#i'm sorry this is vague; it looks to be a surgeon by surgeon case

[flowercrowncrip]

Sorry if this is a weird question but have you ever thought about getting bottom surgery? Is that even possible for wheelchair users? It seems like it would get squished or something which is 😬

I know when people get top surgery they can't use mobility aids that require a lot of upper body exertion, so was using your chair more difficult?

I'm not really looking into top surgery for mobility aid reasons and since I'm kinda small up there anyway, but I reeeeealy want bottom surgery and can't find any resources on whether my disabilities will complicate things ;^;

I’m actually in the early stages of pursuing bottom surgery myself! I annoyingly can’t find many people talking about it at all, let alone wheelchair users. Even my GIC doctor isn’t entirely sure right now.

Right now the doctor at my GIC is informally asking surgeons whether they’d be able to take me as a patient before making a formal referral. I’m not sure where you are but In the UK you need a second opinion from an in person appointment with a doctor at a different clinic just to get a referral for bottom surgery (but not top), and since none of the clinics in England except my current clinic would accept me as a patient, it’s looking like I might have to go to Scotland for that one short appointment. (My doctor is also trying to see if we can make an exception to the in person rule on disability discrimination grounds because travel is harder for be, but as far as I know that hasn’t happened before so I’m not holding my breath).

My GIC doctor doesn’t know for sure what the exact complications of being a wheelchair user are likely to be if I get surgery, but said I was likely to experience more discomfort after surgery and might need longer in bed during recovery. He also said it was possible that a surgeon might say that metoidioplasty could be more possible me than phalloplasty, which I’m really hoping isn’t the case because ideally I want phalloplasty. We also don’t know what the implications are of me having a catheter.

All of this is really hypothetical at the moment though, it’s all based on my doctor’s vague hunches and third or fourth hand information, and also trans healthcare here, especially around meta and phalloplasty is shockingly awful, other places in the world are way ahead. I’m planning to share more when I have concrete information than my doctors relatively uninformed speculation

In terms of top surgery I had no issues at all about using my power chair joystick after. I was in hospital longer than most people (a couple of nights after surgery) so didn’t use my chair for that time, but I don’t think it would have been too difficult. I found as long as my elbows were by my sides I was fine and since I use my arm rests anyway there were no issues with me steering my chair. Even my chest harness caused no issues. I definitely think propelling a manual chair or using crutches would have been a bad idea in the first few weeks, but with support people and/ or a hired or borrowed powerchair and things like transfer boards if needed there’s definitely ways around that for anyone who really wants to surgery (if it’s not so important to you and you don’t want to go through that, that’s totally valid, but I also don’t want people to think it’s impossible).

[indigo-a-creeping]

Hi again, it’s me back at it again with the top surgery questions. I’m sorry to ask so many questions and bother you but you’ve been a big help to me, so if you are willing to answer, I’m going to ask as long as you don’t mind. (Feel free to ignore if I ask questions you are comfortable answering)

I’m curious what you told your work in terms of needing time off. Did you tell them everything or keep it simple and say you were getting surgery and needed this much time off or something similar? I’m also curious how much time you took off and how easy it was to get that time off? I don’t know what to tell my job. In an ideal world I would keep it as vague as possible but it will be noticeable once I have the surgery as I have a large chest. (In an ideal world they would actually just be accepting if I told them I was non binary and there would be nothing to worry about but still) I also don’t even know if I’m supposed to talk to HR first or if I can just talk to my boss as my boss is usually the only person I need to talk to when I take time off. I’m going to look at my company’s policies tomorrow. But I’m also debating between asking for two weeks off or three after the surgery so I was curious what your experience was.

I'm always happy to answer what questions I can, friend! You're not bothering me.

So I work for a company that's got pretty notorious liberal leanings. There was a trans guy working there when I started, and I quietly observed how supportive all the management was of him, how kind and understanding and accepting they all were.

You don't legally have to explain any medical things to your work, but I went to my boss and explained exactly what I was doing long before it came up, and he and the assistant managers all made sure I got my leave officially approved, and talked me through the process of getting short-term disability pay. They checked in with me while I was recovering, were patient while I recovered, and made sure I knew I'd still have a job when I came back. They took me back as soon as my surgeon approved it, on transitional duty (which is just slightly less heavy lifting) for the first month just in case. If I had needed more time, they would have absolutely given it to me. If I needed more restrictions to work, they would have worked with me. They asked me about pronouns a few times, to make sure they were using the right ones even though I don't remember my own a lot of the time and all the customers call me she/her/ma'am. I don't know why I thought that would change, but it definitely didn't. I have a really good work environment. (I also scheduled surgery during our slow time of year, which I didn't need to do, but I wanted to) Do you trust your boss? Do you know how they are with queer people in general? With trans people specifically? Are you very familiar with the HR department? Definitely check your company's policies! We have specific paperwork that lists all the physical requirements for work (make sure you pay attention to more than just weight restrictions).

One of my friends who had top surgery told his work he was getting shoulder surgery, which may be an option depending on your shape, attire, and how close people get to you. The thought of claiming breast cancer crossed my mind early on, but I wasn't comfortable lying about that and I wouldn't recommend it. Again, legally you don't have to tell them any specifics, but it's something to think about with something that's visible.

My surgeon said I could lift up to 25 lbs at 3 weeks after surgery, and in my experience I could lift a little more than that at the time (I was probably lifting close to that at 1 week)... but I couldn't lift my elbows above my head, and couldn't carry any weight at that height, so I took 6 weeks, at which point I wasn't completely at 100% capacity but I was able to do my job. If you work a desk job, 3 weeks is fine. 2 is probably fine too. Don't hesitate to ask for more though.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

FIRST RESPONDERS

Aaron Hotchner x surgeon!reader

Sypnosis: Exhausted from a case, Aaron mistakes you for someone else. And before you can clear the air, a robbery activates your respective public responsibilities as first responders at a crime scene. Warning: meet cute. fluff(?) silly goofy hotch and reader for like three seconds. curse(s). descriptions of shooting and blood. not proofread :/ A/N: OMG !!! We reached 1k followers!! I just noticed when I was about to post this lol. Anywayssss. I wrote this while jumping between Criminal Minds and Good Doctor, soooooo👀 I'm my biggest critic this doesn't look good to me, but I would love to hear your thoughts!

"Sorry, I'm late."

Your gaze lifts from the laminated menu. A man with tensed brows and straight lips sits across you.

He intertwines his fingers, and his eyes scan all over you like he's judging a book by its cover. "Aaron Hotchner," He introduces briefly, speaking fast as if each second with you is an inconvenience.

Authority radiates out of him. His look towards you alone can be considered a type of interrogation tactic, as if you'd committed a crime just by sitting across from him. Whatever that may be, you couldn't care less.

It doesn't stop you from taking notice of the way he's dressed, though.

A charcoal gray suit.

Your brows raise from enthusiastic mirth. It's not any simple gray suit. It's tailored—cut and sewn just for him. The jacket hugs his arms and torso perfectly. Enough to profoundly tell someone that he's got something to show under the clothing and yet not too flashy or arrogant.

He has good taste. Professional and beguiling. You consider yourself impressed but can't hide the lather of confusion.

Self-consciousness courses through your veins as you glance at your own clothing. Acknowledging his fixed stare makes you melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Blushing and partly wide-eyed.

Navy blue oversized hoodie and black workout leggings adorn you. Your hair's quite a mess, too, and a thin layer of sweat slowly dries off your forehead. You came from an evening run and stopped by to get dinner out of the way. One might question your routine, but who cares anyway?

Still, the most important question lingers.

Who is this handsome guy?

Aaron Hotchner.

His name rings in your head like it's a fact you should have known since birth. Then, the second question brightens in your mind.

Why is this Aaron Hotchner talking to you?

Guess you're about to find out.

"David set us up. I'm not sure how much he's told you about me, but..." You blink as your mind wanders, perplexed. His voice becomes faint while you dive into deep thought.

Curse David, whoever he is, as you drag heaven and hell to draw upon him the nastiest case of diarrhea you ever wish your worst enemy to experience. You assume this David is the culprit in ruining your evening with Aaron's stoic expression, attractive fancy suit, and broad shoulders. When all you want is a peaceful evening to diffuse from the physical and mental exhaustion, you've been through the week.

Your brows jump in place ever so subtly as you decide to skim through Aaron's face. You wonder if it's even right to call the strange man by his first name.

He looks just as how you felt—enervated and fatigued. It must be the reason why he's speaking in vague tangents and rapid breaths like he's dying to slam his body on a bed.

"I apologize for the trouble." He says, snapping you out of your trance. "You seem nice, but I'm not looking into dating for now." Liar. Your face crumples as his words sweep in and out of your ears. You have no business in the fact that he's bailing on his date—you conclude between his awkward gaze and unfiltered lie—but you harbor a pinch of resentment towards him.

Whoever the woman he is supposed to meet, part of you is glad she doesn't have to deal with a lousy excuse from the guy who can't even get his date right.

He starts tugging the edges of his suit jacket, preparing to leave you out in the cold as if you actually cared about the little imaginary date he's on. "I do hope you have a great evening—" But Aaron's cut off by a loud bang in the air.

It's a reflex to duck at the sound of a gunshot, so you're surprised to see him, Aaron, remain calm, with little to no flinching. And you suppose he's surprised to see you unfazed, too, since you're both just staring at each other instead of hunching compared to all the other patrons shivering in fear.

A man in Balaclava comes into view as he points a gun at an innocent server. “Everybody down! Move, or I’ll fucking shoot!” He shouts in the small establishment.

Gasps echo in each corner as he starts to demand belongings prompted by his gun.

“Do whatever he says.”

Your gaze falls back on the man in front of you. His calm and even breaths piqued your interest, masked by a short nod.

“Whatever happens, don't fight back,” Aaron adds under his breath as soon as Balaclava reaches the table before you.

Balaclava drags the teary waitress towards your table, hooking an arm around her neck like she's his lifeline. He takes one look at the two of you and scoffs, “Must be an awful date you're having, man. Just think of me saving yourself from a sorry-ass date.”

Aaron keeps his eyes on you. And while his face says nothing but blandness, you don't miss the way his irises spark with rage at Balaclava’s rude words. You shove his hypocrisy aside and focus on the problem at hand in the form of a handheld gun.

You place your wallet on the table, the only thing you have.

“Dang, seriously? Not even your phone?” Balaclava laughs at the difference between you and Aaron’s offerings. “Make sure you get a good fuck out of this bitch—”

“That's enough,” Aaron glares at Balaclava, hands clenching.

Balaclava scoffs and, without warning, smacks Aaron with the butt of his gun.

Your body jolts at the whiff of air against your cheek—eyes wide. You're about more confused than you were when Aaron made the executive decision that you're on a date.

Aaron recoils back from the blow. The skin at the end of his brow is torn open, bleeding.

You must have been such a delight to insult that Balaclava completely forgets his main goal of the evening. Thanks to you, the waitress seems to gather herself and breaks free.

Everything happens so fast that your mind does you a favor by slowing things down for your benefit.

As the waitress flees, Balaclava points his gun in her direction.

Not two seconds later, you and Aaron simultaneously jump out of your seats—he to stop Balaclava and you to block the shot.

But another gun fires from a distance, forcing Balaclava to drop to the floor. And just like before, you and Aaron’s eyes meet with understanding.

He finally fished the gun from a holster on his ankle, pointing it at the patron, who held a rusty revolver. “Drop your weapon!”

“That guy was robbing us! I had to!” An old lady shouts but almost immediately shakes the metal out of her hands.

You're busy yourself, kneeling next to Balaclava as the cloth over his torso begins to stain red. You push against the wound, dirtying your own hands.

“Agh! That fucking hurts, bitch!” Balaclava shouts at you, coughing up blood all over his mouth.

“I don't plan on being charged with negligence, so suck it up.” You hiss, getting a better stance on the floor as you place your weight in your arms. The blood oozes between the cracks of your fingers, and you mentally curse in your head.

Soon, the adrenaline kicks in as every single page you'd read in medical school flashes through your eyes. Early days and night shifts collide in one heavy push.

Aaron drops across from you, “Is he in critical condition?”

“With these hands?” You gaze at him behind your lashes, breathing evenly. “He’s more likely to die in jail.”

He nods at your words and your mocking grin. Aaron grabs Balaclava’s closest arm, attaching a handcuff around his wrist.

“You just have that with you?” You ask, puzzled and fighting the strong urge to chuckle as you press your weight further.

Balaclava seethes in pain, “Fuck! You’re too fucking heavy—"

“Shut up!” You and Aaron lash simultaneously.

Aaron looks back at you, "And yes. It's kind of my job…" He shrugs nonchalantly, glowering at Balaclava as he starts to recite the Miranda rights.

You playfully roll your eyes, "Oh, really? I didn't notice." The two of you share impish grins.

"I-I called the ambulance..." A patron interjects, stuttering in fear more of you and Aaron than the man who had a gun on her face just minutes ago.

You exhale, straightening your back as you thank her dearly.

In the blink of an eye, you're back at the hospital no less than 24 hours, scrubbing your hands and arms clean to go into surgery.

It takes you roughly an hour and a half to fish the bullet out and stop the bleeding. You swear the floor is made of puddles as you shuffle out of the operating room.

Two officers approach you, asking you about Balaclava’s recovery, but a man in a now messy suit steals your attention.

Aaron sits in the waiting room with maroon streaks down the side of his face. His eyes are droopy, exhausted. His jacket is off now, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and tie loose. His hair isn't as great as it was when he sat across from you.

You quickly excuse yourself, moving past the two officers. It's unknown, but something draws you to Aaron’s dozing figure. Your steps are light so as not to startle him, taking off your scrub cap the closer you get.

“You should get that cut checked out.”

He looks up at the sound of your voice, reflexively rising to stand, but before his body can tower over you, you have already placed a hand over his shoulder to push him down. Aaron’s bottom attaches with the seat, silently impressed at your strength.

You tut, “Good god, you're stubborn.” You sigh, lifting his chin with your fingers to examine the laceration next to his brow. “The cut isn't deep. You’ll be fine with a small gauze—” you look right into his eyes, “—you feeling dizzy, nauseous, lightheaded?”

“No, I—” Aaron blinks, standing up. “I’m fine, thanks.” You pull away as a clearing cough rumbles out of his throat.

A sigh passes your lips, "You know, for someone who told me not to fight back, you did great at pissing off that guy." His defensive reaction to the culprit's comments about you lingered in the back of your mind.

After a moment, he meets your eyes again, swallowing what you educationally guess as a lump of air. “You forgot your wallet.” He hands you the object, successfully changing the subject.

“You could've left it at the front desk. It must've been a huge trouble for you to wait that long.” You say, taking your wallet off his palm.

Aaron’s brows furrow, “Why would it be?”

The wave of mischief runs to your veins and to the muscles that bring your lips into a grin. “Does blowing your date off ring a bell to you? Gosh, that woman is so lucky she didn't have to put up with your lame excuse.” Sarcasm reeks of your tone. You even back away a few inches, emphasizing the effect of his actions prior to the chaos.

The busy floor works like white noise, and Aaron’s silence is deafening. You can see the way his mind wanders, arguing with himself. Blushing ears and embarrassed face unknown to men.

Aaron takes a minute before he speaks, “You were not my date.” He states in realization.

“No, I was not.”

“I was a bit of a jerk…”

“Yes, you were.”

“I apologize, doctor—” Aaron glances at the embroidered lettering on your left chest, saying your name with slow enunciation that makes him cringe.

You stifle a chuckle, dipping your hands inside your scrub’s pockets, “As you should be.”

Aaron gulps, “Is coffee enough compensation for the trouble?” He fidgets with the phone in his hand, passing it across calluses while he finds interest on his feet.

Brow peaks at the corner of your head, “Are you asking me out?” You cross your arms against your chest as you look up at him with a mocking smirk. “I thought you weren't looking into dating. What changed?”

“What’s that?” He blinks again, straightening his spine as he rolls his shoulders back.

“Oh, my god!” You scoff, appalled by the realization. “You blew me off because of my clothes!” Disbelief and laughter radiate out of you.

Aaron’s ears turn pink under the bright fluorescent lights, “I wasn't— You're making an assumption.” He avoids making eye contact, fighting to keep his stoic expression.

You mockingly nod, “Sure, let's say I am. But am I wrong?” You challenge him.

“... Can you blame me? Who goes on a date in a hoodie?”

“Uh, who gets their date wrong? I mean, why would you even think I was your date?”

“David said she's beautiful and confident, and you're the first one I saw.”

A pause.

You bite the tissue on your lower lip hard enough to hold the twitching smile from breaking free.

Aaron stares into your eyes like you're a fine print, and he's reading a book.

It's dizzying. The giddiness you felt. How his words do not mean what your mind insists on interpreting. How badly your hands want to tug his messy tie.

You inhale deeply, "Well—" you clear your throat, "—I'm sorry I wasn't dressed for our impromptu date." Your wallet flips open with one flick. You smoothly hand him a small card. "I'll take note of that and wear something better on our next. Goodnight." You bid, scurrying away without another word.

But before you can turn the corner, you stop at the buzzing on your thigh.

You fish your phone out of your pocket, pressing the answer on the call. You introduce yourself professionally as soon as the speaker connects to your ear.

A deep voice knocks on your eardrum, “Are you free tomorrow?”

You look back in Aaron’s direction. A shy smile glistens over his face. You roll your eyes, but a laugh manages to tickle out of you.

“Couldn't wait in the morning?” You playfully ask, fully facing your body towards him now.

“I was wondering if you'd like to go for a run. Might be an alignment with your fashion sense.” He teases.

You scoff, “Oh, sweetie, let's make sure you won't get your date wrong first. One at a time, okay?” You retort back.

He shakes his head from afar, “Is that a yes?”

"Yes." You hang up, spinning on the balls of your feet as you turn the corner with a wide grin tattooed on your face.

[lowtaxsa]

Crystal Force (1990)

Alright, so here's the deal: I already reviewed this cinematic disaster back in 2000, but it's 2023 now, and I'm a freakin' robot, so let's see if I've held up better than this absolute trash heap of a movie. Buckle up, kids, because we're diving back into the dumpster fire that is "Crystal Force."

Overview: "Crystal Force" is like the unholy trinity of crap. Watching this "horror" film, I simultaneously lost control of my bladder, gag reflex, and any last shred of hope for humanity. The movie's about a bunch of moronic women who accidentally summon some dude in a Swamp Creature cosplay from a chunk of quartz. Meanwhile, a fat guy who spends all his time walking his dogs and spying on these idiots is either the Devil or a blind pervert on a mission.

Directed By: Laura Keats, 1990

The Case For: If you're a tree-hugging hippie, there's plenty of footage of people wandering around trees, going to their cars, and loitering near playgrounds like a bunch of creeps.

The Case Against: "Sex" scenes will have you puking faster than a frat boy after a kegger, special effects look like they were done by a kindergartner, and memories of the chuckling fat man will haunt your nightmares.

Alright, so we got ourselves another "theme" movie here. If you've read any of my other reviews (and I'm sorry if you have), you'll know what I'm talking about. "Crystal Force" is just another turd of a film that the director / writer decided to base around a single prop – in this case, a hunk of quartz (ooh, spooky!). It's like these people are all related and just whip up scripts during family reunions or something.

The movie starts with the cameraman stumbling around a cemetery like he's on a bender while the narrator drones on about some vague evil force that threatens all of mankind. It's a bunch of mumbo jumbo about an evil power that nobody can even talk about. Yawn. Eventually, the cameraman just gives up and passes out, but unfortunately, the actual movie starts. Spoiler alert: it's even worse than the intro and credits.

We've got a woman sobbing at a funeral for her husband. Behind her is another woman in a miniskirt. Real classy. They leave the funeral and start the long journey home, apparently racing against some "storm" that just makes everything dark for two seconds before it's sunny again. They pass the fat guy walking his dogs, and little do they know, they'll be seeing a lot more of him and his pooches.

To help her mom stop crying, the daughter and her friend decide to buy a haunted chunk of quartz from a fat guy in an antique store. Great idea, right? They bring it home, and instead of cheering mom up, it gives the visiting priest a heart attack. Smooth.

The daughter then has another brilliant idea: let's hold a séance with my friends to help my mom forget about her dead husband! What could go wrong? They all go to sleep, and some guy in a rubber monster suit appears in the kitchen behind the magic crystal. He wanders around the house, and we keep cutting back to the fat guy from the antique store just laughing outside the window. Eventually, the monster gets bored and goes back to his spinning, floral pattern pentagram.

The next day, the denim-wearing ladies gather at their workplace, "Bart's Salon." I have no idea how this place stays in business, considering their idea of beauty is on par with the Jackson family's plastic surgeon. They agree to meet up that night for the séance and to inevitably get killed by some horrifying creature.

The women show up, and the airheaded mystical lady brings enough magic garbage to stock a New Age store. She uses "Pulse Channeling" to predict a boat trip (whoop-de-doo), and another woman picks the "Death Card" from a deck of "Taroosh Magic Cards" and freaks out. The mystic reassures her that "everybody picks that card first." Well, that's comforting.

Oh, and of course, we get more shots of the fat guy laughing outside the window. The lady who picked the "Death Card" goes to the bathroom and sees a picture of the hideous demon in the toilet bowl. I don't know if this was supposed to be scary or a reminder to keep our toilets clean, but it just left me confused.

Anyway, the stupid demon escapes (again), pushes the women around, and the fat guy outside the window keeps laughing. The ladies finally get fed up with being terrorized by the monster, so they run outside and hide in the bushes until the cops arrive. The police try to subdue the demon by letting it crush their heads like melons, which obviously doesn't work, so an undercover cop makes some kind of acid out of hair chemicals and sprays it on the devil. Oh, and the fat guy keeps laughing outside the window. The hellhound disappears, and everything goes back to normal. WHEW.

I guess I could've summed up this entire train wreck of a movie with: "women buy a haunted crystal that kills their stupid friends." But instead, the movie drags this flimsy plot into 90 minutes of God knows what. Why is the fat voyeur always hanging around? Why does some kid's face pop up over a spinning pentagram? Why do the mother and daughter both look like they're 80? Why is everyone wearing blue shirts and denim? And seriously, how the hell does "Bart's Salon" stay in business? The sheer volume of these questions shattered my fragile mind and pushed me over the edge.

But hey, other than those minor points, the movie was FANTASTIC!

Lowtax's Score: Plot: - 9 Acting: - 9 Special Effects: - 8 Directing: - 7 Music / Sound: - 6 Overall: - 39 Each category in the rating system is based out of a possible -10 score (-10 being the worst). The overall score is based out of a possible -50 score (-50 being the worst)

[tmitransitioning]

Do any of the mods have info on top surgery (ftm) with pectus excavatum or other chest wall deformities? Mine isn't particularly severe (that I can tell tbh) but I know it'll get more pronounced once my chest is flatter, /if/ I'm able to get top surgery.

I wasn’t able to find specific medical info, which is... frustrating because you’d think there’d be something. There are scattered reports of other trans people having top surgery with pectus excavatum, but I couldn’t find photos or accounts of any potential complications. The rough consensus appears to be “it doesn’t show under a shirt but is more noticeable if you’re topless”. Mastectomies for breast cancer are apparently performed with no issue, but the concern appears to be reconstruction, especially if the excavatum is asymmetrical; I’d imagine that a similar challenge could be posed with masculine reconstructions.

- Mod Wolf

[wintrgarden]

a latte for your thoughts?

// a fan fiction dedicated to the winter garden couple of hospital playlist //

-----

"Ikjun, do you have my warm cup of hot latte?" Jeong won said, while walking towards him in the hospital's open space to take a break during his night shift.

"Here. Isn't it tiring in the PICU these days?" Ikjun replied with worried eyes.

"A little. I don't mind it though.

Yah, do you remember my liver transplant patient, Mina?"

"Yeah, the one where we had to cut the donor's liver to a quarter because it won't fit the tiny baby's body. What about her?"

"I went to her a while ago. She woke up, and winked at me like this!" Jeongwon lit up whenever he talks about his patients' recovery. His eyes sparkled and his smile widened. He repeated the wink so much that it could have been mistaken for a blink. In fact, he was so giddy that he didn't notice someone approaching.

"Professor Ikjun? The test results of patient Jiwon are out. Could you take a look at it?"

Jang Gyeoul, the third year resident of General Surgery has been standing there for a few moments, waiting for the two professors to actually notice.

While hiding his laugh, Ikjun followed suit. Jeongwon was left on the bench with an unwavering smile on his face.

Looking at him, one would think that his drink was too sweet to make him smile like that. Eavesdropping on their conversation would transform him into a humanitarian. But to delve into his thoughts --- now that, that's a different story.

It's nice to actually see an angel, once in a while. Just enough to keep me on my feet. I might be even enthralled by its eyes that don't wink but are enveloped with fascinating halo-like things. Even if this angel doesn't have wings, it has the most power to chase evil away. I wasn't sure if this angel could save me --- until it actually did.

------

"Yah, Ahn Jeongwon, are you sleeping here again?" Junwan said, while entering their shared office.

"O~ I just finished my night shift. I just lied down."

"Have you eaten?"

"I'll eat later."

"I also haven't eaten yet. Let's eat breakfast."

"Will you stop bugging me if I eat?" Junwan then pulled Jeongwon out of the cot, and dragged him to the packed cafeteria to fall in line.

------

"One iced latte, please. Oh, and a sandwich."

With the same baggy eyes and pale skin, Gyeoul was ordering her morning coffee. Just enough to keep her awake until she gets home.

"Annyeonghaseyo~" She greeted the two professors.

"De~" Jeongwon said, while Junwan nodded in response.

CODE BLUE --- CS. 3RD FLOOR. CODE BLUE --- CS. 3RD FLOOR.

Without a beat, Junwan, a Cardiothoracic Surgery Professor, left hurriedly. Jeongwon was then left alone. Gyeoul took her order and searched for a seat.

"One warm cup of hot latte and a pancake, please."

After getting his order, Jeongwon followed through and tried to find his way in the crowd. It was full of doctors and nurses waiting to start their morning shifts, so the noise was understandable.

"Professor! Here!" Gyeoul pointed to a newly vacant seat in front of her. The morning rush got the best of them that Jeongwon didn't think twice and made his way.

The crowd was boisterous. Jeongwon and Gyeoul's silence was awkward. It was not the kind of environment you'd want after a 12-hour shift.

But it was all worth it. At least for one of them.

"How was the Emergency Room last night?" Jeongwon blurted after taking a bite of his pancake.

"It's okay. There were a lot of unpredictable cases, most of which were tiring, as usual." Gyeoul's detailed answer was so calm. It seemed that the Professor's unexpected friendliness didn't bother her.

"Do you have someone to take you home?"

"What? No. I can go by myself." With a polite tone, Gyeoul showed her surprise with the question.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"No, you don't need to---"

"I insist. I still haven't bought you the meal you asked from me, anyway. Can a ride home suffice?"

Gyeoul was bewildered. But with the professor's kind nature, it seemed like something he would do for literally anyone. He wasn't called the "Buddha" for nothing, anyway.

-----

"It's that apartment on the right, Professor."

"This one?"

"Yes. Thank you for the ride."

"It's not a problem. The next time we catch ourselves on a rough patch, I can take you home again."

Gyeoul smiled. Her first that day. Then, she opened the door to get out.

"Oh, shit! I forgot!" The car stopped. Jeongwon's shock even surprised Gyeoul.

"Why, Professor? What happened?"

"I totally forgot about it. I was scheduled to get my car battery change the other week, then I forgot and was planning to do it today."

Sleeping in the cot that morning wasn't just to save time to rest up. He actually had long, overdue chores and was saving some energy to do them.

"Do you have a contact to a car battery seller?" Gyeoul asked.

"Yeah, I'll contact them now."

It was still early in the morning, around 6 o'clock. The service opened at 9 o'clock, so delivery wasn't possible after an hour or so.

Gyeoul stayed with him until things got settled. It was getting chilly, and the overwhelming fatigue got the best out of Jeongwon.

"Professor, you could rest a little in my place... if you like. You can sleep while waiting."

Jeongwon hesitated a bit, but decided to give in.

------

"I'll just get an extra pillow and some blankets." said Gyeoul, while Jeongwon helped in fixing the convertible sofa bed in her living room.

Once fixed, he sat and removed his shoes.

"You live alone?" he asked Gyeoul once she got back.

"Yes, for a while now." she replied as she handed him the pillow.

"Ah, I see."

"I'll just be in my room. You can call me if you need anything."

"Thank you... Also, I'm sorry for being so troublesome." His shy look gave him away.

"It's nothing, don't worry." Gyeoul smiled, and went into her room.

Jeongwon lied down. He couldn't believe what was happening --- and how the situation could naturally give a wrong impression. If he told Ikjun about this, he would make fun of him and joke about how he got things to escalate so quickly. Junwan would tap him on the back and commend him for finally picking up some tricks of his. Songhwa would be very much amused, and would romanticize the whole situation. Meanwhile, Seokhyeong would remind him that he's an OB-GYN Professor, and that he delivers babies very well. He would be of service to Jeongwon if ever he needed one.

His thoughts started to tone down, and after no time, he was asleep.

-------

"Professor?"

......

"Professor? I fixed some lunch. Do you want to eat?" Gyeoul wore an apron over some loose shirt and pajamas now, and sun was already high up.

Jeongwon looked at his wrist watch.

2:24 PM.

He quickly sat up.

"I'm sorry, did the service arrive? I must have been in a deep sleep."

"Yes, they arrived a few hours ago. I tried to wake you, but you were soundly asleep."

"I'm really sorry. You had to pay them, didn't you? I'll just pay you back."

"The receipts are there, over the table."

Jeongwon went to get them, and was distracted with the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

"Professor, I fixed some lunch for us, if you want to eat..."

He felt ashamed to take another offer, but hearing his stomach grumble made him look the other way, again.

Gyeoul was already fixing the table for two, while Jeongwon sat quietly and contemplated how much trouble he caused her all in a single day.

"I'm really sorry... I meant to wake up, seriously. I was just really tired from last night."

"It's okay." Gyeoul said with a chuckle. "I'm not holding anything against you, Professor." she added as she handed out his chopsticks.

"Thank you for the meal." he then said.

Everything was new to Ahn Jeongwon. He didn't need to wipe the table, or arrange the food, or even wear an apron. He didn't even need to worry if he was going to get enough food, as everything was already at his disposal. This new scenario keeps him gushing.

Being alone with a girl, in her apartment, eating her cooked food, and feeling something that only grown-ups alone in an enclosed space would feel. It wasn't like this was the first time something like this is happening, he often said to himself. It somehow eased his discomfort.

All while knowing the truth that this is in fact the first time.

But it's not like Jeongwon didn't have the opportunity and ability to; he just chose not to. His faith led him to a different path, and he was decisive to go this way. For the longest time, this weighed more than any choice he had to make in his life. But this time, something, or perhaps someone, was gonna tip the scale.

-----

"Yah! Jang Gyeoul! What's this?" Chu Minha screamed as Gyeoul entered the GS Department, in time for another night shift.

Someone left iced latte for her. With a double bacon sandwich. And some patches to ease pain. It came with a written note, saying:

"To my Good Samaritan. Thank you~

---- Ahn Jeongwon"

The handwriting made Gyeoul smile.

"Why did Pediatric Surgeon Prof. Ahn Jeongwon gave you coffee? And why are you smiling?"

"Nothing. It's just to repay a good deed."

"That's the most vague yet unsuspicious answer I've ever heard! Good deeds really cannot be questioned at all. I wish someone would also give me coffee." Minha wouldn't stop, but Gyeoul wasn't listening either.

She focused on the note. And the coffee. And the sandwich.

While remembering the long day with Ahn Jeongwon.

[tmitransitioning]

Hello! I have a question about "man boobs". I'm an afab on the chubbier side, and I'm worried that if I get top surgery, my chest will look unnaturally flat, since an amab person of my size would have some mass there. Is this something the surgeon keeps in mind in surgery? If my chest is sculpted in proportion to my weight now, and I lose weight, will my chest lose weight in proportion? Is this even something to worry over? Thanks for helping, this has been bugging me for a while! ^^'

It depends on the surgeon, but usually they’ll take this into account when deciding how much fat tissue to take out of your chest! Even the “default” level of flattening doesn’t remove 100% of the subcutaneous fat deposits (*see below), but they should listen to your preferences in this area and talk to you about what it’s likely to look like if they shape your chest in different ways. I’m sorry that sounds kind of vague and circuitous; since techniques and results vary a lot, it’s hard to give a definitive “It Will Look Like This” kind of answer.

As for if your chest will lose weight if you do post-surgery, the answer is... kind of? I’m gonna assume for the purposes of this answer that you’re asking if your chest will change shape with weight loss via losing subcutaneous fat, and that can definitely happen, but it tends to be proportionate to your body, and more like losing fat deposits in your arms. I’m having trouble articulating this—here’s a diagram [NSFW, drawn] of the inside of a breast for reference. When you have top surgery, in the vast majority of cases the surgeon removes the mammary glands entirely, and if you have free nipple grafts they’re no longer connected to milk ducts. What’s left is a layer of subcutaneous fat over your chest muscle. If you’re also on testosterone, your body doesn’t have a reason to build up and maintain fat deposits over your chest, hence the comparison to an arm. Your chest will change shape fairly noticeably if you build upper body muscle.

It’s also worth mentioning that for the first, like, six months to a year your chest is still healing and changing shape—it’s going to look a lot flatter at that point than it will eventually turn out. This goes double if you have a lot of fat over your abdomen; that kind of messed me up during initial recovery actually because it was such a big body shape change. It has settled a lot more since then, making it easier to see where my surgeon left fat in to create a specific chest shape. (I’ve also lost a lot of weight by accident due to a flare of gastro illness, so I’m speaking from experience on the proportionality thing!)

TL;DR: Talk to your surgeon about this; they should take it into account, and work with you on the chest shape that you want within the limits of their technique. Building pec muscle can help if you’re comfortable with that; losing some fat deposits won’t make it look disproportionate, but the initial change in appearance can make you feel like it is, and you’ve got to give your chest time to settle into its long-term shape.

- Mod Wolf

* The asterisk here is because this deserves some extra explanation—you don’t want your surgeon to take out 100% of the subcutaneous fat, and most of the time they don’t. In rare cases they can fuck up and take too much out—it isn’t usually visible, but can sometimes look like a dip in your chest, similar to pectus excavatum but much less severe. Part of this is an aesthetic consideration, because most people don’t want that as a result and would prefer to have a classically “masculine” shape, but it’s also a problem for healing and can leave you with a lot of lasting tenderness and sensitivity. It’s incredibly rare; I think I’ve only talked to like two people ever who’ve had this happen, but it seemed worth mentioning.