#how to stop hair loss during chemo

[lunarnightt]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⎯ Carl Grimes

WARNINGS! ⎯ there are none! Just pure fluff! SUMMARY ⎯ Your father, Daryl Dixon, always treated your mother like a queen before she died; now you want someone to do the same, and who better than your best friend, Carl Grimes. A/N ⎯ This is based on the song 'Like My Father' by Jax. I also want to thank everyone who LOVED my Carl Grimes x Gothic reader so much! I love you all!

For as long as you could remember; your father treated your mother like a goddess, like a queen.

Whatever she wanted, she got. whatever she asked for, she got. There were never any ifs or buts about it. Your dad worshipped the ground she walked and treasured her like any man should do a woman.

As you got older, you watched your father do everything he could for your mother. He would constantly have dinner dates with her, and take her on romantic walks in the middle of the night when they thought you were asleep. This never changed when your mom got cancer and started doing chemo.

Your father shaved his own head with her so she wouldn't be alone, held her hand during every treatment, and watched her throw up blood until her last dying breath.

Your mother died before the world went to shit so there you were, sitting at the query watching other kids play with their moms and dads, silently resenting them for having both. Your mother was dead and your dad was cold and couldn't care what you did anymore because he was still grieving the loss of his wife.

That was when that changed; a little boy walked up to you and practically forced you to play with him. You would learn that his name was Carl and he too lost his dad but of course, we all know how that went.

Eventually, you and Carl became best friends; going and growing through hell together. You both survived through so much and yet you helped him look on the brighter side of life.

Over time, as you two grew older, the two of you slowly fell in love with one another but never said a thing because one- you're either running from the dead, and two- neither one of you thought you liked each other back.

But one thing was for certain; you wanted a man who loves you like you're father loved your mom.

It was like any other day for you and Carl. You both sat in your bedroom reading comic books, the soft sound of Johnny Cash playing in the background filling your ears.

You looked over at the Grimes boy, looking over the handsome features you've grown to love over the last few years; to his long shaggy hair, his beat-up cowboy hat, and his missing eye something he was very insecure of but you thought was badass.

Before he could catch your gaze though, you looked down and the record stopped playing which made the both of you groan. "Great. Now one of us has to get up and flip it over." You whined, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at the record player in your room.

Carl sighed and pushed himself off the ground, walking over to the record playing and taking the record off. "What are you doing?" You asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Carl smiled and turned to you. "Putting on Abba. I thought Dancing Queen was your favorite and you want to listen to it?" He spoke and he wasn't entirely wrong.

"I do but I thought you wanted to listen to Johnny Cash?" You spoke softly and Carl just rolled his eye and turned to face you. "Does it matter what I want?" He spoke before turning to face the record player and placing the needle on the record, the song Dancing Queen filling the room as he made his way and sat back down next to you.

That day you knew that Carl was the type you wanted, the type you knew would love you like your father did to your mom.

So, you contemplated forever, debating on telling him how you felt but when you did; you wrote him a nice simple letter and left it on the inside of his hat. It took him a while but he finally found it, looking at it with confusion while the words "read me cowboy" jumped out at him in all capital letters.

He knew it was from you because only you called him cowboy and only you would do something like leaving a letter on the inside of his hat.

So, he read it as instructed and he became over the moon because not only did you tell him how you felt but you actually liked him back.

Carl rushed out of the house to look for you, going to all the places he knew you would be. He went to Rosita, to Maggie and Glenn's place because you loved playing with Herschal Jr before finally finding you training with Jesus.

"Looks like you're boyfriend is here" Jesus joked which made you roll your eyes and flip him off as you made your way over to Carl. "Hey cowboy" You spoke with a teasing smirk but your smirk was wiped clean off your face when he held up the letter.

"Are you telling the truth?" He asked, needing reassurance like he always did when he was unsure of something. You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. "Yes. Why would I lie to you of all people?" You asked and before you could say anything else, his lips were pressed against yours.

As the two of you kissed, your hand moved to the back of his neck while his hands moved to your waist. After a minute, the two of you pulled apart and he pressed his forehead against yours.

"You don't know how long I wanted to do that" He whispered against your lips and you giggled, moving to play with the soft locks of his hair. "It's about damn time, cowboy" You spoke back and he immediately pressed his lips against yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Ever since then, he truly loved you like your father did your mom and maybe even more than he ever did.

[veunho]

Sorry for derailing but I thought I should let anyone who is undergoing chemo and is reading the tags know that there exist some cold caps to help diminish or stop hair loss during chemo. This is not an ad nor anything I just thought it'd be of help. You can buy them, of course, but I'm not sure if they're available anywhere nor how expensive they are. You can also make them yourself, I don't know if there are tutorials available in English nor how common knowledge all of this is but I can rewrite/translate it to English. (sorry if it was known but not possible, I only learned about it recently, so I thought I'd share)

hey btw shout out to people whose hair is very important to them and are dealing with hair loss

[pacehospitalshyd]

Chemotherapy - Procedure Indications, Side effects, Benefits

PACE Hospitals is one of the best hospital for chemotherapy in Hyderabad, Telangana, India. It has a team of experienced oncologists who are experts in the latest cancer treatments. The hospital also has a state-of-the-art chemotherapy facility that provides a comfortable and supportive environment for patients.

Department of Oncology offers a variety of chemotherapy options, including oral, injectable, and intrathecal chemotherapy. We also offers supportive care services, such as nausea and vomiting prevention, hair loss management, and pain management.

What is chemotherapy treatment?

Chemotherapy is a cancer treatment that uses drugs to kill cancer cells. It is a systemic treatment, which means that the drugs travel through the bloodstream to reach cancer cells throughout the body.

Chemotherapy is used to treat many different types of cancer, but not limited to cancer of breast, lung, prostate, colon, ovarian, pancreas, stomach, and leukaemia. It can be used alone or in combination with other treatments, such as radiation therapy or surgery.

The side effects of chemotherapy can vary depending on the type of drug and the dose used.

How does chemotherapy work?

With the ever-developing field of oncology and the discovery of newer information helped in understanding carcinogenesis (cancer growth) and their milestones. The newer information enabled the discovery/invention of certain chemotherapy drugs and medicines which can stop the carcinogenesis at various milestones.

Chemotherapy drugs classification: The chemotherapeutic drugs are classified based on their mechanism. The various types of chemotherapeutic agents are:

Alkylating agents

Platinum analogues

Anti-metabolites

Microtubule damaging agents

Topoisomerase inhibitors

Chemotherapy antibiotic drugs

Steroidal chemotherapy

Chemo-irradiation

Alkylating agents:  In short it can be said that alkylating agents deal with deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) thus preventing the cancer cells from dividing and replicating.

To understand further, DNA must be understood. DNA is the hereditary material in almost all the life forms present in the cells. During organisms reproduce, a portion of the parent’s DNA is passed along to the offspring. It exists in the double helix structure, and every strand of DNA can serve as a pattern for duplication during cell division.

Alkylating agents damage the DNA of cancer cells in 2 ways. They are:

Monofunctional alkylation: these kinds of chemotherapy drugs react with a single strand, separating it from its partner in DNA, eventually causing permanent cell damage.

Bifunctional alkylation: through an irreversible bond, the drug attaches between two base pairs in the DNA chain, causing cytotoxic effects (destroying or poisoning cells).

The six types of alkylating agents are used in the chemotherapy of cancer are:

Nitrogen Mustards

Ethyleneimines

Alkyl Sulfonates

Nitrosoureas

Triazenes

Methylhydrazines

Platinum analogues: These platinums based chemotherapy drugs display broad antineoplastic (anticancer) activity especially in ovarian, head and neck, bladder, oesophagus, lung, and colon cancers. Similar to alkylating agents, these drugs work by binding to the DNA of cancer cells, the difference is that these platinum analogues form covalent bonds.

Anti-metabolites: The antimetabolites in cancer chemotherapy interfere the synthesis of DNA and RNA by appearing as metabolites.

To understand further, the compounds which are necessary for the synthesis of DNA and RNA must be studied. Purines and pyrimidines are the building blocks of DNA and RNA. Folic acid is an essential vitamin that helps in cell replication. Since antimetabolites resemble these compounds, the cancer cells often take antimetabolites rather than the original compounds, thus disrupting carcinogenesis. The three types of antimetabolites in cancer chemotherapy treatment are:

Purine antagonists

Cytidine analogues

Pyrimidine analogues

Folic acid analogues (antifolates)

Microtubule-Damaging Agents: Microtubule chemotherapy constitute a diverse group of drugs that bind to microtubules affecting their function and properties.

Microtubules are small tube-like structures that run inside the cell. They maintain the shape and motility of the cell facilitating the intracellular transport of cellular proteins. As such, inhibition of microtubule formation has important consequences that can lead to cell death. The nine types of microtubule chemotherapy are:

Vinca Alkaloids

Taxanes

Vinca alkaloidconjugate

Macrolides

Peptides

Heterocyclic nitrogen compound

Combretastatin

Epothilones

Maytansine/auristatin conjugate

Topoisomerase Inhibitors: These drugs arrest the activity of Topoisomerase I and II, thus inhibiting cellular growth. Topoisomerase I and topoisomerase II are the enzymes found in the nucleus of nearly all mammalian cells which functions for the replication and cellular division of DNA. There are two types of topoisomerase inhibitors:

Camptothecin Analogues (from the bark of Chinese tree, Camptotheca acuminata)

Epipodophyllotoxins (from American mandrake plant Podophyllum peltatum)

Chemotherapy Antibiotic Drugs: Although the “conventional antibiotics” are used to treat bacterial infections, there are antibiotics which restrict carcinogenesis. They achieve carcinogenesis through various methods such as:

Interfering with the replication or maintenance of DNA

Production of free radicals

Prevention of mRNA production etc

Steroidal Chemotherapy: Steroids are compounds which are naturally produced within the bodies in small amounts to help in the control and maintenance of various functions. These can also be synthetically prepared. With the discovery of tumour regression by cortisone, the incorporation of steroids in chemotherapy treatment commenced. They achieve cytotoxicity by decreases in DNA, RNA, and protein synthesis.

[raphaelsrightarm]

Hey. It’s the 7-year anniversary of my Nana’s death as we lost her to bowel cancer. I know this might be a sad request, but, is there any chance you can write scenarios of how each Turtle would react to when their s/o reveals to them that they have cancer and how would they deal with them.

I’m very sorry for your loss, and I’m here if you need to talk. I did a lot of research to make sure I knew enough about the subject, and I hope this can make you feel better!

Leonardo:

- When you tell him he goes quiet, as he begins to process the news 

- He asks a lot of questions about it, basically wanting to know everything your doctor told you

- Leo hates when things are out of his control so he might seem to be on edge for a bit and would probably have to have a talk it out with Splinter to really begin to accept it

- He would obviously support you no matter what you decide to do, but he, like the rest of his brothers, would strongly urge you towards treatment

- He would encourage you to eat foods that were higher in protein to get your strength up before your treatments start like fish or chicken

- Leo would also suggest that you meditate with him, he says it would help you manage your stress and to help with a few of the side effects from your chemo and look into traditional Japanese remedies to help you with your nausea, as well as the other side effects you could experience 

- To your surprise, he would actually pull back on his strict training schedule a bit so he could make sure that if you needed anything he was there to help you; or if you just wanted him around

- He would watch whatever movies you wanted to watch, and would act as a pillow for you when you rested

- There were a few times when you would try to do things for yourself, which would genuinely frustrate him, he would always tell you to take it easy (which would drive you crazy at times)

-Leo would make you a playlist with your favorite songs and a few that he thought you might like for you to listen to during your treatment to help you relax

- Every time you come back from the hospital he reminds you how strong you are and how great you’re doing

- He would also feel better if you were to stay at the lair more than you do your apartment. Just in case you would ever need anything, and he feels like your safer down there with him and his family

- Leo would also not want to tell you a lot about what happens during their patrols or missions, he wouldn’t want to add any worry or stress

- He would never let you feel like a burden

- Reminds you that the two of you are a team, no matter what 

Raphael:

- When he first finds out, he doesn’t handle it very well

- He makes himself scarce, he blames it on training, lifting, or other ninja duties as to why he can’t see you at the moment

- With tears in your eyes, you storm into his room to confront him about it that he himself breaks down into tears

- He tells you how he was worried that he would only make things worse and that he wasn’t sure what to do

- The two of you talk about it though, and in the days afterwards he makes a complete 180

- He is there for whatever you need, no matter what time

- If you ever get angry, he’ll let you yell at him about it, he understands that you’re upset, he can take it and he’ll wait it out until you calm down again

-If you’re scared or sad and just want to be held, he scoops you you up in those huge arms of his and keeps you close until you calm down

- When you start treatment, Raph is completely supportive, he hates that he can’t physically be there for you but he always makes up for it afterwards

- He will convince Donnie to let him pick you up in Vern’s old news van after your treatments

- If you feel too tired or in pain, he will carry you around, he knows how much of a toll chemo can take on your body

- He’s more gentle with you than normal, knowing that you bruise much easier since your treatments start

- I have a headcannon that Raph is one of the best cooks in the family, so he will look into what kinds of foods would be gentle on your stomach so you can eat without feeling nauseous afterwards 

- He would never let anyone say anything about your hair loss, and says if anyone ever does to tell him; because you are his better half and he would never want someone to hurt your feelings

- In the end, he is your rock and would be there for you always

Donnatello:

- Upon telling him he would take a bit to process

- He’s the doctor of his family, and he would feel helpless because he really can’t help you as much as he wishes he could

- But he knows how scary this is for you and would never ask you to comfort him during this time, so he attempts to distract himself from thinking about all the possibilities

- He would do research nonstop on the type of cancer you have and would present it to you, you two would have a long conversation about what kind of treatments you could choose

- He would also look into non-addictive pain relievers for you so on the days when you like crap he can help

- Like Raph, Donnie would insist on picking you up after you receive you chemo, he would also ask that if you need to be driven somewhere that you let April take you

- He would look through blogs from other cancer survivors to see what works best for them to give an idea of would he could try for you

- To occupy and distract you during your treatments, Donnie would make a folder on your computer of all your favorite movies to take with you 

- When you come back afterwards, he’ll take a break from his work and gently lay you in his bed, if you wanted to be held he would cradle you; if you didn’t really want to be touched he would sit down at the foot of the bed with his hand gently rubbing your feet

- Donnie would never want to ignore your feelings of fear or sadness, but he would try to lift you up and make sure you feel more hopeful by the end of the conversation

- Due to his own apprehension, every side effect you had from your chemo, he would look into to make sure that a side effect was all that it was

Michelangelo:

- At first when you tell him, like the rest of his brothers, he’s in disbelief

- Wants to believe you’re just trying to prank him, would awkwardly laugh at first saying things like “good one babe, but you shouldn’t joke about that.”

- When you tell him you aren’t joking, he feels his heart drop to his stomach

- Asks a lot of questions, just trying to get a handle on what’s going on

- He gives you lots of reassurance, telling you how strong you are, and how proud of you he is

- While you are receiving your treatments, he is on the phone with you the entire time, telling you how great you are and how it’ll be over soon and will promise to do whatever you like when you get home

- Absolutely refuses to show you that he’s worried, he wants to make you feel happy or optimistic

- He doesn’t bottle those feelings up though, he will sit and talk with Splinter about it almost everyday. Sometimes maybe Leo, but most of the time Splinter

- He is there for you no matter what; If you’re in pain from treatment he makes you a nest of pillows in his room for the two of you to cuddle on

- If you feel nauseous, he will sit next to you and gently rub your back until it passes

- If you feel self conscious about loosing your hair, he will hype you up all the way. Telling you how much he likes your look

- Making jokes like “Look babe! We match now!” just in an attempt to get a laugh out of you

- Because he is so in love with you and will never stop trying to make you smile, no matter what the circumstances are

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Six: Looking In Their Eyes When They’re Down

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word Count: 4453

Author’s Note: The next chapter is the final chapter... somehow

I bet on losing dogs I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place By the ring Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down I'll be there on their side

She has no warning to prepare her for the swift sea of medical personal swarming around them. One moment she’s folding Aaron’s fingers over her own, using both hands to keep his captive between hers, and the next he’s lodged free. Her own panic spikes and she can see his tired eyes snap open with alertness, shoulders moving as he tries and fails to move his body. His deep, rasped voice calling out to her muffled by the oxygen mask they’d pulled over his face. Any movement he manages is met with a hand, his left shoulder pushed back to the stretcher, and his wrist caught swiftly and held down. He stands no chance against them.

She’s allowed to stand at the corner of the room. Left to watch as Aaron’s nose starts to bleed again, he gives a low grunt as his head begins to pound. She steps forward, moving to point it out, but she stumbles into a nurse and is met with two more guiding her right back out. One stands by her side, a hand on her bicep to keep her in place and all she can do is stand and watch them cut his clothes away. She winces at the bruises, ones he’d managed to keep hidden from her, or maybe she just can’t keep track these days there are so many. They stand out horribly-- dark greens and blacks and blues against his nearly colorless flesh. Up and down his legs and arms and chest.

He gives a soft protest as his shirt is peeled open, both of his hands shaking where they lay at his sides. Painful goosebumps breaking out over his skin. He’s lifted up, the head of the stretcher lifted so the blood pouring down his face won’t slide back down the back of his throat. His weak protest is met with a pink bucket being thrown into his lap and he takes it wordlessly. A nurse moves the mask off his face, giving it to a woman behind her to be cleaned, and Aaron falls forward, caught by the swift-handed nurse, as he throws up. All this movement too much for his stomach to take.

The whites of his eyes are all Emily can see and she shouts, being held back by that nurse, as he slumps back against the stretcher. She watches them pass things between one another, doing everything but ignoring how cold he obviously is. She doesn’t get a clear name of the drug they press into him, just watches it get passed to the woman standing over Aaron’s shoulder. It’s as if she’s watching in lapsed time seconds behind every action that takes place. Having no idea what they’re doing or what’s wrong just that Aaron has stopped moving, laying still and calm while they manipulate his limbs. She watches the needle sink in and frowns, waiting for some sort of reaction. Watching for whatever is that they’re waiting for. Hotch lets out a little kicked breath, leg twitching as he rasps something incoherently, and falls limp once again.

“What--” she never gets the chance to ask.

They start kicking the stretcher, forcing the wheels into motion as they scramble overtop one another. Placing machines on every side of Aaron and pulling the guard rail up. She’s pulled back not allowed to follow.

“If you’ll wait in here,” she’s left in a hall or something like one. There are some chairs thrown against a wall and two shitting vending machines with overpriced snacks in one and shit coffee in the other. “Someone will come out and speak with you shortly.”

What’s she to do until then?

“Da-Dave?” she hears his groggy reply. A slurred, panic not yet set in, mumbled “yea”. “He’s -- We’re in the hospital,” she says, restlessly walking the cold hall of the waiting room up and down in slow lazy circles. “Pneumonia, they think. Probably, uhm, maybe caused by the radiation. Something to do with -- with scarring.” She pushes her hair back from her face with her palm, the messy ponytail she’d managed running out the door isn’t cutting it anymore. The cold sweat dying off as her adrenaline goes with it. She wants a shower and to see Hotch.

“It’s -- It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles, speaking far too quickly for Dave to even get a chance to get something out in the way of conversation. “He’ll probably be fine. Or, well, I guess I don’t really know. They won’t tell me anything yet. They just took him, Dave. They just took him from me and left me in here in this fucking room that’s freezing.” She motions up to the unapproachable white walls extended all around her, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she mumbles, frustratedly. “I just wish I could--”

She wishes she could do something, give him a kidney or a quarter of her liver so that this little game can come to its falling action and find them naïve and drunk off winning. She’d return to them in a heartbeat and never go back to London. She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to leave Hotch again, can’t spare the thought of what shit he’ll get into if she’s not around. Maybe she knows too much for him to want her to (or maybe they’ve developed a sort of codependency). But she’s learned her lesson and she’s not sure what Hotch’s is but he’s probably figured it out too. Certainly, that means they have just reached the climax of this awful story, she thinks around every turn it’s here and finds herself pumping the breaks never hearing the right words.

“It’s aggressive, abnormal.”

“It’s spreading rapidly to his other organs.”

“We’ll combine the chemo and the radiation but all we can do is cross our fingers.”

Where’s the ringing of that bell that’s downstairs in the treatment facility Emily drives him to? She knows what it’s for and she’s never heard it ring. Not once. Someone should get to, after all the people she’s seen during those trips, and not a single one has done it yet. When does it end?

Because they’ve done the hair loss. She’s seen him puke so many times and wondered how he managed to still bring something up. Watched him cry in the front seat of the car in pain and lay so still, sleep so deeply she thought he was dead. They do the walks the doctor said would help but unless she’s supposed to be harnessing the sun to shoot into his veins alongside the poison they pump into him she’s not sure what else to do. How much more do they need to take? She’ll give them an arm or sell her soul but there has to be some sort of answer. A place, an option, some time, or someplace where they get to win. So Dave can make them a celebratory dinner Aaron won’t eat but it’s not about what pasta is chosen. It’s about the giant, flared office chair that Derek will roll him out on a little too fast. Smiling no matter how propped up by pillows that he has to be and with as many blankets and layers of clothes that he wants until he’s warm. So that he can rest his head against the side, curling into himself as he falls asleep to their laughter.

It’s about winning.

Fuck, she just wants to beat this.

“Emily? You with me, kid?”

She snaps back to reality. To the hall. “What? Yeah, yeah.” She walks over to the chairs along the wall, falling into one and folding into herself. Letting her head fall into her palm. “I’m here,” she mumbles.

Dave is sitting up in his bed, working his body into motion. “I know you said he’ll be fine,” and honestly, he does believe her. “I’m going to come down there, okay? You don’t need to be alone and I’ll bring real coffee, don’t drink whatever they have.” The doctors have Aaron, he’s in the best place that he can be. Emily is in the worst. “Okay? Does that work, Emily?”

She nods her head, humming, before pushing her hair back again and forcing herself upright. “Yeah,” she rasps. “Yeah, that’s okay.” She wipes her mouth, moving up her face and drying the tears sliding down as best as she can. If not scoffing at herself for crying in the first place. “I’ll see you in a second?”

Dave sighs, nodding. “Yeah,” he replies. “I’ll be there. Hang in there, kiddo.”

She has two degrees, you know. A bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice and a master’s degree from Yale.  She’s not stupid or oblivious but the ability to obtain a college education has never been a good determinant of intelligence. To compare her ability to compartmentalize her life recently would lend some light to her naivety. She might have gotten the grades to get into Yale (and more importantly the money) but here she is sitting at the hospital refusing to see what’s right in front of her.

What good has college done any of them?

He could have owned Roy’s old shop in town and raised Jack there instead of here. Where the local kids run around with no shoes or shirts and he greets each of them by name and exchanges good grades for candy bars. With a back porch that he stands on at eight-thirty calling Jack home for the third time until sweaty and breathless his son pops up with a grin and rushes right past him into the house for water. Where Haley watches him build swing sets and trampolines for birthdays and Christmas with a smile and a shake of her head because Aaron’s the farther thing from handy but he’s going to get this damn thing built.

He probably would have made it so much longer, cancer or not.

But he doesn’t want that, no matter what she convinces herself. That life she just captured wasn’t his, it wasn’t a choice he’s ever had. He’d never be okay there where his father’s ghost could latch onto him, where it would follow him into his own grave, and, if he wasn’t careful, Jack’s too. He got away because it was the only way he’d be able to live and Haley decided she didn’t want to live without him and after all this time he doesn’t want to live without her either but he has. And, if he had a choice, he’d keep doing it.

“Aaron Hotc--”

She stands, nearly zombified with her sluggish amble. The night has worn her down. After spending way too long sleeping in his office chair and managing to wake-up to every little bump and hitch into the night only for this to happen-- she’s on edge. “Yes?” she responds to the doctor. “That’s me, I’m here for Hotch. For--For Aaron.”

The doctor nods, “good, good. He’s doing well. We’re giving him steroids for the pneumonia. I’d like to give you a projected release time but I’m afraid I can’t do that until I see how he takes to the steroids. The pneumonia will need to clear up  a bit before I suggest sending him home again.” The doctor flips Hotch’s chart closed, tucking it under his arm and motioning with his head for her to follow. “I can take you back to see him if you’d like.”

She nods, pulling out her phone to send Dave a text, and lets him lead her back.

They give him back to her worse than when she left him.

His dark blood is harrowing where it’s pooled and splashed along his pale skin. They’ve managed to poke another hole in him, she’s not sure what this one is for, but she sighs and prepares for his confused pain over it. He’s attached to so many machines that it should be daunting but after sitting and watching chemo dribble into him for hours they are nothing. She knows they don’t hurt, maybe emotionally as she watches his heart rate and knows the beat is too fast to be safe. They don’t hurt him, though, and that’s all that really matters.

They’ve been lucky, as lucky as they can be considering. They really haven’t spent that much time in the hospital and even less time compared to when they’re all active duty and not on varying levels of “in” and “out” of the field. Less time than when they’re chasing serial killers around. Maybe they were taking it for granted or maybe luck is just sand in an hour-glass and it was really only a matter of time before it started pouring in the other direction.

With a sigh she slides into the chair they’ve left at his side. There’s no doubt in her mind that this is the first domino, she’s read about it plenty. The nosebleed a while back, the first one when he was still working, was what she thought would start them off and it terrified her to see it so soon. Having this time, though, has allowed her some naivety to believe the domino might never fall. That the things every blog she’d read had to say, every book, and pamphlet and article, was wrong. Not Hotch. That wouldn’t happen to him.

But this hospitalization will end it all.

------------------

He thinks about death less than he had before. All he has is death, it’s of little importance these days in its abundance. Experiences concern him a great deal more. Life often feels like an endless source, no matter how much you take when you return you will find it full and swelling with its richness. In reality, it’s a stopped sink and they’re scraping the bottom. Everything they have is numbered and he watches them find mindless reasons to be here. Reid with his endless facts, spending hours explaining, again and again, each element until Aaron’s tired mind can understand. Never commenting about how these are all things Aaron had, at some point, understood. Maybe a matter of days ago, maybe longer but now he watches Reid silently, with little clarity. Garcia hides things around the room so that she can sneak in long after visiting hours are over under the disguise of getting something “oh, please, it’s super important” to sit with him. He enjoys hearing her coming, smiling without even opening his eyes and knowing it’s her. Her happy giggles as she greets him with a kiss to the temple and a soft retelling of her slick little plan.

He taught JJ to dance before her wedding, which feels like forever ago now. He remembers how hesitant she’d been to place her hand in his, anxiously messing up every move, and stepping on his toes so many times he’d started to think she might take them off. He convinced her to dance in socks for the sake of his toes and so that she could master the motions. It had given them both the perfect distraction, if not selfish, to have to think about what they knew Emily was planning to do. At her wedding, she’d made him dance with her again, beaming the entire time and he’d be lying if he said he was immensely proud of how far she’d come. She didn’t step on his toes once and when they’d parted she’d kissed his cheek and thanked him.

Now she comes in here and forces him up and into motion. The doctor says he should spend more time trying to keep active, even if it’s just a stroll up and down the hall or moving from the bed to the wheelchair and going outside for a moment. JJ makes him dance. He’s clumsy now, lacking the control he’d had not that long ago. Now she’s the one reminding when to step and she takes it far easier on him than he had on her. Pushing until he can’t stand it and the two of them just lean and sway but this time she has no hesitation stepping closer to him. No second thoughts about wrapping her arms where she wants them and hiding her face against his shoulder when she cries.

He sleeps well after her visits and the weary weight of his limbs, though painful, is solidifying. He can feel his body, take some sort of ownership of it before the night calls him home and he twists and turns and is lost to it once again.

The greatest joy he can obtain is not in a direct action so much as a lack of action.

“You have pneumonia, not an identity crisis, let me cut the beard.”

After they cut what was left of his hair off he kept shaving for… autonomy reasons. A way to maintain the semblance of control over his life and his body. Mostly, though, because there’s something about the simple, repetitive nature of shaving that soothes his mind. So he’d continued to shave, the one thing that started this whole mess.

“Look at that pretty boy,” Derek jostles Reid the most about it. “Hotch can still grow a better beard than you!” And it’s funny, it really is, and sort of astonishing. The doctors brush it off, it happens, they say, which is fine. The beard, though thinned, covers his gaunt cheeks and the sickening pallor of his face. In the right light, it does draw more than unnecessary attention to his poor color but they stick to seeing it as some sort of win. Some way in which Hotch has overcome… a way to ignore the ways he doesn’t.

Plus, Emily hates it.

“Oh leave him alone,” Dave always defends him.

He only keeps it because Emily hates it. It’s the little things, you know?

Everything they do, everything he does, is just a tactic to ignore the pneumonia. Coping is, well, it’s not going well for them.

The snow does not let up and it starts to complicate their days. A foot accumulates and it just keeps going and that love Emily had for it is starting to dissipate. She gets snowed in, too much snow falling and she can’t get it cleared to leave her house. It’s really not that big of a deal that he spends a single day alone but it does scare her about what could happen if no one is there.

She calls him but he’s started this awful habit of not picking his phone up or forgetting to charge it. He doesn’t answer.

He considers this perfect timing.

He doesn’t sleep well that night at all. He can’t get comfortable and maxed out on painkillers and his oxygen at a poor level but stable, each second feels like hours. A nurse comes in every so often, coaching him through breathing deeply and evenly, but he ends up with a nebulizer or a coughing fit. He does fall asleep for a few hours a little after one in the morning. Chest aching from the coughs, a sharp cutting pain across his ribs, he’s too tired to stay away. He’s vaguely away of people moving around him, the mask coming back down over his face.

When he wakes, just a few minutes before Emily calls, he’s in a panic. Laid out on his back, sucking in weak, thin breathes around lung fulls of fluid. There’s a moment, suspended, light-headed where he feels the hands of various staff members on him. They speak to him but he’s moments behind, hearing their warning but not understanding until his brain is on fire and he’s sitting more upright than he had been before.

He tries to pull in a breath and can’t. On the right side of his chest, is a sharp pain that increases to stabbing when he tries to keep breathing. His chest tight like a vice, as if decreasing the size of which his lung can expand.

“Just keep breathing Agent Hotchner.”

He watches the doctor pull out a needle, his vision swimming out of focus as he’s reclined back.

“The needle aspiration isn’t going to work--” It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s helping. “Hand me a scalpel.”

His last thought, just as the scalpel breaks his skin and the doctor grunts as he manipulates the wound he’s just created, is that Emily is going to be fucking pissed when she comes back. He’s just not sure if that anger is going to be pointed his way or theirs.

Derek comes through and spends his day shoveling everyone’s drive-ways with this wacky machine she’s never seen before and hits her house first, freeing her. As grateful as she is, she sends him off with a rushed appreciative tap to the butt and leaves. Luckily most of the machines they brought in have been taken away. That doesn’t mean they don’t tell her what happened.

“We had to intubate--”

She can see him in the bed from here. His hospital gown just sort of thrown over his chest and loose, oversized material leaves him bare enough that she can see the tubes and wires sneaking here and there. Crossed and varying in color and size. Her eyes are drawn to the chest tube-- a thin white thing that protrudes between his ribs, the gown raised to leave it easily accessible. Though she knows it’s not life-threatening, it’s a taunt just being here. For now, it’s a wound easily fixable. It’ll take longer for his body to heal but it’ll go away eventually. It’s just the beginning.

“He’s alright now?” Calm overcomes her and instead of seething with the anger that she feels, all she knows is this strange gratitude that it wasn’t all somehow much worse. That she doesn’t have to come in and see the tube, his head extended back and body motionless. Not even his breaths his own. That he’s just beyond this door watching whatever daytime TV channel Reid left on last time he was here.

The doctor is expecting there to be more of a fight, there typically is. All he finds is a weary, tiredness. “He’s doing much better. His oxygen has improved and we hope to move on from the mask this afternoon to something less obstructive like a canal.”

She nods, “and the chest tube? When can you take that out?”

The doctor smiles, realizing his potentially hopeful news. “The fluid from his lungs is draining nicely, so with some luck and if he continues to react well to the treatment we’re considering removing the chest tube and releasing him by the end of the week.”

She knows better than to get hopeful, she nods. “Okay.” She nods her head towards the door, “can I?”

The doctor nods and she leaves him there in the hall.

“I see you’ve been busy.”

He means to nod but winces, moving his left hand over his chest to lightly touch the ribs the tube sits between. “Something like that,” he says, pulling clumsily at the mask until he manages to pull it down under his chin. “Still enjoying the snow,” he motions to her coat, a single finger and a grin pointing out the small collection she has of it still on her.

Her sigh is answer enough and she bats it away, flicking some at him for good measure. “I hate it,” she puffs, falling into the chair beside him. Being here again, having him just a foot away soothes her nerves more than she thought possible. It makes her feel kind of silly for being so anxious in the first place but then she looks over and sees the tube and the deep angry wound around it and remembers why she was scared in the first place. “What’re you watching?” she asks, standing back up. She goes to the little closet near the door, pulling down on the blankets the nurses showed her are kept there. It’s nothing to her, all of this, and him it’s all just so… normal.

Careful to spread one over him, she pulls the other around herself. Waiting a few hovering seconds for him to tuck himself underneath it and settle before she sits back down.

With a tired sigh, looking every bit as exhausted as she feels, he mumbles, “Judge Judy.”

She glances at him, smirking because he’ll never admit it but he loves Judge Judy. Loves the mindless drama. It is nice, though, and she soaks it in. She couldn’t sleep last night and couldn’t sit still in that house without him. She’d washed all the bedsheets, made the beds, washed dishes, and even mopped. All for the night to fall and for her to, once again, find herself stuck. Can’t sleep and can’t relax.

“I missed you yesterday,” he admits, watching her eyes drop shut as she falls asleep.

She hums, squishing herself deeper into the chair. She’s not ready to admit just how much she missed him-- okay, maybe she’s a little dependent on him but it’s hard not to miss someone you see every day. “I’m sure you did,” she sneaks a glance up at him, smiling. “Poor old Hotch, nobody here to eat his jello or sit around and watch Judge Judy with him.”It makes him smile and that’s worth everything. “I missed you too.”

Her phone goes off and she spares it a glance before frowning. He raises an eyebrow and she shakes her head, “Reid.” She answers it and hears exactly what she knew was coming. She nods her head along as he speaks and agrees to help him. “Okay, be there in a second. See ya.” She pockets her phone. “He’s a genius but he can’t drive in the snow. He needs me to come pick him up.” Leaning down she kisses Aaron’s forehead and rolls her eyes. It’s snowing hard still and she’s driving Hotch’s SUV so she can get through it and besides he wants to come here anyway so it’s not that big of a deal. One ride isn’t going to kill her. “Behave,” she mumbles, poking his arm and she means and he knows it. “I love you but I will kick your ass when I come back, got me?”

He glances at her and moves his eyes back to Judge Judy, “I got ya.” It doesn’t occur to him to return the sentiment. This is the third time she’s told him that she loves him and he hasn’t said it back once. Not verbally and he’s slacking in the “showing” it department. But he hasn’t got the fear that she does, he doesn’t think he’ll run out of time to say it back to her.

That makes him just as naïve as she is.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

[medicallyinevitable]

Medically Inevitable

Chapter 15:- Hopeful Happenings

Characters:- Arielle Valentine, Ethan Ramsey, Ines Delarosa, Kyra Santana

Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine

Warnings:- Slight mentions of cancer

Word Count:- 1700+ words :)

General PoV:-

As the sun shines bright in the late morning, Arielle parks her car and heads straight towards Edenbrook’s locker room, a to-go cup in hand from Starbucks instead of Derry Roasters not wanting any chance to bump into Dr. Ramsey, despite knowing that he’s her boss. Making her way to the nurses’ station, she picks up her charts and textbooks and heads toward the cafeteria.

Arielle’s PoV:-

You keep at your textbooks, scouring the pages for anything that could explain Nigel's symptoms, and the tidal wave of self-doubt doesn’t help either. You let out a sigh, "Maybe Dr. Ramsey's right. Maybe I really don't belong here..."

"Mind if I join you?" A cheery voice snaps you back to reality.

You turn around to find Kyra. Dread fills in you as you see her. "Kyra, what are you doing here? Is your cancer back? Is something wrong?", you start asking.

"Woah! Dial down the doom and gloom there, Dr. Sob Emoji. I'm in remission." Kyra beams.

"What?! Oh my god congratulations! I’m so happy for you!" You envelope her in a warm hug which almost melts all your tension away.

"Just had another check-up. Will be coming a lot for those," she catches you up with her remission plan as you two sit. "No offense but I definitely look in better shape than you!"

"Ugh I know. I'm exhausted.” And just like that, all the tension fills your mind as you give her the details. " My shift ended like five hours ago, but instead of going home I am sitting here and reading till my eyes bleed."

"You should probably get that looked at." Kyra's face morphs into something serious but genuine as she continues.

"Look, I don't want to be that cancer survivor… but it did make me realize that life is too short." You give her a sad smile knowing how painful it must have been for her.

"We only get so many chances you know? But maybe you need that lesson more than I do," she continues after pausing for a moment.

"Is it that obvious?" You raise your brows.

"Let's chalk it up to my incredible intuition." Kyra smiles," Anyways there's an amazing ice cream shop nearby. They make an triple chocolate gelato that's literally to die for," she jokes, " You can take my word for that." "Why don't we visit that place? It'll give you a distraction and a much needed break."

You look at her and then your textbooks, not understanding what to do. All you can see is blurry lines. the words and concepts swim around in your very exhausted brain. You close the textbook with a slam after your answer is crystal clear.

"How can I say no to chocolate gelato!", you say dramatically.

"That's more like it!", Kyra beams. The two of you collect your belongings and make your way out as you tell Kyra everything about the dilemma with your latest patient.

"This place is pretty cute.", you say as you look around.

"Try nauseatingly adorable. I want to make it tiny and keep it in my bookshelf," Kyra replies. You laugh.

"You collect tiny shops?" You ask as the two of you made your way to the counter.

"I collect many sickeningly adorable things," she laughs before turning her attention to the boy behind the counter. "I’ll have the large Death by Chocolate please. And my absurdly attractive friend here will have…”, she nods for you to continue.

You roll your eyes at her before placing your order. You take a look at their menu before deciding to have the same one as Kyra as it's the most chocolatey one.

“I'll have the same.", you smile at the server.

The server scoops your gelato into two big cups and slides them across the counter while Kyra rummages through her bag for her wallet.

"I'll pay.“, you say getting your card out.

"No way!", she stops you by swiftly taking your card from you. You whine but to your dismay she doesn’t budge.

"This was my idea. Besides I didn't get out much during recovery. I've got months of dining-out budget to blow."

The next minute she's handing the cash to the server and then guiding you to a booth. As you two take your seats, Kyra hands you your card.

She takes a spoon full of her Death by Chocolate and sighs blissfully.

“Mmmmmm…”

You smile at her antics. "That good?" You ask before taking a bite.

"Orgasmic. I never used to eat junk food before my diagnosis."

She takes another bite and you take your first. You can't help but let out a moan as the chocolatey silkiness melts on your tongue. Kyra smirks and gives you a smug look.

She then continues, "I was super into exercising and calorie counting. I never did anything I wasn't supposed to." She smiles sadly. "And I still got lung cancer. At my twenties!"

"You must have been so strong!", you reply.

"Everyone keeps saying that but-", she pauses, "I don't know. I just went to the doctor to see why I was breathing weird."

She sighs. "Then suddenly I was going for all these tests, and then I had cancer."

She laughs humorlessly. "Life went from jogging and juice every morning to chemo and puking."

You can almost feel the pain as she speaks about her experiences even when you’re aware you’ll never truly understand.

"But I didn't do anything," she says, " Those things had to happen , and I had good insurance, so I did them. And it's not like I had any alternative."

"I think you should give yourself more credit.”, you reach for her hand and squeeze it in a comforting manner.

"You faced death with a smile on your face. I'll always remember you cracking jokes on the way to surgery-", you stop for a second before adding,"You are the strongest person I know Kyra."

Kyra blushes, a little embarrassed. "Well you can laugh or you can cry and I chose to laugh.”, she shrugs with a smile on her face.

"And like I said, I don't want to be that cancer survivor but it does put certain things into perspective."

"That kind of clarity must be nice.", you reply.

"Well yeah, you have to get some kind of consolation price for nearly dying, right?" She then shakes her head.

”But enough about that. If we keep talking about this you'll always see me as a girl who beat cancer."

"I'll never, Kyra." you say truthfully. "That's not how I see you."

"Oh yeah? And how do you exactly see me?" She asks playfully.

"I think you are inspiring."

A blush creeps on her face as she’s caught off guard, but quickly retaliates with a sassy reply. “If you keep giving me compliments then I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

“We’ll see about that.” You both dissolve into fits of laughter as Kyra fills you up on the hospital gossip...

“What wait?! Seriously?! I can’t believe it!”

“Me either, but you know how gossip is!”, she replies with a shrug.

Just then your phone chimes. You pull it out to see it’s a reminder for your shift.

“Crap, I have 10 minutes till my shift.”

“Oof, you better hurry!”, she replies.

“We should do this again, this was really nice.”, you say as you gather your things.

“We should! Besides there would have to be 12 different things wrong with someone to turn down Gelato!”, she jokes.

“..12 different things wrong….. oh my god, Kyra, you’re a genius!”

You scramble to your feet and quickly throw away your cup.

“I like to think I am but what did I do?”, she asks.

“I’ll explain later!”, you yell.

“Ookay…” You rush back to the hospital, typing out a message on your pager as Kyra sits there in utter confusion.

“Well I guess I could get another scoop of gelato…”

————————————————————

An hour later, you take a deep breath before entering Nigel's room to find Ethan and Ines already inside.

“Well what are you waiting for?”, Dr. Ramsey says. Pushing back all of your invading memories of him, you continue with your explanation.

"I spent the last two days trying to figure out the one thing causing all of Mr.Platt's symptoms.”, you say as you stand beside Nigel's bedside.

"And?", he asks. For a split second, you can see a slight look of hope in his eyes, but it passes as quickly as it came, leaving you to believe it was a mere delusion of yours.

"That's when I realized nothing was causing all of them-" But before you can continue, you’re interrupted by Nigel.

"Are you calling-", he burps, “me a liar?", he asks, rude as always.

You control the urge to roll your eyes. He could've at least let you finish your sentence.

Ignoring him, you continue what you were saying," Mr.Platt has been experiencing tingling and hair loss but also cold sensitivity and some hearing problems." You pause for a second before continuing,"All of which point to hypothyroidism caused by Hashimoto's disease easily treated with levothyroxine."

"Go on." Ethan orders in his usual cold bossy tone.

"I couldn't fit in the constant burping and the chest pain… because it was completely separate." You explain. "I ordered a barium swallow X-ray and detected a hiatal hernia in the esophageal hole through the diaphragm."

"The treatment?", he asks, motioning you to continue.

"I have already booked a laparoscopic surgery to repair it.”, you answer with a touch of pride.

"Good work Dr.Valentine." Ines smiles at you.” You return it with a nod and a tentative smile.

"So ... I'll be cured?" Nigel asks.

"Yes-“, you calm yourself down before you rip him apart and then continue.

"You'll be good as new." you say instead with a forced smile.

"Good... because I don't want to spend a -" he burps, " second more in your hopeless company."

Your blood boils at this point as you bite your lip to control yourself. “The audacity! Ugh, he's a patient, Arielle. You have to be nice to him.”

"Mr. Platt, might suggest viewing this as a new lease on life. Perhaps a life where you don't make everyone around you miserable.”, Ethan's stern voice retorts, shocking you and Ines.

“No way...he did not!”

"Dr. Ramsey!" Ines exclaims with a shocked expression on her face, which you’re quite sure your face resembles.

"I'll report you! I want to talk to your manager," he says more angrily than before.

"Go ahead," Ethan says with a sarcastic smile." Maybe she can't talk to you like this but I sure as hell can."

You look at Nigel who looks like he's about to say something but just then Bryce struts in. He winks at you playfully as he passes you.

"Someone called for a laparoscopic surgery?"

"Oh great, first Barbie and now the damn Ken doll!” You don’t even attempt to hide the disgust on your face as you roll your eyes.

By the time you’ve finished your consultation with Bryce, Ines and Ethan have already left the room. Pleased with yourself, you take a left in the hallway without noticing Ethan standing leaning against the wall.

"Rookie..." His velvety baritone voice calls out, pulling you out of a haze.

Wincing, you stop dead in your tracks as the memories of the previous day replay in your mind. Still embarrassed with your encounter, you turn around but never meet his eyes. You’re sure you look like a kid, standing before him with your feet crossed, one hand fiddling with your hair as you bite your lip.

"So, you figured it out in the end. And you kept things professional.”, he nods, barely visible.

"I guess I just needed a… push.”, you reply in a timid voice laced with embarrassment.

"Maybe you aren’t so hopeless then.", he says.

Unlike yesterday, his voice isn’t filled with disappointment and malice.

So mustering up some courage, you look up to meet his eyes. Relief washes over you as you don’t detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He isn’t smiling but something in you tells you he isn’t angry. You don’t realise you’ve been staring into his oh-so blue eyes until his pager beeps, shaking you out of your reverie.

“..Uh- I’ll see you around, Dr. Ramsey.” You can almost swear that you see longing etched into his chiseled features as you lose yourself in his eyes once more.

“Likewise, Valentine.” With that, he turns around and stalks away.

You sigh and lean against the wall, the events since you started your residency swirl around like a hurricane filled with memories.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

******************************************

And this concludes Season 1 of Medically Inevitable!

Authors’ Note:- Hey everyone, hope y’all enjoyed this chapter! As you’ve probably seen before, this is the last chapter of Season 1! Season 2 will be out soon, as soon as we work out the kinks and pump out a few chapters with different moodboards and title themes! Season 2 will be much more eventful, more drama, angst and shocking cliffhangers mixed in with the string of festivities that Thanksgiving and Christmas bring! Stay tuned and check our blogs and Instagram’s (same handle) for more updates! And lastly thank y’all so much for all the support, we are extremely grateful.

Love,

@drariellevalentine & @mysticaurathings

Medically Inevitable Taglist:- @whimsicallywayward15 | @iemcpbchoices | @sizzlingcashherohumanoid | @archveexz | @deepikakkannan | @nishas-paradise | @maurine07 | @archxxronrookie | @adrex04 | @everythingchoices | @rivenni | @annekebbphotography | @mrsethanfreakingramsey | @jamespotterthefirst | @natureblooms24 | @katkart122 | @udishaman | @hopelessromantics4life | @custaroonie | @mvalentine | @queencarb | @lisha1valecha | @ezekielbhandarivalleros | @ejrownsme @the-pale-goddess | @justanotherrookie | @miss-smrxtiee | @missmiimiie | @choicesfics | @romewritingshop | @taniasethi | @keithandlevi-ontheroof | @choicesfan10 | @open-heart-ramseyyy | @crookedkittyperson | @sistatribe | @tsrookie | @starrystarrytrouble | @caseyvalentineramsey | @alina-yol-ramsey | @openheartthot | @gryffindordaughterofathena | @binny1985 | @groovypalacehorselover | @akshara16 | @epiclazershark | @aarisa-frost | @shanzay44 | @jooous | @angela8754 | @red-rookie |

[crazycephalopoda]

Grief

My father died February 11th, 2021. That, in and of itself, is a weird sentence for me to write. To acknowledge. To me, the reality of this situation that I find myself in has not quite sunk in. I feel it in waves, rocking me like a boat beating against a storm. There are times when the boat has a leak and I scramble on deck to patch it together, desperately holding my hands over the holes while water rushes in. There are times where other boats come near to try and salvage my wreckage, but the captain goes down with their own ship and whatnot. I have always been one for bad metaphors. Amidst all of this, there are times of calm and quiet waters as well, where the ocean seems endless and empty. My father is dead. He is gone. He will not come back.

I check my Facebook messenger and look at his icon to see if he is there or not. He is not. He will not be ever again. I feel a lump forming in my throat. I scroll through the messages we have shared for the past several years and question every conversation. Did I contact him enough? Why didn’t I respond to that one message he sent? Was I too short with him? Did he know that I loved him? I look back and analyze every photo he was in. Why did I make that face? Why didn’t I take more photos with him? Did he know that I loved him? Why didn’t I show that I loved him more? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?

Attempting to live my life normally is a joke, and a bad one at that. Everything reminds me of him and the memories we made while growing up. I had malt o meal for breakfast. I cried. He loved malt o meal, with a large amount of sugar and a small amount of milk. Just enough that it was “liquid but not runny” like he said. I remember just two weeks ago when he had eaten only one bite of malt o meal and turned it away due to being nauseous. I thoughtlessly plopped the spoon in my mouth. We all laughed at the realization that he had just had chemo and we were not supposed to swap bodily fluids due to the poisonous chemicals. It was not funny. It was. God, I hate malt o meal. Why did he like this stuff?

--------------------------------------------------------

When my eyes are closed, I see the same scenes playing out in my head that have resided there for the past several weeks. They plague my sleep and leave me restless. He had always had a cheery and rounded face, but those final weeks his eyes sunk in between mountains of cheekbones and gaunt skin. His mouth hangs open like he cannot get enough oxygen for all the air in the room. Maybe he wants to speak. But he doesn’t. He is silent at the end, except when in pain. His eyes are also open, halfway and drooping. His eyes are open, and he is searching but he is not seeing me. At one point, when he could still speak, he mutters about bugs crawling on the walls and a girl on the ceiling. We joke about how scary that sounds to make it less uncomfortable. Could he see us there, beside him?  

Curly hair was his best feature, he always said. People from all over complimented him on his natural hair all the time. We had a hairdresser once who fawned over it. He acted embarrassed but I think he liked the attention. Those same locks of hair now lay disheveled and unkempt around him like a halo. My mother sprays them with water and tries to keep them clean. I was glad, at least, the one chemo treatment had not stolen that from him. We cut a lock of hair to keep. It is the only thing of his person that will not face or be burned when he is cremated. What would he think of that?

My mother and I are caregiver to him, and we drain fluid from his chest as it builds up to an unbearable amount. At first it is an alien procedure to me, with a series of steps and protocols and cleaning routines. Put on two sets of gloves, touching only the wrist. Clean the cap with an alcohol swab. Make sure the clamp is fastened before you attach the bag below. Don’t drain too much or his blood pressure will drop, and you will kill him even faster than the cancer. After a few times, it is normal and just another thing we do to help him. Towards the end, it is tinged red. So is his urine. So is everything else. He stirs at one point in his confusion and tells me “I’ve leaked, I see red everywhere”.  There was none, he was hallucinating. At least that time. Is he in pain?

Our fingers intertwine periodically when I sit beside him. When he was still conscious, he would occasionally reach out for whoever was closest. This was the smallest of comforts we could offer him. He always liked to sleep with his arms above his head, but the atrophied muscles would not allow this for him. We moved him into position like a broken marionette throughout the day. His hands are placed on his chest after he passed. They were so yellow, cold, and frail. There was no strength left in his ragged fingers. I held one of his hands in mine and I took a photo. The yellow skin glares at me like the sun and I squint, suddenly nauseous. I change the photo to black and white. As I stare at that photo now, it seems morbid to me but at the time gave me something to keep of him. What will it be like to never touch him again?

The sounds amplify the hell I experience. After his first round of chemo, he was awake and aware of us for two days. During that time, we made mostly small talk. He was quiet and introspective. At one point, I sat across from him and worked on readings assigned from my graduate school classes. He broke the silence to say he was proud of me. I told him that I was sad he would not see me graduate. He was the reason, after all, I had pursued this path. This is the only time I saw him cry in front of me. We held each other and I listened to his heartbeat in his chest while he told me that regardless of his death, he would be there for me. I realize now that I never asked him things like what his favorite color was, which tv shows he liked now, what hobbies he wished he had done when he had the time. As he is in and out of sleep, my mother and sister tell him “it’s okay, you don’t have to fight, let go”. I cannot speak these words. I do not want to. On his last day, I had exhausted myself to the point I needed to rest. My head had barely hit the pillow before I hear a sound across the vast distance of the house that raised the hairs on my arm. It’s someone in pain. I rush back to his bedside as his head turns this way and that. His mouth now opens only to say “help” in a strangled, garbled voice. He is soothed with morphine until his whimpering subsides. That was the last thing he spoke to us. I never really said “goodbye” to him. Was there more I should have said?

For weeks I sat beside his bed at night and watched over him while the hum of his breathing machine aligned with the nervous fluttering of my heart. His gasping breaths... In for a few seconds, quickly out, then held for an eternity, then in again. Every pause between his breathing caused me to hold my air in my throat. Every pause could have been the last one, but it wasn’t. Until it was. My mother calls out to us, after he expressed pain, and we gather around his bedside. My sister, my mother, my grandmother, and me. My mother holds his hands and weeps. His breathing is different, not the beat I have grown accustomed to. It is quick, jagged, and quiet. At some point, it stops. There is an eerie silence, followed by the sounds a body releases shortly after death. It startles me, and an undeniable signal of the horrible event that has just unfolded in front of us. I can’t believe it. I reach over to his throat to feel a pulse. There isn’t one. I dry heave into the trash can nearby before I break the silence with a loud scream. As I browse Facebook now, I wonder how I can hear him again. Are there videos of him speaking? Why didn’t I record any videos of him speaking? Is his voicemail still on his phone? I am scared to call it. Why am I scared to call it?

--------------------------------------------------------

Reliving these events, the weight now completely crushes my chest. It caves in my ribcage, plows through my heart, and drops me somewhere against the cold of the floor below. I am paralyzed in this position, barely breathing. I am scared. If I am too loud, if I cry, if I talk, I am acknowledging this new reality I am forced to live in. I don’t want to live it. I don’t want to be a part of it. I reject this world, body and soul. I am scared. Frantically, my mind races to those who are still present. I have not spent enough time with them. I have not said all the things I wanted, asked them what their favorite color is, or recorded enough photos and videos. When will I lose someone else? How will I lose them? I am scared. My breath begins to catch in my chest, and I feel the room shrink around me. I will never hear him again. I will never see him again. I will never touch him again. I will never play Fallout (which he loved) with him or watch Alien Covenant (which he hated) with him again. I will never be able to fall into his arms and cry about something stressing me out again. I will never hear him tell me he is proud of me again. I will never see him smile after he tells a bad joke again. My father is dead. How do I grieve this loss?

[vonnyphant]

To Blog or Not to Blog?

“You should start a diary and write about your experiences. It may help people going through the same thing.”

Honestly? If there’s one thing I discovered about this diagnosis, it’s that it makes me pretty damn selfish. I don’t want to help other people (not just yet, anyway). But putting some thoughts down about this time in my life may be of some sort of therapeutic value, and I do want to help myself. 

(Maybe for once, saving the world can wait. Do you remember how, soon after the pandemic hit, people stopped avoiding plastic and single-use items? When your health is at risk, suddenly rainforests and polar bears and the planet are deprioritised- not that anyone will admit to this. But this is my diary and I can say what I want!* Writing for myself it is.)

Having established my less-than-Mother-Theresa-like reasons for this blog, my conscience cleared, it’s time to start. This is where the Lifetime movie shows me, in a half daze, mellowed out on drugs while they sew a mediport into my chest to start administering chemicals. A fast lane to my bloodstream. A docking station. The soundtrack? Hopefully ‘Across The Universe’ by the Beatles (possibly Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. If I get a say in it, I veto The Walrus) Time to pump this body full of drugs that’ll make my hair fall out. 

Wait, what?

Voice Over: “Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering what I am doing here…” //record scratch - freeze frame - fast rewind to the psychedelic outtro of A Day In The Life//

Two months ago, during rub-a-dub-in-the-tub (less naughty than it sounds, was just washing myself), my mind inexplicably went to an episode of Beverly Hills 90210, s1 (aired in 1992- yes, I am that old), where Brenda Walsh has a breast cancer scare. I say inexplicably, because my usual shower fantasies do not include Ms Shannon Doherty - if I was going to pick a shower lady, I’d opt for Charlize Theron, Kiera Knightly or Winona Ryder in their short-hair phases, but that is neither here nor there. 

Say what you want for 90s television- weird outfits and ponytails notwithstanding, in their AfterSchoolSpecial PSA way, they dedicated a whole scene to the girls giving themselves a breast exam, including how-to instructions**, and eventhough I was only 11 years old when I saw it, I remembered what to do, and for the last 30 years, every now and then I have randomly carried it out while wondering how I always preferred Brandon over Dylan and how my tastes have changed over time.

But this time - my hand actually found something.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down the same way I did after finding spots on my skin, lumps on my head and every time I sneezed since covid-19; by telling myself to fucking snap out of my hypochondria tendencies. One cannot go to the doctor every damn day after all. Breast tissue is pretty lumpy and I assumed it was just imaginary. I made an appointment to see a therapist, and  put it out of my mind until a few weeks later, when one of the kids came crashing down on me (literally) and faceplanted in my boob (as they do). 

Now this always hurts af, but it just hurt that little more that day, so that I grabbed the appendage in question and went “WHAT THE--!” And I felt it again- the lump, more defined than a few weeks before. 

Cue a lot more freaking out than the first time, and after a sleepless night, imagining what my funeral would look like (as one does), I decided to go to the gynocologist the same day or risk never to sleep again.

After a long wait and an ultrasound, my doctor assured me that while there really was a mass, it had every indication of being benign. We should keep an eye on it. If I was worried, I could schedule a second screening, but would not likely get an appointment before April. I scheduled one and tried to focus on preparing our first lockdown Christmas. 

But over the holidays, the lump started hurting, even when I wasn’t poking it or having a kid catapult themselves into my chest. I’d be Netflix and Chilling, and suddenly - ZAP - like someone stuck a hot needle into it. Repeatedly. My nipple would go numb or start tingling like a bodypart that fell asleep. It freaked me out, and in the new year, I realised I couldn’t wait until April - I had to get it checked out again or I may worry myself to death.

My gynocologist did another ultrasound and again, told me not to worry. I told her it was way too late for that as I had been worried for weeks, and I wanted the thing biopsied (they gave Brenda Walsh one too, after all! It’s the only way to be 100% sure). She referred me to the hospital. At the description of my symptoms, I could come directly, and the radiologist told me in no unclear terms: “I will not let you leave this room until we draw blood and take several biopsies.” Okay- not exactly what one wants to hear at that point, but at the same time, I figured knowing would be better than guessing by the shape of it.

Test results took a week. I went in, being prepared to be told (like Brenda) it was a harmless clump of random cells or a cyst we could have removed like a wart. Only it wasn’t. It was breast cancer, an aggressive, fast-growing kind, and had I waited until April, that could have had disastrous consequences.

While the doctor explained we now needed to determine the scope of the spread and take more tissue to determine what kind of chemo (if any) could be applied, all my 2020-PTSD brain could think was: 

“.............of course”. 

Didn’t hear much of what she said afterwards.

Another harrowing 4 days went by, with a CT screening with contrast solutions that gave me an intense stomach ache as well as a migraine, and finally, a fully rounded diagnosis and treatment advice could be made. 

Thankfully, all my organs as well as lymphnodes were clear, so it appears to be a localised tumor. And here we are - to fight this thing with chemicals and then cut out whatever is left. Genetics testing to see about the likelihood of a recurrency (and a possible double mastectomy if so - ‘pulling an Angelina Jolie’, ‘not saving the tatas’, insert ‘Think About It meme’...can’t have breast cancer if you don’t have breasts! THINK ABOUT IT***). 

Chances are good. I need to cling to that while I wait for this port and treatment to start. I have accepted the inevitable hair loss, have scheduled a ritual ‘crazy hair cutting party’ with my kids for this weekend (as I would rather shave it off in one go than clean up clumps and strands over the course of weeks and look like Gollum), and I have sewn several funny little hats for inside wear and ‘going out’ (though where will I be going in pandemic, idk). 

I was going to end this post on a light and happy note - but I must admit my confidence just took a really big hit in real time, as I googled how to spell Shannon’s last name for this blog entry and found out that she was treated for breast cancer in 2015, initially succesfully, but it reappeared metastasized in 2020 (again: ‘of course...when else’) and she is now in stage IV. Fuck 2020.

What are the odds that the woman whose character made me discover my own breast cancer is now, in fact, dying of the same disease? This will surely haunt me for a long time to come.

More tomorrow? Or soon? It may take a while. Until then: outro to It’s Getting Better.

*also for the record I would like to state that I’ve sewn my own masks from upcycled pillowcases and continued using fruit- and vegetable nets to avoid plastic; maybe that makes up for me being utterly selfish at the moment. Karma +1?

** https://youtu.be/pkgYXITkrfw (the scene from BH 90210)

***cis men / trans women without breasts can also get breast cancer (even though it’s rare) so this meme doesn’t really hold up, but that’s the whole point of the meme ;)

[trollhuntersstuff]

So I know I already talked about how fast Ceb's hair grows in his trollish form.

What I FORGOT to mention is that Ceb's unusual hair growth rate ALSO carries over to his human form. With that in mind, im his human form, since it has such a fast growth time, twice a month he'll wait two weeks, let his hair GROW out, and then get it cut over at this small hair salon in Arcadia, where they donate leftover long hair to charities. The kind of places that make wigs using real hair for children and adults who lose theirs during chemo, or other long lasting medical treatments that cause hair loss.

In the changeling au, where Ceb is a pure troll, he also does this. Even though Ceb DOES keep his hair long, it's only kept at back length. It never stops growing however, and with how fast it grows, Ceb still has to have those long locks of his cut on a bi-weekly basis, BUT only when it's so long that it reaches his ankles braided. Ceb only allows his husband to touch his hair. I've mentioned this before, but hair is of crucial mportance in his culture, and only intimate immediate blood family members, or life partners, are the only ones permitted to handle it. Ever. Once cut, Ceb and Früll will box the cut hair, Freddy(Früll) will drop it off to places that can send it off to the charities that can make wigs from it. Ceb can get away with this without being worried about exposing himself and others because unlike most trolls' course and sometimes wire like hair and fur, eastern river trolls have incredibly silky and soft textured hair/fur that's very similar to a flehsbag's. One would only be able to tell the difference by using a magic based analysis.

[wienerbarnes]

Whatever It Takes (4/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1,481

Warnings: Medical mumbo jumbo, fluffy stuff!!!

A/N: suuuuuuuper sorry for the late chapter! ive been so busy these last few days and it completely slipped my mind! hope u all will forgive me and id say it wont happen again but ehhhhh who knows :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dr. Curtis returns to her hotel and you volunteer to stick around to observe John for the night. You may have volunteered in hopes to spend some more time with Bucky, but you’ll keep telling yourself that you stayed behind in order to observe more of the medical technology surrounding you. It’s late into the night when you return to John’s room to check on him. You’ve been roaming the hallways of the Avengers’ private medical wing trying to pass the time and also hoping to run into Bucky. He hasn’t returned since earlier in the evening when he was in John’s room with you.

You peek your head in quietly to see John awake, looking at his hand, the skin still peeling and a small brown tuft in his palm. You enter the room and close the door behind you before slowly approaching.

“How do you feel?” You ask.

“Like shit.” He responds, still looking at his hand. You look closer to see a multitude of hair strands clumped together at his fingertips. “My hair is falling out.” He informs you. “I’m guessing that’s the chemo?”

You sigh and pick up the file resting at the foot of the bed and read through before glancing at him again. “No.” You answer, putting the file back down.

“It’s too quick. Which means you don’t have cancer.” You explain. “I think someone actually did try to kill you.”

…

“You’re stubborn. You’re arrogant.” Curtis lists.

“You’re yelling is giving me a headache.” You state.

Everyone is gathered in Dr. Banner’s office again. Including Bucky, who is now wearing different clothes than the ones he’d picked you up in. He’s now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an “Avengers” sweatshirt, the famous “A” logo printed on the center. Perhaps he was getting ready for bed and these are his pajamas. Maybe these are just his after-shower clothes and he actually sleeps naked-

“This isn’t productive.” Banner interrupts your thoughts and stops Curtis before she can continue to give you an ear-full.

“Nothing is productive now! She might’ve cost this man his life! And it’s due to your poor judgement!” She continues to point his finger at Banner.

Bucky observes you as you seemingly star off into space while the screaming match continues. He can envision everything turning in your head; you racking your brain for any ideas to help save this man. Gears turning and turning and turning before he sees a sort of realization show in your eyes.

“Cordyceps Sinensis.” You mumble out, and the arguing stops. “It’s, an, uh, herbal substance derived from a parasitic fungus, comes from caterpillars. Along with Dimercaprol and Chelation, it’s been shown to mitigate bone marrow damage from radiation poisoning,” You try.

“In monkeys.” You wince as you finish your explanation.

After a few minutes of silence, Bucky finally speaks; and oh how you missed his voice, “Where do we get it?”

…

“This is a Chinese herbal tea,” You begin to explain to John as you hand him a mug full of the steaming hot liquid.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” He dejectedly asks.

“Uh, yeah, probably.” You quietly answer him.

The sun is up again when you finally get a hold of the herbs and are able to make the tea. Everyone is understandably exhausted after the long night of staying awake; you haven’t slept a wink. As you hold the mug for John and slowly feed him the drink, you hear everyone file out of the room. You glance over your shoulder to see Bucky remain.

“Don’t worry, he’ll probably sleep for a bit while the tea works its magic, and then you can finally give me a private show.” You tease as you place the mug on the nightstand next to the bed.

“Don’t threaten me with a fun time, doll.”

He walks over to the love seat you usually occupy and plops down in it.

“You’re in my seat.” You joke. A smirk grows on his face as he scoots as far to left of the seat as he can and pats his right thigh. You’d normally throw some light insults at him until he decides to give you the chair back, but whether it’s how exhausted you are or how much you missed him in those hours he disappeared, you just don’t care. You slowly climb into his lap, legs curling underneath your body and atop his right thigh. His right arms wraps around your body as you curl up into a ball in his side and, my goodness, he is so warm. As soon as your head begins to rest in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, your eyelids feel heavier than ever.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up in a coupla’ hours so you can check on him.” Bucky whispers to you. You hum in response and finally let sleep take over your body.

…

“Psst. Wakey-wakey.” You hear Bucky’s deep and soothing voice wake you from your sleep. You won’t admit it to him but, you definitely pretended to stay asleep for a few seconds longer just to hear him continue to whisper in your ear.

“Mhm.” You hum, slowly stretching out of the ball you were rolled up in.

“He says that the nausea’s going away.” Bucky says to you, voice still low because he knows you’re still bit groggy.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, radiation sickness has a latency period. You’ll get better before you get worse.” You correct, rubbing your eyes before standing and reaching over to feed John another few gulps of tea.

Returning to your seat on Bucky’s lap, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with him. The thought of the way he was gently whispering in your ear causes goosebumps to rise on your arms, you can smell his smell on your skin, on your clothes. You want to wake up like this all the time. Minus the dying Avengers secret spy.

A moments of peace and quiet pass before John breaks the silence. “You guys wanna know what I really did down there?” You glance and Bucky and his brow is furrowed, giving him a confused expression.

“Only if it’s interesting.” You reply.

“The women there… during Carnival, they do this dance… called the ‘Devil Dance’…” John mumbles out slowly, throat still scratchy from the vomiting from the previous day.

“Not interesting,” You mumble as you squirm to get comfortable in Bucky’s lap once more, not noticing the smile creeping up on his face and you squeeze yourself down under his arm and into his side once more.

“I spent the whole forty days with all of these women… they would tell me things… and then I’d find out they’d end up…” John trails off and you can hear the guilt in his voice.

Bucky suddenly snaps out his daze and looks at John. “Forty days?” He questions. He looks at you and you match his confused expression as you think and realize what he thought of.

“Carnival in Bolivia is only eight days.” You conclude.

You quickly turn back towards John,

“Do you know what a chestnut looks like?”

…

Approaching the door to Dr. Banner’s office, you swing it open to find Banner speaking to the infamous Nick Fury. The both turn to look at you and you shove your finger is Fury’s face, “You idiot!” You accuse.

“Who the hell are you callin’ an idiot?” Fury turns his body to look you up and down.

“Whoever knew that John was stationed in Brazil, not Bolivia.” You explain. Fury’s face remains confused while Banner’s face morphs into one of realization and then annoyance.

“It’s the same region, same parasites, same diseases,” Fury begins to defend, rolling his eyes.

“But not the same language.” Bucky finishes.

“In Bolivia, chestnuts are chestnuts, but in Brazil, they have castanhas de para, literally, chestnuts from para, because it would be stupid for people from Brazil to call them Brazil-nuts!” You yell. Although Bucky understands and shares your anger over such a detrimental error, he can’t deny that it’s incredibly amusing to watch you shout in Nick Fury’s face.

“So what if he ate a few Brazil-nuts?!” Fury yells back, patience wearing thinner by the second.

“He ate a lot of Brazil nuts. Which contain selenium,” Bucky notices Banner roll his eyes and rub his forehead out of the corner of his eye, “Which can lead to fatigue, vomiting, skin irritation, discharge from the fingernail beds, and hair loss. Any of that sounding familiar?” You ask.

Fury looks between you, Bucky, and Dr. Banner before finally asking, “Can you treat it?”

Your tense posture relaxes as you let out a sigh, “I already started treatment.” You assure.

“Then what’s the problem?” Fury sarcastically asks you, as everyone in the room gives Fury a shared look of annoyance.

“You’re an idiot.” Dr. Banner agrees.

TAG LIST: @gagmebucky @thewritingdoll @hannie-writes-marvel @angel-fire @jaamesbbarnes @sgtjbuccky @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @creepylittlemarvelgirl @spiderrpcrker @mywinterwolf @free-as-fishes @auskitty @som3thingcr3ative

[blossomhcney]

( shantel vansanten. thirty two. cis female. she/her. ) in texas, anastasia barrett is more commonly known as ana. they’ve been living in newton for thirty two years and currently a firefighter. some say they are impulsive & emotional but i’m more inclined to believe those that say they’re curious & kind. if you walk by their house, you can sometimes hear that’s my girl by fifth harmony playing from their window. ( sadness etched into features, bruised and burnt skin, ripped jeans, messy buns on rainy mornings, the smell of vanilla surrounds her. )

PINTEREST BOARD !

NAME. anastasia francesca barrett née fletcher. NICKNAME. ana. AGE. thirty two. GENDER. cis female. PRONOUNS. she/her. SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic. HOMETOWN. newton. OCCUPATION. former hairdresser at cut n curl / firefighter. AFFILIATION. none (reapers).

ZODIAC. scorpio. POSITIVE TRAITS. curious, kind, sympathetic. NEGATIVE TRAITS. impulsive, emotional, regretful. LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english, french, spanish.

HEIGHT. 5′5. EYE COLOR. green. HAIR COLOR. blonde. TATTOOS. can be found on the pinterest board !

QUICK INFO.

trigger warnings: death

anastasia fletcher was born to elouise and franklin fletcher. they were reapers, born and raised, and this was the life that they wished for their first born daughter. it was no secret that franklin had hoped and prayed for a son, but ana was the light of his life from the moment she was placed into his arms. it would only be two years later when her younger sister was born and a further three before her younger brother was brought into the world. true to his word, franklin had stopped the moment he had a boy, but it did not mean that he loved his daughters any less. hell, it made him appreciate them all the more, because they showed him how great their love and adoration was with each passing day. the fletchers were a normal, well functioning family, if you could get past the small armoury they kept in their basement and the blood stained clothes they would arrive home in.

ana was forced to grow up before she should have. when they moved homes at the age of six, she was thrown into an unlikely friendship with the boys next door. at her young, young age, she could see that their home life was not as happy as her own. it took no convincing for her parents to set extra places at the dinner table, because once ana popped out her puppy dog eyes, her father was like putty in her hands. she had had him wrapped around her little finger from day one and as she grew, their connection only grew stronger.

her father fell ill fairly quickly, ana was only thirteen when she was tasked with taking care of her siblings whilst her mother spent time at the hospital with him. she had always been very maternal, but taking care of her brother and sister for three days straight with no break? that was the true test to whether she would be able to handle children. it was fucking exhausting, but having her best friends to help her was the only thing that got her through it. her mother was distraught over her father’s illness, barely registering the days as they passed or that she even had children to get home to. once her father came out of the worst of it, she headed home to profusely apologise and thank ana for her hard work and endurance.

during high school, she picked up a couple of babysitting jobs, watching the children in town as they laughed and played and studied. she was too young to have a child, though she was only a few years shy of her mother’s age when she had fallen pregnant with her, so perhaps it ran in the family. all she knew was that becoming a mother was the one thing that she wanted in her life and nothing would feel right without that being a part of her. to add fuel to the fire, she had her first steady boyfriend and they were infatuated with one another. her mother was quick to send her off to the doctor for some form of birth control because she was not ready to become a grandmother just yet.

straight out of high school, ana found herself a job at cut n curl as a receptionist. it was an easy job and she liked talking to people. she was friendly and well liked, so to have her as the face of cut n curl was hardly a bad thing. it took no time at all before she was putting herself through varying hairdressing courses until she was trained and able to have her own chair. her first steady boyfriend had become her fiance and they fell more in love as the days passed. the only thing she regretted about being with him was losing her best friend, his brother. not a day passed that she did not miss having him by her side or talking in her ear about something he was interested in.

before long, they were married and they were the very definition of childhood sweethearts. they sometimes talked about leaving town, but their entire lives were there. he took a job as a firefighter where his brother joined him and ana was in love with her job at cut n curl. perhaps they could have had more if they left, but there was nothing that could improve their lives. except, of course, to grow their family.

well, you see, life has a funny way of working out. ana wanted to grow her family, but life had other plans. silas fell ill and she was devastated and god, she thanked her lucky stars that they did not have children. she finally understood her mother all those years ago, neglecting her children for the love of her life. it was heartbreaking to watch him wither away, whether he was on chemo or not, he was dying and that was the most painful thing for ana to wrap her head around. but he wanted to live his life and die peacefully, not hooked up to hundreds of machines and she would respect those wishes. she was secretly glad when his brother wanted to step in to help out, because lord knew she was struggling enough as it was. their friendship grew stronger over those months, late night conversations built their foundations stronger than ever and ana felt closer to him than she ever had before. and then, when silas died, he ducked out after the funeral and she was heartbroken all over again. grieving the loss of her husband was bad enough, but to do it alone? she was just one woman, she could not handle that.

after silas’ death, ana needed something to feel closer to him, because sitting in that empty house was doing her head in. when he had fallen ill, she had quit her job at cut n curl in a heartbeat to care for him full time. she put herself through training to become a firefighter and it is where she spends her time now. she feels closer to him than she ever had before, but she is also slowly trying to start the process of moving on, as hard as it was. her heart ached to consider ever loving anybody else, but the problem was, she already did love somebody else. perhaps that was the reason for her throwing herself into something that silas loved, to remember the man she was married to, the man that held her through every hard night and kissed her head when she cried after each negative pregnancy test.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

best friends / ride or die - ana definitely needs her best friend ! somebody who helped her get through everything with silas and supported her through every hard moment. somebody she would be a goner without !

childhood friends - she has lived in stratford all her life, so she very likely has friends that she may have drifted apart from over the years, but they can always reminisce over their childhoods together 

hook ups / one night stands - these would be very recent, over the past few months since silas died. she had only ever been with him and she needed to just.. forget about all the pain in her life for a few hours, so she sought the comfort in a (perhaps not so) stranger. 

i have no idea how to feasibly phrase this so any character who (regardless of if they became a reaper themselves) had a parent or parents who were involved with the reapers and is around the same age as ana would likely have grown up with her around, so some way to explore that would be be-you-tiful

[amintyworld]

LITTOH Chapter 2: On the Rooftop

A/N: I was planning on posting this fic earlier this week, but then school and life got on the way and now it’s Sunday. This is the longest fanfic I’ve EVER written, tallying on a google doc about 8 pages. I hope all of you are as excited for this series as I am. Your author, Minty.

Summary: After a small bit of hope sparks some confusing feelings, Virgil and Roman try to go back to fighting their own battles.

TW: Cancer mention, death mention, vomiting, loss of consciousness, parasite mention, logicality implied. (let me know if I missed any!)

LITTOH Masterlist

Virgil groaned, shifting, as the morning light eased him awake. Did he sleep through the night?! Jeez, these meds are strong. He felt a warm body pressed against his.

Roman…?

He slowly opened his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it, but the warmth was surprisingly comforting. He looked around the empty, quiet room and noticed the closed door. He didn’t remember closing it. He heard a content sigh from behind him. He looked down to notice an arm wrapped around him, and his face flushed red in seconds. He noticed his face nuzzled close, oh god they were so close…

He slowly crept out of the bed, as not to wake him. He needed to get out of here. He wanted nothing more than to hide away in his room. Virgil didn’t like the tightness in his chest, or the overwhelming heat on his face that no amount of foundation could hide.

As he slowly walked to the door, his stomach churned. His eyes widened. No..no, no, no, no!

Virgil quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to stop the inevitable. The room spun as he tried to stay upright.

Don’t fall, please no…

Roman stirred, rubbing his eyes. “Virgil…?”

Virgil looked pale and sickly, and...scared? He dashed out the door, ripping his black medical mask off as he puked into a nearby trash can. With this, Roman was awake. He threw off the covers, rushing to Virgil’s side. Virgil was shivering. Roman rubbed his back soothingly. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He bit his cheek, concerned, looking round for nurses.

“It’s okay, Virgil.” Roman said. “It’s...it’s going to be okay.”

Nurses rushed over from the front desk of the ward, pushing Roman back. “Breathe, Virgil. Deep breaths, okay?” A nurse with the tag ‘Patton’ said. Virgil’s face was so pale, so deathly pale, and his chest struggled to heave in and out. Another nurse rushed to get a wheelchair, scooping Virgil up, god he looked so weak…

Roman was uneasy, mind filled with thoughts and words that somehow couldn’t leave his mind. He stood there. It was strange how one moment, life can be normal, smiles, and laughter. Then, well…

Why was he so upset? He didn’t even know him. He didn’t-

Yet the sinking feeling in his stomach spoke the truth.

-------------------

Virgil felt weak and dizzy, and he felt the familiar press of the warm plastic, and the tight strap that wrapped around his head. The voice was firm, but gentle. “Breathe, Virgil.”

It was distant.

The airborne medicine flew into his lungs as he breathed shakingly. His world slowly came back into focus, the mask becoming fogged. Logan gave a small smile.

“There we are.” He felt his forehead. “Just keep breathing.”

Logan was the head doctor of Urgent Care Ward. He was a resident doctor of the hospital, Patton his close friend since highschool. “Patton, he needs an IV and a nose breathing tube, his vitals are dropping.”

Patton gave a sharp nod, rushing out the door, a determined look on his face.

Logan pressed the cold metal of his stethoscope to his chest, sending a shiver down his spine. His eyes were fixed, focused.

“Deep breath, okay?”

Confusion flashed across the doctor’s face. He pushed up his glasses, mumbling to himself, thinking. “That dose should’ve worked, I don’t…” He looked toward Virgil, speaking calmly. “We should be getting your X-Ray results soon, they should clear things up.”

Patton walked in, hooking up the IV quickly, hydrating the weakened patient. He stroked his hair comfortingly, and Virgil offered a weak smile in return. He slowly turned the medicine flow off and carefully removed the mask.

Virgil's breathing had become more even, but he was still really tired. It was terrifying- panic and puke, breathing slipping from his grasp all too quickly. The nose tubes were uncomfortable, and very familiar. Painfully familiar.

Patton smiled down at him as Logan headed for the door swiftly, other matters to attend to. "How ya doing, kiddo?"

"F-fine…" Virgil said shakily, taking a deep breath of the oxygen before speaking again. "Just...tired…"

"Of course, kiddo." Patton could sense the panic in Virgil, and pushed some stray bangs out of his face. "You should rest, I'll check on you in a little while, okay?"

Virgil nodded, looking up at the white ceiling. The same white ceiling he had looked at for days, listening to his music and blocking out the world.

He couldn't help but have his thoughts wonder to Roman. He wished he was here, to hum his melodies…

Slow down, Virgil. You've only known him for like, a day. Now suddenly he's all you think about?!

His mind was pulled out of the clouds as he heard Patton talking to someone. He knew he shouldn't snoop, but honestly, he didn't really have a choice. Their words were loud enough to hear as they talked outside of his room.

"So...you seem pretty tired from the night shift, Lo. You wanna get a coffee on break?" His voice was nervous, yet full of hope.

"I probably will, Patton. Thank you for the suggestion." Logan said, his voice unwavering, always focused.

Logan's shoes made a loud sound on the floor as he walked off. He heard Patton's discontent sigh.

"Oh, Logan…" Patton said, a bit of sadness in his voice. "You really can't take a hint, can you?"

----------------

Roman sat in the waiting room, nervous. He'd been on his first round of chemo, and it was finally time to see if it worked.

Or worse, if it didn't.

He fidgeted, the answer weighing on his mind. They'd gotten the diagnosis early, when during one of his rehearsals at his local theater for his debut, he couldn't get enough air in to sing, and began coughing so badly his director demanded him to get a check up.

Thank god she did.

His twin brother, Remus, rushed into the room. At everyone's sudden glance, his face flushed as he walked over to his younger brother. Roman smirked. "That's one way to enter a room, Rem."

Remus smiled, but quickly faded with worry. "Any news yet?"

"Nope."

"Damn, they're really making us wait today. How long does it take to look at an x-ray?!"

"Pretty long, apparently."

Remus sat. He would wait until the end of time. He was not leaving his brother. Not today, and especially not now.

He can't really explain his emotions when Roman had told him about the call. It was almost like time itself stopped, and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. Roman choked on his words halfway through, beginning to cry.

But, Remus knew what he was saying. He knew and yet he didn't want to know. He didn't want to believe it.

As he sat for a few moments, he noticed the chair next to him wobble. Roman's whole body was shaking slightly. He grabbed Roman's hand to steady him.

"Roman, you're shaking."

Roman just looked out of the window, quiet.

"Roman, talk to me." His voice was laced with concern. Where was that smiling, singing theater kid he used to know?

Roman's voice was quiet. "S-sorry, I'm just a little tired."

"Roman Sanders?"

Both pairs of eyes darted to the doctor standing by the door. Roman stood up. "Yes?"

The doctor gestured inside. "Come inside. We have a few things to go over."

Roman gripped Remus's hand as they walked. Remus remembered when Roman was so scared of heights, and he was being dragged along on his first roller coaster.

Roman was usually so tough, fighting dragons in their backyard and saving princes, but for the first time, Roman Sanders was really... scared.

Remus smiled at his brother. "Don't worry. I'll be right here."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

They sat in two chairs next to each other. The doctor got out a chart. "I am Doctor Joan, I'll be your primary team doctor." He shook both of their hands firmly.

Roman gripped Remus's hand tighter.

He cleared his throat before pulling out two X-Rays. Both were centered on his lungs. "As you can see here, this is your tumor when you were admitted- slightly smaller than a golf ball. Normal for stage three." He said, explaining the first X-Ray. Then he pulled out the second.

Both twins had their eyes glued to the doctor.

"After a week of chemo, it appears your tumor has grown by fifty percent, making you now at stage four. It's taken control of about a quarter of your left lung, and is still growing."

Roman had no words. He didn't move. He didn't speak. The fear of death loomed over him, and it seemed almost as if at any moment, it would all be over.

He looked at the ground. He couldn't look at the doctor. He couldn't look at his brother.

What he would give to be laughing and smiling with Virgil again. What he would give to see him right now.

Though, he didn't think Virgil wanted to see him. Maybe he didn't even like him.

Remus's mind whirred. No. No, he wasn't just going to give up so easily. He's seen his brother fight off monsters and warlocks and witches. He could beat this. He HAD to beat this. He won't let his brother go, not without a fight.

Remus looked at the doctor. "What can we do?"

------------

Roman was walking around the Ward when he spotted the door to Virgil’s room ajar. He yawned, the morning had sapped nearly all his energy out of him. He peeked his head in, worried for Virgil’s state from the episode this morning. Virgil was curled up, blue hospital scrubs against a white bed. He murmured in his sleep, pulling himself closer for warmth. Roman hated the way his face felt hot as a small breeze blew Virgil’s purple hair in the wind.

Wait…

What was he doing here? He quickly took a step back. The nurse will think he’s insane. Who the heck stares at someone sleeping?! He knew he only wanted to check to see how Virgil was doing, maybe even talk, but…

Roman! Snap out of it! You’re acting like a giddy, lovesick, teenager!

He shouldn’t be here. Why was he here? He turned to leave, wanting to make a mad dash for the door, but knowing it would wake him. STUPID! Why did he think it was a good idea to just stare into Virgil’s room when he’s freaking asleep like a stalker-

“Roman..?”

He froze. He hoped more than ever right then, that Virgil had a sleep talking habit.

“Roman, is that you?” Virgil rubbed his eyes, turning on a bedside light.

Roman slowly turned. “H-hey, Virge…” He said nervously.

“Roman, what are you doing in here?” Virgil asked. He yawned, energetic for the morning - er, afternoon by now.

“I...I was just checking up on you. I was really worried from this morning-”

Worried?

“-And I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a creep, I’ll go now-!” Roman’s face was flushed pink as he turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Roman stopped dead in his tracks. Either he was going to be yelled at by his crush for staring while he slept, or he was going to be screamed at by his crush for his pathetic explanation. He closed his eyes tight, not wanting to see Virgil’s face, even though his back was to him. He hated him, he just knew it-

“I don’t want you to go.”

“W-what…?” Roman asked.

“Well...y-yeah…” Virgil was blushing now. “I haven’t seen you all day, and I just wanted to talk.”

Roman was bright red, trying to keep his cool. “Y-yeah...I...I’d like that.”

---------

The wind blew their hair in all directions as they opened the door to the roof. Virgil smiled. The wind was almost comforting to him, and he started to walk toward the edge, sitting down and looking at the skyline as the sun lowered into the buildings, the sky turning a pale yellow and pink.

"What are we doing up here?" Roman asked, looking around. "I didn't even know we were allowed up here."

"We aren't usually, but I know a guy." Virgil bit his lip, still a but nervous. "Sit, Princey." Virgil patted the space next to him. Roman was hesitant, but slowly sat down next to him.

The wind slowed as the sun began to melt into the buildings, it's bright hue emerging between the small spaces between the skyscrapers. Virgil breathed deeply, his nose tube gone, as he let the wind whip his hair. He paused a moment before breaking the silence. "This is my favorite place in the hospital. I...I come up here when I just need, well… an escape."

Roman was quiet, this events of his day weighing on his mind. "I was worried about you, you know."

Virgil sighed. "I...I know." He bit his tongue.

You shouldn't have to.

Roman looked at Virgil, his face as mix of concern, as if thinking deeply about something. He looked like he wanted to say something, yet his mouth remained shut.

"Are...are you okay?"

Virgil tensed. He shut his eyes, trying not to think about him, god why was he thinking about HIM?! He slowly opened his eyes, forcing a smile. "I'm fine, Princey. Just...a lot on my mind, you know."

"Do you..wanna talk about it?" Virgil's eyes screwed shut again. Roman quickly replied, sensing the tension. "Y-you don't have t-to-!"

“N-no…” Virgil said, his voice shaking. “It’s okay.” His hand inched towards Roman’s without him realizing it, his heart ached for some kind of comfort. “I...that is, the reason f-for this morning…”

“Yes..?”

“I...I have a parasite.” Virgil said, looking away from Roman, below, at the thousands of people coming and going, always in a hurry. “It’s not contagious, but the doctors are running out of options. They say I may not have long to live.”

“O-oh.” Roman said. “W-well, if anyone knows what that’s like, it would be me.”

Virgil’s ears perked up, and he turned to face him. “How so?”

“I..u-um…” Roman Prince has never been this nervous in his life. He didn’t know how Virgil would react, after all, he barely knew him, yet he felt like he’d known him forever. It was a strange feeling to him. Would Virgil pity him? Would him telling Virgil ruin the way Virgil sees him?

Virgil’s hand quickly, subconsiously, grabbed Roman’s for comfort. “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Everything is okay.”

“L-lung cancer. Stage four. The tumor’s been growing rapidly.” Roman sighed. “I don’t know how much time I have left. It could be tommorrow, or a month from now.”

Stunned silence passed between the two.

“Well, if that’s the case Princey, let’s make today count.” Virgil smiled, making Roman’s heart skip a beat.

Virgil leaned close to Roman, their hands intertwined, as the stars sparkled in the night sky, the city below them flickering to life. Virgil’s warmth flooded his body as they sat there, the future scary, but sometimes, having someone to hold onto when your world is crumbling to the ground, can make it a little less freightening.

[larryforevs]

Comprehending Hair Modifications Throughout Chemotherapy

Hair loss is among one of the most mentally painful components of the cancer therapy experience for several. Nothing screams "I have cancer cells!" louder than a bald head as well as a face without eyebrows as well as lashes. As a radiation treatment patient, I went through the scary of hair adjustments throughout chemotherapy very first hand. As a skin specialist, I recognized that hair loss was an unavoidable part of my cancer cells therapy, and I still experienced it when it occurred to me. Some radiation treatment drugs influence hair development more than others. The dosage of the chemo medicines are additionally crucial to how significantly a chemo program will effect your hair. Greater doses of the greatest hair growth culprits will have a lot more remarkable effect on your hair follicles. What occurs during chemo is that the medications that impact hair growth actually shut down the follicle cells that are in charge of hair shaft formation as well as development. These are your hair matrix cells, and they stay at the deepest part of your hair follicle. Before you begin chemo, 90% of your scalp's 100,000 hairs are expanding in the hair follicles. (We generally say they remain in the "anagen stage," which indicates the development phase.) Matrix cells really come to be the hair shaft (they expand, separate and end up being "keratinized" implying they pass away as a framework full of the healthy protein called keratin). In the process of growing hair, your hair roots make a lot of cells that after that die to develop into the actual hair shaft. Under typical scenarios, the other 10% of your scalp hair follicles are relaxing for a short amount of time, indicating the hairs are not expanding (we call this phase of the hair cycle the "telogen stage"). They eventually dropped their hairs when their interior "clock" tells them to return into the growth (anagen) phase. This is why it's typical to lose around 100 hairs daily. In relaxing telogen phase, chemo does not cause much effect. Chemo drugs that cause hair loss do so by briefly closing down the anagen growth stage of hair matrix cells. These hectic cells can not divide to grow the hair shaft due to exactly how the chemo drugs really function. Whether it's cancer cells, your digestive tract cells or your hair matrix cells, these medicines stop cells from splitting. The hair matrix cells quit splitting, the growing hair suddenly stops expanding, as well as the hair just breaks short. Lots of individuals note an experience of discomfort when this occurs, as I certainly did. Exactly how is chemo loss of hair various than loss of hair after surgical procedure, pregnancy or extreme illness? This kind of loss of hair is different from the kind of hair dropping that occurs after pregnancy or surgical treatment. That type of loss occurs since hair matrix cells were all taken into a resting phase of telogen as a survival device induced by the physiologic "trauma" endured. When the body really feels adequately recovered, the follicles appear of telogen "hybernation;" once they get up, they grow a brand-new hair, pushing the old hair out of the shaft. This is called telogen effluvium. (The word "effluvium" is derived from a Latin term that means "to drain.") With telogen effluvium, the matrix is not shut down but just enters into its typical physiologic resting state. It then gets up once more to make a completely new hair and has to push the resting one out to make room for much more. Why can hair sometimes expand back midway through chemo? During a training course of chemotherapy, some individuals's hair might grow back mid-way with their round of chemo. I'm usually asked why this occurs. It can happen when medicines are transformed to chemo representatives that are not as hostile versus hair growth. Various medicines have different effect on hair growth and not all medicines trigger hair loss. Chemo regimens frequently transform over a program of treatment, and as a client, you don't always observe. For instance, the breast cancer chemo treatment called "AC/T" includes one component where you are offered Adriamycin as well as Cytoxan. The other part of the treatment includes a phase where you are given a drug like Taxol. This is what I had. The Adriamycin is truly difficult on the hair roots. Taxol was difficult as well, so there was no regrowth for me or the numerous other bust cancer cells individuals treated with this chemo program. It was absolutely not an enjoyable experience! What happens to hair growth when chemo mores than?. Hair regrowth after radiation treatment is typically a crazy experience with brand-new color, structure as well as "style" for a while. We don't precisely recognize why, but dark hair might be available in snow white, straight hair can come in curly, etc. My very own hair was as curly as a lamb's hair, which I have to state, I actually loved. It's an enigma though. What we do recognize is that as soon as radiation treatment is stopped, the radiation treatment medications gradually leave the body as well as the matrix cells progressively recuperate and begin splitting again. There's probably a complex biochemical healing that the cells experience when the matrix cells are stopped and after that begin healing after chemo. That process of healing is probably is why shade as well as appearance are a bit arbitrary. We do not recognize precisely what is going on, however researchers are examining the process in the hopes of comprehending it. The bottom line is that the procedure of post-chemo hair regrowth depends on an individual's distinct hair roots physiology and the chemo cocktail they got. Normally, hair color and also appearance changes after chemo are short-term. I 'd love my chemo curls to be irreversible, however they are growing out and my hair is once more ending up being directly. Is it possible for your hair to be permanently changed by chemo? Yes, and unfortunately, there are also some situations where an individual's hair does not grow back well after chemo. Hair growth is absolutely one of the adventures as well as misadventures that go along with the cancer survivor experience. I'm grateful to be here to experience it, hairless head, curly or straight hair and all. To find out more regarding my experience with chemo and likewise some other lessons that I discovered, have a look at all my chemotherapy posts that I wrote as a doctor going through chemo.. Likewise, make sure to have a look at the chemotherapy products collection that I developed based upon my experiences.. My popular Radiation treatment Skin Treatment Set is a simple means to safely look after your skin while you undergo chemo therapies. It makes a great present for somebody you understand that is facing that difficulty as well. I give away 50% of the revenues to FORCE, the advocacy company for the hereditary bust as well as ovarian cancer cells community. It is feasible to prevent several of the discouraging effect of the grueling therapy if you are positive, and also this kit provides chemo clients one much less thing to stress over. To find out more on this topic, look into the adhering to resource utilized in this short article:. Yoon JS, Choi M, Shin CY, Paik SH, Kim KH1, Kwon O, Advancement of a Design for Chemotherapy-Induced Alopecia: Profiling of Histological Modifications in Human Hair Follicles After Chemotherapy. J Invest Dermatol. 2015 Sep 15. doi: 10.1038/ jid.2015.358. The information in the Dr. Bailey Skin Treatment web site, as well as associated links, short articles, newsletters and also blogs, is offered basic info and also academic purposes just. It is the opinion of Dr. Cynthia Bailey, or other suggested authors. Consult your medical professional or health care provider for any certain medical problems or concerns you might have. (This also puts on individuals in her clinical method; the info right here is not a replacement for, or an extension of, the healthcare she offers you.) Never overlook expert medical advice or delay seeking it because of something you have actually checked out below. Use the details as well as items on this site at your own risk. Use of this website suggests your contract with these statements as well as the Conditions of DrBaileySkinCare.com. If you do not consent to all of these Terms of use, please do not utilize this website!

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

Not "Just Hair": Exposure, Autonomy, and Vulnerability

Hello friends, In the past couple days it's become clear to me that I've hit a certain (unwelcome) cancer milestone: I'm losing my hair. Right now it's just shedding like crazy. (If I had a contest with my cat--who's losing his hair for summer right now--I would still totally win!) I don't know why, given that it's a primary side effect of this drug (90% of people lose their hair), but I'm somehow still surprised. I think I felt that, having been in in an improbable, tiny percentage on most other things related to this disease I might at least have the chance to be in the special 10% on something positive. Not so! Perhaps I'm also surprised, though, because my other symptoms haven't been very bad...so much so that (as I wrote about before) I'm in a constant anxiety spiral about whether something physical is a sign or symptom and, if so, whether it means the treatment is working or not. Hair falling out is unquestionably a sign that the chemo is doing something--that it's doing precisely what it's supposed to, in fact, and targeting fast-growing cells of all types. So, yes, in that sense I want to lose my hair. Right when I was first diagnosed I wanted them to hit me with everything all at once: chemo, surgery, radiation - I wanted to be assaulted by every weapon the medical profession had to wield against cancer and I didn't care what I looked like or how I suffered. I wanted to enter treatment as a warrior and I wanted to look like one, shaved head and all. Somehow, though, I lost that attitude. It's not that I don't want to fight, but that the stance of being a warrior all the time is exhausting. There's a lot that's less than ideal about using the language of conflict and battle (and implicitly of winning and losing) to talk about something that you don't have any control over. If this chemo agent doesn't kill enough cells (as my pessimistic side believes it won't) it won't be because I did or didn't do anything. If it does work, it's only my victory in the sense that it's good luck for me. My body isn't the warrior so much as a field on which battles are waged on a cellular level. And my mind has nothing to do with the success--or not--of these conflicts. Fundamentally, I have no control. And that's the hardest thing for me about losing my hair.  [More below including Buffy gifs!!]

The loss of bodily autonomy involved in having cancer is huge. Not only does it feel like it's something personal, since it's your own cells (sometimes directed by your own DNA) that have betrayed you, but it's also something you can't fix; you can't do anything to change the outcome of your treatment. You can change the treatment itself (different chemo agents, additional drugs, supplementary radiation), but you can't train for it the way you train for a marathon, where your own commitment to training can pretty much guarantee you steady progress and a positive result. You can supplement your own treatment with things (vitamins, injections, crystals, chocolate) that you believe may help. You can train yourself in healthy ways to respond emotionally. (I was already in therapy but everyone involved with cancer treatment should be.) You can go to the gym and keep your body "otherwise healthy"--a phrase that my doctors said to and about me repeatedly during the diagnosis phase and that I never stopped finding funny...being perfectly healthy EXCEPT for Stage 4 cancer is something of a cosmic joke. (I know that they meant that, unlike many of their patients, I could endure the treatments very well and with minimal complications. That IS a good thing. But still...) You cannot train for cancer treatment. It's a battle, but one you must enter alone, untrained, and unarmed. Fundamentally, you have only yourself. And that must be enough. (I don't mean to dismiss the wonderful community of friends and family here; you all give me the strength to fight this fight. You just can't go with me.) There's an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a show which I love and which has meant a lot to me at different times in my life, where Buffy must fight her vampire ex-boyfriend Angel (who SPOILERS used to be a good guy because he was cursed with a soul but he lost it because he experienced true happiness with her) who has been systematically finding the best ways to hurt her, psychologically, before killing her. In this final battle, he backs her against a wall, sword pointed at her and says, "So that's everything. No weapons. No friends. No hope. Take all that away and what's left?" to which she replies, while grabbing his sword midair with her bare hands, "Me.":

(Gif source: x)

If you want it, here's a clip on YouTube (this exchange is about a minute in). That moment has been my inspiration from the first moment of diagnosis. I had already used it to get through my divorce when I felt I had lost everything. I hadn't, though, because I was still me, with a core resilience and self-confidence and the righteous strength that enabled me to keep going, to thrive. It is grossly unfair that, less than a year later, I need to draw on that same energy again, but that is how battles work. We survive to fight another day. No weapons. No friends. No hope. Take all that away and what's left? Me. I know I've just employed the rhetoric of battle immediately after saying it's not ideal. It's not. I'm a peacetime creature, really, as are most of us. But I won't back down from a fight or sidestep necessary conflict either. And being a warrior is not the same as being embroiled in constant battle. Even Achilles put down his shield and wept in Priam's tent. In fact, all this content is on another blog whose title is "Pitiless Achilles Wept." You can read here about why I called it that, but here's the most important part that I wrote about the scene where Achilles and Priam cry together:

"They speak the universal language of human beings here: grief. They weep as fathers and sons and lovers because that’s honestly the only constant in our small human lives. So here I am, recording my grief, with the hope that at least, by being together, we can get through the evil I have to endure. I actually thought that the blog title was a quotation–and a beautiful line of poetry–but nowhere can I find a translation that reads, 'Pitiless Achilles wept.' But I still cannot think of a line that feels more appropriate to record the thoughts of someone who has to be both a warrior (brave, fierce, pitiless) and a frightened, vulnerable person."

Tonight I am that frightened and vulnerable person, furious that (without my permission) my body is shedding the hair that I have always loved and scared at how it will change my experience of being in the world. When I got my hair cut two weeks ago it showed no signs of giving up the ghost. My stylist tugged on it and pronounced that "you have really strong hair!" and I allowed myself to think that, somehow, that would protect me. Ah yes, I thought, my hair is strong like all the rest of me; it will endure.

Losing it therefore feels symbolic on a number of levels. I know that it doesn't make me weak, but it does make me vulnerable. How can I be so exposed, without any hair to duck under when I feel anxious? How will I get through the day without being able to run my hands through my hair (a nervous tic that is a self-soothing gesture...and currently hastening my hair loss)? How will I cope with being no longer regarded as immediately aesthetically pleasing (from my privileged position as someone who ticks many of the stereotypical boxes for attractiveness) by people who don't know me? (I did not realize how much I relied on this to navigate the world but it has certainly been made visible to me now. Perhaps this warrants another post later.)

Losing my hair is a good sign. We all want chemo to be as effective as possible so the more fast-growing cells we see being targeted the better. But as it marks me, visibly, as "sick" it robs me of the opportunity to choose whether to tell people or not--yet another loss of autonomy. I do have a wig that looks as much as possible like my regular hair. (I don't love everything about it but unless you have one custom-made you're not likely to find anything that looks precisely like you do.) This should enable me to pass as healthy, barring other obvious symptoms. But I imagine I might be the kind of person who would rather go bald (or at least with a 1930s Norma Desmond head wrap) as a way of owning my illness, taking back some of what it has stolen. I might rather this say, "Yes, this illness is a part of me now--even if it's not pretty. That's what a warrior looks like." No weapons. No friends. No...hair. Take all that away and what's left?

[healthcol]

How to Minimize Hair Loss During Chemotherapy

(How to Minimize Hair Loss During Chemotherapy) - https://www.healthcol.com/how-to-minimize-hair-loss-during-chemotherapy/- Health column- #HairFallProblem, #HairFallTreatmentShampoo, #HowToAvoidHairLoss, #HowToAvoidHairLossDuringChemo, #HowToAvoidHairLossDuringChemotherapy, #HowToMinimiseHairLossDuringChemotherapy, #HowToMinimizeHairLoss, #HowToMinimizeHairLossDuringChemo, #HowToMinimizeHairLossDuringChemotherapy, #HowToMinimizeHairLossDuringMenopause, #HowToPreventHairLossForTeenageGuys, #HowToReduceHairFallAndIncreaseHairGrowth, #HowToReduceHairLoss, #HowToReduceHairLossDuringChemo, #HowToReduceHairLossDuringChemotherapy, #HowToStopGeneticHairLoss, #HowToStopHairFallImmediatelyAtHome, #HowToStopHairLoss, #HowToStopHairLossDuringChemo, #HowToStopHairLossDuringChemotherapy, #HowToStopHairLossFromAutoimmuneDisease, #HowToStopHairLossFromBirthControl, #HowToStopHairLossInChemotherapy, #HowToStopHairLossNaturally, #OwToMinimizeHairLossAfterPregnancy, #VitaminsForHairLoss, #WhatToEatToStopHairFall - https://www.healthcol.com/how-to-minimize-hair-loss-during-chemotherapy/

[swiftlythebest]

How about really ill Levi?

@gleeandotherstuff also asked for something similar to this prompt. I may continue this story in the future. Also, I am not a medical or science person; I have a Classics and English degree. I used Google for much of the medical parts of this story so if something seems inaccurate or odd, feel free to let me know and I can make a change. Also, is this angsty and hurt/comfort-y enough? I don’t know, it makes me sad. But I hope you enjoy!

Nico Kim had overslept. Levi Schmitt had a later shift than he did that day and had set an alarm for an hour after Nico needed to be up. Nico had forgotten to set an alarm entirely. So he woke up late and had to rush through his morning routine to make it to hospital on time. When he leaned down to give Levi a quick kiss goodbye, the other man winced.

“What, did I forget to brush my teeth? Do I smell bad?” Nico huffed a breath into his hand and held it to his nose. Nope, minty fresh.

“No, no. Just a stomach cramp.” Levi said, clutching his side.

“Again? You’ve been having those a lot recently. Have you been eating anything weird?”

“No. Actually, I haven’t really been eating much at all.” Levi admitted.

Nico furrowed his brow. “Babe. That’s not good. You know what this could be, don’t you?”

Levi closed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll talk to Dr. Grey today. I’ll get a test done.”

Levi caught up to Meredith Grey as she was leaving the OR. He fell in stride next to her and nervously fiddled with his hands.

“You need something, Schmitt?” Meredith asked, somewhat exasperated.

“I, um, I’ve been having abdominal pain. And loss of appetite. And bad heartburn.” Levi stuttered out.

“Try an antacid?”

“My dad died of stomach cancer. They caught it too late and he passed away when I was 7.” Levi rushed through this explanation.

Meredith stopped in her tracks and turned to him. “Let’s run some tests.”

After receiving an endoscopic ultrasound and biopsy, Levi was holed up in a hospital bed, awaiting his results. Nico had been popping in and out to check on him whenever he had time during his shift.

Meredith appeared at his bedside with his biopsy results. “I’ve paged Dr. Kim. I assume you want him here for this?” Levi nodded.

Just then, Nico skidded into the room. “Sorry, sorry! I’m here.” He made his way to Levi’s side and grabbed his hand.

“Okay, Dr Schmitt, we examined the ultrasound and biopsy results. We’ve determined that you have Stage IIB stomach cancer.”

Levi let out a sob, while Nico squeezed his hand and asked, “What does that mean? What do we do?”

“Well, it means we’ve caught it fairly early. Now, that means it’s still somewhat localized and hasn’t spread to any distant sites. The 5-year survival rate this stage is 68%, which are not bad odds. We will need to schedule a surgery for you soon to get the tumor removed and hopefully just part of your stomach. But you’ll need to be put on chemo before the surgery. That will better our chances of taking out the tumor successfully.” Meredith tried to be as clinical as possible to ensure they understood the reality of the situation.

“But it’s definitely stomach cancer? This is real?” Levi asked, hoarsely.

“Yes, Schmitt, I’m afraid so. But you’re one of us so you better believe we’re going to fight our hardest for you.” Meredith softened her tone to highlight her sincerity. “I’ll leave you two to discuss.” She left the room and closed the door.

Levi immediately broke down once the door was closed and squeezed Nico’s hand tightly. “I don’t wanna die. I don’t want to leave you. There’s still so much for me. I want to beat out my friends to become chief resident. I want to choose my speciality and become a fellow and then an attending. I want to spend every second of free time I have with you. I’m not ready.”

Nico engulfed Levi in a gentle hug, not wanting to jostle him too much. “You’re going to get through this. We’re going to get through this. I love you and I am going to be with you through every step of this process. I will make sure you don’t drop your glasses in the toilet when the chemo makes you vomit. And I will make sure to carry snacks with me at all times so when you have a partial stomach and have to eat more often, I’ll be able to help you. We’re in this together. Forever.”

Levi gave a watery laugh. “Are you proposing right now?”

Nico withdrew from the hug and made eye contact with Levi. “Not yet. Not now. I don’t want it to be the result of such a traumatic event. It’s going to be genuine and real and probably such a boring time in our lives.”

“Or maybe I’ll propose to you. I’ll realize that life is fleeting and I want to spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, by your side.” Levi teased, but there was a definite note of reality to it.

“So we’re in agreement. It’s going to happen at some time.” Nico smiled.

“Yeah. But after I lose part of my stomach.” Levi gave a sad smile.

“I love you regardless of how much of a stomach you have.” Nico stroked Levi’s hair.

Meredith returned to give information about the chemotherapy Levi would be receiving as well as figure out the logistics of his upcoming surgery. Thanks to Richard Webber’s cancer detecting pen, they’d have an easier time knowing which part of the stomach to remove. Meredith would lead the surgery, with Jo Karev and Taryn Helm in the OR as well.

“We’re gonna beat this, Schmitt,” Meredith reassured the two worried surgeons.

Levi and Nico were certainly scared, but they knew they had the best possible people on their side. It would be a long and difficult journey, but they had each other and somehow, that would be enough to get them through anything.