Prayer request: please pray for my grandpa. He's having open-heart surgery tomorrow, and he has two other hospital-worthy health issues that they're going to have to figure out how to treat after that. He had a bad fall back in May, and while he was originally doing miraculously well, he stopped taking care of himself as well as he should have in July (right about when he should have been able to start doing more . . .), and that's led to a whole slew of issues.
Specific requests:
That the heart surgery goes well.
That the doctors will have wisdom to figure out how to treat the other issues.
That my grandpa will be receptive to whatever changes he needs to make to ensure these problems don't come back and new problems don't arise, and that he'd find the motivation to not stay in his current mindset (which seems to be that he's avoiding anything that requires effort).
This is a little selfish, but pray that my uncle (who's currently with my grandpa) would be able to stay with him for his recovery instead of making my mom come up again (after she already spent literally all summer taking care of my grandpa after his initial fall).
Thanks in advance.
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the fundamental difference between my mom and me - one of them anyway - is that she thinks of children like pets and i think of pets like children. she's like awww i want a grandchild so bad why will neither of my kids give me grandchildren and i'm like ma'am you don't want a grandchild. you want to have unrestricted access to a baby. what about when it grows up and it's not little and cute anymore? are you still gonna take care of it when it chews power cords and pees on the furniture? answer: no, because who takes care of her dog? me. i'm like if you want to take care of and cuddle something we have one dog and two cats in this house that rely on us and we have a responsibility to put them ahead of ourselves for as long as they live and she's like yeah but animals smell bad. as if babies don't.
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Manager of the house came in today. He was shouting out what my weight and BMI were so everyone in the house could hear. I asked him not to do that and he said he was sorry and he didn’t realise it would make me uncomfortable.
Afterwards he was in the dining room when me and other residents were on the sofa at the other end of the room. He loudly complained about me being upset by him shouting out about my weight and then continued to shout out my weight and BMI was and also made a lot of really squirm-inducing remarks about my prescribed meal plan in front of everyone.
The staff here had a training session about how to approach eating disorders two weeks after I moved in because when I moved in they literally knew nothing. I really don’t know what they got from it.
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Eddie has never considered that meals are an extremely important ritual to some people. He’s always been the kind of guy who’s fine with cold leftovers and cereal without milk. As long as his hunger is sated, he’s good to go.
He isn’t sure what Steve means when he first brings it up about a week after he moves in, when he mentions offhandedly that food is really important to Billy.
Whatever that means.
It becomes more apparent when Eddie starts to notice a trend.
Billy is probably at his happiest when he’s eating, especially if he’s eating one of his go-to comfort foods; namely lasagna, hotdogs, and cheesecake.
He slips into his happy place when he’s enjoying his meal, calm and content, and afterwards he’s usually a little clingy. Likes to be cuddled and take naps in his partners’ arms. Likes being coddled.
It seems cute at the start. Eddie enjoys getting to come home each night and have all two hundred and fifty pounds of Billy in his lap, burying his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck like a lovesick cat while he gets petted. There’s something grounding, he guesses, in being comfortably full after a nice hot meal, that makes Billy so pliant and easygoing.
The exact opposite is true if the ritual is broken.
“Sweetness, it’s alright,” Steve soothes. “C’mere, you’re okay.”
He gently guides a flustered Billy away from the stove, carefully stepping around the shattered plate of spaghetti on the floor. It happened so fast that Eddie didn’t even register it until Steve was bounding into the kitchen from the other room, cradling Billy’s already tear-streaked face in his hands.
The blond is a mess. Hiccuping between little shaky breaths and sobs like he’s physically in pain.
Handling these sorts of things is not Eddie’s strong suit, usually. He’s not like Steve, careful and deliberate with his words, guiding Billy’s breathing with his own calm inhales and exhales. Still, the sight of Steve kissing Billy’s tears away as he cries makes Eddie’s chest clench with sorrow.
He dips down to clean up the mess. Scrapes the noodles into the trash and carefully discards the plate before wiping the sauce from the tile. Then he grabs a fresh plate from the cupboard and loads it with a new pile of spaghetti, topped with an abundance of parmesan.
It’s a small gesture, he thinks, but as he delivers it to his boyfriend, Billy’s eyes light up. Then promptly fill with tears again as he looks up at Eddie through his lashes.
“I’ll have something else, Bills. You should have your spaghetti,” he coos.
“Are you sure?”
“I wrote it down.”
Billy snorts at that. Reluctantly takes the plate from Eddie’s hands and twirls his fork in the noodles, breathing a comfortable sigh when he takes the first bite. His shoulders droop after a moment. Steve smiles and tucks a stray curl behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek.
When Eddie returns to the kitchen, he catches Steve mouthing a thank you, which only makes him that much more eager to eat hot pockets for dinner.
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