anxious

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION:  The garden in her childhood home, the archives of the ministry. At Hogwarts, Amelia’s favorite places were the library or McGonagall’s classroom when it was empty. SPORTS TEAM:  Holyhead Harpies GAME:  A girl in her year at Hogwarts introduced Amelia to Clue one snowy night in her second year, it quickly became a favorite. MUSIC: The Clash and David Bowie [ Joe Strummer is the only man for her ] MOVIES: Funny Girl FOOD: Sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream. BEVERAGE:  Espresso, specifically a cortado. Amelia would never turn down a nice butterbeer either. COLOR: Blue

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE:  Ravenclaw WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core):  10½”, willow wood, unicorn hair, quite flexible AMORTENTIA: Espresso, mother’s perfume, toffee, fresh parchment, challah bread PATRONUS:  Magpie BOGGART:  Dead loved ones, Lord Voldemort

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good MBTI:  INFJ MBTI ROLE: The Advocate ENNEAGRAM:  Type 1 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Perfectionist TEMPERAMENT:  Melancholic WESTERN ZODIAC:  Capricorn CHINESE ZODIAC:  Rooster PRIMAL SIGN:  Bee TAROT CARD: Justice, The High Priestess, Queen of Wands TV TROPES:  Beware the Nice Ones, Action Girl, Reasonable Authority Figure, Academic Alpha Bitch, Wise Beyond Their Years, Go-Getter Girl, Lawful Good SONGS:  

Au Revoir Simone - Stay Golden » I’m feeling better every day / And emptiness still leaves a space

Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins - You Are What You Love » The heart attacks I’m convinced I have / Every morning upon waking

The Big Moon - Your Light » I wanna speak but I’m wondering how / And I wonder since when was my voice a foreign object in my mouth

Beabadoobee - If You Want To » Experience is nothing compared to / The nights I’m always up so late

Kacey Musgraves - Good Ol’ Boys Club » Never been too good at just goin’ along / Guess I’ve always kind of been for the underdog

Marina - Can’t Pin Me Down » Do you think I’m stuck-up / ‘Cause I’m always picking fights

Joy Williams - Speaking A Dead Language » And somewhere in all the talking / The meaning faded out

IDEOLOGIES:

Amelia always hated using in quills in school, much preferring muggle pens. When twenty pages deep in a paper about the applications of the veritaserum when you have no interest in potions, saving time is key.

Amelia very much believes in the old adage, you can sleep when you’re dead. Not really a night owl or a morning person, she’s caught somewhere in between where she basically shirks sleep until it overtakes her.

Amelia would take a cup of coffee over tea any day.

Amelia is wholly convinced that David Bowie is a wizard, don’t fight her on this. She’s got a theory.

Amelia hopes that the Order can make a difference but is concerned that they will be overpowered. She wholeheartedly believes that it is better to do something than stand aside and do nothing. This viewpoint extends to her interest in ministry politics.

[drmannimal]

So you want to be a veterinarian...

Ask a handful of children what they want to be when they grow up and there’s a good chance that someone will say veterinarian. It has long been a dream career of many animal lovers, but is it right for you?

I fall into the “it’s all I’ve ever wanted to be” category. For as long as I can remember I was telling my parents that I was going to be a veterinarian. Human medicine? No, thank you. While I thought I had a pretty good understanding of veterinary medicine before I started veterinary school, I soon realized I didn’t know it all. That being said, veterinary medicine is definitely the right career for me. This post will go over the process of becoming a veterinarian, and the pros and cons of the job.

How do I become a Veterinarian?

To become a veterinarian, you must attend veterinary school. In North America, these programs are typically four years long. 

Pre-Veterinary School Depending on where you live, there are prerequisites you must complete before applying to veterinary school. Many programs require completion of a four year undergraduate degree, taking some specific required courses. Some schools only require 20 prerequisite undergraduate courses (two years) in order to apply. The admissions process is competitive so keeping competitive grades is advantageous, though a 4.0 is not necessary. Good, but not great, grades do not mean you’re immediately cast aside. There are other components to your application. Many applications include veterinary/animal experience and extra circulars. During high school and undergraduate you should participate in a variety of clubs and volunteer activities. This makes you a more well rounded applicant, and also can be quite enjoyable. Some examples: - volunteer at a veterinary clinic: I personally believe everyone should spend time in a veterinary clinic before applying to veterinary school, regardless of importance for application. This will allow you to see what the job actually involves. - volunteer at farms, wildlife clinics, SPCAs etc. - 4-H or similar. - Student government (leadership, communication). - Pre-vet society/club. - Any other club/society on campus, ie. biology society, GSA, yearbook etc. Some schools, especially in the USA, require letters of recommendation. The school may specify who they are looking for letters from (i.e. vet, professor, etc). Make sure you make positive connections with the people you work with in order to allow for a positive recommendation. Finally, standardized testing is required by most veterinary schools, specifically the GRE (Graduate Record Examination). More information about this can be found online.

As a Canadian student, you may only apply to your regional Canadian school, unless you would like to apply internationally. As an American student, you can apply to a large number of schools within your county. Research each school as many have specific areas of interest, different cost, different living style etc. After applying to veterinary school, many schools will then invite candidates for an interview. The type of interview varies depending on the school so make sure you look into the specifics of each school you will be interviewed at. Veterinary School I will give you specifics of my education as an example, though all veterinary schools differ. In general, be prepared for a lot of work. You will be taking many classes at once. For example, I was often taking 10 courses per semester. Many of these courses included a laboratory component.  A large number of classes equates to a large amount of home preparation and studying. Midterm season at my school was typically weeks long. The work load is certainly manageable, don’t let that alone scare you off, though it does take a lot of dedication and planning. The most important piece of advice I have in regards to course load is to make sure you still find time for yourself. Without taking care of yourself and constantly studying, you will burnout. My school had three years of course work, followed by one year of clinical practice. During the three pre-clinical years, we did have exposure to animals throughout labs and shifts in the clinic. We first perform surgery in third year under supervision of the course doctors. For the most part, the pre-clinical years followed a pretty general schedule (other than surgery duties). Starting class at 8 and being done by 4. There are opportunities outside of courses to get involved with clinical/medical activities. Veterinary school have a large variety of clubs that may offer these extra opportunities - ie. pathology club necropsies, exotic animal club medical producers, internal medicine club cadaver labs... There may be opportunity with a local stray spay/neuter program through your school to get extra experience with surgery as well. Clinical year is a whole new ball game. At my school the year was broken into three week segments. Each segment you are placed somewhere new - i.e.. three weeks in the surgery department, three weeks in radiology, three weeks at an external clinic of your choosing... This year takes you away form the classroom and puts you into “doctor” mode. Keep in mind that each veterinary school operates on a different schedule (some introducing clinical earlier in the program) and that this is my personal experience. What your duties are will depend on the school as well. During my clinical year, student are involved in client communication, history taking, diagnostic planning, treatment administration, clinical skills, participation in surgery, etc. All under direct supervision. The hours for this portion of schooling are not predictable and definitely do not run 8-4. Many placements include after hours care of the patients, on-call work, lengthly paperwork, etc. All while studying for the dreaded NAVLE. Even though it was often dreadful, clinical year was my favourite year of veterinary school. Everything started to come together and honestly, it was a lot of fun.

NAVLE In North America, in order to practice veterinary medicine, you must past the licensing examination, the NAVLE. This is a 360 question multiple choice test that encompasses everything you have studied throughout veterinary school. Your school will help you apply and register when the time comes. You will technically be preparing for the NAVLE all of veterinary school but will specifically study for it in your final year. There are preparatory courses that you may purchase and your school may host review classes. The test is written in December and April.

So those are the cliff-notes of how to become a veterinarian. Feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions, would like clarification or would like me to go further into detail.

So after all of that, what are the pros and cons?

Lets not beat around the bush, starts with the cons:

Debt - veterinary school is NOT cheap and the income does not match the level of debt obtained. The majority of students will graduate with $100,000-$200,000+ in debt. This is not unmanageable, though it can be daunting. 

Extensive training - veterinary school is not easy, and it is not for everyone. You will need to be knowledgeable about many species and many subjects. 

Working with owners - “I want to be a vet because I don’t like people”, just no. This is a customer service career. You will speak to people every day. You will have to convince people to spend hundreds or thousands of dollars on their pets. You will get yelled at, told you’re in it for the money, probably threatened at some point. 

Working within a budget - unlike human doctors, we really need to think about the cost of each and every thing we do. You will often have owners come in with $100 dollars to their name and a very sick animal, you need to figure out what the options are in each instance.

Euthanasia - many people find this one of the more difficult parts of the job. I personally believe it’s how you look at it. Euthanasia can be a wonderful gift. I do not euthanize healthy animals.

Work-place hazards - our patients can be aggressive and difficult to handle. This is often due to stress or being scared, but it is a danger to veterinary staff. You need to understand how to read signals and prevent dangerous situations from happening. Veterinarians are also exposed to chemicals, radiation, heavy lifting etc.

Hours - depending on where you work, the hours can be gruelling. Not everyone has the luxury of a 40 hour work week. We often stay late (for no extra pay) finishing cases, tending to patients, calling clients, doing paperwork, etc. Many veterinarians must perform on-call duties. This may lead to 2 hours of sleep between shifts.

Responsibility - every decision we make is life or death. The type of drug, the dose, surgery, etc. The job carries a huge amount of responsibility that can be very stressful for certain people.

Ok, so despite all of that, I’m still a veterinarian. I still love my job. Why?

Debt - yes, I have a huge amount of debt. Is it manageable, yes. There are many people in the world who have more debt than me. I hate that its becoming normal for people to have debt, but it is.

Extensive training - vet school sucked, but it was also awesome. I know so much about so many things. I’m proud of the level of knowledge I gained while in vet school. I’m proud of the person I have become through my extensive training.

Working with owners - the vast majority of my clients are absolutely wonderful. There are owners that light up my day, that I look forward to talking to, that remind me how much I love my job. We have many lovely reviews written about us, cards sent in, treats brought in for staff etc. For every person that gets mad at me for cost, there are many more that are understanding and work with me to find a solution within their budget

Working within a budget - this is a con no matter what way you look at it, though I can say that when you’re willing to work with owners and help them within their means, they are often very thankful. There are many cases you can help within a tight budget.

Euthanasia - I tell every owner that euthanasia is a gift. We get to take away pain and suffering. This makes it much easier for me to deal with this on a daily basis.

Work-place hazards - proper training and education can help minimize hazards. Low stress handling, proper restraint etc.

Hours - not every job has horrible hours. I work, on average 40 hours a week. Some days I stay a little late to finish up, but it usually doesn't bother me. Yes, I do on-call but it is not very often. I have a great work life balance. You need to take this into consideration when looking for a job.

Responsibility - you get to call the shots, you get to save lives, help pets, help owners. You do not have to do it alone. There are so many resources out there to help. It’s definitely scary and daunting the first few years out, but its also very satisfying. Confidence grows day by day.

You get to live you dream job.

You get to be a part of an amazing team that shares the same goals as you.

You get to impact the lives of so many people and their pets.

You get to be an ambassador of the animals.

You get to go to work and learn something new every single day.

So, still think veterinary medicine is for you? Reach for the stars <3

[sapphicscholar]

A/N: After the shorter last chapter, here's an extra long one! I'll be traveling a bit for the next couple of weeks, though the next two chapters are already drafted, so hopefully I'll be able to keep to posting one update per week. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so let me know what you think! Heads up for some canon-typical violence in the second half of the chapter

Chapter Preview:

Once the clinic became her full time job, Alex found she finally had the time needed to settle into the new space, to make it something other than a temporary way station and part-time job. During the first few weeks after quitting her job at the hospital and confirming with Cat that she could start full-time work earlier than expected (though Cat had smirked and said something about expecting this outcome all along), Kara and J’onn came over to help Alex carry boxes and set things up in exactly the order she wanted them.

After the exhilaration of the first week wore off, she found ways to silence the panic about her own uncertain future, about the fact that she would never be the proper M.D. doctor she’d staked half her childhood dreams on, by doing methodical tasks like taking inventory and making rosters of the different alien races currently in residence at the shelter to ensure she had supplies they were likely to need on hand. Of course, the letter her mom had sent telling Alex that she was proud of her for quitting, that it was proof that she’d done one thing right as a parent—a letter that Kara knew for a fact was kept in the top drawer of Alex’s desk, even if she’d deny it—had also helped to settle her nerves.

Within a month, Alex finally felt like the clinic was hers in a way it hadn’t been before. There were no longer questions about where a given tool or prescription drug might be. The confusion over hours and staffing needs had abated as J’onn took over a management role, giving Alex time to focus on patients and doing research, including a joint project with Eliza’s lab up in Midvale. She and Aisha had also undertaken the creation of a massive database on alien medicine based on their field work and interviews, broken down by planet along with sections on which treatments could be mimicked with Earth technology and which medical procedures were seen as a profound violation to certain alien races and should only be done with explicit consent. For a while it existed only in words and hard-copy notes stored under lock and key, until Aisha called Alex excitedly one night after finding out that one of her childhood friends, another Durlan she’d traveled with to Earth, had extensive computer security experience and swore he could make an electronic version of their database secure enough to resist almost all hacking attempts—certainly anything launched by Earth’s primitive technologies, he’d laughed.

Even Alex’s bedroom had finally become a place where she lived instead of a place where she slept. Kara liked to take the credit for that last one; “I get that you’re mad, but now that there’s a little chocolate ice cream stain on the sofa, doesn’t it feel more lived in?” Alex maintained that it probably had more to do with simply being in the space and that it would have been homey enough without the big brown stain, thank you very much.

Kara continued to swoop in and out of the city to help avert crises, though more and more she’d limited her heroics to the alien population. It was one thing to hold up a bridge to keep it from collapsing; it was another to step between the barrel of a gun and a man screaming at her, insisting that she didn’t belong on the planet. But there were plenty of things to be done with the new National City shelter opening up, and Kara had volunteered to go scout out locations for potential shelters in other cities where Lane had stepped up the number of raids and identification checkpoints. On each visit, she’d fly in, land far enough away to avoid detection, then catch subways and buses into the heart of the city, clad in her pastel button-ups and sundresses. And for a full day, she’d be treated like a person deserving of respect. For a full day, she’d feel like if she forced her brain to stop working, she could believe that things were back to normal, that they’d jumped back in time to the days before Lane and Hessler. But then she’d catch snippets of the conversations between the agents from the newly public DEO talking about where to set up checkpoints for the day, and the reality would come crashing back down around her. This wasn’t her planet. These weren’t her people. This wasn’t some idealized version of the past. She was just lucky enough to be able to pretend for a few hours.

Read the Rest on AO3!

[hamlets-ghost-zaddy]

st. jude (the patron of lost causes)

Part 3/8

Donald Malarkey x Reader

Summary: Bombs aren’t discerning, they aren’t sentimental, and they kill without discretion. It’s the truth that got you through Bastogne, when men came to you in tatters and their life blood flooded past the stoppage of your hands. It’s the harsh reality that whispers through your mind as you wonder why Renee and Anna died, and not you–why you were sent on a scavenging run at that precise moment. Then, when the church was shelled.

Moved to an evacuation hospital to tend to soldiers with ghosts in their eyes, you meet Buck Compton and his loyal sergeant, a man with a weight on his shoulders unknown to even Atlas. His name means bullshit, and somehow you find that appropriate: what he’s seen, what he’s gone through? It’s complete bullshit.

You fear the still moments, those dragging hours, when there’s nothing to do. When Lieutenant Cox has allowed you to feed him every last spoonful of gloppy oatmeal; when the pain on Captain Halbert’s face eases as the drugs you injected into his arm dilute into his bloodstream; when Lieutenant Jamison’s nightmare screams have been shaken awake and to a stop.  When the ward is quiet, you have taken to sitting next to Buck Compton, needle in hands and patching up holey socks.

He spends most of his time staring at a Flash Gordon comic or a copy of War and Peace—one half of the four offerings in the hospital library—and you doubt he’s registering the pictures or the words on the page. Yet, he goes through the motions of reading and seems to find comfort in the normality, so you don’t bother him. You hum a tune as you work, and he quirks a grin before his eyes return to his book.  You almost wish he’d say something, if only to save you from your thoughts.

It’s in the quiet moments that you’re left, undefended, against the surge of thoughts of men seizuring in pain under your hands, of wrapping a comforting but superfluous arm around a nurse as she heaves great sobs, of watching a German shell landing on the church in Bastogne, collapsing on everyone inside.

Uninvited, Malarkey’s voice swims to the front of your brain: “It forces me to imagine of a future beyond my foxhole and the next meal of refried beans…it makes my brain stop thinking.”

What about a future beyond a hospital tent? you think, needle moving quickly in your hands.

You imagine Malarkey’s mouth quirking with a smile, never worn for longer than a handful of seconds. That too, he would say. And great now you’re hallucinating a conversation with him. Glancing around, your eyes drift over Buck, reading, over Constance tapping her toes to a song only she can hear as she fills in paperwork, over the men in their cots, as if someone would meet your eyes with a glare, exposing and branding you as crazy, deluded, mentally unwell.

But, no one minds you.

So, you wonder, where’s the harm in imagining Malarkey is sitting there, holding vigil over Buck with you? His chuckle, soft and gusting, echoes through your mind, and even though you’ve never heard him laugh, it feels right. It feels natural, like it’s something you’ve heard—or have meant to hear—all your life. You’ve been bottling things up for too long, maybe telling someone fictional will help, he offers.

Realizing your needle has paused, you bend your head over your work and tighten two quick stitches before you can muster a reply. Interesting that, even in your imagination, he makes something squirm in you. What if I want to bottle things up? What if that’s the point?

Point? he repeats, amusement giving way to mystification.

Your lips quirk, and you know if anyone looks at you right now, they would think you’re absolutely insane. But, with volunteering for the Army Nurse Corps, landing at Normandy two days after the invasion, patching up dying men, how sane could you possibly be at this point? You mentally reply: Yes, the point. Bottling things up allows me to do my job. I’m the caregiver, I can’t force my injuries on my patients—or Constance—or—

Not even in your imagination do you dare say, ‘or you.’

Who protects the guardian angels? Who defends the last defender on the wall? Malarkey replies, and you get the sense he isn’t looking for a reply. A pause, then: Tell me about them. The ghosts you carry.

You would never say their names aloud, not when it’s been only two weeks since you screamed their names until your throat turned hoarse, but it feels safe here, in this pretend conversation, so you think back: Renee and Anna. Two nurses I worked with in Bastogne. I was on the only hospital truck to make it into town before we were entirely cut off, and I helped them in a bombed-out church we converted to a hospital. They…

Before Bastogne, you took comfort in a singular truth: bombs aren’t discerning, they aren’t sentimental, and they kill without discretion. Fate blindly dealt hands to the men and women of this war—you win and cash out, you lose and all your money goes to the dealer—and it allowed you to move away from the still-warm corpses of the boys you couldn’t save. It allowed you to desperately grasp onto some confidence in your nursing abilities even as bombs rained down. Yet, after Bastogne…

I was sent out to find sheets to use as bandages. We were in a desperate way for bandages in those last few days, and I heard the whistling of bombs as I hurried back to the hospital, a big bundle of stained sheets in my arms. We’d need to boil them to sterilize them, and Anna had promised to have a pot waiting and ready for me when I got back. I was just down the street from the hospital, it…

You watched the bomb whistling down from the sky and you knew in that breathless instant, you knew with more surety than anything you’ve known before, that this shell wasn’t random. Names were painted on its sides—though how could the bomb factory workers have known their names?—and Fate dealt a rigged hand. A great plume rose from where the church stood, dust mixing with fire and spraying rubble. The sheets were dropped into the mud as you took off, running.

It was no use, and you knew it before you were pulled away from the rubble. There was no use in madly scrambling through the bricks, nails ripped off and bloodied, but you still had to try. The next day, when the German barricades were broken and reinforcements broke through, you were loaded onto a truck to return to your hospital unit. You swayed in the covered back of the truck, blinking, unsurprised, when Renee and Anna’s faces appeared in the shadows next to you.

But, even in your imagination, you couldn’t tell that part to Malarkey.

Yet, you are sure he understands—he would understand—your silence.

You give an extra spoonful of oatmeal for Buck’s breakfast; Constance gives you a battered copy of Evelyn Waugh, and you let Buck read it first; Doctor Schroder manages to commandeer a crate of Hershey’s chocolate bars and you slip one underneath Buck’s pillow before anyone else. Some part of you feels it’s your way of apologizing for always sitting at his side, hovering over him, but another part knows it far more selfish (a selfish hope that you showering him with special treatment, kindnesses, will somehow summon Malarkey back to Buck, back to the hospital tent, back to you.)

Constance notices on the fifth day of Buck’s stay. The girl has a sixth sense for gossip, or anything that might be spun into gossip. She sidles up to you as you sterilize a stitching needle, used on a lieutenant who promptly passed out when you made the first stitch. Constance had cleaned the skin around the stitches and, after sanitarily disposing of the bloodied cotton swabs, she says, “So. That Lieutenant Compton.”

You pink at the implication dripping in her voice, and you know you unwittingly affirmed her suspicions. She squeaks, “Oh, gosh, I thought so!” She checks over her shoulder, presumably at Buck, sitting on his cot and quietly talking about nothing at all with the man next to him. “He’s awfully handsome,” Constance says on a sigh.

Of course, she’s not wrong.  Buck’s an all-American boy: golden hair and blue eyes and shoulders broad enough to cling to. He’s Helios, he’s Apollo, he’s Adonis—the pinnacle of radiant manhood—and you won’t deny it. Still, it makes you squirm, all queasy and knotted, at the thought of having feelings for Buck Compton. At being just like that desperate girl in those desperate letters, begging for him to write back and love her. It wasn’t that you felt superior to that girl. No. It was something else—but what?

“I don’t blame you, sis,” Constance is saying, ignorant to the thoughts swelling and crashing against the rocky coast of your brain. Her hip bumps yours, her wink conspiring. “Once he gets out of here, all repaired and good as new, I’d climb him like a tree if I were you.”

You can’t help a snort and smile.

Constance laughs merrily, all bright bells and twittering sparrows, and the men nearest the work table perk up and smile at her, as if her laugh is a flint stone sparking life in their souls. Focusing on arranging the surgical thread and needles, you hide your smile: Constance was good for these men. She brought a heart to the hospital tent.

And, as she moves away to continue her work, she leaves you with your thoughts.

Why does being regulated to the girl in the letters bother you so much? It isn’t that being attached to Buck (if only in Constance’s fabricated gossip) chafes you, no. Buck’s blue irises in your mind’s eye always blink and morph into the rich, soil brown of Malarkey’s eyes. And though you dare not label whatever you feel growing in your chest for Donald Malarkey, it certainly isn’t that. You wish you could articulate it to Constance without sounding crazed, you wish Doctor Schroder could diagnose you as deftly as he does the other patients. If you’re bluntly honest, though, you wish you could puzzle through it aloud with Malarkey.

He would understand.

Talking to Buck about Malarkey isn’t intentional.

Well, that’s not quite right.

You had thought about it for hours, mentally turning over how to broach the topic as you sat by his side. Every fiber of your being wanted to mention Malarkey but desperately didn’t want to all at once. Internally, you inspected every possible route the conversation could flow, and when you nearly convinced yourself to speak, the imagined conversation would take an unexpected turn and you would unconvince yourself again. As you sat, sewing and thinking, you felt the back of your neck prickle with the awareness of Constance throwing knowing looks at you. You ignore her.

Somehow, letting her think you liked Buck is easier. You don’t have to explain your thoughts orbiting around a sergeant serving on the frontlines with sadness coloring his face and heavying his eyes and how you wanted to let him hold you and you hold him until neither of you understood the meaning of sadness.

It’s this thought, occurring with a startling realization that shortens your breath and stills your thumb from worrying your icon of St. Jude, that finally prompts the words to tumble out. “What’s your favorite memory of Sergeant Malarkey? Something happy?”

Buck, propped up on a heap of Army-issue pillows, blinks at you once, twice. A smile, that smile only Malarkey manages to coax from him, appears. He hums in thought, arranging his hands on his stomach. “Well,” he drawls, stretching the word into multiple syllables. “We had three months back in England after D-Day and before Holland. Malarkey and another guy in our company, More, well, they took out an Army motorcycle for a bit of a joyride.” He snorts at the memory, and you smile along with him. The idea of Malarkey shooting down a road, his laughter caught up in the wind and the speed making him feel alive, makes your heart do something sweetly painful. “And he ran into our old CO—”

“The one who gave him hell for his last name?”

If Buck’s surprised you know this factoid, he doesn’t show it. He nods. “Yeah, him. I didn’t train with him, but by all accounts, Sobel was a real son of a bitch. So, Malarkey runs into him as we’re about to jump into Holland. The motorcycle is strapped to the back of a truck—Sobel’s a supply officer now, I guess—and Sobel knows, he fucking knows, that Malarkey is the one who took it. But, as cool as you please, Malarkey pretends he doesn’t know a damn thing, and Sobel doesn’t have any proof so can’t write him up.” Buck’s laughter is choppy, rusty from disuse, but it fills the hospital tent with warmth once it gets going.

You can’t help laughing along.

(And you know you’ll catch a full barrage from Constance about it, her lips curling into a smirk and her questions growing steadily more steeped in innuendo, but you don’t care. You know you’re not Buck’s girl, you’re not that girl in the letters, but you’re content to laugh along with him. There’s an old adage that laughter is the best medicine and, if it means you get a shred of information about Malarkey’s life beyond the war, well then, you’d agree.)

[clay-air]

IT Reddie/Stanlon/Benverly In the Flesh AU

Losers are in their early/mid-thirties.

Living: Bill, Ben, Mike

PDS sufferers: Georgie, Beverly, Stan, Richie, Eddie

Five years ago, the dead rose all around the world, and the small town of Derry, Maine, was no exception. Halfway into the zombie apocalypse, a breakthrough drug called neurotriptaline allows the risen dead to regain their senses—rebranded as Partially-Deceased Syndrome sufferers, they receive treatment and begin to be integrated back into the communities they nearly destroyed. Derry was never the most tolerant of towns, and to no one’s surprise the surviving townsfolk are incredibly hostile to the returning PDS sufferers. It is in this setting that seven Losers—each damaged in their own way by the events of (and prior to) the Rising—find each other and start to heal.

Disjointed outline and notes below the cut: I will definitely never actually write a fic for this bc I am pathologically incapable of turning my ramblings into a cohesive story with a plot and all that, so everything is up for grabs!!  If you do get inspired by my musings and write or draw something, please lmk!!!  Also feel free to comment with your own thoughts/ideas/headcanons!!!!

Warning for references to: suicide, homophobia, spousal/parental abuse, hate crimes, self-harm scars, violence

Bill Denbrough gets his baby brother Georgie (their age gap is a lot bigger in this AU) back but has to deal with the residual guilt he still feels about his death (an accident Bill maybe could have prevented). He saw Georgie after he’d risen, missing an arm and eating a dude (alternatively, Zombie!Georgie actually kills Bill’s wife Audra bc Bill hesitated over shooting him, and Bill has to deal with that while also trying to make sure Georgie doesn’t find out/remember what he did) and was the one to restrain him so he could be sent to the treatment center.

Ben Hanscom loved Beverly Marsh from afar until she went missing (killed by her abusive husband who later died during the Rising) and when she comes back to Derry from the treatment center with no one waiting for her, he decides this time he’ll actually step up and be there for her. Of course he has to actually get her to trust him first. She vaguely remembers him as a guy who was always nice to her, but it’s dangerous to assume that anyone in Derry has less-than-homicidal feelings regarding those with PDS.  Beverly is starts off nervous and flighty, but eventually adopts a very “middle finger to the whole damn town” attitude, and, despite her initial reservations, finds that the words of a certain Undead Prophet are starting to resonate with her....

Stanley Uris committed suicide before rising from the grave, and he’s trying to find a reason to stick around for his “second chance at life” that he never wanted in the first place. Can he finally move past the cloying, suffocating fear he felt every second he was alive now that he no longer has any need to “fear the Reaper”? He finds companionship in Mike Hanlon, a quiet man who defended his farm on the outskirts of town all by himself during the Rising, luring the Risen who wandered on to the property into a barn and keeping them inside once he heard about the successful neurotriptaline trials. Mike’s refusal to join the Human Volunteer Force during the Rising (he didn’t want to kill anyone, zombie or not) earned him the scorn of the already-pretty-racist townsfolk.

Richie Tozier was the victim of a homophobic hate crime, and now because of bureaucratic bullshit (reintegrated PDS sufferers need to be incident-free for a minimum of three years before they can change their address) he has to come back to the very same town that loathed him enough to kill him. Also they have another reason to hate him now! He’s trying to take it in stride (or at least outwardly appear like he’s taking it in stride) but his murderer, Henry Bowers, is basically a town hero for helping form the HVF, and he’s using his status in the town to make Richie’s already pretty miserable half-life hell. Things start turning around for him when he finds a reason to stop playing hooky and actually show up for the Give Back program: another PDS sufferer who is wound up tighter than anyone he’s ever met, is absolutely CAKED in flesh-tone makeup, and whose snapped insults in response to Richie’s trashmouth antics don’t carry the now-familiar hatred behind them that he’s become accustomed to. Also he’s cute as fuck. But damn, gay thoughts come with a lot of baggage after being gay literally got you killed.

Eddie Kaspbrak succumbed to slow poisoning by his mother, who’s Munchausen by proxy escalated with deadly effects. Unfortunately, once he’s released from the treatment center Eddie has nowhere to go but back into her open arms. She refuses to acknowledge what she did to him, and starts using his daily neurotriptaline doses as a new way of controlling him (Eddie is absolutely PETRIFIED at the thought of going rabid). Ironically, his only moments of freedom happen when he’s at work for the Give Back program (his mother’s protests that he’s too frail to do manual labor don’t really hold up under the fact that he’s kind of unkillable now?) where he meets a fellow PDS sufferer who’s an irredeemable trashmouth but who treats him more like a human being than anyone ever has, even counting before he was a literal zombie. And no, Eddie does not think he’s fucking funny. He doesn’t.

Featuring:

- Beverly supplying Eddie with DIY neurotriptaline she learned how to make from the ULA website so he can get out from under his mother’s thumb, which he accepts after an hour-long tirade about how she doesn’t know if it’s safe or even STERILE (“Eddie, honey, I don’t think we can get infections anymore” “it’s the PRINCIPLE of it, Bev!”)

- Mike showing Stan that all the bird species he saw in the woods when he was alive are still there, and that the Rising didn’t destroy everything good in the world, also introducing him to his secret library

- Bill bringing Georgie to Mike’s farm so he can see and work with the animals (and also so he isn’t in town where someone might mention Audra). Mike is somewhat disapproving of Bill’s not telling Georgie what happened, but he sympathizes, and tries to help both brothers work through their trauma. (Stan eventually convinces Mike that he should be taking care of himself too)

- Ben struggling to convey to Beverly that he genuinely wants to be her friend (and more) and help her (Bev: “Oh wait are you one of those guys who finds the whole ‘undead’ thing hot? Why don’t you go to the PDS brothel then and leave me alone?” Ben: *internal screaming*)

- Richie and Eddie building fences at 1/6th the pace of all the other pairs of Give Back program “volunteers” bc they can’t stop ribbing each other and arguing and also Richie might’ve made it his new-life’s purpose to get Eddie to smile and laugh as much as possible. “Do you even still need glasses, asshat?” “The better to see you with, my Spaghetti” “Don’t fucking call me that”

- turns out Richie and Beverly sort of hunted as a group during the Rising (a la Kieren and Amy) and now they like to get together in the Barrens, get high off sheep brains, and try not to have panic attacks about what they did while unmedicated. Bev confesses that while she hates the slow-drip of returning memories of the Rising, she hopes that one day she’ll remember being the one who killed her husband because that would mean she got her revenge in the end. Richie offers to help her jog her memory by reenacting it with him starring as her husband, but she just laughs and punches him in the arm. “Be glad I can’t feel pain anymore, Marsh, that seemed like it might’ve done some serious damage” “Beep beep, Richie”

- insert that ep 1 scene with Rick’s dad dragging the neighbor’s PDS wife into the street and shooting her, but replace with Bowers killing Adrian Mellon as Bill  watches from through the curtains across the street with Georgie’s head tucked into his chest so he can’t see

- Stan slowly coming into his own through what starts off as relatively harmless acts of rebellion against Derry but escalates to all the Losers having a blast vandalizing their own graves. “Honestly Richie, I’m surprised your epitaph wasn’t ‘blessedly silent at last’” “Woah! Stanley gets off a good one!”

- Richie visiting the Kissing Bridge where he was caught halfway carving his name + ??? by Bowers’ crew and was brutally beaten before being thrown into the river. Looking back, it was hardly a crush worth getting killed over, but this time he feels like he’s drowning in his feelings (of fucking course it would feel like drowning) and he’s terrified. Carving a shaky “E” where he never got to finish his declaration last time takes some of the weight off his heart.

- Ben finally getting Beverly to realize that he’s been in love with her since long before the Rising by telling her that he was the one who wrote the anonymous postcard she received a few months before she died, and showing her all the other poems he’d written over the years. “January embers”...

- Bill and Mike helping Eddie gather proof that this mother was responsible for his death by combing through Derry police records and autopsy reports (also hey, turns out you can still detect all those poisonous chemicals in his partially deceased body!) and using it to get him essentially emancipated and his mother arrested. Eddie moves in with Richie afterwards and being in close proximity all the time brings both their feelings to a boil.

- Georgie does eventually remember encountering Bill and Audra during the Rising. “I died, and you lied”. He runs away into the Barrens where he meets a strange PDS sufferer who wears clown makeup instead of the usual flesh-mimicking stuff...

- the creeping emergence of a ULA splinter group led by Pennywise that starts haunting at the edges of Derry and stoking the fires of the townspeople’s fear against the Risen. Eventually they kidnap Georgie to their weird sewer cult dungeon under Neibolt bc they think he’s the First Risen (lol sorry dudes, wrong side of the pond), and the Losers have to gear up and go get him back before a fucking clown EATS HIM to bring about the Second Rising.

Physical appearances:

Eddie: wears his contacts and makeup religiously until he is able to escape his mother, at which point he starts to let loose a bit (it helps that Richie says he’s still adorable, even tho Eddie would never admit to that). He has a gash in his cheek and a huge puncture wound straight through his chest, both of which he sustained during the Rising.

Richie: wears glasses even tho he doesn’t technically need to anymore. Gave up on the whole makeup thing pretty early bc it was a pain to apply, but he does sometimes wear the colored contacts when he’s out and about for the Giveback Program. He’s covered in cuts and blue/purple bruises that he sustained in Bowers’ attack, and has a big nasty stitched-up gash just above his hairline from hitting his head on a river rock.

Beverly: makeup and contacts whom? She has a pretty conspicuously hand-shaped bruise around her neck that she tends to cover with scarves tho

Stan: wears the makeup and contacts, but is much better at making them look natural than Eddie is. Matching scars on each wrist that he keeps covered all the time. A bullet hole in his side from the Rising.

Georgie: wears the makeup and contacts. Missing an arm (injury sustained during the Rising)

[a-woman-apart]

Hope

Remember, if you are having thoughts of hurting yourself, please get help.

Crisis Text (U.S.): 741 741

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

You know what I said a couple weeks ago about waiting a couple of weeks before you make a Drastic, Negative, Irreversible Decision?

Well, I have confirmed evidence that it is true. It sounds cliché as hell, but when you are staring down a dark tunnel you really cannot see the light at the end of it. It feels like the pain will never end, and that nothing will ever be different. This is definitely a lie, because things will get better.

They will, because you are going to make them better.

How?

Well, first of all, you need to realize that depression is not just caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain. Even if that is true, that chemical imbalance can be exacerbated by external circumstances. I am talking about real people, places, or things that generally contribute to your feelings of despair.

Here’s a list of questions to ask yourself.

·        Are you in a romantic relationship that is sexually, physically, or emotionally abusive?

·        Have you experienced childhood trauma?

·        Are most of the people in your circle people who belittle, undermine, pressure, and/or demean you?

·        Are you in a codependent relationship with a family member or significant other?

·        Do you work at a job that has become unsatisfying, unfulfilling, or unbearable?

·        Are you under lots of pressure to perform academically?

·        Are you homeless, living in poverty, facing financial insecurity, or living paycheck to paycheck?

·        Do you live in a war zone or a country where your basic safety and freedoms are constantly threatened?

·        Do you have a chronic physical illness in addition to your mental illness?

·        Do you spend most of your time alone and/or feel that you cannot depend on other people?

·        Do you feel that you have to perform or put on a show in order for others to respect your needs, wants, or desires? (This includes having to pretend to be cis or straight in order to be respected or cared for)

·        Do you base your self-worth on your money or achievements, only to have that self-worth come crashing down when you ask yourself “what’s next?”

·        Are you afraid that others will “discover” that you are a fraud and do not deserve the status or position that you have?

·        Do you constantly feel bored or unchallenged, like you are simply moving through the motions of life with no purpose or meaning?

I am aware that the author Johann Hari is a controversial figure, but so much changed for me when I read his book, “Lost Connections”. He looked at causes of depression—some of the things I just mentioned—and possible cures. These cures were not based primarily in treating patients with medicine. Lots of people claim that Hari discouraged or undermined the use of antidepressants in his book, but that was not the interpretation that I got.

My understanding is that he posited that the medicine is kind of a “jump-start” for the brain. I have experienced severe bipolar depression before. I was listless, monosyllabic, barely able to get out of bed or take care of my daily hygiene. I was under the care of my parents. The medicine did not “cure” me, but it gave me enough motivation to begin attending groups, psychiatrist appointments, and therapy sessions.

For most people, medicine is a part of a holistic treatment plan. In my case, it isn’t even the primary ingredient—especially since I no longer take antidepressants at all (A/N: I stopped under the supervision of a psychiatrist; never, never, never stop taking antidepressants or any other psychiatric medication cold turkey).

You see, once I got my manic symptoms under control with mood stabilizers, I thought I was in the clear, but I started to experience symptoms of depression again. However, this was the “good”, or “high-functioning” kind of depression. When you’re “high-functioning”, you can go through the day wishing you could die but you’re still alert, efficient, and outwardly cheerful. Unfortunately, this “less debilitating” depression kills more people. When you are in this state, if your goal is to die, you often have the energy and motivation to follow through. It is extremely isolating because most often, you have created the perfect illusion that everything is fine, and so others often don’t think to reach out to you to make sure you are okay. You also have created walls that you yourself may struggle to break through.

I knew that I wasn’t okay, so I reached out for help. My experience was similar to Johann Hari’s. I was put on antidepressants that would work for a while, and then they would stop, and I would be switched to another.  My weight fluctuated wildly, and I experienced a variety of other unpleasant side effects. I was finally removed permanently from antidepressants when the antidepressant drug, Effexor, contributed to me having a mixed episode (mania + depression), which, like high-functioning depression, carries a high suicide risk. I have written extensively about the horrible withdrawal I experienced from Effexor.

This is not to say that my negative experiences are universal to all. Bipolar depression is often resistant to antidepressants, and most antidepressants carry the risk of pushing us into mania. People with Major Depressive Disorder/Unipolar Depression often respond better to antidepressants. My best friend has been on the same high dosage of an antidepressant for years and it helped to increase his motivation and pull him out of a rut. He, like me, though has attended therapy and changed key things in his life that were keeping him stuck.

My point—after saying all that—is to say that drugs alone won’t solve your problems.

Also, you have a real reason to be depressed.

This is not to say that neurons misfiring in your brain don’t contribute to your depression, or that there is no such thing as a chemical imbalance. However, often there are things in our lives that make us feel small, trapped, or powerless, and these are often things that we can physically point to if we ask ourselves the right questions.

E N V I R O N M E N T A L

One big thing is work. You may work in a job you actually despise because you want to support your family. Most of us spend a third—or more—of our day at some kind of job. Maybe school is your job, and you’re drowning in a sea of assignments and deadlines.

Maybe there is no feasible way to leave that job or school (yet), but Johann Hari gives tips on how to hate it less. You could rearrange your schedule, change departments or majors, request different kinds of work, or otherwise try to find meaning in an outwardly shitty situation.

F I N A N C I A L

If you are in financial trouble, you could begin utilizing your community resources more. This includes getting local or government help with food and bills, but it also involves things like attending free job training and educational workshops or going to your local library so that they can connect you with employment resources. Libraries and colleges also often host hiring events and have bulletin boards where you can see the latest job postings for your area.

You could stop also depending on people financially who belittle you or make you feel guilty for receiving their help. Some people do nothing but give off unproductive energy—it isn’t worth it to receive assistance from these kinds of people, because you will never be able to do enough to pay them back. Even if you pay them back the physical resources, they will constantly try to violate your boundaries by saying, “Look at everything I did for you and you can’t even do X”. Run, do not walk, from these kinds of people.

A B U S E

As for abusive situations, these can be incredibly isolating. Your abuser has probably already driven wedges between you and your friends and family. You can however call the National Domestic Abuse Hotline and get help. If you feel like you are in danger—even if that person has never physically attacked you—you should still call and get help and advice. They can connect you with shelters and other resources. They also provide help for people who are suffering from spiritual abuse, an overlooked but often devastating form of abuse.

You can also call Day One Services and get help if you are dealing with emotional abuse.

I S O L A T I O N

It takes a community. It takes us leaning on each other and working together. The lie is that you do this thing called life alone. You don’t. In disaster zones or war-torn areas, depending on the community can mean the difference between life and death.  

I know many of us don’t live in a disaster zone, but we still need community support. A lot of us don’t have friends—and struggle to make them—but if the Friendship Goal is too lofty, then you should start by just spending more time with people in general. You could start by just sitting in a coffee shop or going to a park and people watching. Or you could try to join online groups where you can speak freely about your hobbies. When it comes to taking the bigger steps, like joining an offline group or volunteering, set the bar super low.

I had been using Meet Up to try to find groups in my area, and I made this absurdly low goal of “attend one Meet Up this year”. Not five, three, or even two. Just one. I was terrified, but I did it. I still haven’t gone to another one, but it was a starting point. It helped my brain see that I could do it. Loneliness and isolation are dangerous; any small action you can take towards reducing those two factors will be incredibly helpful.

P E R S P E C T I V E

Sometimes our issue can be with the way we see the world; Johann Hari described some of these as “Disconnection from meaningful values”. If your fundamental view of the world is that you need to just continually climb the ladder of achievement—hording material wealth along the way— until you die, you lack meaningful values. If you have physical comfort, but your life lacks purpose or meaning, it can feel incredibly bleak. We need to both change our outward circumstances, and our behavior and way of thinking in order to see improvement. We need to stop thinking we deserve less, and instead start cutting out toxic people and working on moving out of toxic environments.

S U M M A R Y

At first, when I dropped out of my university, broke up with my boyfriend, and started planning to quit my job (and leave my overpriced apartment) I felt like I was going to lose my mind. Most therapists and psychiatric professionals would not recommend that someone with a mental health condition make that many changes at once. I overhauled everything within a six-month period, and the stress of it all made me need to go to inpatient. I was very ill physically for a while, lost tons of weight, racked up medical bills, etc.

In the end, though, what do I have? I can say that I am truly happy for the first time in ages. My tears are now happy tears. Everything worked out. I’m going to go to a much smaller, more accessible college for my Bachelor’s. I’m moving in with friends to save money and deal with the loneliness issue. I have a new job that is currently a much better fit than the old one was. My ex and I continue to be close friends, but it did take a period of adjustment. I was in big financial trouble, but now, with support, I am getting back on my feet. I was even able to sell my piano keyboard to make a few more simoleons.

Of course, sometimes I still feel very anxious because This Is A Lot, but my anxiety crisis is over. All these new life events are teaching me something that I severely lacked: flexibility. I am also now more resilient, knowing that having made it through this, I can make it through anything.

You are going to make it, too.

I understand that it is important to make sure you keep an internal locus of control. This means that certain things in your life are your responsibility and yours alone, and that you have power to change those things. You can’t make someone love you, but you can ask that they treat you with kindness, dignity, and respect, and remove yourself from the relationship with them if they do not acknowledge your request.  You can’t singlehandedly change the world, but you can volunteer and do other things that make a difference in your local community. These changes often have a ripple effect that alter the surrounding areas for the better.

It is going to be hard to change your environment, improve your financial situation, and discover your purpose in life. You could think you have it all figured out, and everything can change. If you feel overwhelmed, please reach out for help. Trust me, tons of resources are just a Google search away. If you’re stumped, go to your local library and ask for advice or books on the subject you’re struggling with.

For those of you who can’t leave home, even here on Tumblr there are users who have compiled tons and tons of “master posts” for things like “How to Get a Job”, “How to Be Frugal” or “How to Make Friends.” Even if you can’t make it to your local library, there are often links to databases in the library catalog that have a wealth of information on every subject. I know a huge amount of you struggle with executive dysfunction so starting and completing tasks can be really hard, but there’s posts for that, too. Even if all you do is get out of bed today and eat something instead of laying in bed and constantly scrolling through here, that is a start.

I know this has gotten incredibly wordy, but the point of it all is please, please, PLEASE don’t give up! You really can make positive changes, but it takes time. Don’t throw all the time you might have left away.

[spirituality-and-alien-contact]

Is there More To Life than What I Have Experienced and am Experiencing Now?

For most of my life, this question has always been with me. As I grew older it was with me even more to the point that I had to look at it and why it was following me wherever I went.

In my High school days everything was going fine for the most part. I had some good friends, I was involved in sports and was a pretty good student and athlete. I felt like I fit in with others. The problem for me though, was I didn’t feel like I fit in with myself. I felt different than the others here in this world. I had no real direction or plan and this began to haunt me through High School and into my college days and after. My parents were always telling me what I should do to become “successful”, my friends the same, yet, I felt different. I wanted to help people and that is what I did for a good amount of my life as a teacher and counselor. Growing up however, there was a major concern for me and for my brother and sister and that was our parents. They just didn’t get along too well with each other and this affected us growing up. The environment I grew up in was a big influence on me and molded my perception of how I saw the world in some ways. I guess you could say we grew up in a dysfunctional family. and because of that I guess it’s fair to say that I looked upon the world and others in a dysfunctional way. I mention this part of my life because it was a pivotal time where I had to choose early on whether to stay in my family and where we lived or to go. Deep inside I knew I had to leave and begin to experience the world on my own without this gnawing feeling of influence haunting me wherever I went.

I knew within me that I needed to leave this environment if I had any chance of maturing into the person I “felt” I could become or needed to be. Yet, what would this person “look” like, be “like” what kind of man would I become? What kind of man did I want to be? These were questions which were with me at a young age through my teenage years and into young adulthood. I wanted to become a man of integrity and of service and contribution and this felt right with me because my ambition to be wealthy was not as strong as most others in the world and certainly in my circle at the time. My ambition was different. Yet, what I wanted and desired for myself and what I “DID” were two different things. I lived a care free lifestyle for many years. With no clear direction, meaning or purpose in my life. Into my early 20’s throughout my early and late 30’s alcohol and drugs took over my life and the only ambition in life I had was to have a good time.

In college, I studied and did what I had to, just to get by, but to be honest, I really was there to have a good time, not to find myself or to build a career or some solid foundation for success… I was there to have fun and play sports. Of course this type of thinking and behavior have consequences. And the consequences have followed me for most of my life even up until now. Here there came deep disappointment and suffering because I had not lived up to others expectations or even my own and I felt lost in the world because I had no clue who I was and what I wanted to do. I was in a prison full of conflict. A prison I had built for many years during the course of my life. Little did I know how important this prison and disappointment would become to me to build a meaningful life based upon purpose, meaning and relationship.

…relationship is the true essence of life.

…wisdom forgotten is wisdom lost

After college, I joined the Jesuit Volunteer Corp and moved out to Visalia California to work in a Day Treatment center for PINS kids and kids with emotional disorders, hyperactivity and attention deficit disorders. This seemed to be a fit for me and I loved it. I was there for a year and then moved to Santa Monica, California to work with the homeless and organize a bike trip across the country with a few other fellow Jesuit Volunteers to raise awareness of the plight of the homeless and also to raise money for the center I was volunteering at called the St. Josephs Center. During this time a friend of mine who I played basketball with at Canisius College was playing for the Los Angeles Lakers and became a sponsor for the trip along with some of his teammates, and a player for the Dallas Cowboys. It was the late 80’s and the Lakers were stacked with some great players…Magic Johnson, Byron Scott, Michael Cooper, Kareem etc. This was a great opportunity to help raise awareness and compassion for people who were without a roof over their heads and it was and still is a passion of mine to help these folks as much as I can because I was once homeless for a while due to my addiction and alcoholism and also due to my search for meaning and truth in my life and in the world. When I finally moved back to my home state of upstate NY I continued to work with children as a special ed teacher into my thirties until my alcoholism and addiction bared their consequences and I was fired from the job I loved the most but wasn’t responsible enough at the time to keep.

Fast forward to August 2007 the year I became clean and sober. During my sobriety I had to change people, places and things if I was to stay sober. Through some suffering of my own making and disappointment, I did change these environments which was good practice for what I was about to find or perhaps it found me. One of the greatest things I learned during my 1st 5 to 6 years being clean and sober is if I changed the way I looked at things the things I looked at changed. The 1st thing I needed to look at was myself and how I treated life. In doing this I was led to search for truth. Not just the truth about my life but the truth about all life here on this planet and other planets throughout the universe/Greater Community. For I have always known there is intelligent life out there when I looked up into the stars. Deep within me I just knew and didn’t know why I knew. I just knew. So, one day on October 13 of 2013 I typed in the google bar: “alien presence in our world” and the “Allies of Humanity” came up. Right there in front of me was the answer I had been searching for most of my life. This search from within and from without led me to find the “Allies of Humanity” which led me to find the New Message from God and to Knowledge which I am a student of to this day. I have shared some of my life experiences with you who are reading this because I feel that we are all searching for truth in one capacity or another. For this search, I feel, is really a need… the need to fulfill our soul. Much of my life and many others lives I see in the world, are seeking happiness and success. Thinking that if we have one we have the other. But what is true happiness? What is true success? By societies standards it is the acquisition of money and power, influence and control and a “perfect” relationship. But I have found through what I have learned from the New Message from God, is that my life…our lives are part of a greater plan of Gods a Greater Coordination. That we are here for a purpose that we carry within us. This truly has given me a new perspective not just in my life but on all life here in the world seen and unseen. Yes, there are unseen forces at work in the world and at work in each individuals lives in the here and now. We are part of a greater reality something we know little of but is there nonetheless. We are a part of relationships that go beyond this world and have always been with us here in this life now and will be with us when we leave this place. I pray you come to find them for yourself and experience them without your own assumptions or judgments to get in the way.

…there is a great force within each of us.

I have shared some of my life experiences and what I have found so that you may someday feel the calling within you. For we are all being called but the choice is ours to respond. I have chosen to respond and this will be with me until I die. Why do you ask? Because it is essential that I do. Many of us in the world are feeling a stirring within us. I know I did for years but I just didn’t know what it was or why it was occurring but now I do. I felt this ache, if you will, in the pit of my stomach for many years. At the time, my life was much more manageable than it ever was, but I kept having this same feeling of anxiety, for lack of a better term, all the time. It was my heart calling to me for me to begin to follow what it is I know and must follow. It was a calling to me to begin to fulfill the need of my soul which is the greatest need we have and is the greatest need to fulfill. It was a calling for me in the world to become a vehicle for the deeper intelligence to express itself through me out into the world. Many of us have this calling, this stirring and nothing you will ever do in this world will fulfill that stirring until you begin to respond to the the need of your soul. I did in October of 2013 and my life has become anew ever since because of the work I have done and will continue to do in my practice and preparation of the “Steps to Knowledge.” Thank you for taking the time to read what I have shared with you. Perhaps someday you may find your purpose and begin to live it and share that with others who desperately need to see and hear it for themselves. Nasi Novare Coram–“The Presence of the Teachers of God are with us.”

…these steps are an experience of the true nature living within you.

” People think of Revelation in terms of the whole world or a nation of people, but there really must be a personal revelation, and this revelation is the result of many steps and many stages. It is not something that you can control. You cannot force yourself to have this revelation because it involves contact with the Spiritual Powers around you and with the Will of the Creator. ” The Threshold of Personal Revelation

…to fulfill the need of the soul is to truly breath life in and exhale purpose in being here.

The post Is there More To Life than What I Have Experienced and am Experiencing Now? appeared first on The New God Experience.

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[bleedingcoffee42]

Eureka AU- Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

No pause to research.  Only write.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Roy was mentally operating at a level he hadn't operated at in years.   His mind was fueled by fear, something he hadn't experienced since his teenage years when his career and future hinged on the decisions of others.   Thankfully Dr. Knox and Dr. Marcoh were not intimidated by him.   He had already thrown a tablet across the room and shattered it for denying him access to Riza's military records.   He had been close to putting his fist through a very very expensive piece of equipment when Knox had thrown him into the wall and told him to stop lashing out and start thinking.   Prove he was the smartest fucking person in the goddamned building.  Stop being an asshole to everyone trying to help.

Still, there were no answers and Riza's condition was getting worse.   Knox had no information about the vaccination, Raven knew nothing just quoted protocol and 'you don't have clearance for that' when Knox asked for Riza's complete military file.  Marcoh had pulled microscopic residue from the vaccination syringe but  it had already been contaminated by the Sharps container.   Phone calls to the military would get him nowhere and he instinctively wanted to keep this all in house.   So he said 'fuck it' and ordered his best IT guy to hack the fucking military and get him her files.   Fuery was working on it, but almost everything he could find had been redacted.

He stood in the observation room with his hand on the glass and looked in the intensive care room at his wife.  Temperature was climbing, there was fear of internal bleeding, she was in pain.   He ordered Knox to go get some pain reliever and the doctor tried to argue with him and lost.   So when the door opened and Knox came in the observation room instead of going in to administer the drug he was downright irate.

“Shut up, kid, and let me talk.”  Knox said and walked over to him.   He doubted Mustang knew about the pregnancy, he didn't think Hawkeye was in the sate of mind to walk in and drop a bomb on him like that.  Not from the look on her face when she left his office.    “How much did she tell you when she got home?”

“I told you, “ Roy hissed.  “All she said was that it was a booster of some kind and Raven brought it with him.”

“Anything else?” Knox asked.  

“I don't have time for twenty questions, just ask me.”  Roy spat.

“She's pregnant.” Knox was going to break it to him easy, but he was being a dick.  He saw Roy's reaction, shock and disbelief.   Good.    “She found out when she came in for the vaccination, I gathered this was not a planned pregnancy.”

“No..I...” Roy felt his mind go blank.   Something that never happened and he wondered if that was what death felt like.   He couldn't even stammer out a response.  

“Normally I wouldn't say anything, except that you're about to start giving orders and ordering me to carry out your wishes.  I'm the doctor, not you.”  Knox raised the syringe.  “Anything we do for her from here on out is going to be in her system and possibly pass through to the baby. “

Roy closed his eyes.   “So the booster came with enough information that you didn't have concerns about giving it to her?”

“I had the data sheet and it said it was fine.”   Knox said.  “It was a booster and already in her system.  However any treatments at this stage of development are a concern going forward.”

“She's in pain.” Roy said.   That wasn't what Knox was asking.  He was asking for consent from the baby's father to proceed with treatment.   “We both understand that whatever is going on is putting her life at risk.   Elevated temperature, heart rate, bleeding.   I'm not going to withhold proper medical care because of a baby.  I accept that means we might lose a life, but it's better than two lives.”

“Are you sure you want to make this call without consulting her?”

“She's in and out of consciousness.”  Roy said.  “I'll shoulder that burden, do what you need to do Knox.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Roy had a team working on a cure.  A team of the best scientists in the world.  A team that was still at a loss as to what they were dealing with.   So he sat by his wife's bedside and felt useless.

Fuery couldn't come up with her records, which made him suspect Raven.  There was no reason a 1st Lieutenant would have a file that was above his own clearance.   Especially since he had seen the file on her in order to select the town's new Sheriff over a year ago.  It was part of her hiring process, he had seen everything from her academy test scores to her list of commendations and personal after action reports.   That was all still there, but a deeper look into the actual combat she had see had resulted in a suspicious lack of results.   Either Riza Hawkeye's profile was fabricated and there was holes to be found after the cursory glance or someone was trying to hide something.  

He looked at her sleeping and listened to all the machines beeping around them.   He certainly didn't question her.   His wife was the genuine article, however he felt it in his heart that someone was counting on him to question her.   Their decision to keep their marriage quiet from the outside world, to avoid a name change, seemed like it may have all been a wise move now.  He was certain that Raven didn't make the connection that they were married, and Roy made sure to never imply she was more than the Sheriff.   Riza wouldn't volunteer that information either, not unless ordered.  

He leaned over and took her hand hand held it to his lips to lay a kiss on her knuckles.  Right now he was feeling an ache in his heart and it was from a piece that had been missing for almost three years.   From before he met Riza, from the Sheriff before her; Maes Hughes.

He wished more than anything his best friend was here right now, to help him investigate this possible corruption in the military ranks and to be a shoulder to cry into.  Tears formed in his eyes as he thought of his friend, murdered in the line of duty as he uncovered moles in Eureka planted by Raven's predecessor, Fessler.   Now it seemed like it was happening again, another soldier turned politician trying to use the advancements made here for his own gain.  Another expendable soldier sacrificed for someone else's greed.

He didn't talk about Maes much, to anyone.   He had, of course, told Riza about it when she asked why the position had come available.  That was when they first met and of course it had put them on the wrong foot.   He went for a long time without a replacement Sheriff, but when the military pushed back hard enough he had to relent and give them what they wanted: their own representative in a position of authority within the town.   He wiped a tear away as he thought about his first meeting with Riza and how she almost shot him for overstepping his authority.   Back then their first case was Shou Tucker's chimera clusterfuck and he had Riza had butted heads on how to handle the situation.   Roy, of course, wanted to keep his scientist in Eureka instead of unleashing him into the world, Riza wanted to send him to federal prison for murder.

He kissed her hand again.  If Maes had been there he would have nudged his arm as Riza pointed a gun at his chest telling him to back the fuck off.   They compromised, under gunpoint.   Tucker would remain at work under supervision, his daughter would be put in a foster home.    They would all stay in Eureka and the incident would just be a footnote in history.   In that moment back then all he could think about was how much he missed Hughes as Sheriff because they would have never had that stand off.   In this moment, he knew Hughes would be telling him it was a match made in heaven to have a woman who would not take his shit.   The kind of wife he needed.  

Well he needed her.  He needed a cure too.   He needed Hughes to be able to work his fucking investigative magic and find out what Raven was up to and what exactly he dosed Riza with in order to get what he wanted.   In a flutter of helplessness he considered asking Elric to use his damned necromancy portal to bring back his best friend to help him work this out.

Then it hit him.   Elric.  That child prodigy running loose downstairs in hos own labratory was his often literally earth-shattering ideas, was who he needed.   That kid's resentment of the military had to have spawned some projects  to counter it's corruption.   His ideas were outlandish and he had such an atypical way of thinking that even without having a medial doctorate he could see something they were all missing.   He took out his phone, wiped his eyes and composed himself.     He called Ed.    

“What do you want, Mustang?”

“I need your help.” There was silence and Roy looked at his phone to make sure he wasn't hung up on.  “Are you still there?”

“Yeah....I just didn't think that was a four letter word in your vocabulary.”

“Just meet me in the infirmary.”  Roy said and hung up.    Then he felt Riza stir and immediately put his phone down to lean closer to her.  “Hey, how are you feeling?  Do you need more painkiller?”

“Roy.”  She felt horrible.  In ways she never thought possible.  

“I'm here.”  He said and hovered closer.   She was so quiet.   His mouth went dry and he felt tears start to well up again.   “I need to ask you something, it's really important and I know you're going to tell me it's confidential and we really don't have time for you to debate on ethics with me.”

“I need...to tell you something.”  She said and bit her lip.   Why did this have to happen now, of all times.

“I know.”  He said and the tears fell.  

She looked at him and they exchanged glances.   Of course he knew.  He would have been pouring over her medical records and tests.   He knew she was pregnant.  Hardly the magic this moment deserved.   “I was going to tell you.”

“Later OK?”  He said and squeezed her hand.  “We'll do it all over and I promise I can be just as surprised when you tell me.”

“I'm not quite in the mood for sex on your desk right now.”  She nodded and closed her eyes. She head him sniffle instead of laugh.   She had to be in bad shape.  

“Hey, stay with me.”  Roy said and squeezed her hand.   “It's really important that I know where you were stationed, what campaigns you were in.”

“Roy, if you're asking...we both know I can't tell you.” She opened her eyes to ask him not to push this subject.

“If you were part of some special operation I don't have clearance to know about...I understand you not being able to tell me.  But this vaccination booster, it implies a previous vaccine required for an engagement you participated in.  I need to know when and where so I can track down the original information.”

“Roy...I swore an oath.”

“Is there some other way you can tell me that won't compromise your integrity?” He plead.   She would take this secret with her to the grave and Raven knew it.  Duty above all else.    He saw her hesitate, her eyes dart away, an indication that there was something.  “What? Please, Riza, tell me.”

“I kept a journal.”  She said.   “It's in my foot locker.  There is a small pistol gun-safe with my service weapon.”

“The code?” He asked.

“0611”  She said and he kissed her.  She could see him crying and knew she didn't need to ask how bad her condition was.    She was dying.  

“Don't worry, I got this.  Maybe you'll start respecting me for my brains and not just my body after I save your life, huh?”

She smiled.  Their little joke.   It was said without humor though, his voice was cracking.   “You're still not a medical doctor.”

He started crying and had to look away so he didn't drop hot tears on her face.  “I swear I'm going to go to medical school just to spite you.”

“You are really good with people.”  She said and closed her eyes.   She was so damned tired.   She wanted to console him, she hated seeing him upset, but it was too much.

He wiped his eyes and placed a kiss on her forehead.   Then he turned around and saw Edward Elric staring at him, wide-eyed behind the glass of the observation room.   He tried to compose himself as he left his wife's side to go in there and talk with him.   This kid who he had battled from day one, this kid he never showed a sign of weakness to.   Now he would beg for his help if he had to.   He walked in and said, “So how much did you hear?”

“Everything that implies you think the military is behind this.”  Ed said.  He didn't give Mustang any shit, the man was a mess.   Emotionally, physically...hardly recognizable.   He looked human.  Wearing a shirt without a tie, no three piece suit, hair a mess.   Red eyes and snot dropping from his nose.   “It doesn't take a genius to see that this would be the perfect murder.   Get rid of a witness to something that might condemn a military officer.   If Hawkeye didn't come home to you, we would have found her dead in her office today.  What do you need me to do?”

Roy had to rub his eyes to stop from crying again.   “I'm going home to get an exact time and date from Riza's journal.    I'll call you with that information, take it to Fuery and have him find out what the fuck went down.   What these soldiers were injected with.   Then I need you to help Marcoh and Knox think around the typical avenues and come up with ideas about how this technology can be warped by a corrupt military official to cover his tracks.”

“I can do that.” Ed said.  

“Use whatever resources you need, but under no circumstances engage with General Raven.” Roy said and Ed's eyes lit up, a fire of anger burning behind them as he finally put a name to the face behind this.   “Raven's trying to kill my wife, I need you to find out what he has to cover up.  I have no evidence, Ed.”

“Yet.”

Roy nodded.  “Thank you.”

Ed went to leave, his own mind racing around the information just dropped in his lap. He put his hand on the door and paused.  “You...don't think this has anything to do with what Hughes was working on...do you?”

Roy had purposely shut that door in his mind when the thought occurred to him.   Hughes was dead, Riza was dying.  There was time to investigate that when she was safe.   “It occurred to me, but right now Hawkeye is our priority.  She doesn't have much time.”

“Then go home and get me that information.”  Ed snapped and left.  

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Côte d'Ivoire's Choong Mo Nim and Heung Jin Nim, and the FFWPU's Involvement in the Drug Trade

▲ IRFF volunteers in Côte d'Ivoire in the late 1980s

The mention of "Choo Mo Nim" brings back intense memories that marked a turning point in the great muddy water filled with falsehood in a virtual and imaginary providence in Ivory Coast. I am aware of all these events related by brother Houago Joël who thought he was Heung Jin Nim's return to earth. I am therefore an eyewitness to all these events and I was currently occupying important positions in the Unification Church in Côte d'Ivoire.

Sister Dago Suzanne also had spiritual problems, receiving messages from the spiritual world. I must recall that Sister Suzanne met the Unification Church in Bouaké in 1988 where I was the assistant pastor. It was I who introduced him to the “divine principle” in a three-day seminar. After this seminar, her spiritual problems started where she told me that Reverend Moon was coming to talk to her, she also told me that she saw a big light in the shape of a crown on my head. When she begins to pray, she can do about 10 to 15 hours of prayer. Her husband was very afraid of her because of her possession of evil spirits. But at the time, our Unification Church leaders thought she was communicating with the divine.

This situation resembled the phenomenon the church experienced in Zimbabwe with Brother Cleophas. The sister became authoritarian and she claimed the place of brother Emmanuel Kouassi's wife who had died of an attack of malaria. The strength of character of Sister Dago Suzanne was such that she forced Brother Emmanuel Kouassi to have sex with her. She abandoned her home to move in with the brother who had lost his Filipino wife to her. These unfortunate facts have divided the church into several groups.

Apart from Dago Suzanne's group, there was another group I was part of, that of black Heung Jin Nim. Brother Houango Joël saying he was the return to earth of Moon's son, Heung Jin Min. We went to their residence to praise and adore the black Heung Jin Nim in the person of Houango Joël. I was the one presenting the message of the Divine Principle, Sister Nobah Monique was the spiritualist prophet of the group, and Houango Joel was the embodiment of Heung Jin Moon.

The whole city was moving to go to this center of healing and prophecy named “Residence HEUNG JIN NIM”. Positionally, I was number 3 in the group. 

Thus the church was divided into three great groups, the main branch of the Unification Church, the branch of black Heung Jin Nim and that of Dago Suzanne.

The great church officials were hiding at night to go and meet the Black Heung Jin nim and the prophetess to predict the future. Great was my surprise to find that the black Heung Jin slept with the sisters who came for treatment. But long before, I had weird dreams and I saw the behavior of the prophetess sister who did not inspire me with confidence. She was involved in shady dealings with Korean missionary Hae Yong Kim.

I would like to specify that our group was infiltrated by the Ivorian secret service because it was informed that our church was involved in drug trafficking. The investigators whom we had received as patients or people who came to the Divine Principle seminary to discretely carry out their investigations for months, but they did not find any trace of drug trafficking in this group of the black Heung Jin Nim. So they explained to me the content of their mission and they asked me to help them infiltrate the group of the missionary of the Unification Church and the National President of the Church. I had to collaborate and it paid off.

It was established that the National President of the Unification Church in Côte d'Ivoire named Adama Doumbia, the Korean missionary Hae Yong Kim, Mr. Bakary Camara, the American missionary Kathy Rigney, and others were all involved in a large network of drug trafficking initiated by the Reverend Sun Myung Moon. They paid a bond of $15,000 to the Ivorian state to hush up the case. I was the only inconvenient witness that they bought silence with greenbacks. After gathering enough evidence that I was on the wrong path, I decided to expose bad practices by stepping away from the Unification Church. This is the subject of my position in “Reverend Moon is an impostor” on Facebook. 

Ms. Dago Suzanne lived in Bouaké, a town 500 kilometers from Abidjan in central Côte d'Ivoire. When the religious leaders saw that she was restless and giving revelations from the spiritual world, they asked that she come to Abidjan. When she arrived, and after a test, she was turned away by the church and she found refuge with Nobah Monique where the black Heung Jin (Joel) lived. It was this group that could accept it. During his short stay with black Heung Jin Nim, they did not work together but these hosts gave way to him. She took control as the central figure and the others watched her act. Her hosts seemed to say that if Suzanne came to live with them, it was because they were in the truth. In the end, they did not last together and Suzanne found refuge with an older Moonist brother named Cisset Koné.

Suzanne started her own Unification Church group and did marriage blessings – but she's dead now.

____________________________________

The Situation of “Providence” in Côte d'Ivoire

Black Heung Jin Nim – Violence in Sun Myung Moon’s church Choomonim Is Back Through An African Sister (2001)

[wishbone-md]

An MS3 Guide to Internal Medicine Wards

I want to do internal medicine. I scoured the internet for guides on how to knock this rotation out of the park. Here is yet another take on how one can do well on this rotation, even if you don’t want to do IM. 

I ended up honoring it and making 92nd percentile on the shelf. There will be a separate post on how to prepare for the shelf.

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Preparation

I got up early every morning to preround on my patients. When I first started rotation, I started off with one patient. I typically carried 3 patients and went up to 4 towards the end of my rotation. Get there earlier than you think you need because it sucks to scramble to prepare your notes for rounds only to find out that the plan for the patient changed in the interim. I got to the hospital around 7:15 for 9 AM rounds. 

If your institution still uses paper lists, print copies of the list for everyone on the team and make sure to have the most updated version for the attending.

Read up on your patients on Up To Date. This will help you on pimping and on the shelf. If you have a new patient to present, you can shine by looking up differentials for your patient’s symptoms and presenting them. You can also check out all the treatment options on UTD and present the main ones as well. The key to standing out on rounds is being the one to put yourself out there to propose a plan for the patient, even if it ends up being wrong. It’s easy to just regurgitate what your resident’s note says. At least you tried to integrate your previous basic science knowledge with the clinical side. 

The topic of studying will be covered in another post.

Rounds

Have your presentations down cold. There are many guides online on this topic such as this one by @pleasedotheneedfulhttp://pleasedotheneedful.tumblr.com/post/149283514726/how-to-write-a-cohesive-patient-notepresen-tation

It’s hard to figure out each attendings’ preferences such as how detailed they want you to be on the presentation or if they like walking rounds. Ask around within your class, the MS4s, or the residents. 

For the most part, they want focused presentations that concentrate more on the plan for the patient. Some want to know all of the labs and vitals. Some want only the highlights. You also need time to read all of the consult notes to see their recommendations.

Know when to ask questions. Always try to look up the answer to your question if you have time before bothering anyone with it. Definitely keep them to a minimum if it’s a post call day and your list is long. If I was getting pimped, then I would be more likely to ask more follow up questions around then because that means we’re in education mode. You want to ask enough questions to where you appear engaged but not so much to where it gets annoying. But don’t be afraid to ask questions even if it’s really busy if it will impact patient care. I tend to ask questions while walking in the hall during walking rounds but I also ask during table rounds depending on the vibe of the room.

Pimping. It is okay to not know the answer. Always try to make a guess, even if it’s a stretch. I have said I don’t know plenty of times. I’ve seen fourth years who don’t know the answer. I’ve seen residents and fellows who don’t know the answer. Most attendings I’ve dealt with have been pretty nice if I don’t know. I think pimping can be good so that it it keeps me on my toes since the fear of God is put in me. A great phrase is “I don’t know but I will find out and we can discuss it later on.” I remember questions I’ve gotten right and especially the ones I’ve gotten wrong that everyone else on the team knew except for me.

Making a good impression

Ask for feedback. I get super anxious about possibly hearing negative things so I hate doing this. At my school, preceptors evaluate you on if you asked for feedback, how you handle criticism, and if you actually tried to improve. Try to ask 2 weeks in or so about what can you work on to improve things like your presentation, differentials, treatments plans, history collection, ect. They will notice if you step it up or if you continue on. They will definitely notice you if you slack off after getting good feedback initially.

It’s not just about impressing the attending. The residents and especially the senior resident are the ones in contact with you the most. I only interacted with the attending on morning rounds. The residents give their feedback to the attending for your evaluation. Yes, we are close in age to the residents and yes it’s great to have fun at work. I love joking around and have an occasional streak of dark humor but I don’t swear, talk about the times I’ve been intoxicated, complain about the work we have to do, or complain too much about the patients. 

Don’t freaking text during rounds, especially while in a patient room. Yes, people still are getting in trouble for that. 

After rounds

Check on your patients. Most patients and their families don’t really know what’s going on because we storm in there as a group during rounds and then abruptly leave. It’s always great to double back and check their understanding of what’s going on. You as the student are usually the person on the team that’s the closest to the patient in terms o medical knowledge. Once they have an understanding of the disease process and why we treat them with whatever treatment, then they can hopefully keep it up after discharge. 

Stay organized. I had a patient list that I wrote notes on during rounds of things to do particularly focusing on my patients but including things to do for other patients. The residents will really appreciate it if you help update the list, remind them of orders that need to be put in, and notify them of any results/consults you’re waiting for. So I refreshed my patient charts all day long to make sure everything was there. When we see an abnormal critical result or consult recommendations and update the residents, we are helping to expedite care. 

I really can’t stand doing random clerical stuff like making appointments or filling out paperwork but just make yourself volunteer to do it. My school is trying to cut back on using medical students for this.

Do not lie. If you didn’t check something on your physical exam or forgot to ask a question, own up to it. It’s embarrassing but it’s better than being caught in a lie or your made up information ends up affecting the treatment plan. You won’t get any more responsibility if they can’t trust you.

Extra

Read the literature. My attending specifically mentioned that he expects this from honors level students.  This is how you step up your game. You want to show that you are trying to elevate your knowledge. You’ll definitely get style points for referencing the literature when you propose your treatment plan by citing statistically significant results from randomized control trials. For example, one of my patients had refractory C diff that wasn’t responding to traditional antibiotics of vanc per rectum and PO with metronidazole or with fecal transplants. So I needed to step up and look into other options that we can talk about on rounds.  I read some articles on newer therapies that were compared to gold standard therapies. I summarized the studies in a few sentences so that everyone can be on the same page. Then we talked pros and cons. Another example is that if your patient is on some newer drug you’ve never heard of, you can look up what it is, the mechanism of action, and major indications. Then present a very brief FYI on it as it will help educate your team. Definitely be cautious as to how often and when you try to educate others as it may come off as overbearing or if it may put your team behind schedule. You do not want to appear as a know it all or that you like to hear yourself talk because it’s hard to shake that impression.

Preclinical material professors seem to like gunners, at least in my experience. It’s way different in the clinical setting because you’re surrounded by people who’ve been in the game longer than you. All of us know how to pick out a gunner. So word will spread fast if you’re terrible to work with and then you end up on the Do-Not-Rank list.

You are not going to get a thank you for everything you do. Don’t take it personally. Except if someone takes credit for your work, so in that case they can fuck right off.

The <1/15/50/85 rule. A fantastic pimp deflector. If you are being pimped on some statistic and the pretest probability seems to be very low, say < 1%. Low probability then 15%. For example, if someone asks you what percentage of strokes are ischemic and you feel pretty confident that the vast majority of them are ischemic, then say 85%. Usually you’ll be pretty close.

The most important things

The most important thing is to advocate for your patient, regardless if an attending is around. 100% of students has thought about how they wish an attending could have seen how hard you work day in and day out but that’s not gonna actually happen much. The patient will remember how you treated them and all the things you did to help them.

Teamwork makes the dream work. Even if you can’t stand people on your team, you have to suck it up because the ultimate goal is patient care.

It is okay to take some time off to yourself. Some nights, all you can really do is watch TV and drink wine on a post call day or after doing not that well on a quiz you didn’t have time to prepare for because you’re freaking exhausted working 6 days a week.