#i remember one dr telling me with all my meds my liver should be damaged but its perfectly fine shdhdgd like bitch my body is deficient

[bunnyb34r]

This depression, have even less energy than usual, no motivation to do anything but have "me time" doing crafts in my room alone, shit better fucking end with January.

[kittybellestark]

Straightening Things Out Part 2

Part 1

This is it guys, part 2, and then this fic is doneeeeeee, I can’t believe I actually finished this today, hope you enjoy it also why ya’ll gotta go and call it CPS, every time i go to write it i’m like uhhh american CAS 

-

When Peter finally woke up he was in a bed. There was the familiar sound of his heart rate beeping out, the lights dimmed and a hand on his own. An oxygen mask was on his face, and he was hooked up to an IV.

Peter freaked out. This wasn’t where he was meant to be. He tried pushing himself up and off the bed, which caused horrible pains in his abdomen, stopping him from moving. Groaning Peter fell back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey, hey, Pete, it’s just me, Mr. Stark. You’re safe. We’re in the Med Bay. You’re okay. Put the Bambi eyes away, I’ll back up, whatever you need.”

Tony held both his hands up, keeping them in clear view of Peter. He took a few steps back watching Peter relax with each step he took backwards.

“Sorry. I just- sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” Peter’s voice was rough and quiet, and it hurt him to use.

“No apologies, you did the right thing, kid. I’m glad you called, even if it was to have a panic attack in my car while spitting up blood and passing out. You felt safe around me. You did the right thing.”

Peter went to speak again and Tony held his hand up.

“You shouldn’t really be talking. You’re esophagus was torn pretty bad. Do you want to full run down?”

Peter hesitated before nodding.

“Torn trachea, bruised neck, broken ribs, bleeding stomach, bruised liver and kidneys, tear in the gastrointestinal track, as well as significant damage to the anus, what seems to be whip marks down your back and what appears to be self harm on your arms, legs, chest and stomach. And a concussion, with a broken nose, and a fractured cheekbone.”

Tony sat down on the chair across the room from Peter, trying to respect Peter boundaries. Peter’s eyes welled up with tears and Tony wanted nothing more than to go and hold Peter and make everything better.

“We, uh, had to call the police. They want to ask you some yes and no questions right now, and then when you can speak again they’ll want actually talk to you. I have to ask though, because of the severity and where a lot of the injuries occurred, did Skip rape you?”

Peter bit his lip, before making the active decision to ignore the question outright. Sure, he knew he should confirm the allegations, he knew he should. Peter knew it was wrong. Horribly aware that what Skip did was illegal and horrible, but he couldn’t help that one part of him that saw it as help. Because that is what Skip called it. It was only ever supposed to be to be help Peter. Skip only ever did this for Peter.

So Peter turned away and closed his eyes, hoping that his mentor would believe that this didn’t happen to him, that he wasn’t a sin, or shameful. Peter wanted to believe that Tony wouldn’t just abandon him. He had brought it on himself.

The pain. The torment. This was his responsibility. He knew better. Peter was supposed to be Spider-Man. He was supposed to be a hero and know right from wrong. And yet, it’s different when it happens to him.

It’s not abuse, it’s just a thing that happens. It’s not self harm, it’s just a way to have some relief. It isn’t rape, it’s just learning a way to only like women.

Peter has rationalized it all. Made up answers for everything. Fallen deep into a pool of lies. Drowning under the weight of his soon-to-be uncle and the rest of the world. Spider-Man isn’t there to help him. Spider-Man said “fuck you, buddy,” and took a nice little wander away from Peter’s life. There’s no want to help himself, or others, and there’s no guilt for not putting on the suit. Spider-Man was just a phase.

“Okay buddy, I get it you’re tired. You’ve been through it. I’ll tell them to come back in a little bit. But I’m not going to judge you, no matter what, okay? I’m not going to toss you out or throw you to the side. You’re important and whatever you’re going through I want to help.”

-

The next time Peter woke up his friends were there in the place of Tony. Ned, MJ and Harley all managed to fit themselves on the one small chair in the room, talking in hushed voices.

Peter watched them as they giggled to themselves, something about two pretty best friends or whatever. The trio all seemed tired, apprehensive even, but they were doing their best to remain positive.

“Oh my god, Peter you’re awake!” Ned shouted out, the first to notice.

Peter flinched back at the loud voice and the sudden movements of the three as they scrambled to try and get up, too entwined to be able to do it with any ease. They made it to Peter’s bedside flushed and with minimal injuries.

“Dude we were so worried. MJ and I were heading to your place because you weren’t answering and then we saw May and Skip get arrested and be put in the back of a police car.”

MJ elbowed Ned in the stomach, urging him to shut up, as clearly this wasn’t the best time to talk about Peter’s family getting arrested. Ned mumbled out some apologies, yet Peter didn’t seem to react. His eyes were blank and the expression on his face hadn’t changed since the group noticed he was awake.

“Peter?” Harley whispered.

Peter’s eyes flicked over to focus on Harley, and it was clear to everyone just how terrified Peter actually was. His jaw was tight and eyes just a little too wide. Peter was as stiff as a board, focused on whoever caught his attention and tracking their movements to make sure they aren’t a threat. The three moved backwards as slowly as they could so that Peter wouldn’t feel as threatened by their presence.

“Tony wouldn’t tell us the extent of your injuries because of HIPPA or whatever but he did say you’re not allowed to talk, so I guess it was really serious.” MJ started to say. “But don’t think I didn’t notice your arms and leg, I’m really angry that you lied to me, but I get it, okay? Whenever you want to tell us what happened we’ll listen and we won’t judge you or your actions.”

There was a moment where Peter considered telling them. He could write things out. Peter had already told the police using a written statement. If he just wrote it down, then they’d know. But then Peter thought of what Skip did to him. He remembered how Skip told him that he needed to be cured, that no one would love him or accept him as he is now.

Skip wasn’t a kind man, but Peter also knew that he had his moments. Like the time he held Peter as he sobbed, rubbing his back and carrying him to bed. Skip was doing it for the right reasons. He cared. It hurt. It hurt a lot when Peter got to know how nice Skip could be to then be face down on his bed, begging to be let go and free of Skip’s torment. 

Instead of saying anything and letting his friends know what’s been happening Peter shook his head and turned himself to face away from them. The trio couldn’t see Peter like this. Not broken in a hospital bed over something he could have stopped.

He would have stopped it, right? If he truly didn’t want what was happening, he’d stop it. Instead he allowed it to happen for the results. For May. To be loved for who he is, even if he has to fake it. Peter knows he should have stopped what Skip was doing. He had the power to the entire time, and yet, he didn’t.

It was his own fault. MJ said that they won’t judge him, but Peter knows they would. They’d think he’s disgusting and want nothing to do with him. Peter created this situation and now he was going to lose everyone.

Peter was tired. He was going back to sleep.

-

He was finally released from the Med Bay. Dr Cho had finally deemed him strong enough to not be hooked up to an IV 24/7 and with no need of oxygen. Peter was still on bed rest, and he wasn’t allowed to be alone for long periods of time either. He had to drink protein shakes to regain his weight and he has sessions with a therapist set up for the next forever.

He was lucky that Tony has taken temporary custody of him. So instead of being in the Med Bay, Peter would be in his own bedroom. Tony and Pepper had both been incredible, extending their home to him and being by his side through everything. They hadn’t kicked him out yet, nor have they hit him or told him they don’t love him. Instead they continued reject what Skip had done. Tony and Pepper knew what Skip did to him, they were aware that he could have stopped it, and they still let him stay.

“Hey Roo, so I just got news that the police released May. Your statement pretty much cleared her because she wasn’t ever home. Obviously CPS won’t release you back into her care yet, but she had been asking to see you. I wanted to tell her no, but it should be your decision.”

Phineas and Ferb automatically paused when Tony started talking, thanks to FRIDAY. Tony kept his voice soft and held a reassuring smile on his face. Peter pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling himself start to scratched at the exposed skin on his ankles.

“Hey, hey, Pete it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want too.”

Tony was quick to move to Peter, looking for permission before pulling Peter’s hands away, stopping him from hurting himself any further.

“Sorry, sorry- I didn’t- sorry. Didn’t realize what I was doing.”

“It’s okay kiddo, recovery isn’t always linear. You don’t need to talk to May, I’m more than happy to tell her no. It’s at your rate, no one is going to judge you for it.”

Peter nodded, leaning into Tony for the first time in a months for comfort. Tony stayed still for a moment allowing Peter to acquaint himself to kind human contact.

“Can I put my hand on your back, Peter?”

Peter nodded again and Tony beamed with pride, proud of his kid to be able to accept physical contact. Tony kept his one hand on Peter’s upper back, rubbing small circles in an attempt to bring comfort.

“I want to see her. If she didn’t know we shouldn’t punish her. It isn’t her fault he used May against me. I should have known, I should have.”

Tony felt Peter shake his head as his whole body seemed to fight itself between discomfort and trying to relax. Peter moved himself closer into Tony, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder instead.

“Pete, it wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t believe that yet, but I promise, this isn’t on you. If you aren’t ready to see May yet everyone will understand.”

The teen pulled away from Tony and considered the words spoken, face twisting in thought. After a moment Peter huffed and nodded. Tony smiled trying to be reassuring.

“I’ll be okay, can you just be in the room? It’ll just, make me feel better if someone else is there, I think.”

“Of course, I’ll be there if you need me.”

-

May sat in a chair, hoping to have chosen the right spot to not make Peter feel trapped. She hated what she had done to her kid. How could she had been unaware of what was happening in her home? To her family?

She deserved to have custody revoked, the fact that CPS wasn’t doing that boggled her. This situation only happened because May allowed a bad man into their home. Peter had said that he wasn’t getting along with Skip, that there was something off, and May should have believed him. But she was blind, and now Peter has paid the price.

Why did May allow herself to believe Skip’s word? She saw Peter slipping, she saw him struggle but then Skip would talk about how Peter confided in him and that he was giving Peter advice. Skip had made it seem like he was helping Peter. May had taken the extra shifts at work and was out more, unable to help, and was made to be a fool.

She should have never started dating again.

Peter and Tony finally enter the room and May’s heartbreaks at the sight of her nephew. Peter looked decades older with the guarded look on his face, holding himself. The clothing Peter wore was much too big, barely hanging onto him. There was an elastic band on each wrist, a clear sign to May that Peter had relapsed.

This was all her fault.

Tony sat on the couch sitting closer to May, leaving room for Peter farther away. Peter glared at the couch like it was a personal offense before sitting on the ground, leaning onto one of Tony’s legs.

“I’m sorry Peter, I didn’t know.”

May wanted to hug him, to make him feel better. Yet that was probably the last thing that Peter needed or wanted from here right now. Instead she dug her nails into the upholstery, trying to quell the urges to hold Peter and never let go.

“He said that you never accepted me. That you thought I needed to be cured. Was any of that true?” Peter’s voice was cold and hard, it didn’t hold any of the kindness it used to, no longer soft and light.

“No, baby, no of course not. I’m so sorry he used me against you. Skip manipulated the both of us and I’m so sorry I didn’t see it. I love you and accept you no matter what. What he said wasn’t true.”

The room fell silent. Peter started to rock back and forth as he processed May’s words. It didn’t take much longer for his eyes to look empty or for him to sob, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, Roo, you’re gonna be okay, you aren’t there anymore. We’re in the tower and you’re safe.” Tony whispered trying to get Peter to not fall into a full blown panic attack again.

“No, no it has to be true. I let him, he said- he told me that- no he was telling the truth. You don’t love me, not while knowing I also like men. You can’t. I let him- I did it for you, I didn’t want to be a disappointment anymore. He was in my head, he told me to hurt myself. I let him May, because I thought you didn’t love me. You said you were proud of me, because you talked to him, I told him it was working, that I was straight and he- and he raped me. Then you said you were proud of me because I was getting help from him. I- Ben would hate me. He would. He always said ‘With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility,’ and I had the power to stop it. I’m supposed to be Spider-Man I stopped this sort of thing from happening to others. I had the power to stop him, the responsibility to stop him and I didn’t because I wanted you to love me and not be disappointed in me. It has to be true. I didn’t go through all of that for you to say it wasn’t. No. I disagree with you.”

Peter pressed his nails into his face and started to drag them down, scratching at himself. Tony was quick to move down onto the ground, making sure not to touch Peter, only speaking in a soft whisper to help calm the teen.

May couldn’t help the tears that sprung to her eyes, or the way her heart crumbled at being the cause of Peter’s pain. She should have kept her eyes open, or listened to Peter when he said he didn’t like Skip. Why would she let herself believe that Peter’s problem was Skip was the fact that he was in Ben’s place? May caused all this pain and now she can’t even help him. 

“I’m sorry, I should go. I’m so sorry Peter, I never wanted any of this to happen.” May spoke out as she got up and exited the room, needing to walk away, needing space, needing to give Peter his own space. She caused this, she can’t punish Peter for it either.

-

Peter didn’t like therapy very much. He didn’t like talking through his ‘traumas’ or his emotions either. She made Peter talk about his sexuality and his confusion over it now. Peter discussed how he used to identify as bisexual but how Skip wanted him to be straight and his he thought he was except for the fact that Harley existed.

Apparently he was making great progress. Though she might just say it to all her clients, Peter wasn’t sure. He just knew it didn’t feel like he was making any progress.

Peter still couldn’t be alone in a room with older men, except for Tony, he could hardly be alone with those his own age. He couldn’t help the anxiety that anyone was judging him and wanting to fix him. And his therapist said he still wasn’t ready to go back to school, or big crowds.

Really, it was a fancy way of saying Peter wasn’t ready for anything. Couch’s were still a no go, and beds depended on the day. Peter knew he could never go back to that apartment, but he also knew that May was looking at new places for them.

Progress was hard and slow and sometimes it didn’t feel like progress at all. But Peter was doing it. He’s getting there.

-

“Hey,” Peter said just slightly too loud.

He bounced on his heels, standing in the doorframe, ready to leave at any moment. Harley jumped in his seat, dropping his book onto his desk. Harley was quick to regain his composure resting his chin on his hand and his elbow on his desk.

“Hey, hey Peter? Uhm, do you want to come in, I can give you this chair if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

Peter considered for a moment, before deciding to stay where he was, not quiet comfortable with entering Harley’s room yet. So he shook his head, trying to get comfortable leaning against the doorframe, keeping his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s okay, Peter. We can both sit on the ground? That way you can lean against the wall behind you, and then I can stay over here against the desk.”

Peter nodded, appreciating Harley for letting him stay outside of the room. He sat down on the ground before sliding back the few feet to lean against the wall. Harley sat down too, leaning on the side of his desk.

It took Peter a moment to find his words. Looking at Harley and his stupid lop-sided smile. Just existing near Harley made it hard to breathe, let alone hard to talk. And it just wasn’t fair. But he needed to do this. It was important.

“You terrify me, Harley Keener.” Peter’s voice was soft and his smile sad. “Not because I think you’re going to hurt me. Skip, uh, he never did anything, not until he found out I was bi. I didn’t like him very much before everything, but I feel he did the right thing, and I know my therapist says he did the wrong thing, but I disagree.”

Peter took a breath, and Harley just wanted to give Peter a hug and to comfort him. But that isn’t what was needed here. It was obvious Peter needed to talk to someone who won’t judge him. Harley was someone Peter could relate to because of what he went through in Rose Hill. Of course the homophobia never hurt Harley in the ways it hurt Peter, Harley was never raped, but he was beat up over and over and the church goers were never nice either.

“It started when I was talking to May. She was asking about school, and I had started talking about you. Please don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault and I didn’t get hurt because of you. But I was talking about you and May asked if I liked you, and I said I did. That’s when he started doing things. I brought up the new dreamy transfer from Tennessee and that was it.”

Pausing for a moment, Peter felt his throat burn and how hard it was to talk. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and took a shaky breath in. Harley held a hand over his mouth, feeling responsible for the pain that was inflicted on Peter. This was harder than Harley thought it was going to be.

“It’s not you’re fault Harley. Okay? It’s my own. At first he just wanted me to cut myself, anytime I had a sinful thought, I used to do that when I was younger, so once the razor was in my hands it was just so easy. But it wasn’t making me straight like he wanted, so he started beating me, but that still didn’t work. Then he came in my room drunk once, claimed I was rubbing off on him. That was the first time he ever touched me. And I started to look at you, and all men really with fear. I didn’t feel attraction, only fear. I thought it worked. I was finally straight y’know. I was so excited to tell Skip, because it was working and May was going to love me again and I was going to be normal. I told him. But that’s when things started. He said I gave him my disease and he had to cure himself. I was straight Harley, I was finally normal, but it kept happening and I was going to die. I knew it. He was going to kill me, Harley, and I ran, which I shouldn’t have. Skip was just trying to help. He wanted to make me better. It was all my fault and I shouldn’t have left. I’m supposed to be Spider-Man, I should have been able to handle it. I should have stayed longer.”

Harley couldn’t help the tears, letting them silently fall. He hated that Peter blamed himself for this. All Peter did was admit his attraction to his family and it nearly killed him. While Harley knew he wasn’t the reason for Peter’s pain, it surely felt like it.

“Peter-“

“No, wait, I’m not done. I said you terrify me. But it’s not because you’re scary or I think you’re going to hurt me. You terrify me Harls, because no matter what Skip did, I still liked you, and I shouldn’t have anymore because he was fixing me. Skip was fixing me but he couldn’t stop me from liking you, Harley, and that terrifies me.”

Peter’s shoulders shook as he tried not to cry, to not dwell on his trauma. He still believed that Skip did the right thing, no one was able to convince him otherwise. It broke everyone’s heart how Peter knew that the things were done to him were wrong, but believed that they were done for the right reasons. Harley hated that Peter hated himself over something he used to be so proud of. It was torture to watch Peter go from this bubbly ball of joy, to someone who retreated so far into themselves and couldn’t trust anyone around him. Harley watched Peter’s spirit die and he tracked his food intake. He should have known.

“Did I ever tell you why I moved to New York?” Harley then chose to say.

He knew that Peter probably didn’t want apologies or reassurance that things weren’t his fault. Peter wouldn’t have come to Harley for that, that was Tony’s area now.

“To go to a better school and work with Mr. Stark?”

“I was forced out of the closet back home. Some kids found out and then spread it around town. Now it spread like wildfire as we all knew each other. My mama was scarred for me. I couldn’t go to church without someone spittin’ at me and I couldn’t go to school without getting beat up. People were tryna’ hit me with their cars. All because I was ‘against the word of god.’ Then one day I was pulled into the fields behind the school and these kids held a gun to my head. The local police blamed me for having a gun to my head and my mama and sister thought I’d leave the house and never come home. So I got sent here when Tony found out about it. I didn’t choose to come out here, but they were going to kill me one day and it was the only way my family could make sure I’m safe.”

Peter was silent to Harley’s confession and Harley couldn’t stop the self-deprecating smile that made its way to his face. It wasn’t something Harley liked to talk about, but this is what Peter needed. Harley blamed himself in the beginning the same way Peter blames himself now. Peter needed to relate and to see that someone else gets it. Nothing was going to change for Peter if he didn’t see that others knew what it was like. Peter was just too stubborn like that.

“Harls…” Peter finally whispered, moving into the boys room.

Peter was cautious with his movements, his eyes holding no trust and he moved closer to Harley. Holding his breath to not scare Peter, Harley did his best to not move, to not do anything that could harm Peter. Finally, Peter stopped, still in the ground and kicking out his one leg to lean against Harley’s. It was a stretch for Peter to reach Harley and he was closer than he originally thought he’d be. Harley’s eyes were wide, blue eyes filled with tears, as the look on his face seemed to ask permission for this to be okay.

“You didn’t deserve that Harley. That was your home and it isn’t fair that you didn’t feel safe there because of who you are.”

Harley smiled and nodded. This, this is what Peter needed. Harley told Peter something personal and hard and something he never wanted to talk about, and Peter got it. He understands the problem.

“I know that now. But I didn’t when I first got here. It was my home, just like it was yours. We should have been able to feel safe.”

And then Peter really got it.

-

Tony, Pepper, Harley and Peter were all having breakfast together. It was Friday, and Harley didn’t have school. Peter was in a new spot around the table was between Tony and Pepper, and across from Harley. The new spot was a safe enough spot where Peter could actually eat some of his food. So they had pancakes and some fruit, hoping to get Peter engaged and acclimated to a scheduled like again.

Everyone was dressed in regular clothes, ready for their day, except for Peter who wore his pajamas and oversized hoodie. Peter hadn’t had a haircut since the beginning of things with Skip many months ago so his curls were long and unruly, covering his face well enough when his head was tilted forward as it so regularly was now.

“Peter, honey, do you have any plans today?” Pepper asked, keeping her tone light.

“I’m supposed to FaceTime May later, she wants to show me the new place and get my opinion on couches. And Dr. Mitchell says I need to leave the tower and go on a walk or something, I guess.” Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

Pepper hummed, adjusting one of Peter’s curls to fall more naturally.

“Would you like one of us to come with you? Tony has made these great nano-tech masks so we wouldn’t be recognized.”

Peter seemed to consider this, eyes flitting back and forth between Tony and Pepper, before they moved to the elevator. It took another moment for everyone who wasn’t advanced to hear the movement of the mechanisms. The doors opened and Happy came out a smile painted onto his face.

“Guys, the jury made their final decision. Skip’s going to jail, they’re putting him on the predator registry. He’s going to be there the rest of his life.” Happy announced, dropping donuts onto the table.

Everyone cheered except for Peter, happy to see such a horrible person go to jail. Yet through everyone’s happiness, Peter couldn’t help but feel it was wrong.

“Kid, you okay?” Tony asked when the boy stayed silent for too long.

Peter looked up at him, wide eyed and ready to cry. He did feel relief about the idea of never seeing Skip again, but he couldn’t help but feeling like this wasn’t the right move either. Of course Peter couldn’t help but reflect to the conversation with Harley, about how he would have died if he stayed in Rose Hill, the same as if Peter stayed with Skip. It was finally starting to make sense that Skip was wrong, even though it didn’t feel like he was and Peter was confused.

“I need- I need- I can’t.” Peter sobbed. “Where’s May- I need- I can’t- May- I just. Please.”

He tried pushing himself away from the table, to get himself away from the people from his thoughts. Peter shoved at the table, moving the whole thing and felt his legs crumble when he tried to stand up. Breathe, he needs to breathe, and he needs air and he needs to get away.

Someone touches him.

Peter fly’s farther back, crawling away from Skip, from his touch. This was not where Peter wanted to be. He couldn’t stop himself from pressing his nails into his skin, didn’t realize as he dragged them and ripped his skin open. Peter was scared and he just needed to go away.

“Don’t- don’t touch me, please, no.” 

He needed to get away. Away, away, away. Not here. Not with Skip he couldn’t let Skip come near him. Skip was a threat, an enemy, except he helped. He did it to help, he was always nice after. Skip would hold Peter as he sobbed and give him a bath and take him to bed. He wasn’t all bad, he was nice sometimes. Bad things just happened because of the man.

“Hi baby, it’s me. You want to tell what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?” May spoke.

Peter couldn’t remember May arriving. But here she is, crouching down in front of him wearing her scrubs. Mays hair was falling into her face, and she made sure to stay just a few feet away, in his full view.

“He’s gone. May, he can’t- he wasn’t bad be he deserves it. He deserves it, May. Oh my god. Skip is gone.”

Relief flooded Peter. He was free, finally free. No one in his home was going to tell him that he is a disgrace or a sin. Peter is safe, for the first time in forever, he is safe again. No Skip, no unsafe home. Peter has his family, and that’s really all he needs. 

Peter feels safe. His family isn’t going to hurt him.

He’ll be okay.

~

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[suchawonderfullife]

Day 3- testing my meds, more findings

Today was another important day where I took all my current medications and supplements into my Dr to have him test them on me. Before I get into that, check out the new concoction he gave me to help support my liver and spleen (my two most badly affected organs). So I’m lying on the table and he’s doing his bioreasonance things on me and going over to his wall of supplements and working stuff out. He starts making up this concoction and I’m saying “I thought the stuff you’d give me would taste far worse, it was actually fine! I’ve had to drink some pretty disgusting stuff so I’m used to it, but it really wasn’t that bad.” His response was “Just wait for it. Trust me, wait for it.” 

As he said that I saw him pouring this black “sludge” looking stuff into a new bottle and I thought ah crap! That’s what is pictured above and I have to put an entire dropper (the amount you can see in the dropper) under my tongue and then swirl it around before swallowing, 3x a day. It smells like rancid licorice and it’s pretty horrible (I’d rather say it tastes like ass- Aussie slang). My Dr said it was something that would make my liver and spleen go “yay :D” haha. I love his technical termonology. 

So we laid out all my medications, supplements, essential oils, and a few addition things like my gelatin powder (I use in subtitute of bone broth) and a fermented probiotic my natural Dr gives me. He started doing his bioresonance testing over them and separating them as things arose. 

There was a pile for things my body is actually allergic to, a pile for meds that are toxic and a pile of ones that are fine. I had no idea I was taking things my body was allergic to. These were my B12 injections, potassium tablets and L-Glutamine tablets. He said that those coming up as an allergy doesn’t mean I’m allergic to say potassium, it means for that particular brand there is an ingredient in it (for example the coating) that my body cannot tolerate. I have 2 medications that are toxic to my body and they are Coralan (one of my heart meds) and The Pill. I cannot stop taking either of these, but being that the pill is toxic to me, may explain why my hormones are out and my reproductive system came up as problematic. 

My Dr said he cannot tell me to stop taking anything, especially anything prescription. He didn’t want me to stop any of the “bad” things I was taking as my body is used to them and stopping things while starting what he’s giving me may upset too much. So to counteract my body being allergic or toxic to certain things he gave me little cups of these homeopathic white balls (like the tiny balls in sachets you see in containers that soak up any liquid) and I had to crunch them all up and swallow them. He said if I had an allergy to food, he could give me a remedy that within 24 hours I could eat that food without a problem. These little white crunchy balls were doing the same for my meds and supplements so my body can tolerate them. He explained it in way cooler detail and even showed us this video about frequencies that was really interesting. I can’t remember it though. So he doesn’t just sound like he’s pulling statements out of thin air, he actually explains everything so that it makes sense. 

 All of my essential oils tested well on me. He said I can take any that I want. I have one’s that I take everyday, some I take a few times a week and some I take only as needed (for example, if I have a cold). He pulled 4 out of the pack and said “these one’s your body is saying OMG THESE ARE AMAZING!” So definitely keep using those. They were: Frankincense (your staple oil if you’re going to start using oils, you should probably start with that), Purification (a good detoxing oil I put in my epsom salt baths a few times a week), Peace & Calming (a blend I put on the soles of my feet every night to help me sleep) and Lemon Myrtle (something my body has always reponded well to when I’ve felt toxic, nauseous, fatigued, just generally unwell). 

He also said that Valor is a good blend for my spine/bone pain, Peppermint oil is good for my muscle pain and RC is good for whenever I feel I need it (it’s one I use to combat cold viruses). These findings are in correlation to my own bodies chemistry, so do not think that these oils or what they’re good for may be the same for you. He did comment on how great oils are though and I said “I know I’ve been using them for over 2 years now and they’ve helped me so much.” He has a whole wall of the same brand of essential oils himself. They also have diffusers around the clinic where they diffuse Thieves all the time. 

I showed him my gelatin powder and he said it was fine to use. I said that I put it in my soup every morning but if I was at home I would be having bone broth. He then said bone broth may not be the best idea for me as it contains properties of L-Glutamine (one of my medications that came up me having an allergy to it). When I explained how I make it and that I only add a few tablespoons of it to my cup of soup or a few hundred ml into my sauces or stews etc. he said that that’s totally ok. Some of his patients drink straight broth (the kind you cook for 24+ hours and it sets like jelly- which is what I have) and they’ll have around 3 cups of it a day, which is not good for them. So how I’m having it and the amount is totally fine. 

My natural Dr sells me a natural probiotic that I take a shot of every morning. He said that was fine to take but recommended I google “fire cider” as it being naturally made I could make large amounts of it myself to save money. 

I asked him about the possibility of getting well enough to come off my heart meds. He explained that the way the body works, your heart is the last thing to heal. So it’s not something to look at for a long time. 

The last thing we did was he worked on a thick scar I have on one of my forearms. When you have scars on your body, just underneath it where the scar tissue lies, it breaks up the energy pathways and hinders movement through the cells/body (that’s how I understood it anyway). So he got these 2 little machines with tiny points of them and pressed them on either side of the scar and held it for about 30 seconds. My skin felt like it was burning a little, then he’d move both of them 1cm down and hold it again until he covered the entire scar. It won’t remove the scar but it’ll atleast heal the damage underneath it so that that part of my body has energy flowing through it properly. 

I’m feeling really happy and chilled at the moment. But I’m bracing for detoxing or bad symptoms. It might be the calm before the storm or I might just keep feeling good, I don’t know. Everyday I come home and within a few hours I become so tired I can’t keep my eyes open and need to nap.  Then it’s really difficult to wake up, but I eventually do and I have energy again to shower, watch tv, chat to my parents on skype and last night my partner and I played some card games before going to bed. Today after treatment I went to Walmart for over an hour and walked around to buy a few things and that was fine. 

Feeling very grateful and knowing that this has been the best decision in my recovery. There’s around 10 other patients in the clinic at the same time too and I’ve gotten to know a few of them and their stories. It’s comforting to know that they’ve chosen this clinic for the same reasons I have and they are just as positive and hopeful. The people there have varying levels of illness too. I thought I would be one of the “well” one’s going as I’m at around 50% health. But it seems there are people there more well than that, some on their first visit and some on their fourth or fifth visit. Two females there were saying how they felt guilty for being there as they are sick, but high functioning and no where near as sick as many others. Both of their doctors told them that they absolutely deserved to be there and to get better. I’ve seen a few very unwell looking people too. Everyone is really nice though and they love my Aussie accent haha. 

We have good chats with our drivers to and from the clinic as well. Our driver home today was one of the staff at the hotel, this middle aged African American woman. I asked her if she’d always lived here and she said “all my life, born and raised!” I laughed and said “OMG you’re the first person to say that “born and raised”, I love it it’s so American.” We told her that my Dr said “ya’ll” today and that was our first one, another very American phrase. I told her the Aussie equivelent is “you’s” and she needs to say “What are you’s doin?” 

She was telling us about great places to eat in the area for wholesome American food, like ribs, brisket, and she really loves fried chicken. So she laughed every time she mentioned a restaurant and I’d say “what sort of food do they have?” and she’d repond “oh I go there for the fried chicken!” (a lot of comedians hang shit on African Americans obsession with fried chicken so I think she saw the humour in how much she loved it). My partner also posted a photo on facebook yesterday showing a food he found in a local supermarket that was a sausage wrapped in a pancake on a stick. Our aussie friends were commenting on the photo like WTF kind of food is that? We told our driver how amusing we found that food and she goes “I LOVE THAT FOOD!” Laughing at our amusement of it. I then said “i find the deep fried doritos with cheese funny” and she said “OH i love those too, haha!” 

We seem to have the same driver in the mornings, this lovely middle aged man. He’s always so happy and super excited to talk to Australian’s. Every night it’s as if he researchers more things about our country to ask us questions. Today he took us on a detour through a very well-off neighbourhood so we were looking at multi-million dollar American houses. They were amazing. Then these 2 big birds were crossing the road and he goes “look! Those are wild turkeys, we get them a lot here!” I was like “OMG TURKEYS!!!!” I seriously would have taken a photo if I had my phone in my hand. Then he made a joke that he drove a South African man to the clinic for a while and this man talked about the animals he had near his house such as lions, giraffes, tiger, you know the usual. So when the driver showed him Wichitas “native” aniamls, such as a turkey, this guy was not impressed. And here’s us, easily amused Australian’s going OMG A TURKEY (BEST DAY EVERRRR)!!!!!! haha. 

[rilenerocks]

February 28th, 2015

Michael woke up feeling nauseous and vomited bile. We waited a few hours – then he tried an Ensure and some applesauce. Those came back up so off we went to the ER for dehydration and anorexia evaluations. Neither was found and his blood work was all within normal limits except one liver enzyme which is still recovering. He is still taking oral pain meds-are they the source of the nausea?

We roll into early March, getting ready for the next scans. There are times when the pain abates and Michael experiences occasional hunger which we try to maximize, stuffing food into him to in an attempt to keep him as strong as possible for whatever lies ahead. On these good days, we go out for a meal or try to see a movie. During one of these rare forays into regular life, a romantic song from our very beginning pops up in the film. We both get chills and squeeze each other’s hands tightly, as for a moment, we drift back to that exquisitely innocent time. Meanwhile, our oncologist Dr. Luyun, has decided to have M try a fentanyl patch for pain. Michael is ready to try anything at this point. He experiences immediate relief and feels great for a day or so, but the pain returns fast. We received little information about how long it takes for the drug to build up in the bloodstream so we didn’t realize that he’d need supplemental oral meds until it did. We are so overwrought and frustrated. When he’s hurting and tired, I am as well. He’s tired of reminders about food and drink and I’m tired of feeling impotent. Our personality differences serve us poorly  during these stressful times. When I get quiet, to stop being a bother, Michael doesn’t like that personality either. Finding a balance is hard as I am imperfect and certainly not saintly. Neither is he. At night, I lie in our bed, feeling him twitch and have tremors. We never sleep apart – there’s no room for that distance even if we’re both irritable.

March 9th, 2015

I lay here, wondering what the scan results will show, where the cancer is now, if it’s hitting his spinal cord, whether he will have permanent damage, become a quadriplegic, lose control over bladder and bowels. I want to know everything and nothing and I want both to hurry up.

By mid-March, we have scan results that show that the cancer spots are all growing but still reveal no clues about the cause of the intensity of Michael’s pain. We asked for a referral to orthopedics where there’s a very smart doctor out of Harvard. After checking all the scans, he recommends MRIs for the lumbar spine and both hips. He thinks those will provide the best diagnosis which can’t come soon enough. I’m still writing to principal investigators running Merkel cell trials across the country. The idea that you can get into a trial easily is completely false. The bureaucratic aspects are truly maddening, especially when there’s blatant evidence of a terminal disease. If a person is going to die anyway, why not let him have a chance? But that thinking is for another time.

The MRI results are terrible. The cancerous lesion that has been sitting in the disk at T-12 for months has permeated the disk wall and is compressing the lumbar spine. All the nerves in the cauda equina, the nerve bundle in the thoracic spine are being squeezed. Big pain.  We are now in a medical emergency and in need of a neurosurgeon. Our radiation oncologist tells us that the disk has to be removed and that an artificial one must be inserted in its place. This would be a lengthy, complex operation. We quickly acquire an appointment with the most experienced neurosurgeon at our facility. He reviews all the MRI images and informs us that in his opinion, this compression is not a medical emergency and that we should return to oncology for radiation and chemo. We sit dumbfounded. There’s no time to go hunting for a different doctor. We realize that his pronouncement is code for either 1) his not being able to perform the procedure, or 2) that there isn’t any point in trying. We head back to Dr. Stanic, our radiation oncologist, who takes a deep breath and designs a radiation plan for the lower thoracic and upper lumbar spine which he warns carries the risk of paralysis. The treatment will be coupled with the chemo drug Topotecan, the second line of defense for MCC. Michael and I are both terrified but he continues to be willing to do whatever what might possibly keep him alive. For me, I bounce between admiration and despair.  The appointments are scheduled. 

The beginning of April starts with the first of 15 daily rounds of radiation. The chemo will be given once a week. This beautiful spring month will be consumed by treatment. When Michael isn’t too fatigued, we decide we’ll just enjoy spending time with our family. Our world has gotten very small. Michael is inner directed and focused on trying to stay alive. I’m committed to helping him in any way I can. The stress is punishing. On April 6th, the fourth day of radiation, we are entering the Cancer Center when I receive a phone call from one of my nieces, letting me know that my brother was found dead that morning by his wife. The cause was determined to be congestive heart failure. He was a troubled guy and in the previous few months, I’d been so consumed by Michael’s cancer that we’d barely spoken. There was nothing to do but go forward, sitting in the waiting room during the radiation appointment, contemplating life and death and everything in between. My goodbyes to Fred would have to play out as I kept plowing through what was in front of me. No more big brother. The days went by, blending into each other. Every time there was a chemo treatment, Michael would have blood drawn to see if his counts were stable enough to cope with the infusion. When the time for the third one came, his platelet count was so low he was at risk for a stroke. The chemo was withheld and instead he had a platelet infusion. Then he started a course of steroids to try preventing any potential bleeding in the brain. Another stunning blow. April is ending.

We head into May, trying to achieve some stability, physically and psychologically. There are days when Michael feels okay – we head outside to appreciate the weather and the garden. Throughout his entire ordeal we have managed to stay intimate. On May 6th, during the process of running my hands over his familiar body, I find a lump in a new spot near his spine. The next day, I call our oncologist to request a scan and find out that he’s resigned from the clinic. We are now without an oncologist – every original member of Michael’s treatment team is now gone. We go back to Dr. Stanic who quickly orders the scans for the next day. The results show stable disease. I can’t understand it. I remember that PET/CT scans don’t show any masses smaller than a centimeter. Now it is May 11th. Our May 1st wedding anniversary kind of slipped away. After running an errand, I came home and found flowers, anniversary cards and Mother’s Day cards from Michael which make me weep. May 18th. Michael seems to be getting weaker. His appetite is poor and he is deconditioned. Sleeping a lot and getting breathless just walking through the house. I’m reading books for widows. I don’t find them very enlightening. Michael talks about death with dignity, although he says he feels stable. He doesn’t look stable. He is weak but trying to act normal.

What is happening inside me? I feel like pieces of who I am slough off every day. Like silt.

May 24th, 2015

I am lying in my bed on the morning of my 64th birthday. Michael’s hand is on my leg and I’m listening to him breathe. I fear this is the last birthday he’ll be next to me. Forty three birthdays shared. This one feels meaningless. There is a lump on his neck at the base of his skull. Last night I felt one in his left groin. Scan or no scan. These lumps are real. I am walking through this life, feeling mostly dread. My hope is dwindling. I have used myself up.

 May 29th, 2015

This morning I found 3 pea-sized lumps on Michael’s head, very close to the site of the excision of his tumor on February 25th. The lump at the back of his neck is a tumor. I just know it. On Monday there will be biopsies of his head. This time, the surgeon is too busy to see him and a physician’s assistant will do the cutting. We know it’s Merkel cell. We’re only going to let him biopsy one growth. Then we’ll finally have the soft tissue requirement that kept him out of the Barnes clinical trial. We are still hanging on, albeit by the proverbial thread. We meet with a palliative care team on Tuesday to see if they can help keep Michael comfortable, both physically and mentally as this all unfolds.  So much darkness while we fumble forward.

June 2nd, 2015

I am visiting mom at the nursing home. She has about run out of money and I am trying to get her Medicaid in the midst of my nightmare. She always remembers that Michael is sick. She asks me, “if Michael dies, do you think we should try living together?” I remind her that we already did that. In the midst of her dementia and my grief, we both laugh.

June 5th, 2015

Michael is getting weaker and less hungry. Today is his birthday. We spend a lot of it crying. Michael’s emotional pain is finally bursting out of him. He says he’s never lost anyone before, that the first person he’s losing is himself. The kids come over and we all sit in the yard for awhile. We all act just like ourselves which is both bad and good. The weight of what’s ahead of us is like a massive tsunami getting ready to wash us all away.

June 8th, 2015

SCAN DAY.

June 16th, 2015

The week has been madness. The scan of the 8th showed widespread disease including a pleural effusion which is one of the reasons Michael’s breathing is so labored. Dr. Stanic soberly tells us that malignant infusions are virtually impossible to get rid of so that we should be prepared. Lumps are pushing out everywhere, neck, collarbone, both rib cages. I have no idea how Michael is still breathing. We now have a new oncologist, Dr. Zhang, who we’d seen a few times when Dr. Luyun was unavailable. He is smart and aggressive. We go to see him the day after the scan. Michael is so weak he’s in a wheelchair, but eventually has to lie on a bed in the infusion suite for his appointment. Miraculously his recovered platelets, plus the soft tissue disease finally qualify him for the trial at Barnes. Dr. Zhang goes to call those awful people in St. Louis to clear a path for us. Now all we have to do is gather up all the records, forward the scans and move into the trial. At last. Michael is resting at home while I run around gathering all the information. Again, I’m communicating with Dr. Linette and his nurse. A few days pass and there is no action from Barnes. When I call in again, I’m told that Michael isn’t in the trial, but rather that we have to come back so they can do their own scans. I am enraged and feel like I’m going to have a breakdown. I vow that when this ends, I will eviscerate Dr. Linette and his harsh nurse Joanne. Meanwhile we are to see Dr. Zhang tomorrow.

June 17th, 2015

Dr. Zhang is infuriated to hear that we are not in the trial. He asks us to sit and wait for awhile. When he returns, he tells us that he has managed to order pembrolizumab (Keytruda) off-trial for Michael and that he will receive an infusion immediately. This drug is in the same immunological family as the trial drug at Barnes and has been used for melanoma patients. This is an outside the box move. We are grateful for anything as we get ready to leap into this unknown, untried space. Unless this drug is a miracle, we have to face Michael’s death. Can we find a way to walk this path without crashing into a thousand pieces? Michael has suffered agonies. I am as close to him as anyone can get to another human being. Off to the infusion suite.

June 20th, 2015

I am lying in bed with Michael while I still can. The days are the same. I wake thinking of his death and the horror it will bring. I go away to the park in the morning and cry. Then I run errands and on good days, I swim for awhile. Then I go home and wait for him to come downstairs so we can begin the endless battle over food and protein. He sleeps a lot. We are next to each other, often in silence.

June 18th, 2015

Although it seems crazy, the day after the Keytruda infusion, the visible tumors on Michael’s body seem inflamed. The immunological drugs are supposed to remove blockades from the body’s killer immune cells, releasing them to kill your cancer. This sudden release produces an inflammatory response. Michael’s fatigue is profound. But I decide to start measuring what I can see to track the potential progress. Within two weeks, the tumors which initially looked worse, are visibly shrinking.

Michael is dragging himself through this process. Even though his style is so different than mine, I am awed by his stubborn courage. The Keytruda has impacted his pleural effusion. Twice in July, he has had to be “tapped,” to have fluid drawn from between his lungs and body wall. This is done by inserting a needle into his back. Dr. Zhang doesn’t want to chance having any tubing inserted permanently to stave off the risk of infection. The first tapping fills a 2 and a half liter container. The fluid is blood-red and is 100% Merkel cell lymph fluid. The second tapping fills 3 liters – as I look at it, I think half of it looks more amber colored than red. It appears the drug may be having a positive effect. July 12th, 2015

Mom has fallen in the middle of the night at the nursing home and has broken her hip. I run to the hospital where she tells me that she doesn’t think she can “make it through this one.” I an worried about surgery for her but the orthopedic surgeon says the pain without intervention would be intolerable. What he doesn’t talk about is the hospital delirium that accompanies dementia patients after general anesthetics. Mom survives the procedure but is in a dreadful mental state in addition to having post-surgical pain. For eight days, I run back and forth between her and Michael – finally I request hospice for her and a return to the nursing home before she forgets it altogether. I have to fight for hospice but she actually recognizes my conflict with the staff and supports me. Four days after she’d been returned to the home, I receive a call from a staff member saying that she’s asking for me, just as I’m walking Michael into the cancer center. My daughter swaps places with me. My sister joins us on that July 24th afternoon and we sit with our mother, watching her slip away.

She died on July 25th. We had a rapid funeral with those of her family who lived in town. The heat was blistering and I was terrified that Michael would keel over at the cemetery.

Four days later, our beautiful dog Flash, who’d developed a cough, had me very worried. I took him to the vet and asked her to diagnose him before I left. I didn’t think I could stand to bring him back there again. Bloodwork showed nothing but then she X-rayed his chest. Poor Flash had lung cancer and a pleural effusion, just like Michael’s. I held him as he was euthanized, went home and sobbed with the whole family. What an impossible time.August, 2015

Michael was still fatigued but slowly improving. The physical part was challenging but so was the mental exhaustion. I was utterly spent too, but continued to push forward. Day by day, he began to recover in teeny increments. We went out to eat. He worked in the yard. We tried a staycation at a hotel where he sat bundled up and wasted, but was grimly happy to be out of our house. We went to a rock concert at our local sweetcorn festival.

September, 2015

Scan month. Living between scans may be the hardest challenges we faced those many months. As time went by we got smarter about them, scheduling the follow up appointment for the day after the scan so we wouldn’t have too much time to worry. The early September scan was no exception – we went in for it one morning and by the next were getting the results. Which were spectacular. Between June and September, 80% of Michael’s cancer had vanished, including the pleural effusion. Dr. Zhang brought a colleague in to see the results as he was so excited he was barely contained. Michael was one of the exceptional responders to this new class of drugs, one of the 30-40 % whose bodies were just waiting for help in unleashing their cancer-killing cells. We were thrilled but still cautious. Every three weeks, there would be more treatment, more blood tests. But Michael was almost over the precipice and now, was back in his life. And mine.  

Cancer Drops the Hammer – Part 2 – Chapter 10 – Be 278 February 28th, 2015 Michael woke up feeling nauseous and vomited bile. We waited a few hours - then he tried an Ensure and some applesauce.