#exchange patient data

[chiyana]

this is the stupidest crossover possible but I want Tim to make House his doctor

yes that House

why? He needs someone who is very good, will not give up or send Tim out to a different specialist just because his medical condition is difficult, will not be overly concerned about the danger Tim puts himself in, and will lie on Tim's medical records AND to Batman/Bruce Wayne/all of the Bats without hesitation or fear.

House is and will do all of those things without hesitation. He has no shame, no boundaries, he WILL get into a public fight with Bruce Wayne if it means keeping that man out of his patient's (and House's) business. He will help Tim lie to and gaslight the rest of his family without hesitation.

in exchange, Tim is his favorite patient. Not because they get along, necessarily, Tim is a know-it-all little shit and they constantly bicker and House hates how practically every facet of Tim's existence is a lie (and Tim thinks House is a smug know-it-all jackass who is needlessly cruel and callous bc he thinks the world owes him and never delivers just bc he's in pain, news flash a lot of people are in pain and manage not to be assholes) BUT, 1, Tim brings him really interesting cases and problems, and 2, Tim NEVER lies to House about his medical conditions or what he was doing when they happened.

He lies about literally almost everything else under the sun TO everyone else, but he is 100% completely upfront and honest about his medical history and what is going on with him with House.

admittedly it takes a while for House to realize Tim ISN'T lying to him because some of the shit he says is completely insane ("the vigilante thing is pretty obvious but what do you MEAN you got the Apocalypse virus TWICE, AND SURVIVED, AS A FOURTEEN-FIFTEEN YEAR OLD")

but once he realizes Tim doesn't ever lie to him, he becomes House's favorite patient because at least TIM gives him all of the data he needs as best he's able the moment he asks. At least House doesn't have to waste his time following up on bogus information or figuring out the truth, he can just get right into the meat of the medical issue at hand.

also it's so fun to lie directly to Batman's face, know the man knows, and know he can't do anything about it

[icu-fetish]

Sara barely opened her eyes. Her body felt alien, heavy, and unresponsive. The bright light of the hospital room cut into her gaze. An oxygen mask was tightly pressed against her face. Her chest rose and fell with visible effort. Fear gripped her more and more. She tried to remember what happened, but her thoughts were muddled. She felt helpless and alone.

Sara's gaze stopped on two female figures in white coats. They leaned over her, whispering soothing words. Sara tried to make out their faces through her half-conscious state but saw only blurry outlines. Sara noticed the gleam of metal instruments in their hands. These were two doctors... not nurses. "Intubation," she heard muffled.

The doctors, having put on sterile gloves, leaned over Sara. Their faces were serious. "Sara, we need to act quickly. Your lips have turned grey, and your breathing has become erratic. Even the oxygen mask isn't helping anymore, and we have to move to more invasive methods."

The other doctor continued... "Soon you won't be able to breathe on your own. So, we only have one option. After the injection, you'll be in a coma. Then we'll perform the intubation. You'll be completely connected to an artificial apparatus. Of course, you won't be able to eat or drink – we'll insert a nasogastric tube. Also, necessary catheters will be attached to your body."

Sara was in panic. She understood that without the artificial apparatus, her condition would deteriorate rapidly and could lead to a fatal outcome. Every minute counted. The doctors exchanged glances. "Everything's ready," one quietly said. The other took a syringe with a clear liquid and brought it to Sara's vein.

One of the doctors took Sara's hand and gently stroked it. The other prepared the intubation instruments. Sara's heart began to pound in her throat. She nodded, but her eyes were filled with anxiety. She felt the needle pierce her skin, and warmth spread through her veins, bringing a slight numbness. Her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts jumbled, and everything around began to blur into a haze...

The doctor carefully opened Sara's mouth and introduced the laryngoscope, illuminating the path with bright light reflecting off the mucous membrane. The other doctor took the endotracheal tube, checked its integrity, and quickly, but with utmost caution, inserted it through the open vocal cords into the trachea. Then she secured it with a cuff, which she carefully inflated to ensure a tight seal and prevent air leakage.

A plastic holder, made from soft material that fit snugly against Sara's face without causing discomfort, was placed to stabilize the tube. The doctors checked the correct placement of the tube by listening to the lungs with a stethoscope.

Ventilation parameters were set on the monitor, showing all necessary indicators: breathing rate, air volume, oxygen level. The doctors adjusted the ventilation mode according to Sara's condition, entering the data into the system. The machine started its work, rhythmically supplying air to the patient's lungs, accompanied by a soft noise that now became part of the room's background sound.

The monitor showed that blood oxygen saturation began to stabilize, and the heart rate returned to normal, indicating the procedure's success.

The doctors spoke to each other, their voices quiet. "The nurses will insert the nasogastric tube," said one, looking at the monitor readings. "Sara will be intubated for quite some time. However, we'll probably have to perform a tracheostomy on her," added the other, with a note of concern in her voice. Before leaving the room, the doctors checked Sara's condition once more, ensuring all parameters were stable and the equipment was working correctly. Then they left for the next patient.

After the intubation, nurses entered the room. They inserted the nasogastric tube for feeding and a catheter for the bladder. They also connected a peripheral venous catheter for administering medications. All actions were performed quickly and professionally, leaving Sara under full medical supervision.

Every day, doctors visited her, checking vital signs, adjusting the machines, changing medications through the peripheral catheter, and ensuring care for all the connected tubes. However, after several days, the doctors decided to remove the nasogastric tube because Sara needed another surgery - they were to install a GJ tube. This feeding tube allows food to be delivered to the stomach. The doctors understood that only a tracheostomy would provide more stable and long-term respiratory support.

The operation went successfully, but Sara did not wake up. In the room where Sara lay, there was silence, only interrupted by the hum of the machines sustaining her life. The doctors decided to keep her on life support, performing all procedures until some sign of improvement appeared or until another decision was made.

Maybe today she will open her eyes...

[oneshotnewbie]

If you come back soon could I pretty please request an Amelia (greys) one shot where the reader is her girlfriend and is brought to the ER in critical condition as Jane Doe but as soon as Amelia sees her she’s hysterical and all she wants to is reasure and hold the readers hand! YOU WOULD MAKE MY QUARANTINE SO MUCH BETTER I LOVE YOUR WORKS SM

Authors note: So... um... I know I waited so long to post this request but... I HAVE MISSED IT IN MY INBOX FOR SO LONG AND WHEN I FOUND IT TWO DAYS AGO, I WROTE IT IMMEDIATELY! I am so sorry. I hope you're still out there somewhere recognizing your request and reading it ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The hustle and bustle of the emergency room echoed through the cold hallways as the double doors were pushed apart to make way for the ambulance crew and their critical patient. The vehicle's red and blue lights cast flickering shadows on the walls, while the howling sound of the approaching accident conveyed to hospital staff the urgency of the situation.

The paramedics, with serious faces and rustling uniforms, wheeled the gurney into the emergency room. An unknown woman lay on the stretcher, pale and motionless, only the shallow rise and fall of her chest showed any life. A white sheet covered her completely, and her blood-stained hair stuck damply to her forehead. The slow, monotonous beep of the portable monitor accompanied every breath.

Dr. Hunt, the emergency physician in charge, immediately rushed to the bed. His expression was professional, but the depth of his gaze betrayed some concern. The nurses and also Dr. Keppner rushed to help the team take over.

"What do we have?" Owen asked as he looked over the medical file one of the paramedics handed him. "Unknown female person, middle-aged, found unconscious in a park, presumably after an attack. Stabbed in the chest and abdomen. We cannot say any more. No identification and no indication of possible previous illnesses."

The paramedics quickly explained the course of events, how they found the patient and what first aid measures they had taken. The information was relayed with the precision of a well-trained team, but uncertainty about who the woman was and what had happened to her hung in the air.

While Hunt and Keppner began checking vital signs, the unknown woman was wheeled into an examination room. The nurses exchanged hand signals and quietly instructed each other on the next steps. The background noise is a chaotic orchestra of clanging instruments, murmuring conversations and the beeping of medical equipment.

April Keppner leaned over the patient and began a thorough examination. She checked the pupillary reaction, palpated the pulse and analyzed the respiratory rate. The monitors showed unstable readings and the two doctors' facial expressions hardened. A quick look between the two revealed that they were worried.

"We need a CT scan immediately," Owen said, turning to the nurses present. "I also want blood samples for a comprehensive analysis. Let the lab know it's urgent."

While preparations for further examinations were underway, the nurses and doctors tried to keep the unknown woman stable. An intravenous line was placed and fluids began flowing through her derm. The monitors continued to show jittery signals and the tension in the room increased.

"Call Dr. Shephard and Dr. Altmann. I want them here as quickly as possible!" He ordered as he continued to analyze the data on the screen. "And someone should inform the police. We have to find out who she is and what happened in order to prevent further damage."

The exam room was now in a coordinated state of emergency and in a room that was normally a place of rescue, the medical team battled uncertainty and a race against time to save a woman's life. He was abuzz as the neurosurgeon and cardiologist burst through the door almost simultaneously with quick steps. Their eyes were focused, the rubber of their Crocs squeaking in unison with the machines.

"Shephard, the patient is exhibiting unstable neurological signs. The CT scan and blood results are pending," she informed Hunt as he cleared the way for her to the bed.

Amelia nodded curtly and fully entered the room, closing the door behind her. A glance at the monitor and the papers on the tablet caused her eyes to flash briefly before she focused back on the patient. However, as she leaned over the lounger, she froze.

Her features slipped away, the slight smile on her lips fading as she realized who was in front of her. The woman on the lounger was none other than you. Hunt and Keppner stared at her as she noticed her reaction, not understanding why she didn't move forward with her work. "Amelia, we have a critical situation here. The patient's identity is unknown and her values are concerning. We urgently need your expertise!"

Amelia shook her head slightly, as if she could push reality away. Her heart raced as she double-checked that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. "This is y/n. Y/n y/l/n. She's my girlfriend. Find her family, get them here!" A strangled sound escaped her throat and the world around her seemed to stand still for a moment as she processed the shock.

The emotional rollercoaster went through all the ups and downs, from worrying about you to the overwhelming need to stay in control. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for your lifeless and bloody hand.

"Y/n," Amelia whispered with a strangled sound in her voice and the two doctors and friends of the neurosurgeon were also dumbfounded, their breath catching in their throats. "What happened to you?"

Owen Hunt moved closer and tried to reassure her, while also conveying the urgency and explaining the neurological details. But Amelia only heard fragments. Her gaze was lost in your eyes, which were closed as if you were in a deep sleep.

"Amelia, I know it's hard. But we have to act immediately. The CT results are crucial and we have to find out what happened to her to prevent something worse. She could die!" April urged, concerned about her colleague's professionalism.

But Amelia couldn't let go. She ignored the two of them, her focus solely on you. The world outside the exam room seemed to fade as she held your hand tightly. "Y/n, you have to hold on. You can do this," she whispered in your ear, tears of despair welling up in her eyes. "You're strong, you know? We'll get through this together."

In her emotional despair, an internal struggle unfolded within Amelia. Her professional self fought against her personal connection to you. The shouts of other doctors and nurses became a muffled background noise as she refused to loosen her grip on your cold hand.

"Amelia," Owen Hunt spoke in a calm but firm voice. "We need you now. She needs you now. Let's find out what happened to her together.

A conflict between duty and personal pain raged within Amelia. Finally, she reluctantly gave in and removed her hand from yours. However, her gaze remained focused on you, and concern for you was reflected deep in her eyes. She struggled with fear for you as she prepared to resume her professional role as a neurosurgeon.

A deep breath flowed through her body and with a firm resolve she wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned her gaze to the surroundings. "Dr. Hunt, take her to the CT immediately. She's probably having a brain bleed." she spoke, her voice firm. The neurosurgical focus returned fully, analyzing the medical indicators.

The trauma surgeon nodded in agreement and began giving the necessary instructions, getting you up to the CT scanner. Amelia stayed at your side, letting go of your hand for a moment to oversee the diagnostic process.

The minutes that passed felt like hours. The results of the CT scan appeared on the screen, and Amelia scanned the images with a trained eye. She analyzed each region of the brain, looking for signs of bleeding, injury or other abnormalities. The intensity of her concentration was palpable, and the medical staff eagerly awaited her assessment.

"We have severe damage to the frontal lobe," Amelia explained, swallowing hard as she continued to study the images. "It looks like a severe traumatic brain injury. We need to operate immediately to relieve the pressure and prevent further damage."

The team immediately began preparing for the operation. The sterile atmosphere of the operating room seemed to embrace Amelia as her professional role took over. In her surgical uniform, surrounded by a team of experienced professionals, she struck her familiar Superman pose and focused on the procedure ahead.

During the operation, which lasted several hours, your girlfriend showed an impressive mix of calm and precision. Her hands worked in sync with the instruments as she gently treated the damaged tissue. Monitors in the operating room recorded progress, and the medical team closely followed their experienced leader's every move.

After what seemed like endless hours, but which passed like seconds, she finally closed the last stitches and the atmosphere relaxed slightly, but the uncertainty about the outcome of the operation weighed heavily on her.

Amelia let out a frustrated gasp before exiting the operating room, tearing off her gloves and hood. She immediately went to the waiting area to inform your siblings and parents. The tension in her chest eased as she saw the expectant looks of the people who were now her family and your sister immediately threw her arms around her.

"The operation is complete," Amelia began, trying to keep her voice steady as she also clung to your sister to keep her emotions at bay. "It was a complex brain injury for reasons still unknown, but I did everything I could. The next step now is to wait and hope she remains stable."

Your family breathed a sigh of relief as Amelia explained more details about the condition and cooperation with the police. Her words were reassuring to your sister, but she still felt the knot in her stomach. The outcome of the operation was uncertain, and there was no way of knowing whether you would ever wake up and be your old self again.

In the silence of the hospital hallway, as she left the waiting people behind, a moment of exhaustion overcame her. Her eyes wandered back to the exam room where she found you in. The image of you on the lounger didn't fade, but Amelia found comfort in the fact that she had saved you. Now things could only go uphill and she couldn't wait to look into your beautiful eyes again.

[scraplette]

This is random but I noticed you mention you were a big Rung/Skids shipper and I'm curious about something. I wasn't active in the fandom where MTMTE/LL were coming out and I feel like I missed huge discourse or something, because I'm really confused about why I have always seen Rung/Fort Max and Rung/Whirl and MegaRung everywhere but nobody seems to ship Rung with the guy he was super close with from the beginning and committed suicide thinking about and coughed up crystals over? I know it's not because it's wrong for therapists and patients to date because all of those people were Rung's patients. Do you know why this is?

Hello there! Sorry for the late response, I wanted to do this on desktop and just hadn't found the time.

You've sent a really interesting question but, I'm sorry, I'm not sure I have an answer for you. Heck, even at the time the comics were coming out I was always surprised by the lack of content for the ship. There was some discourse about Rung dating paitents but, funnily enough, Skids was never really a part of it. He wasn't really considered by the fandom as one of Rung's paitents so it wasn't an issue. The storyarc we the readers found out that Rung was treating Skids, was also the same arc where Rung quit. You did have some folks producing some excellent content for it(@littlestowl is still hands down my fave writer for this pair and @herzspalter did some hecking good fanart!) but never to the same extent as other ships. Not gonna blame people for that, we all have our preferences! Live and let ship and all that! So, since I had no anwers of my own I decided to counsult THE COUNCI(my friends who like Transformers) for their opinions and they came up with the excellent points. We even gathered DATA(we looked at Ao3 XD) Nothing definitive, of course, because obviously we're just a group of robot fans and can't speak for every TF fan on the net. These are just our thoughts and general vibes. 1) Rung is just so darn shippable. He potentially works well with a lot of characters and was pulled in lots of diff directions. Speaking as the main Rung/Skids shipper of the group I sort of get this(stupid sexy Rung) but even with all the diff ships sailing Rung/Skids still seemed oddly small in comparsion. 2)Another friend brought up a good point, Rung/Skids are a lovely ship but they're very wholesome and nice. Now, there is nothing wrong with that but you can't deny that spicy ships oozing with, as they put it, DRAMA just get folks excited. Lots of the other ships had this in spades. 3) Another friend had a lovely thought to add to this and I agree with it 100%. I'm just going to quote them directly "Which is kinda a shame because they have other kinds of cool drama - Rung basically compromised his position for Skids! Skids revived Rung's memory! The non-goodbye! But not conflict -drama." 4)Perhaps the venn diagram of Skids fan and Rungs fans didn't neccisarily crossover. Looking at the DATA, we can see that the most popular ships for Skids(in order) were SkidsSwerve, SkidsGetaway, and SkidsRung. I'm not sure if the Getaway fics were written pre or post betrayl.

5) Not really important but something I thought was a cool detail. Rung/Skids was really popular in the Japanese side of the fandom. I even own a physical doujin anthology for the pair! I can't remember any names of the top of my head, it's been years, but there were lots of lovely pieces of Rung/Skids fanart on the JP art sites.

I'm always a little sad about Rung/Skids. I always thought here were always lots of hooks throughtout the story that could lead the pair to more. Lots of little quiet personal moments just for the two of them. Like, Skids defending Rung against Getaway's snide comments. Ratchet sending Skids to Rung because he things the little chap is lonely. That final weirdly tense exchange between them will always sit a bit oddly with me. I know at the time there was a theory that Skids might've been into Nuatica at the time but nothing seemed to come of it, so I geuss we'll never know. I think I remember reading that Alex Milne didn't realise that would be their last interaction together, otherise he would've done the panel differently* Thank you for your ask! It was lovely to look back on old fandom memories ^_^ I hope I gave you some insights. As for myself, I'm hoping to get back into fic writing so no doubt I'll be adding to my collection of Rung/Skids drabbles.

*IMPORTANT UPDATE EDIT THING! I couldn't drop the final goodbye between them and the Alex Milne thing(it was nearly a decade ago so I was worried I'd misremembered) so I hunted down the original tweet and I've misremembered!

Sigh, what a shame that the final on-page interaction of my fave ship is forever off key and weird because of Writer/Artist miscomunucation :<

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Secret in your Heart

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support Cybird by buying their stories.

Expect grammatical errors. Not 100% accurate. Not proofread.

I was in the infirmary, tending to a minor injury, when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

Jude: "*coughs* Tch. Hurry."

Roger: "You talk like you're ordering a beer at a pub. Being short-tempered won't do you any good, you know?"

Roger: "Hm? Hey, what's the matter, little lady? Are you hurt?"

Kate: "Yes. Sorry, I borrowed some of your ointment."

Roger took out a syringe and a drug, swiftly injecting it into Jude's arm.

Kate: "W-What's that for?"

I couldn't help but ask, noticing the oddity in the flow of events.

Jude: "An unapproved, dangerous drug that hasn't even been clinically tested."

Kate: ".........."

Roger: "That suspicious look of yours is nice. You're lucky to have someone worry about you, Jude."

Roger: "I've tried everything, and this is the one that worked best for his symptoms."

Kate: "What's wrong with him?"

Jude was so unresponsive that I thought he couldn't hear me.

Roger: "He's almost cured now, but he used to have weak lungs."

Jude: "Hey, you're blabbering patient information carelessly, you quack."

Jude: "Ah, damn it. I still feel dizzy. You probably got the dosage wrong."

Roger: "Even if I make a mistake, I still don't know what the right dosage is because I'm still collecting data."

Kate: "Wouldn't it be fatal to Jude if you injected a lethal dose?"

Roger: "Hahaha! Maybe."

(Maybe, you say?)

I couldn't help but be stunned at the sight of Jude, who looked so unconcerned.

A few days after that exchange, I found Jude smoking in the lounge.

(I think Roger mentioned something about him having respiratory problems.)

Kate: "Should you be smoking?"

Jude: ".........."

He briefly took his gaze from the complicated book he was reading, then completely ignored me.

(Worrying about him seems like a waste of time.)

Kate: "I heard it could be beneficial as a medicine in the past, but now I hear that it can actually be harmful."

Kate: "Maybe you should quit since Roger is taking the trouble to treat you."

Jude: "It's not a treatment but rather an experiment."

(I guess that's true.)

He was reading a book while puffing on a cloud of smoke.

Jude loved money and other people's misfortune and always had sarcastic remarks whenever he opened his mouth.

But for some reason, his usual arrogance was nowhere to be found, and he looked tired, which worried me a little.

Jude: "What's with all the gawking?"

I still felt like his words lacked energy, and he looked out of sorts.

Kate: "Are you that busy with work?"

Victor told me that he was running a trading company and was also dabbling in the financial business.

I also heard that he and Ellis occasionally go out to collect debts in person.

(He also has responsibilities in the Crown, so it's not surprising if he's exhausted.)

Jude: "It's none of yer business."

Kate: "Are you not getting enough sleep?"

Jude: "That's none of yer business, either."

His voice seemed to be slightly hoarse.

Kate: "I still think you should quit smoking."

Jude: "..........."

He pushed his cigarette into the ashtray and lifted my chin.

Jude: "If you're willing to kiss me, then why not?"

Kate: "Ha!?"

I stared at him up close, and he quickly let go as if he had grown tired of playing with a toy.

Jude: "Of course, it's a joke. Why are ya taking it so seriously?"

(And to think that I'm worried about you!)

Jude: "I can't die because of some shitty promise. And I can't do it without smoking cigarettes."

Kate: "Promise?"

Jude: "Tch."

His face contorted as if he had said something unnecessary.

Jude: "It's none of yer fucking business, so forget it."

(Promise to whom?)

(He can't die? Wait, is that what he's living for?)

As I stared at his profile, several questions popped into my head.

These questions lingered in my chest like cigarette smoke, creating a hazy uneasiness.

➟ Collection Event Masterlist

[dopamineeymineymoo]

suspension bridges || ghost x f!medic!reader

synopsis: you are an army doctor, callsign salvi, who had been on the field for even before you'd gotten that title. you'd been reassigned into task force 1-4-1 after your own taskforce had dissolved when it'd fulfilled its duty. you're a familiar face to multiple operators within the taskforce. one of them knows you for far longer than the rest.

warnings: medical inaccuracies, army inaccuracies, some medical jargon, some gore, implied medical procedures, inexperienced writer, more tags to be added as we go

author's note before we begin: I’m writing this to destress from the gruelling pressure of academics– i'm not a professional, but i do study some of the stuff i mention, specifically on the health-allied colleges; there is also the fact that I’m not from the west side of the world so I know jack shit on the actual mode of operations (except in theory, because that’s what I’m learning ATM). This isn’t meant to be accurate, these are just dumbed-down versions of stuff I already know– i might learn more stuff later on so I might add it onto the thing later on]

[this is part 1], [part 2], [part 3 to be posted]

2022

When your Task Force dissolved, with multiple members having dispersed to different tasks and duties, the different offices within the old base had been dispersed into various different locations. You had been given privilege. It wasn’t really within the higher-up’s control to assign you to a different base.

Overall, it had been awfully easy to convince you. Price knew his cards, knew the people he was pulling. It made sense that the task force he’d organized would have good chemistry.

It was amusing. Familiar faces are always a fun thing.

There's no rest for the wicked, is what you often hear. It always applies to people in your line of work, being both a savior of lives and its taker.

Of course, there's no better ice-breaker or introduction into the field than an emergency evac. The first time you'd been called into your new base had been when duty calls. There were some familiar faces on the team of medics you'd been assigned with, brief introductions and ranks were exchanged, and it's off to work.

Squeaks is one. A familiar face, one you'd worked with before albeit very briefly.

"Give 'em hell, doc." she'd said when you'd stepped into the ramp of the aircraft.

And hell you did give. It wasn’t an infrequent occurrence with your line of work where you had to be pulled out of your station to hop onto an aircraft to retrieve injured soldiers. 

It’s been less than a week, about three days since you’d been reunited with some of your old patients, until your new patients ended up becoming recent.

“Reports as of ten minutes ago state that seven alert out of twelve, four obtunded, one is stuporous.” You take note, knowing that the rest of your team are listening in. Transcriptions of comms had been sent to you with data having already been filtered out appropriately. Need-to-know, is what it meant. 

You eye two people, and in order call them out by their surnames. “Squeaks and Trinity, you’re on triage.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Reyes, Smith, Aisling, you deal with the seven. Make sure they don’t bleed out and add to the less pleasant numbers.” You move past them as they move to their station on the aircraft. “Body transfers to the cots are on Jones and Brown. Take them off the soldiers’ hands– keep them off too if there are any with cold feet.” 

“The rest of us– two people require immediate intervention. One of them is in shock.” She hums, looking down at transcripts. “There were originally sixteen soldiers.” They knew what that meant. Two were KIA.

When the aircraft arrives in the landing zone, you and your team get into motion immediately. You help Jones and Brown in transferring the soldiers who can’t walk. Two soldiers that you don’t know personally help with setting the rest of the ones who need help walking inside the cot. 

The one who was stuporous had fallen into a coma, but with a working pulse, and the four had varying levels of prognosis at the current assessment. 

You’re used to this. The speed, the quickness in thinking and the steadiness while you work under these less-than-favorable circumstances. You’ve worked through worse, but that’s not a mindset you should get used to. Makes you complacent. There’s no room for complacency in this place. 

“Captain Salvi!” Squeaks calls, “Five out of sixteen aren’t on the vehicle.” You hear. 

You curse under your breath, “Squeaks, take over.” You wait for them to shuffle over and take over with keeping the soldier alive, before pulling back to walk towards the seven who were sat at the sides. From Squeaks, you take the tablet and swipe through the updated charts.

They’d reported the four missing names, reported well but unable to make it to exfil for whatever reason. 

They all stand in attention– all who can, that is. “At ease.” You tell them. “Where are your superiors.” 

One steps forward, “Ma’am, they’ve told us to head to exfil ahead of them.” He tells you. “They’re moving to another base, picked up by allies in Mexico.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“That’s all we’re aware of as of now, ma’am.”

You breathe. Something's up, then. Your attention is called by the pilot in front. "Laswell's on comms." He'd said.

"Patch me in?"

“Watcher 1 to Echo 1-6, do you copy?”

“Solid copy, Watcher-1.” You retort, and look back at the soldiers before you. “Heal well, boys.” You say before backing off and walking back to the front of the plane. 

There’s a crackle on Laswell’s end, before she proceeds. “Price needs you ASAP, but there’s no time for RTB. You clear for an impromptu mission?”

You curse under your breath. Not so much as an introduction. Is this how it's going to be? “Always.” You tell her. You're no stranger to these emergencies. “Not as much as a debrief, huh?”

“I’d say sorry, but you know how it is.”

“No rest for the wicked.” You say. “Think I can join them before they get picked up by Mexican Special Forces?”

“I’ll tell the pilot in advance to drop you off for RV.” Laswell tells you. “Watcher-1 out.”

You walk over to the cockpit, placing a hand on the seat. The other hand reaches for your ear piece to switch channels so you can speak with the pilot. “You got the coordinates?” You ask, and with the confirmation, you continue. “Don’t land. I’ll prep for HALO.” You tell him. “Three of them need immediate attention. I don’t want them dead on arrival.”

“Copy.” The pilot replies. You back away, and head towards the hamper where you check your kit twice for anything you’d need. While you were in charge of MedEvac, you knew the risks. As long as you were beyond the line of fire, there’s still always that chance of attack.

In this case, you were the attacker.

“Approaching RV point.” You hear in your ear. “Prepare for HALO.” High Altitude, Low Opening. You’re hoping that it’s dark enough that no one will notice the parachute– then again, this isn’t the first time you’ve done this.

Trinity walks over to you. “Captain–”

“Report to Brown. I’m headed off.” You shrug on the pack, and head towards the ramp. Before that, though, you turn to your team. Most of which are paying attention to you as you walk. 

“Scott, Hudson, support with transfers.” You call, and the two of them nod. Their physique will help Brown and Jones with transferring the patients into gurneys with both haste and cautiousness. 

Squeaks and Trinity approach you as you all move out of the aircraft, handing you their digitally inputted evaluations. You read through them as you move, swiping through the tablet as you read through the list. “That’s about it. Are we clear?” They all affirm. 

You get a signal from the pilots. That’s all you need before you approach the ramp and drop in.

***

2001

It was a Saturday when Sergeant Simon Riley had first been forced on Medical Leave of Absence. This was on the insistence of the base’s, refusing to give him clearance until he’s deemed better, where he’d been assigned to a rehabilitation clinic not too far from his current place of stay– fortunately not too far from base.

The previous mission was bad– certainly not the worst that has happened, especially not the worst to come, but it was bad. 

When the paperwork for the leave was undergoing process and Simon had been forced to confine himself to med within base, the perpetrator as to why he’d gotten hurt had been very accommodating to his whims– not that Simon had many of them, but the one who was supposed to receive the bullets (plural) that took Simon down. Doesn’t matter anymore– no man left behind, and all that.

You know what they say about people torn into bad situations– you should have seen the other guy is what he would have said if he had been in a lighter mood. 

Except he’d damaged his peroneal nerve in the process. 

Fortunately it’s something easy to get back from, but that’s with rehabilitation. Hence, where he’d first met you. 

“Hello, Sergeant Riley.” You say, eyes twinkling with mirth and without that jaded look that he’d grown so used to witnessing in people within this line of work. You introduce yourself, first with your name. “I’m the one assigned to looking after your progression with your injuries– ultimately, medical clearance isn’t up to me, but anything I report goes into consideration. Anything you want to ask?”

“How long ‘til I’d get this off?”

“According to your chart–” you look through his charts. “Some weeks.” You hum, impressed at the prognosis. “Medical will clear you then– higher ups seem insistent in getting you back, huh?”

“I’m a good shot.” He tells you. “Some weeks, then– you any good in cuttin’ it down, Lieutenant?”

You laugh, waving in front of him. “Well, if you don’t fuck up your own injuries. Sure. Got a good prognosis anyway, considering the shit you’ve been through.” Then you remind him again to call you by your name. “And fortunately for you, your ass landed in my expert care.” There was a grin on your face as you told him that. 

Overwhelming confidence in this. Infallible. 

He’d been told that his injury hadn’t been so severe that it’d take him out of commission any time soon, but he’d been uncertain about that. It had been near damned frustrating to be so vulnerable. The injury is no scratch–that’s a huge chunk of his lateral knee fractured by the bullet, taking the nerve with it. While the medics had said otherwise, he just didn’t think someone could just regain proper function out of it again. 

So when that stubborn pessimism is met with that near-blinding optimism–

It was hard not to believe in your confidence, and that was considering that Simon knew not to believe in good things.

The first day was for initial evaluation. You’d told him that you wouldn’t begin with all the exercises and stretching just yet. He’d been compliant.

For the first day, that is. 

***

2022

Upon landing, you waste no time in moving towards RV. You made sure that there’d be no one following you, putting on the nightvision equipment you’d taken from the team that was pulled out for medevac. With a rifle in your hand, you traverse to the agreed upon location.

Only, you don’t exactly find them there. 

“Bravo 0-6, this is Salvi, how copy?” You say into your comm, listening for the radio for any response. “Echo 1-6 to Bravo Team, how copy?” You wait about two seconds before your mouth opens to ask again, once more before you radio Laswell.

“Bravo-06 to Salvi, solid copy.” Price’s voice cracks on the radio, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. “Just got… held back a bit.”

“Give me a sitrep, Price.” You question, continuing to move around so that you aren’t a sitting duck at the RV point. “There’s no one in RV.”

There’s a chuckle on the other line. “We’re on the way, got held back for first aid. Someone decided to be stubborn and skip on the medevac.”

“Damn.” You hiss under your breath, word caught by the comm. “Based on the data I’ve got, there’s only the four of you– Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Mactavish and Sergeant Garrick. Is that correct?”

“Affirmative.”

“Price, you aren’t injured are you?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I have a lot of choice words, then.” You say into the comms, knowing that the rest of them are listening. You were of a higher rank than the rest of them, which means that you can easily berate whoever got himself hurt and didn’t jump on medevac.

“Hell Runneth Loose.” Gaz utters under his breath, joining on the comms. 

“That’s what I’m here for, Garrick.” You say. “Give me a location, set the RV at a midpoint so I can get a look at it.”

“Exfil would be further out.” Price points out.

“I have two working legs, Captain. I can use them.” You retort. “Details.” It was less of a request and more of a demand.

He tells you, and you move quick and silently towards the agreed upon location. It’s an abandoned building with a lot of debris, but standing strong enough for it to serve as a good and safe temporary camp. 

You arrive first, so you scout the area for any hostiles that might be at site. There are none, fortunately, so it seems that whatever they had to deal with further West of the area hasn’t reached this place. Has to be one hell of a trip, if that’s the case. 

“Echo 1-6 to Bravo Team, no sign of hostiles in the area.” You say with finality into the comm. “We’re clear.”

“Copy that Echo 1-6.”

You keep watch, keeping an eye on the perimeter in case the situation changes. Fortunately, it doesn’t, and it remains to be clear. “Approaching RV.” You hear a familiar voice on the comms. 

But there’s the distinct sound of something that whizzes fast, piercing through air. You immediately duck, lowering yourself so that the wall could hide you from wherever the attack comes from. “Bravo Team coming in hot!”

“Couldn’t fucking warn me you’d had tangos comin’ over?” You hiss, raising your gun towards the perimeter, at the general direction from where you know they’d be coming from. 

“A very recent development, in my defense.” Price hisses. “There’s not many, it’s manageable. You in a position to snipe, lass?”

“Affirm.” You tell him. “Get in the building, Cap, I’ve got overwatch.” You set up quick, shooting from the top of the building. You pray to whatever’s still left up there that they’ve got no RPGs– this building is doomed to fall in on itself and that’s just with the bullets encasing on already fragile wall. 

And it wasn't likely, anyway. On foot, having gear like that is unlikely.

You take down as many assailants as you can, registering in your head who are friendlies by attire alone. Not usual protocol, given that you can’t be certain how positive your i.d. is of the people trailing so close to one group, but you can be certain at least that the one with the bucket hat is price and the rest that he’s allowing within his proximity are friendlies.

They come up the building, taking position and securing the area.

A hulking figure is placed beside you, heavy with a thump against the wall. You look up, seeing that it was Sergeant Mactavish who’d placed the patient on your side.

You turn your head towards Sergeant Mactavish, whose eyes shift between yourself, Ghost, and the battlefield. “Sergeant Mactavish-- pleasure to meet ya." You smile. "Hell of a first meeting, huh?"

"I'd say." Soap grins. "Need any help?"

"You take overwatch while I patch him up.”

Soap nods, shifting to take your position. “Roger that, Doc Sal.” 

You didn’t need to look twice to be certain who it was that he’d dropped into your hands.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure seeing you again, Ghost,” You start with a smile. “But I believe that these are less than pleasant circumstances.”

The man leaned against the wall, debris falling between you both. He eyes you for a moment, before looking away and back to the battlefield. He huffs, not that you can hear it, and tilts his head forward in a nod. “Gotta stop meetin’ like this, y’reckon?”

You nod, “Line of fire seems to love you out there.” There’s a joke in there, a reference to a mission together once before. “Where are you hit, Lieutenant?”

“Left lumbar– just a graze.”

“Nice of you to be specific this time.” You quip, opening your pack to get the materials you need.

“Learned my lesson.”

“Whoever taught you must have ripped you a new one, huh?” There's amusement in your voice. "Hold still."

"I'd say." Soap grins. "Need any help?"

"You take overwatch while I patch him up.”

Soap nods, shifting to take your position. “Roger that, Doc Sal.” 

[reading-writing-revolution]

You've doubtless seen the outpourings of sarcastic graveyard humor about Thompson's murder. People hate Unitedhealthcare, for good reason, because he personally decided – or approved – countless policies that killed people by cheating them until they died. Nurses and doctors hate Thompson and United. United kills people, for money. During the most acute phase of the pandemic, the company charged the US government $11,000 for each $8 covid test: https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/06/137300-pct-markup/#137300-pct-markup UHC leads the nation in claims denials, with a denial rate of 32% (!!). If you want to understand how the US can spend 20% of its GDP and get the worst health outcomes in the world, just connect the dots between those two facts: the largest health insurer in human history charges the government a 183,300% markup on covid tests and also denies a third of its claims. UHC is a vertically integrated, murdering health profiteer. They bought Optum, the largest pharmacy benefit manager ("A spreadsheet with political power" -Matt Stoller) in the country. Then they starved Optum of IT investment in order to give more money to their shareholders. Then Optum was hacked by ransomware gang and no one could get their prescriptions for weeks. This killed people: https://www.economicliberties.us/press-release/malicious-threat-actor-accesses-unitedhealth-groups-monopolistic-data-exchange-harming-patients-and-pharmacists/# The irony is, Optum is terrible even when it's not hacked. The purpose of Optum is to make you pay more for pharmaceuticals. If that's more than you can afford, you die. Optum – that is, UHC – kills people: https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/23/shield-of-boringness/#some-men-rob-you-with-a-fountain-pen Optum isn't the only murderous UHC division. Take Navihealth, an algorithm that United uses to kick people out of their hospital beds even if they're so frail, sick or injured they can't stand or walk. Doctors and nurses routinely watch their gravely ill patients get thrown out of their hospitals. Many die. UHC kills them, for money: https://prospect.org/health/2024-08-16-steward-bankruptcy-physicians-private-equity/ The patients murdered by Navihealth are on Medicare Advantage. Medicare is the public health care system the USA extends to old people. Medicare Advantage is a privatized system you can swap your Medicare coverage for, and UHC leads the country in Medicare Advantage, blitzing seniors with deceptive ads that trick them into signing up for UHC Medicare Advantage. Seniors who do this lose access to their doctors and specialists, have to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars for their medication, and get hit with $400 surprise bills to use the "free" ambulance service: https://prospect.org/health/2024-12-05-manhattan-medicare-murder-mystery/

Pluralistic: Predicting the present (09 Dec 2024) – Pluralistic: Daily links from Cory Doctorow

[fitpacs]

other underrated fitpac things:

Pac's admiration of Fit's skills as a single father, calling him the best father Ramon could ever have, smiling as he watches Fit reuniting with Ramon, and of course, asking for Ramon's blessing

We've talked about Pac being patient and respecting Fit's boundaries before, but I think there's also something to be said about his weird little micro-flirt gestures, whatever the heck was going on with the beds in the Rebellion

ALSO I WILL NOT GET OVER PAC JUST OFFERING FIT HIS DATA. Like, ur crush is literally looking to sell people's personal data and saying "okay, you can have mine" with full trust and sincerity and zero hestitation is SOME kind of thing

did you pluck this straight from my sleepy mind because i agree with every damn word

the player data exchange is something i don’t think i’ll ever get over. fit explains he needs as many people’s personal data and pac without thinking offers his up without being asked and offers to help get other people’s data, just to take some of the stress off of fit’s shoulders

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Hey sorry, what was that in the tags about humans having two brains?? I haven’t read any of the Visser books…

So in Visser, Edriss describes her first experience in the human brain as:

Then I discovered something strange and disturbing. A huge, deep chasm. It seemed to separate the human brain into two halves. And between the halves was only a nerve bundle not much thicker than my own true body... This second half of the brain was an almost mirror image, but not. It could have functioned all on its own, if necessary, and yet it was in some ways radically different in its memories, its sensory interpretation, even its will. Two almost entirely functional brains in one skull, communicating across a channel of nerves. Not a fully redundant system, almost a second, different brain! ...This brain worked by dialectic. Each half of the brain saw and heard and smelled and touched a slightly different world. Each tended toward specialization, but not a hard, fast split. The left half had more language, but not all the language. The right side had more spatial perception, but not all of the spatial perception... This brain contained its own traitor!

And that's a pretty accurate description of how human brains work, and how they differ from those of non-mammals. It's not about individuals being "right brain" or "left brain" (that's nonsensical; anyone who says differently is selling something). It's talking about the fact that the two halves of the brain are partially but not fully redundant, meaning they work as a team. That way there's backup for the super-important functions like breathing, but not for the nifty-not-necessary ones like language.

I think the stuff about the two halves talking to each other from slightly different worlds refers to split brain research. Split brain patients are those who've had that "nerve bundle not much thicker than [a yeerk]" severed in order to prevent seizures. These individuals tend to have normal quality of life (improved after the surgery)... unless you cut off their ability to use sensory information to compensate for the lack of brain-to-brain information. This interview with one such woman says:

neuroscientists now know that the healthy brain can look like two markedly different machines, cabled together and exchanging a torrent of data. But when the primary cable is severed, information — a word, an object, a picture — presented to one hemisphere goes unnoticed in the other.

If you shut a split-brain individual's right eye, then show their left eye the word "baseball", then they can grab a baseball out of a box by touch — but only if they use their left hand. When asked out loud "What did you grab?", they'll answer "I don't know" because they don't — the right hemisphere which controls the left half of the body has almost no language comprehension. If you show the right eye only the words "stand up", most patients will stand, but when asked why, will say things like "I guess I wanted a bathroom break" or "I must be getting restless" because they have no conscious awareness of being told to stand.

Anyway, this system is pretty great, since it means humans can have pretty good quality of life with huge chunks of their brains missing. And it's kinda baffling, because there have also been people who had all quality of life destroyed by minuscule localized damage. Our brains really are their own traitors. Le sigh.

[kit-williams]

I guess I'm doing more of that self insert

I have to thank @yawnderu's König character study post and @wordstome for their Königcore bible post and of course oh and @ghouljams for their König as well... there are too many cod dearies who helped me create this idea of him

But the part that really inspired me was this

so yeah enjoy

My clothes were nice and warm still. I still blamed Ghost for me forgetting what I was going to program but honestly it wasn't really important just stuff they gave me to keep me busy... enrichment really. I could look at the news and internet and my chats from my phone, when they weren't busy data scraping it, but I couldn't interact at all. I was in the kitchen making myself some hot chocolate to ignore the fact that I missed my baby and yet he had mommy right there with him.

I took the mug of now warm milk out of the microwave, I wasn't going to fuck up the militarily British men's kettles by heating up milk in them for some hot chocolate. I crouched down in front of the fridge trying to find the whipped cream I keep in there for my hot chocolate. I perk up when I hear it and smile at the massive man putting it down having taken some to eat as well as put on my hot chocolate. "Thanks Hans."

It embarrassingly took me a very long time to figure out Hans was König... I should have seen it coming really. I mean who else is nearly 7 feet tall? and speaks German... in my defense I have been very out of sorts. He plucks down the mini marshmallows for me... my 5'3 height as last time he caught me trying to go at them I had climbed up on the counter and just looked like a dog that had something in their mouth that they weren't suppose to have. In reality I just was embaressed I was climbing onto the countertop like a child.

"Koboldchen tell me about your day and what you need done." I hear him say as I sip my drink and sit down... and well prattle to him.

König was so helpful it hurt. I wasn't use to living on my own... I never had and I never could... I knew that long before I graduated high school or college. Luckily everything was usually automated and could just be taken out of my account but I still struggled so hard. König reminded me of how my husband would just patiently help me. He didn't mind my weird quirks... he let my fidgiting hands move over his calloused ones just letting me get some sort of stimulating satsifaction.

There was also something else that hurt so much... it hurt with Johnny and it hurt with Hans... just how blue their eyes were. It was like he was still right there ready to pick me back up and laugh at me for this dream. To tell me I've obsessed a bit too much and that it's time to focus on something else. Though I was jealous at how lovely the red in his hair looked but I continued to talk.

------

König could tell she was spiraling hard around a drain... Price had informed him of what was going on and the possibility of getting in on the ground floor if things followed suit about Ukraine. But, lucky for his Koboldchen... he was there. He wouldn't lie that he took a strong fondness to her after helping her when he found her hiding between buildings clawing at her skull and unresponsive to his voice and touch. He remembers helping her while someone went to find Ghost as she remained non verbal and he just talked.

She was a helpless thing and she knew it and embraced what she was good at to stave off the way her figurative plane was still crash landing... limping in its descent. And he knew why... he saw what was on her phone. I would kill for you. The message had popped up while they were discussing... and he watched the intimate text exchange like an unwilling voyeur But please make sure I never get the chance to. I'm scared I might be too proud about it. She was madly and obsessivly in love with a man she could not chase after anymore. And it was eating her alive. The love of her life was right there yet so far out of her reach.

For König he doesn't remember when he fell for the weird little creature just playing with his hand. Was it when she just chirped out 'Numa Numa' with Soap and Ghost... oh she loved to sing songs that the three early thirty year olds knew... like a joke that he knew about but was just a little too old to have been part of the same culture. Was it when she just asked him to crush her in a hug to ground her, to hold her so tightly she bruised but the way she sighed in his ear as the anxiety left her eyes. Or was it at first sight just seeing her a helpless sad thing that when Ghost had come to collect her she clung to him like a wounded animal.

Hans was okay not being the love of her life... he was okay with playing second fiddle to a man he knew nothing about except the passionate and near constant texting and speaking... pictures... videos... a life that has her eyes glittering with devotion to a man who he didn't know. As long as he could be by her Hans was fine as she allowed him to be close... to touch. She was like a dog recently left at the shelter confused but wanting those pets and comforts she was so use to.

"Do you want me to come by and make you dinner or is Ghost doing that tonight?" He asked softly knowing full well Ghost and Soap hovered around her as much as they could.

"He's gone for awhile. Yes. I don't want to be alone." She said putting her forehead on the table and just moved his hand to her scalp where he gently scratched.

"Of course Kobold." He said scratching the top of her head humming softly.

Oh yes he had been a voyeur of her texts but he was a snoop heading onto websites she said not to and seeing things he wasn't expecting really... but he was pleased to know that he fit into a definition of something she liked.

[icanseethefuture333]

The experiences I have had doing tarot readings on celebrities: interactions, signs, etc.

I have been doing readings on celebrities for the past year now and the experience if I must say has been quite interesting. Some of you were curious about the overall process of how I do it and today I thought it would be a good idea to share that with you all.

The transactional model:

In my interpersonal communication class, I learned about the transactional model. The transactional is when there is conversational exchange between 2 or more people.

When doing the tarot reading, I ask the celebrity the same question requested from my inbox, as well as permission to share such information.

Some celebrities are honest, while others give a "PR" response. These are people who are highly protected and even could practice magick (yes, as in witchcraft or any other cultural practices) themselves. Many celebrities are into the occult themselves or use it to their advantage.

In a way, I am the "message" that is exchanged between the celebrity and the person requesting the reading. I channel the celebrity's thoughts, emotions, and ideas, forming their words in a way that would make sense to the general public.

The "noise" in this situation would be their spirit guides. Spirit guides are just as opinionated as us, when they urge the need to express an important message, they have a higher priority than the celebrity's message itself.

The telepathic connection:

I wouldn't say I am friends with most celebrities, but I do like to treat them as if they were one. There is a sense of intimacy being shared when are you diving into someone's psyche. Tarot readers have a vast number of methods, some that are unethical and lack morals. I do my best to treat celebrities what they are - normal people.

How I interpret clues, signs, & messages:

Each celebrity gives different signs when I do my readings.

One example is Vernon from Seventeen - when I do readings on him, it seems he is big on shufflenancy (music) more so than numbers, animals, or cards.

Another example would be is Jungkook from BTS, I feel he is a very visual person. Meaning I have to visualize his ideas by using clairvoyance. He expresses his mind in a very colorful and imaginative way.

Doing group readings is a lot more complex. It will feel like exactly that - talking to a large group of people. It can be overwhelming, but most members are patient when it comes to taking turns.

Collected data:

From my observations, I have gotten requests for readings from fans of the same groups repeatedly. On rare occasions, I'll receive asks for celebrities or groups I haven't done for before. This is a chart of readings that I have done. Disregarding the number or asks sent to my inbox, for that would be a larger calculation. With a recent rise of Atinys (Ateez's fanbase) sending asks. For celebrities popular in the west, Taylor Swift has been the most requested.

As for the method I use when using tarot or oracle cards, I honestly have no specific rule or guideline for doing my readings. I shuffle and receive whatever message that comes through, I also interpert with my intuition to decipher what feels correct or incorrect.

I hope you all enjoyed this or found this information insightful ♡!

[aaronashea]

My fat USENET friend from long ago (1)

Sorting through an old computer hard drive which I had saved because it contained some old project data, I also found some unexpected archived personal exchanges from the early days of the internet! These were done via a USENET connection which was not unlike some of the online forums that you can log into and where the content is saved and you can return to it again and again over time.

There was once exchange that caught my eye, regarding a first contact with a very fat man (yes, there were 'fat forums' even in those early days!) whose story I found quite interesting. For ease and expediency, I'm sharing it here with you as image captures via screen shots, his words appearing to you as a different font. It felt like he really wanted to tell me stuff but was uncertain how I would react. I was patient and over many months I learned more. I've tried to arrange those bits in order in which they seemed to happen (not the order in which he told me, which was much more random). I have regularly recalled these exchanges but it was so cool to see many details I’d forgotten.

It is important to establish his early life as this seems to have bearing on his adulthood. The following was told to me months into our exchanges.

We talked a lot at various points about the transition to this new boarding school and what that was like for him. I felt sorry for the guy hearing his early life story.

I asked if he was still in touch with this guy.

When I inquired what this experience ultimately meant for him . . .

continued in this post

[mariacallous]

Health care systems do their best to safeguard against breaches. But all of us could be doing more to protect our confidential health data. That starts with understanding when this data is most at risk.

When a patient called to ask if she could email me a CT report and imaging, I wanted to help. But I heard the loud whirring of a smoothie or espresso machine and figured she was at a public café. She confirmed that she was calling from a coffee shop.

I asked her to use our hospital portal from home to protect her privacy. She said she wasn’t sure she remembered her login details and didn’t want to wait. She also didn’t understand why her records wouldn’t be protected under the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996.

“I’m not surprised,” says Nichole Sweeney, general counsel and chief privacy officer for Chesapeake Regional Information System for Patients, a nonprofit health information exchange for several US states.

“The public may not realize that consumer-generated data is not protected. What she does with her own information is not secure. The federal government doesn’t regulate the health data itself. It’s the actual facility, medical office, or hospital—under HIPAA, a covered entity under that designation.”

Many of us also have devices at home that collect and store personal data about our health. I asked Sweeney if that data is covered if my doctor asked me to use the device.

She explains, “If I get my blood pressure taken at a clinic or any medical office, that is covered, and your personal data is protected. But if you take readings at home, this is not HIPAA. It’s not regulated. Those new wearable trackers? Those are not covered either. You’re on your own.”

So what else is not regulated? People. Any person using their own data is not covered under HIPAA.

Matt Fisher worked as a health care corporate and regulatory attorney. He is now general counsel for Carium, a virtual care platform. He believes people need more education about HIPAA and its limitations.

“It works effectively for what it was designed to do within the traditional health care industry. The issue is the assumption that it protects all information regardless of setting,” he says. “The fact is, as an individual who holds their own information HIPAA does not apply at all.”

Beyond hospitals and private medical offices, who is actually covered? Subcontractors. These include third-party associates, health plans, insurance companies, and individual physician providers. Labs, clinics, and any other medical offices that bill for their services are also expected to be HIPAA-compliant. Notably, this does not include social media businesses.

Even doctors, notoriously busy and working long hours, don’t always have the luxury of using patient portals to communicate effectively. They’re more likely to text or email colleagues with potentially sensitive information, all on personal devices that may or may not be locked down. But their goal is fast and efficient patient care, not necessarily data security.

Zubin Damania, who is a doctor and goes by ZDoggMD on social media, uses satire on his YouTube channel to educate viewers and poke fun at the health care system. His more than 488,000 YouTube subscribers no doubt include health care employees, but you don’t have to be one to appreciate parodies like “EHR State of Mind” (EHR is short for electronic health records), which is set to Alicia Keys’ hit “Empire State of Mind,” or “Readmission,” a play on R. Kelly’s “Ignition.” Damania hopes to inspire change in the health care tech sector so, as he puts it, “doctors can just be doctors.” Another target of his satire? Massive health data portals like Epic. He and other physicians believe the design of these systems can actually hinder security if medical personnel find it more restrictive than care-focused.

“Epic and others like it were not designed for use by clinicians on the front line trying to help patients,” he says. “These systems are giant billing platforms. It’s varying fields of data to be walled off.”

Sadly, Epic and others like it are all we have when it comes to storing patient data safely, and despite their flaws, these portals are still the safest available option for doctors and patients. Health care facilities are strictly regulated to receive federal government funding, and they must pass safety certifications, including security protections for patient data. They also seek to maintain industry recognition in order to stay credible and competitive. Want to make a hospital exec nervous? Tell them the Joint Commission is coming by for a visit. They need those gold star approval ratings.

Some patients are under the misconception that these systems are not really that secure. But in the past few years, data breaches have been rare (though they do happen). Hackers frequently target hospitals and health care systems for ransomware attacks, but it doesn’t pay for hackers to demand money when robust backups exist. While the industry has made some progress, the problem of individuals taking personal risks continues.

A former Department of Homeland Security adviser and a doctor, Chris Pierson is CEO of BlackCloak, a company that specializes in personal digital protection from financial fraud, cybercrime, reputational damage, and identity theft. He believes vigilance is key for doctors and patients alike.

Protect Your Entire Family

“I don’t think people realize that once someone is able to get just one piece of information, that can lead to opening others’ private data,” Pierson says. “It’s no longer the original individual on their computer, but additional family members’ identity that can be compromised.”

He explains that even if one organization keeps your data safe, another associated one may not, and that’s where criminals will strike. 

“It’s not just medical offices. It’s your pharmacy, labs, insurance company, anyone who keeps personal information. That has real value, and selling it is the priority.”

Victims of identity theft can be revictimized when personal information gets into multiple hands. A street address and verified phone number can go far, especially if the phone contains many contacts, who then become vulnerable to attack themselves.

“If you get Mom’s info, you can get the child’s as well. An ID card, social security, all of it, and then they have the ability to collect false medical claims or just extortion. It’s a two for one.”

Two-Factor Authentication Is Worth the Effort

Pierson mentions how critically important it is to use a multistep authentication system. Your level of protection goes up considerably just by using secure passwords and one-time authentication codes.

Thankfully, setting all this up is easier than it sounds. Apps on your phone or tablet can help. Google Authenticator, when paired with a service that supports authenticator apps, provides a six-digit number that changes every few seconds and can keep people out of your data even if they have your username and password. Other companies ask users to enter an SMS code as the second authentication factor, in addition to a password, although SMS codes are less secure than authenticator apps. Either approach is better than none—unless a hacker is in physical possession of your phone, they are not getting access.

Social Media and Tracking

Social media is becoming a popular way for health care providers and entrepreneurs to connect with the public—and often to sell them treatments or advice. These Instagram or TikTok accounts may offer tips from someone in the medical industry, which can appeal to those facing rising health care costs and difficulties accessing care. But an internet doctor’s background or popularity does not ensure that they observe strong privacy guidelines or secure their transactions.

My Instagram is flooded with offers promising everything from better sleep to improved sexual health. It’s nice to have options, but that help and any information you receive from those accounts or send to them isn’t covered under HIPAA. Any time you pay out of your own pocket for health-related items or services, or on a direct-to-consumer health app, there is no recourse if someone steals your personal information or shares it.

Along with social media and direct-to-consumer health options comes large-scale data tracking. Outside of official medical practices, you should view surveillance as an expectation, rather than an exception.

Ask Questions

When you sign up for any service, whether through a new doctor’s patient portal or an online supplement shop, ask how your data is stored and where it goes. Read the privacy policies and settings, even briefly, to find out what options you have to restrict the sale or reuse of your data. Check the default settings to make sure you’re not giving away too much information. Find out if the service or platform offers two-factor authentication and set that up if it’s available. Know that it’s rare for anyone to need your social security number, no matter what a customer service agent says. A birth date and address is usually enough.

Pierson and others agree that we all need to consider security from several angles and do our best to protect ourselves and our loved ones. “The sophistication of identity attacks will always evolve and change. Remember, they only have to get it right once, but we have to guess right all of the time.”

[arcsimper5]

Actions and Consequences - Chapter 1 Resolute

Delta Squad are forced to seek help from within the fleet for their injured Jedi, Jerra. Mixing with the GAR general is... an issue.

Pairing: OC!Jedi Jerra x Delta Squad Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, some blood, language. Rating: M (Explicit content in later chapters, minors DNI)

Kix huffed as the hangar medical alert rang out into the med bay, the low buzz of it echoing through his skull.

It had been a long day already, the Resolute in orbit above Pravada 9, a large group assault on droid production bases having been ordered by the GAR while data was gathered by a specialist assault team.

Looking at the chrono, he frowned in confusion; the last of the teams from the 501st and 212th had returned hours ago, with no reports of lost ships or units. Everyone deployed from the ship had been accounted for.

So why, then, was the medical alert sounding if all troops had returned?

Grumbling in annoyance at the inevitable extension of his shift, he grabbed his medkit and made the short journey to the hangar, looking around for his new patients.

There were a few groups of troopers milling around, but none that seemed to need attention. One lot of four were playing sabacc on some nearby crates while another small gathering of softshells were working on a gunship which had taken quite a bit of damage in the incursion.

None of them seemed to need his attention, his annoyance growing further.

“Anyone call for a medic?” he asked loudly, several heads snapping in his direction.

A murmuring response of ‘no’ and ‘not me’ came from the troopers, Kix letting out a growl of annoyance.

“Then who the kark is wasting my time by calling me down here?” he snapped, some of the sabacc troopers exchanging concerned looks.

He was about to head back to medbay and file a false alarm report when a gravelly voice called across the hangar, a large, imposing clone in distinctive armour appearing from the end of a gunship, a large sniper rifle in his hands.

“I am,” the trooper called, the entire hangar silent now, watching the interaction.

Kix raised an eyebrow, looking the trooper up and down. He could tell by his bucket, which was still firmly in place, that he was a Commando. His bulk on its own was intimidating, but the paint job on his armour completed the picture, the white plastoid flashed with red on his legs, arms and midsection, what appeared to be a bloody handprint covering the area around his visor, giving the impression of it being fresh and dripping.

“You’re not 501st or 212nd,” Kix huffed, the sniper letting out an amused huff.

“What gave it away? You a medic or not?”

Kix stared at the Commando for a moment, caught between actions.

“You’re not on my treatment compliment,” he stated firmly, the sniper staring back. Even under his visor, Kix could practically feel the coldness of the look.

“But you are a medic,” he growled in return, “and we need you.”

“For what?” Kix questioned automatically, the larger clone almost certainly rolling his eyes.

“A fifth for sabacc. What do you think, di’kut?”

Kix was about to offer a sharp retort when another Commando appeared behind the sniper, his posture communicating his impatience.

“Sev! What the kriff is taking so long?”

It only took the other man a moment to register Kix’s presence, his size matching this so-called ‘Sev’, though his bucket was off, exposing a frustrated expression.

Even though he looked like a clone and his hair was slightly longer than regulation, the Commando armour he wore, mostly green with a white flashed chestpiece, he gave off the air of someone much more superior.

“You, medic! We’ve been waiting on you! Get your shebs back to the ship!”

Kix frowned, his frustration growing.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” he huffed, “but I’m assigned to the 501st. You can’t just turn up on a republic fleet ship, call a medic and demand medical attention without registering first.”

“Oh, look, the little shiny doctor doesn’t know who we are,” Sev chuckled lowly, the other Commando rolling his eyes and glaring at him.

“Can it, Sev. This is about Jerra, not you.”

“Look,” Kix sighed, shaking his head, “let me call the on-call medic. I’m sure they can…”

“No time!” the unidentified Commando cut him off, shaking his head, “Our Jedi is injured. Now are you gonna do your job or not?”

As Sev chuckled, Kix felt the urge to decline simply on principle, but hearing there was an injured Jedi piqued his interest, not to mention his innate need to help was kicking in. Whether it was in his genes or in his heart, he couldn’t fight it, relenting with a long suffering sigh as he trudged towards the commandos.

“Ugh, fine! Just… register after, okay? I need to record all treatment.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” the Commando nodded, waving behind him in a gesture for Kix to follow.

“What Battalion are you even from?” Kix asked as they weaved through the gunships, most in various states of battle damaged, towards the rear of the hangar.

“Battalion?” Sev rumbled, his tone amused, “That’s cute.”

“We’re Delta Squad,” the other clone responded tightly. “I’m Fixer, this is Sev. Boss and Scorch are still on the shuttle with Jerra, our Commander.”

“Delta Squad?” 

Kix froze in place for a second, Sev almost walking into him, barely dodging his stock still form. 

“The Delta Squad? The ones who ran the demo job on Geonosis during the first battle of the Clone Wars?”

“History lesson later,” Fixer urged him, reaching back and grabbing his arm, the medic stumbling a little as he was pulled along, “first, medic stuff.”

“But… You guys are… You’re a myth! You’re not… You’re not supposed to exist!”

“And yet, here we are,” Sev chuckled, a hiss sounding as he reached up with one hand, unclipping his bucket and pulling it off.

Kix took in his features, surprised. Again, although he looked the same as the rest of his brothers, Sev had a certain… severity to him, as obvious as it would seem.

Two large scars ran across his face, one down from the top of his hairline to just below his cheekbone over his right eye, the other across the same eye, from the bridge of his nose to the curve of his face. It looked oddly like a crosshair.

His hair was thick, tight curls cut short, shoots of grey showing through. Light amber eyes stared back at Kix, a wicked smirk tilting at chapped lips.

“Got an issue?” he grinned, Kix immediately shaking his head.

“N-No… Kriff… Rex is not gonna believe this…”

Turning to Sev, he hesitated for a moment. “Is it true the four of you took back an entire republic cruiser from trandoshan pirates on your own?” 

Sev smirked, raising an eyebrow at the medic. 

“Is that what they tell you?” he teased, the low tone of his voice sending an uncomfortable shiver down Kix's spine. 

“Like I said,” the other commando huffed from in front of them, “history lesson later. And to be fair, it was mostly Boss.” 

Within moments, they were free of the field of battleworn gunships, the path to a beat up looking attack shuttle appearing. Another Commando was waiting outside, this one with a white chest piece, grey and gold covering his arms and legs.

“Took ya long enough!” he yelled as they approached, his voice somehow softer than the average clone’s, “What were ya doing? Teaching him how to practice medicine?”

“Can it, Scorch,” Fixer snapped, releasing Kix’s arm as they approached the ramp, Scorch’s face scrunched in an unimpressed expression.

His hair was much longer than the others, thick curls pulled back into a loose braid at the back, a few ringlets falling around his face. He leant against the ship with his arms folded over his chest, eyes scanning Kix suspiciously.

“How’s she doing?” Sev quizzed Scorch, the expression on the slightly smaller clone’s face faltering a little.

“In pain,” he replied quickly, looking pointedly to Kix, “Boss is with her. He’s been pushing bacta, but you know how she is with supplies.”

“You,” Sev grunted at Kix before nodding to the door, sharp eyes locked on him, “inside.”

“Going, going!” Kix assured him, drawing in an attempt at a steadying breath as he pushed through the doorway of the ship, the insides dimly lit.

It was a modest set up in the shuttle, a bunk room off to one side, labelled as such on the door. A small refresher was marked at the back, top and rear gunner mount positions visible from the main gangway.

Looking down towards the rear, Kix soon found his target, watching curiously as he crept closer.

The Jedi, Jerra, was sat on one of the navigation seats, her left hand supporting a limp right arm, face twisted with pain as she let out a hiss.

She was human, at least she appeared to be, warm skin over tight features. Her eyes seemed to dance with a green light in the darkness, focused on the Commando in front of her, the clone kneeling as he looked over her knees, one of which was exposed and covered with a bacta patch.

Her long dark hair was pulled back into multiple braids that trailed down her back, pulled together with a gold band. The clone in front of her was helmetless, hair short and mussed, curls spilling onto his skin haphazardly as he rested on one knee, hands gentle as he rubbed bacta in a nasty looking cut on her leg.

Visibly, it seemed to be her only other urgent injury, save the small cuts that littered her face. They looked like shrapnel wounds, ones that Kix was, unfortunately, all too familiar with.

“Not long now, mesh’la,” he grumbled lowly, his accent thick and low, a warmth to it that made Kix raise an eyebrow, “we’ll get some meds into you.”

“I can wait,” Jerra replied with a forced smile, adoration clear on her face as she looked the commando over, letting out a huff of laughter, “you shouldn’t be wasting bacta on me, Boss, I told you…”

“Hush,” Boss ordered, his voice stern, though his smile betrayed his tone, “bacta can be replaced. You can’t.”

A moment stretched between them, intimate and deep, simply sharing a connection, and for a second, Kix felt like he was intruding on something private.

“Uh… Sorry to interrupt,” he managed, his voice cracking a little as Jerra’s intense gaze turned to meet him, Boss’s smile fading entirely as he stood back up to full height, “I’m Kix, the medic from the 501st.”

“About time you got here,” Boss grunted, stepping back to allow Kix access to Jerra, “does ‘rapid medical response’ mean something different in the fleet?”

“Boss,” Jerra chastised the Commando gently, Kix trying his best to keep his expression set as he approached, the large clone’s white and red armour adding to his intimidating presence, “leave him be. It’s not like we were announced.”

“Still,” Boss huffed, his eyes softening a little as Kix placed his back at Jerra’s feet, offering a weak smile.

“Sorry about them,” Jerra grinned softly, “they can be a little demanding. I hope they weren’t rude to you.”

“No more than any of my other vode,” Kix smiled back, earning a huff from Boss. “Now… the others mentioned you being in pain?”

His eyes travelled over her, noting the bacta patch on her leg and the way she still held her arm.

“Do you mind telling me what happened?”

“Big ass explosion!” a shout came from the doorway, Scorch leaning around it, watching intently, “Got caught in the shockwave. Uh… sorry, again, about that.”

“Out!” Boss yelled, stamping towards the ramp, his face set. Jerra simply rolled her eyes and let out a breath of laughter, focusing back on Kix.

“We were infiltrating one of the maintenance facilities while the battle distracted the main forces,” she explained as Kix reached up, flattening his palm for her to lower her arm onto it, “our objective was to take it out and get intel on the newer battle droids they’re pushing out. Things got a bit heated, more security than intel thought there’d be, and I got pushed off a walkway by one of the breach blasts. Boss caught me before I fell all the way down, but it jarred my arm some.”

Kix hummed as he listened, eyes now intently fixed on her arm as he rolled the fabric covering it up as gently as he could. Her robes were a dark brown, the tunic underneath faded greens and greys, all tattered and smelling distinctly of explosive residue.

“Lucky escape,” Kix smiled, Jerra wincing as he tried to straighten her arm, hissing in pain. In his peripheral, he saw Boss turn sharply at the noise, trying his best to focus. 

The skin around the joint was purple and black, bruised badly. The swelling was quite severe, but there seemed to be no obvious deformation.

“I can’t tell from just looking, but there’s some bruising and irritation around the joint. Did you hear a pop or crack when you were caught?”

Jerra hesitated for a moment, looking towards Boss, her expression caught.

“I need you to be honest,” Kix explained softly, “or we might miss something that could cause complications in the future. We can heal whatever it is, I promise.”

With a long exhale, Jerra closed her eyes and nodded, something close to shame echoing across her features.

“It dislocated when Boss caught me,” she murmured, gaze averted to her feet, “and I popped it back in. Hurt like a jawa-kriffer, but it let me keep going.”

“Mesh’la…”

Boss’s call cut through the silence, the pain in his tone apparent.

“You should have told me… I’m…”

“Don’t,” Jerra frowned back at him, watching cautiously as he approached, “you did what you had to. I’m alive, we’re all here, that’s what matters. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry.”

“Damn right I’d worry,” Boss glared back at her, “It’s my job to look out for you all!”

“And you did!”

“But you got hurt…”

“Instead of falling to my death!”

Boss considered her words for a moment, hovering over her as Kix looked between them, the tension growing.

“Well, uh, there might be some small fractures in the elbow joint,” he explained quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation, “but I’d need to do a scan to be sure. It might also be good to look at the rest of your joints too, mainly your shoulder. A force like that can dislodge things or pull other muscles. It’s nothing that a bacta wrap won’t fix overnight, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“No,” Boss growled, Kix’s gaze darting to Jerra as she rolled her eyes, letting out a huff, “we have orders to be back en-route by oh-four-hundred. We’re only here for medical attention, resupply and refuel.”

“And you’re getting medical attention,” Kix replied sternly, releasing Jerra’s arm back to her as gently as he could, gathering his pack and standing, “and I’m telling you she needs more treatment.”

“We’re not leaving without her.”

“Then you’re not leaving at all,” Kix frowned, gesturing at Jerra. “If you want to deny her treatment and possibly aggravate what is currently a minor injury, be my guest. But if it is broken, bone fragments could shift and damage both muscle and tissue, not to mention the pain will only build. She needs rest and recuperation, and as a medic, I am able to pull individuals from active service for that.”

“Need a hand, Boss?”

Sev’s deep voice echoed through the ship, two other faces also peering in, their expressions stern.

It was clear that they were willing to step in if there was an argument, Jerra huffing in frustration as Kix stood his ground, shouldering his bag.

The Commando and the Medic stared each other down for a long moment, Boss’s eyes searching Kix’s face.

After what felt like an eternity, Boss let out a frustrated huff and stepped back, allowing Kix to pass.

“One rotation. No longer,” he growled, looking back to Jerra, “and one of us is always with her.”

“Boss,” she protested, quickly cutting off her own reply as he glared back at her.

“That’s an order.”

“I outrank you,” she shot back, hissing again as she stood up, following Kix as he made his way through the ship, though she made no further argument.

Boss looked her up and down, putting out a hand against the durasteel wall on the other side of the galley, blocking her path while the medic disembarked, his intense gaze finding hers once more.

“Boss,” she breathed again, swallowing hard when his free hand moved to her face, tracing his knuckles down the side of her face, “I’ll be fine.”

“You should have told me,” he grumbled after a moment, the guilt in his eyes making her chest constrict. “I hurt you.”

“You saved my life,” she reminded him, stepping into his space, tucking her head under his chin.

Taking another deep breath, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tenderly, taking the upmost care not to put pressure on her arm. “Better broken than a pile of goop on the floor of a maintenance facility.”

Boss let out a soft chuckle, his expression softening once more. Pulling away slightly, he looked down at Jerra, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’ll make it up to you, cabur,” he promised, voice little more than a whisper, “we all will.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she teased gently, shivering at the sensation of his breath ghosting over her cheeks, “it’s been too long, Boss.”

“I know, cyare,” he smiled, leaning down to brush his lips over hers, drawing a whimper from deep in her throat, “but what was it you taught us about patience?”

“Gar chayaikir,” she moaned softly, growling as he pulled away, “you’re going to pay for this.”

“Hey, riddurok’la, your medic is getting twitchy!” Scorch shouted from the doorway, leaning in with a sly grin on his face, looking over the scene with amusement. “Gar me'dinuir, vod?”

“Mir’sheb,” Boss growled in response, moving towards the door, Jerra following with a blush on her cheeks. “Come on then, my lady,” he teased bowing as he reached the door, “your medic awaits.”

*-*-* Translations: Di’kut - idiot Shebs - Ass/Butt Mesh’la - Beautiful Cabur - Protector/Guardian Cyare - Beloved/One who is beloved Gar chayaikir - You tease Gar me'dinuir, vod? - You share, brother? Riddurok’la - Married Couple (rough translation) Mir’sheb - Smartass

[longhaulerbear]

(via Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome in the times of COVID - YouTube)

I want to highlight a very important paper published in January in Nature Communications by a group from Amsterdam. They looked at muscle abnormalities worsening after exercise in patients with Long COVID. This symptom is very common in chronic fatigue syndrome, and we see it in over 80% of patients with Long COVID. In this study, they included 25 patients with Long COVID and 21 age- and sex-matched controls who had fully recovered from COVID-19. They collected blood and muscle biopsies before and after exercise. Both groups were healthy and socially active. None of the participants were hospitalized due to COVID-19 infections. Fatigue questionnaires and exercise data confirmed the impact of Long COVID on daily lives. The study found that people with Long COVID have lower VO2 max, indicating decreased oxygen absorption and reduced peak power output. They also had lower gas exchange (CO2 and oxygen) levels, suggesting that their muscles were affected by physical activities. Structural changes in the muscle were observed, with a shift from type 1 fibers (aerobic) to type 2X and 2A fibers (anaerobic). This indicates a shift towards glycolytic metabolism, which is less efficient for sustained energy production. Further, mitochondrial function was compromised in patients with Long COVID, showing lower oxidative phosphorylation capacity. This means their cells were less efficient at producing energy. After exercise, these changes were more pronounced. Mitochondrial dysfunction was evident, as seen by decreased oxygen transport and increased markers of mitochondrial stress. Interestingly, the study found no amyloid depositions in healthy controls or fully recovered individuals, refuting the theory of microclots as a cause of Long COVID symptoms. However, in Long COVID patients, amyloid deposition was found around the vascular endothelium, indicating a possible biomarker for this condition. Muscle atrophy was also observed in Long COVID patients, with increased damage and necrosis after exercise. This suggests that physical activity can exacerbate muscle damage in these patients. Additionally, signs of muscle regeneration were noted, indicating ongoing muscle repair processes. Metabolic abnormalities were also highlighted, including reduced TCA cycle activity and lower levels of creatine and ATP synthesis. This contributes to the reduced oxidative phosphorylation capacity in Long COVID patients. In summary, this study confirms mitochondrial dysfunction and metabolic abnormalities in Long COVID patients, with a shift towards anaerobic pathways. Physical activity exacerbates muscle damage and inflammatory responses, leading to further complications. The presence of viral proteins in both healthy and Long COVID patients suggests ongoing immune activation, but not active viral replication.

[psychologeek]

The difficult medical findings in the women and children who returned from Hamas captivity

An article about the medical issues of 26 of the kids and women that were kidnapped by Hamas, and exchanged in the prisoners deal during Nov-Dec 2023, after 50 days in captive.

Tw: mention of torture, abuse and medical lasting issues (physical and mental) - both adults and children.

I personally didn't find it graphic, by I've been exposed to a lot of bs in the last months, hence I'm not a reliable measurement.

If anyone reads, pls lmk any other tw?

The data was collected from the medical records of 19 children between the ages of 2 and 18 and seven women between the ages of 34 and 78, who were hospitalized at Schneider Hospital. The patients included 6 nuclear families who were abducted together, as well as 7 children who were abducted alone and held captive separately.

They were hospitalised (in the special ward) for 1-9 days. 70% of the released didn't have a home to return to - due to destruction or being in active warzone.