#is sick that my grandma is having surgery that my grandma is in a nursing home that my grandma is actively dying when the funeral is

[kilisworld]

Today has been... terrible.

[wallflowerglitter]

Oh man I do not even know what to say at this point.

[theworldoffostering]

The director of special education did not show up to our IEP this week. It made the meeting a whole lot less contentious. It didn’t hurt that they assigned a much more experienced teacher to DS and our advocate showed up and kept everyone in line. Should it take that much work/effort/stress? Absolutely not! I will never understand how anyone is getting services if we cannot with all of the privileges we have personally been afforded.

DH and I talked to Ms. 6 this week. It could be worse, but it’s not great. She bought herself a car or someone else did, but it seems no one cares if she has insurance (legally required). I told her to call and get some quotes. She has not.

She has a boyfriend she met online that no one has vetted. He’s older (no idea how much older) as he has his own place. He lives three hours away in a neighboring state, but Ms. 6 couldn’t remember which city he lives in. She goes to see him on the weekends despite the fact that no one has met him or vetted him. It’s killing me! She was very vague on the details regarding what he does for a living.

Her car seems some basic repairs. Her grandpa has been a semi truck driver for decades. Hasn’t helped her with the repairs. Boyfriend is maybe some kind of mechanic but is unable to help with repairs. Mom is driving Ms. 6’s uninsured car and teaching Ms. 6 how to do donuts in it.

Ms. 6 said she applied to a PA program. When I pointed out that the PA program she applied for is a masters program (aren’t they all?) that cost $109k for the 28 month program, she seemed shocked and unimpressed. I did do a conference call with her and the high school this week to try to sort out her graduation.

Ms. 6 had knee surgery last week. I offered to be available and make the three hour drive to take her. She said her mom was taking her. The night before surgery her mom said she had to work and couldn’t take her. Grandma said she couldn’t take her because she had already take a sick day that week. Mom’s BF drove her, but apparently doesn’t like hospitals so he didn’t sit in the room and wait for Ms. 6 to be taken back to surgery. Surgery was pushed back several hours. Now mom doesn’t want to take her to the post-op appointment because the dogs have a vet appointment.

Post surgery, Ms. 6 was prescribed narcotics. Mom is an addict. Is she currently using? I have no idea but she used for at least a decade and has a conviction for cooking meth with the intent to sell. Kids were removed for many reasons including heroin use. Ms. 6 said the “oxy” isn’t managing her pain so she asked the nurse for something else AND an oxy refill. The pharmacist wouldn’t give both to mom. Mom told Ms. 6 it’s because they don’t have the same last name. I pointed out that I also don’t share the same last name as anyone in our family, and we were also recently denied a narcotic at the pharmacy. It is clear that no one that she has contact with lives in their thinking brains—they are all convinced that they are victims of one system or another.

Ms. 6 also quit her job. She said it was because they were making her do too much work.

Ms. 6 really wants contact with the other kids, particularly NB at this point. We have withheld that so far but can’t really articulate why. I think because it doesn’t feel healthy or good, and things don’t necessarily feel stable with her between DH and myself and her. I’ve talked to her a handful of times in the past month which are the first times I’ve spoken to her since she left in August. Anyone have experience in this area? Is it wrong for us to feel it out as parents before we open that relationship back up to siblings? It’s not my intention to use them as pawns, but it probably feels that way to Ms. 6. The kids here have not asked to see her, and DS and DD are actively continuing to say that they don’t want to have contact.

I’m trying to be something for her but that all feels very temporary and complicated right now. I sent her a small care package today via mail and am going to offer up some services for her like connecting her with colleges, but am trying to hold tight to a lot of boundaries at this point.

[sea-salted-wolverine]

I am having a fucking moment.

So on Monday, my grandmother fell and broke her leg. She has had cancer in various stages and remissions for the last 25 years. Last count she has seven different kinds and was collecting oncologists like Pokémon. Her bones are fragile and she is a sick old lady.

She went into surgery for the fracture. She woke up and was a grumpy drunk as result of the anesthesia. She hit a nurse. That's bad. She hit the nurse hard enough she broke her arm. (Her arm, not the nurses arm.) What the fuck grandma. So she goes back into surgery for her arm fracture. As one may imagine, 2 broken limbs on a fragile old sick lady does not bode well.

I must also impress upon you that this is so incredibly on brand for her it's painful. Of fucking course she punched a nurse and broke her arm. This is something that makes sense. Emblematic of her entire fucking life.

On Sunday, today, a week later, my dad, (this is my moms mom, not his mother) remembers to update me on family affairs. We live in different cities but we have chatted multiple time this week. This has not come up.

We reflect on the fact that mom is also a grumpy flailing drunk. He says its hereditary.

So yeah, I'm never drinking again and I'm switching to meth.

[seventhscorpio]

This take always fascinates me because wow yeah well I live in a country with free (albeit shitty, but still FREE) public healthcare system and I quite like the awareness that if push comes to shove I won't be debating whether to get medical care or buy food. When I had mono last spring, I got a referral from my doctor and just. walked to the hospital. went in and said, "here's the paper, please check me in". Just like that. And I was seen by a doctor, given a treatment plan and a prescription and everything, and told to go home because it's not as bad as to warrant a hospital stay, and I just. went home. I like that I can get my antidepressants cheaper because the government is paying 30% of the price. I like that I can get a surgery for free. There are many other issues with the healthcare system in Poland, but its biggest virtue is that it EXISTS.

The problem with medically assisted dying is of a different kind, I think. It's the lack of safety measures, either on paper or in practice, to make it absolutely fucking certain that the person who requests it is mentally capable and not under any duress, be it from the family or the medical staff. Two doctors aren't enough? Then have three, or four.

And the thing people seem to forget is that particular members of the medical staff don't speak in the name of the government lol. They're tired, overworked and bitter doctors and nurses who see a chronically ill patient as just another problem on their already sprawling list of duties, and sometimes that bitterness festers into something fucked up enough that they think, "well, if that person died my job would be easier". It IS fucked up!!!! It's not normal!!!! But the cause for this is understaffing of hospitals, not The Government specifically wanting to kill sick people off. We don't have medically assisted dying and the hospital nurses still treated my life-threateningly ill grandma as if she were an iron ball at their feet, because there were like four nurses to handle several dozen patients on a full ward and she was just one of many. The issue IS understaffing. Trust me, if doctors and nurses were any sort of mouthpiece or representation for the government, they'd be urging for many, many other policies first before they'd get to euthanasia.

Y'all ok up there Canada?

alt sources

Woman with cerebral palsy urged to consider assisted suicide

Canadian doctors accused of pushing medically assisted death on patients: ‘They make you feel less than human’

[sizhui]

Every time i pass by the hospital where i had my surgery i get this strange lonesome feeling... It was such a miserable moment of my life. I wasn't even very sick (i had a benign growth in my stomach that needed to be removed) but i feel like it was the culmination of an era full of things I needed to shed and throw away. I was still young. I was lonely. I had just found someone i wanted to keep in my life forever, and didn't yet know how to be completely honest about that! I was still acting the way i had to act with those cruel people from the past, acting and pretending. So in a way, having to go to the hospital alone for the first time was like a test for me. Can this new me survive in the world? Maybe it sounds dramatic, but that's what I thought. When I woke up from the surgery there were complications with my blood pressure and I lost consciousness. At that moment, i was sure I would die like that, on the hospital bathroom floor, in the arms of a nurse not much older than me. My final thoughts before fading away were, god, I'll never get to show my mom that book i like. In other words, I'll never get to strengthen the honest bonds in my life that I'd just tentatively started making. Luckily, I regained consciousness. Everyone told me that I wasn't even in mortal danger at all, but to me, waking up next to that toilet felt like rebirth, like the beginning of a trial towards honesty. That night, I suffered the worst pains of my life. That night, i played online ludo with the person who would become my most beloved best friend (already was, but we've come a long way since then!) That night, I got an allergic reaction to the pain meds, my whole face and tongue swollen. I'd never been more miserable. Was I thinking, If I survive this, I'm gonna be a better person? I don't think I did. I think the only thoughts in my head were, I wanna go home (well, not home. We'd just abandoned my childhood home a month prior, and our new one was still covered in piles of old shit and cockroaches, so we lived at my controlling grandma's). The only thought in my head was, oh. The windows are bigger than they look from the outside. Since I was just dramatic, of course I lived to see the morning and they sent me home. I couldn't really walk, and the nurse hesitantly pushed me to the hospital entrance in a wheelchair where I found my mom. In twelve days, I could walk again. In three months, I moved away from grandma into my new place, where I finally had my own room for the first time. I sat in that unfurnished room and thought, god, I get to keep this? I thought, god, I get to keep this life? Even after years of being a pitiful, fake, selfish existence, I got to keep living? At some point I'd adopted a worldview in which it doesn't matter how low you stumble as long as you keep living. At some points after numerous half-hearted half-suicides I thought god, I want more out of life. To be loved and to be rejected, even if I'll never reach a normal amount of happiness. That's how badly I wanted to live on that bathroom floor, even if it hurts all night afterwards. I think it's one of those things I shouldn't forget, so I'm writing it down. Hope you enjoyed this dramatic diary entry.

[skullrock]

i have to use my tumblr as a diary bc i have no one else to talk to i fear 🫶🏻

if ur reading this i am going to be talking about illness and death so pls be advised

my grandma pretty much raised me when i was a kid and was the first person really to know i was gay (even before i knew lmfao) and she was genuinely my bestest friend in the world up until i was like 11 and started middle school. she taught me how to sew and she let me try on her vintage jewelry and gave me her mom’s jewelry when i was like 10 which was very nice of her. we used to sit on her countertop and make pepperoni rolls from scratch and honestly they’re like the worst pepperoni rolls you’d ever have but she taught me how to make them so they were actually the best in the world. we would watch cooking channel and she would tell me all about cowboys she used to have crushes on. i used to make up stories about roy rogers while sitting in her kitchen and i would do just about anything and say just about anything to make her and the rest of my family laugh.

two months ago she had a devastating stroke - she’s 92 years old. we didn’t get her to the hospital in a very timely manner because we didn’t realize she had a stroke until WAY late and the doctor told us it was 50/50 whether she would be okay or not. that was one of the worst nights of my life. next day she woke up and was talking!! moving!! smiling!! joking!! it was literally a fucking miracle and i still can’t believe she was okay after that. but the doctors wanted her to go to physical therapy bc she just needed some help getting her legs/arms/speech working again so she went to an independent inpatient which was basically a nursing home. she was there for 12 days and got ZERO CARE. to the point where she developed two bedsores, one very major. the facility did not even tell us she had it when she was discharged and my family found it on their own. a visiting nurse said the bedsore was stage 4 severe. i’m not going to elaborate on that bc it’s very gross but YEAH very bad stuff.

she was literally fine until the end of her stay at the inpatient place when the bedsore got worse. when she came home she stopped eating and drinking and became very lethargic. she went to wound care and they did some work on it but she still wasn’t doing well. she just went to the hospital again and they did surgery on the bedsore in hopes that it would clear up, but my grandma is still having a hard time eating and drinking.

they just put her on hospice and i am fucking. devastated. i’m devastated. she’s a shell of who she was a month and a half ago. she’s hardly able to speak. she can’t take care of herself, she can’t get up. she can’t eat and can’t drink. so now it’s a waiting game to see when she finally succumbs. and not being able to talk to her is the most horrible part of it. i visited her in the inpatient place a few weeks ago and i had no idea that was the last time i would have a conversation with her. it makes me feel so fucking sick every time i think about it. i won’t get to hear her say that she loves me again, i won’t be able to tell her what’s going on in my life, we won’t be able to talk about cowboy movies anymore. i’m so upset it is unreal. this is the first major loss i’ll ever experience and nothing could ever prepare me for it.

i just went to go see her tonight and my mom has been telling me that she isn’t talking or smiling when people visit her. i was expecting to get my heart broken but she actually smiled when she saw me. she couldn’t say anything but she smiled at me and now i’m so scared that’s the last time i’ll see it. because i have a stupid full time job an hour away from her and i might just end up getting the call after the fact.

this just fucking sucks !!!! i don’t have anyone to talk to about it it feels like. my mom is emotionally exhausted and is “taking it a day at a time” which good for her but terrible for me bc she won’t open up about things or let me talk about them. my dad is just like shrugging about it and so is my sister (who was never that close with her). and i think a lot of people in my life are sympathetic but they’re also like “yeah she had a stroke at 92 what did you expect :/“. like i know she is going to die of course but this is happening so fast. and so fast after she made such a miraculous recovery. and i can’t even be with her because of my job. i have to work both days this coming weekend for events and i’m so terrified that she will pass when i’m at work. but i have no backup! there’s no one that can take over for me if she passes or is on her last leg!!! and it’s sucks!!!

i just needed to rant i don’t think anyone will read this. but i feel a little better just getting it off my chest. ok love u if u did read it im going to finish crying now

[moonlitnight]

Frustrated. My aunt had a stroke recently (around 12/13/21 I think.) She had to be transferred to a bigger hospital because they were worried she was going to need surgery for the brain swelling. Thankfully whatever medicine they gave her helped, so she didn't need the surgery. But she needs physical therapy to help her walk. (On top of that, she has knee issues. Not great. She was supposed to get surgery for that but the pandemic happened. She's so scared to go out.)

So we thought she was going to be able to do PT at the hospital, but insurance isn't covering it. Now she and my uncle are in a bind. Both are elderly and have other health issues. My uncle won't be able to give her the care she needs, and they feel like their only option is a nursing home. But my aunt doesn't want to go. She's scared of not being cared for there, plus potentially catching covid.

Our family doesn't have a great history with nursing homes. My grandpa was neglected leading up to his passing. And my grandma caught covid from her roommate, also passing soon after. So my aunt's fears are valid.

(Plus it's Christmas! No one wants to be sick and away from home during the holidays. She's feeling super depressed.)

I wish we had enough where she could have a home nurse come visit, and she could avoid having to move out.

If anyone has anything extra to help with medical costs, we'd really appreciate it 🙇‍♀️

~V*nmo: moonlitnight

~P*ypal: sfcandjsc

And if you don't (understandably) can you please reblog? I appreciate it 💜❄

[juuls]

So the good news is I’m not dying (well, let’s give it another 50 or so years then check back on that 😋)

I told a couple people but mostly kept it between my dad and I; at least, I told him stuff before my besties because I’m a daddy’s girl and I wanted comfort and hugs and someone physical to cry on.

And okay, look, what I’ve been experiencing is nowhere near as bad as others have it, but this was the worst case of nauseating gastrointestinal distress I have ever experienced to the point I woke up at 3am this morning, threw up for the 10th day in a row, clutching at my upper abdomen and barely able to walk (no one else was around to help me get there). Anyway, no one wants cramps where they’re not supposed to be on women—felt like when I ruptured an ovarian cyst a few years ago along with kidney stones another time, just felt higher up the abdomen.

Two points about the personnel at hospitals and how people with fibromyalgia get treated. One bad, and one surprisingly good.

The triage nurse told me I shouldn’t be wasting hospital time (there was no else in the waiting room because it was goddamn 5am) and that all ‘normal visits’ should be conducted through general practitioners/family doctors. Never mind the fact that the 2018 census showed 241 doctors for every 100,000 people. Which is abysmal, and I’m so lucky to have the same one for 20 years now. Anyway I told her in a snippy tone (I get bitchy when people imply I’m a hypochondriac or wasting people’s valuable space and resources as a disabled person) that a) it currently takes 6 weeks to get an appt with my doctor and that’s why I book two months in advance, but am shit out of luck if something pops up between all that. Like, I get a d understand and take precautions with Covid. But like??? Sometimes people need to have their abdomen poked and prodded which…

Might actually save my life/or from a long recovery surgery, or a lifetime of having to plan his and grandma’s days around his (I’m now learning: hereditary— thanks grampy) disease. But yeah this female doctor in probably her late thirties comes in and actually TAKES ME SERIOUSLY. I did also start the meet and greet by expressing concern over her doing what countless others have done…. Blame it all on the Fibromyalgia (oh you have a concussion Tommy?? Keep playing, it’s just your fibro!” Bitch please. Anyway. She said she absolutely understood and would help me figure out what feelings were fibro, and which were abnormal for anyone. Reminds me of this tweet I found around this hellsite:

But I’m so grateful she listed and she actually ordered all the blood panels they have available at this rural hospital, took x-rays, did a physical exam… and after all that and the tests she semi-smiled at me and said “well it’s not fibromyalgia” and I about cackled.

But yeah, if you start throwing up for no reason for 10 days in a row (plus some other gross things I shall not mention), please go to the hospital. Apparently I have something fucked up going on in my large/small intestine and perhaps colon. She was worried enough about me, since they don’t have the tech there except x-rays, that she said she’d bully my do tor into seeing me sooner so he can arrange some, uh…. Well; some not bad; some uuuugh…. tests to figure out wtf is going on.

I didn’t even know what was going on! So hard to explain pain when you’re in pain every day. Bah. But she helped and had excellent bedside manners and took me seriously. One of the best feelings as a fibro patient.

Only problem with it not being fibro… is you only have deductive reasoning and tons of tests to do. She told me if I don’t vet these tests done, I could die from a rupture or whatever term she used. Though I do know what sepsis is! Yay! *rolls eyes*

I’m just glad I didn’t talk myself out of going to the ER, because I was worried it ‘wasn’t serious’ enough…. Yeah well, your body can lie to you! Jerk body.

So yeah now I have a plan of action, new medications to hopefully last me until the more thorough tests are conducted.

I don’t want to be (more) sick, but I’ve always believed in knowing what can happen to your body even if it’s a bad thing. And maybe we caught this early.

All I can ask for now is this, though: please please please no more upchucking every day, or at leat only for a few days.

God, it’s been a miserable 10 days, but I still somehow feel better. Knowing does that. :)

(P.S. I’m not intending this as a ‘woe is me’ thing because sometimes people do care about how their friends are doing, and also because I am a hug supporter of listening to your body and judging WHEN not IF you go to the doctor about it. I hope this post helps that attitude somewhat.)

Anywho, we’ll see how the tests do (whenever that may be, because of Covid) and treagmt with meds a d adjust food until I learn more.

Take care. Be safe. Stay well!!!! ❤️

[arionawrites]

it’s been seven years since my sense of normalcy changed overnight. since i stayed home from school, assuming i had a cold or a mild stomach bug but just knowing i felt bad enough to not be able to handle my classes, and progressively got worse as the day went on. since my brain started to swell and my memories became askew, few and far between—i remember drinking juice, and thinking i was going to be sick but it never happening, and spilling water all over myself, and not being able to breathe normal, and my dad saying if i kept breathing like that then he was going to call an ambulance. i don’t remember him actually calling, or the paramedics who had to be waved down when they drove past our house.

i don’t remember the one EMT who recognized the signs immediately and asked my dad if he could test my blood sugar. i don’t remember that same guy giving me some of his own insulin, because they didn’t have any in the ambulance. even though i don’t remember it, though, i do know that without that dose of insulin, i wouldn’t have lived long enough to make it to the hospital.

i don’t remember the first day at the hospital, but that’s to be expected—i was in a coma, technically. i don’t remember the second day, either, even though i’ve been told a few different stories about things i said and did while awake. i don’t remember my baby sister, not even a year old at the time, wanting to climb into my hospital bed but not being allowed to because of all of my iv’s.

i do remember the third day—waking up to the nurse telling me she had eggs and toast for me to eat, and even though i have no memory of the first two days, i knew in that moment, like i still know now, that i hadn’t eaten the whole time. everything i had was given to me through iv’s, and i was hungry, and eggs and toast sounded amazing.

i remember walking a lap around the ICU. my legs were shaking and i felt so stupid because of it.

i remember being moved from the ICU to a regular hospital room. i remember my bed being directly under an air vent, making my throat dry and giving me a dry cough that didn’t go away until i was sent home a couple days later. i remember wondering why no one had come to visit me other than my parents (and my baby sister) and my grandma.

i remember finding out that my dad had chosen to not tell anyone that i was in the hospital and being mad about it because in the moment, being the one in the hospital bed, being the one who barely survived, having no one visit felt like no one cared.

i remember taking the changes in stride. i didn’t cry about it or put up a fight or argue or complain. i listened and i did what they said and i learned and i went home and i lived with it.

i went legally blind that same summer—acute onset diabetic cataracts. i missed the first day of school my sophomore year because i had my first surgery the day before. diabetic burnout followed soon after, because i did everything right and i followed all the steps and i listened and i learned and i still went blind over the course of a month. going blind is the scariest thing i remember going through, only because i don’t remember most of my diagnosis as a type one diabetic—which i suppose i can thank the brain swelling for.

i’m really, really tired.

i’m tired of having this, and knowing it’ll never go away, and always having to think about it and factor it into everything i do. it’s an illness. it’s a disability. it’s exhausting and it’s never ending.

usually, i try not to focus on the negatives—i can’t change it, so why bother? but it was seven years ago today that i was rushed to the hospital. it was seven years ago today that i was diagnosed and went into a coma and everything changed.

i was fourteen.

a third of my life has gone by as a diabetic. it feels like that third of my life has been taken from me.

[darkwants]

what the fuck did you do when someone you cared about came back from the dead? was there some kind of guide online that led you through the legal process involved? because while ezra planned on making sure the bed was ready for her and he had pillows for her to prop on and soft food for her to eat, he realized that wasn't all of the process. for examine, who the fuck was paying for her surgeries? they'd declared her dead, had they signed her up for medicaid once she was admitted to the hospital? fuck, didn't they want your social security for that, was hers still active or was there a risk of identity fraud being thrown at her? ezra knew that their rescue made the news, but what in the fuck happened now legally?

it was a headache, but one that was likely going to be her grandma's problem, or the problem of a lawyer because no way was ezra qualified to handle it, but he also likely wasn't legally allowed to handle it since he wasn't family. still, that would be a good thing to bring up to everly's grandma, if the woman hadn't thought of it herself already.

he was pulled from those thoughts by the curl of everly's fingers and he answered her tug to be guided into a kiss, a gesture as surprising as the cheek kiss she'd granted him earlier. just because she'd yelled for him didn't mean he thought she'd want intimacy of that brand, and maybe it should have been obvious, but it wasn't for him. by the end, they weren't the kind of people that were casually affectionate and he was tempted to lean down and claim a second kiss just because he wasn't sure how long he'd go before getting another, but it wasn't the time to be greedy.

"yeah, i can leave my number with the nurses." his number hadn't changed since he was with everly, but he doubted that she actually knew what it was, so better just to leave it with the nurses. "we probably won't be gone long and we'll come back in before we leave. i'm sure your grandma wants a turn anyway." after all, it wasn't like ezra didn't reailze he'd monopolized everly's time since he entered the room, and chances were that he'd be spending a lot of time in the hospital until she was released. fuck, he needed to see about taking some of his sick days or something, getting arthur to watch the shop for a while so he'd actually have the time to get things ready for everly.

reaching for the remote, ezra tried to figure out what to put on for her. the news was out, they'd probably be covering her story. he could try a nature documentary in the hopes of something about fish, but he didn't know if seeing animals in the wilderness would remind her that she'd been stuck in the wilderness for months. maybe a cooking show? "what are you thinking? talk show? game show? reality tv show?" he asked, flipping through channels in the hopes she'd see something that she liked.

of course she knew that she should be worried about her leg. yet she was more or less focused on the fact that she was back. that she wasn't going to be sleeping out in the open. no longer would she be wondering about her next meal or if the water was safe to drink. bugs wouldn't be biting her in her sleep. she had missed so many things that she knew a lot of people took for granted. so often she had thought about her bed, a shower and cooked food. however, she knew that her stomach was going to go through a lot. she would need to be eased into eating solid food. she just hoped that ezra would be okay with it.

it was going to be a long process but she knew that they didn't have a choice. she was willing to do what she had to in order to live a full life. yet she knew that she was likely in for so much more than she ever imagined. she forced herself to ignore that and instead just focused on him. a small laugh fell from her as his words," that might be a good idea." she had the feeling that he was going to be making plans for when she was released. part of her wanted to ask if he had done any changes to the house. after all nine months was a long time and she figured that he might not want any sort of reminders of her in his home.

it took her by surprise when he tucked her in. she could see that his mind was going. he wanted to be able to take care of her. the blonde knew that he was likely going through is own adjustment. she was wondering if they had even had some sort of service for her. after all they didn't have a body to bury or anything. she wasn't too sure that she should know that and instead focused on what he was doing. her eyes shut as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. her head tilted up and she reached to pull him down into a soft kiss.

before the plane she had noticed the walls that were up. any sort of affection was basically gone. she hadn't had a chance to tell him goodbye before she had disappeared. that wasn't something that she was going to let happen again. she nearly froze when she realized it would mean the both of them leaving. yet she nodded since she knew that she couldn't keep him there," i can just call you if some-something happens?" she hoped nothing did but she pointed towards the remote for the tv," can you just put something on before you go?" silence was not something that she could take.

[prettylittleghostboy]

Hey everyone I hate asking this (again) but I need help. My car has been in the shop for months now, I have no freedom without it. Already paid half of the $1300, I just need $600 more. He's threatening to get rid of it if I don't pay the other half, I'm still paying on the car loan.

My family lost all fuel so they have no heat in the house, we live in Wisconsin and it's really cold, they can't cook because the stove and oven runs on gas, the water is cold and the pipes will likely start to freeze and burst. The need $400.

The house is so old it's falling apart, has mold, rat infested, collapsed pipes, very old electrical wiring so they can't use most electric heaters.

They don't have money to just up and move and no one is willing to help them.

My parents, my grandma, my uncle, my nieces (7 and 12), my shitty sister and her dick head of a boyfriend all live there. My grandma has dementia and has to sleep in the living room, it's very cold and she's getting very sick. She just got out from the hospital not long ago from covid. We can't send her to live in a nursing home because the ones around here are bad (they neglected her before and I reported it but they dismissed the case) and with what she makes she can't afford to stay in one long, we tried.

My parents are disabled now (dad is blind legally, can't even drive, and my mom need major surgery soon (I can attach a picture showing why), my uncle is now disabled because of his heart condition, my asshole sister and her douchebag are on SSI and abuse..well everyone, they are greedy and selfish and horrible and are mooching off everyone, they only help if it effects them. I moved out years ago but I had also unfortunately because disabled and am no longer able to work.

Like I said no one is willing to help aid my family.

I don't know what else to do.

So I'm just asking for help, even if you just reblog or donated a $1 to me I'd me so so grateful.

If you need proof I can ask my niece to take pictures for me, and I'll attach them later.

My cash app is $LenjaminJohnson

Below is my mom's right leg, she has her IVC filter get lodged in her vain, she can barely walk and is in so much pain.

[i-dont-want-to-be-forgotten]

Is your mom okay?

Her surgery went okay! She's recovering from that pretty decently, got to sit up today. But we found out that she, my brother, and my grandmother tested positive for covid like yesterday. I was with all of them the past few days but I took a test and it was negative but I'm going to take another test on sunday to be sure.

My work was giving me shit because of all of this, my brother's been having to take care of my grandma but now's he's sick and he's also been dealing with a bunch of legal stuff for my mom because she's been in the hospital.

Still haven't heard anything back from her biopsy, the nurses have been difficult, trying to move my mom around roughly after she just had SPINAL SURGERY.

It's been a past few days, like right before all this I had my first dissociative episode in like a year, immediately after founding out my mom has tumors on her spine I almost got t-boned in an intersection so since then I've been like shot. I broke down crying yesterday because I feel like I can't help, I'm scared for my mom because she got out of SPINAL SURGERY and has COVID.

It's just kinda an overload of everything and I'm dealing with a lot of stress that I don't know how to deal with haha

I broke down yesterday and hung out with some friends so I'm feeling better about today I'm just worried I secretly have covid or something without knowing it. Once I get a second negative test I'll feel better though

[pettyrevenge-base]

Nursing undergrad didn’t know I’m a Registered Nurse.

A good friend of mine gave birth via C-section. Her baby got an infection and had to be in NICU. It was a public hospital (Philippines) and patient’s watchers were allowed even in ICU. Her husband was with her as she was wheeled in her room. They asked me to watch over her son in NICU. I am a registered nurse and they have no close relative they could ask right away.

At the NICU, 3 infants were there. Baby 1 was with the young mother, Baby 2 with the grandma and Baby 3 with me. I noticed my baby 3’s IntraVenous line is not dripping at the drip chamber. Tried to look if the line was twisted that may cause it. Baby 1 mom went over to me and started rolling the control clamp. I stopped her immediately.

Me: Stop doing that, please. Only nurses here can regulate that. She turned her ass around and sat back down her seat. She sure was pretty pissed and turned to the Baby 2 grandma.

Young Mom: (in an arrogant tone) You know, I was a second year Nursing Student in (Popular) Nursing School. Grandma: You must be knowledgeable about this. (Maybe referring to the IV incident). YM: Yeah. I will go back to school once my baby turns 3.

I just ignored them and went to the nurse’s station. Ask to regulate the IV. I didn’t stood up for myself as it might come out that I’m bragging. Few minutes later, the paediatrician came in with the Baby 3’s dad.

Paedia: Who is watching the baby? She/he should be know how to watch a sick baby. Dad: Yes. She is a nurse. I am sure my baby is well taken care of.

I stood up and introduce myself. The shocked look on the ladies faces. One moment they were looking at us, then later their eyes were fixated on their own babies. They can’t even looked at me.

I filled up the paedia of the baby’s status. Me: Baby is looking good. No jaundice, afebrile (no fever), meconium (first poop) passed. I used all the possible medical terms I know. Paedia was satisfied and replied a smile. P: Good thing the baby was in good hands of a nurse.

When they left, it was dead silent. I didn’t bother to speak and let them know who I am in the first place. I just want to focus on the baby.

The baby was back in my friend’s room and told them what happened. My friend tried to hold back her laughter as she still in pain from the surgery. They told me I did well and let the situation unfold right to their faces.

Right there and then, they asked me to be their son’s godmother.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[catscraftsandcommentary]

Moral of the story: DO NOT OPERATE DANGEROUS MACHINERY WHILE EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED

There have to be better ways of dealing with that much stress. Generally, mine is "avoid everyone and take a nap."

My last two-ish weeks have included:

- my grandma going to the ER in an ambulance

- my dad getting his hip replaced (and getting discharged 4 hours later, WTF)

- grandma spending 1.5 weeks in a nursing care unit

- mom *CONSTANTLY* complaining about how much stress she's under...thus adding to everyone else's stress

- going back to work after a "vacation" (related to my dad's surgery) to find one new worker gone, and the 2nd got fired a few days later (leaving 3 people on my shift)

- hiring (and training) 2 new people, but one got sick and the other missed his 1st day of work

- I caught the diarrhea/puke nightmare thing from new guy #1 (THANKS BRO) and have been sick since Friday

So yes. I'm familiar with Murphy's Law (anything that can go wrong, WILL). And the corollary about "usually all at once." And the OTHER one about "at the worst time/place possible."

NOT

A

FAN

I promise that your day could be worse. Want to know how I know?

Because in elementary school, my best friend came over to my house one day because her parents had to rush to the hospital to be with her uncle.

He wasn’t dying or anything; he just needed help with his insurance.

Because two hours before, his wife had told him that she was leaving him for another man.

And he was so upset that he decided to go cut down a tree in their yard that he’d been meaning to take out for a while, and he figured that would help him get his anger out.

So he grabbed a chainsaw from their shed.

But chainsawing while weeping over your failed marriage is a bad idea.

And he cut off his thumb.

And then he put his thumb in a cup and drove himself, and his thumb, to the ER.

Whereupon he realized he had no wallet, no identification, and no insurance card.

And he had to have them call his sister to go to his house, get his wallet, be horrified at the bloody chainsaw in the front yard, put the bloody chainsaw in the back yard so no one would call the police assuming a horrific murder had just been committed, and take it to him at the hospital. And then call his wife to see if she would possibly come back to get the chainsaw-wielding idiot she had just walked out on, as she was his legal next of kin, and also generally a lovely woman.

Which she did not.

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 4

Emotions and Confrontations

Summary: Eleanor has a difficult week with her mother in the hospital, and Bastien asks Riley’s mother for some information

A/N: this one’s a bit of a long one

Word Count: ~5.0k

Warning: Mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​ @gkittylove99​​ @lovablegranny​​ @loudbluebirdlover​​ @mom2000aggie​​ @kingliam2019​​ @queenrileyrose​​ @shanzay44​​ @cordonianroyalty​​ @hopefulmoonobject​​ @hopelessromanticmonie​​ @cinnamonspongecake​​ @queenjilian​​ @kuladekiwi​​ @twinkle-320​​ @iaminlovewithtrr​​

- Eleanor -

Grandma had work on Sunday, which was the same day that the city was re-opened, so we went to the hospital before we went home. She put us in the care of a friendly nurse, Cheryl, who told us we had to sit in the ICU waiting room until Mama came back from her surgery. I was scared that she was gonna look different when she came out, like an ugly Frankenstein or Coraline’s Other Mother, but when her bed was wheeled back into the ICU, she only had a bandage wrapped around her head, covering her hairline. Besides the bandages and a bruise on her cheek, she was still my Mama.

Grandma had left us some cash in case we got hungry and wanted a snack or something from the cafeteria. I didn’t have an appetite, but I constantly asked Gabe to bring me to the vending machine (it was a little far from the ICU, and Grandma didn’t want us going by ourselves, so I had to go with him) and I would purposefully drag behind and take forever to choose something.

I could tell it annoyed him, but that wasn’t really what I was doing. I just hated being in the ICU. It wasn’t boring — we had our phones to play games on, there was a TV which the other people waiting let us have the remote for, and the nurses and doctors who passed by us would always try to start a conversation or give us sad smiles, which made me feel bad because I didn’t have the energy to smile back — it was just that sometimes the ICU felt a little scary. Looking at some of the other patients who were sick made me afraid that this was just a place they were storing Mama before she was going to go join Daddy. I didn’t want to be reminded to think about that, so every time I could I would ask Gabe to bring me to get a snack. I never ate them, and he would only take a bite before leaving it, so very soon the tables next to Mama’s bed were filled with junk food.

Grandma was upset about that. She said that if we didn’t like something we shouldn’t have gotten it. Thankfully, Gabe didn’t rat me out and say that I had made him bring me twelve times, so Grandma thought we just got twelve things at once. She talked to us about it in a gentle voice, but I still started crying and said that I hated it here. I had an audience, which made me nervous, so I hid my face in Grandma’s stomach. We said goodbye to Mama, even though she was still asleep, and went home.

When we got to our door, there was a man and a woman wearing dark suits waiting for us. Grandma told us to go to our rooms while she talked to them, and afterwards called us into the kitchen for dinner, where she told us that they wanted to remind us we would have to stay with her until Mama got better, and that Daddy's funeral was on Friday.

Grandma called our principal and told her that we weren’t going to be going to school for the rest of the week. I wasn’t upset about school, but what I didn’t like was that I would also have to miss my ballet classes and I wouldn’t be able to take piano lessons for the rest of the week, either.

I cried about it. I wanted to go. I wanted something to happen that was normal, something that I used to do before all of this. At least when I was dancing I would be able to pretend like Mama and Daddy were gonna pick me up together from the lobby. At least when I was in front of the piano with my teacher, Molly, next to me, I could pretend that Mama and Daddy were sitting somewhere behind me listening to me play.

On Monday, Mama was still unconscious, but the doctor said she was doing much better. Grandma’s shift was shorter that day, so she told us we would be visiting Daddy’s work to make sure everything was alright.

We walked into the office building through the revolving door. Gabe and I got into one section while Grandma was in the one behind us. When it was time for us to jump off, Gabe wouldn’t let me pass and began running to make the doors turn faster. It made me a little dizzy, but when Grandma told us to come out, Gabe and I tumbled out together and laughed. I realized it had been a while since I had seen him smile, and that made me sad again.

The receptionist says hello to Grandma and one of Daddy’s workers brought us towards the elevator and up to his office.

As soon as we step out of the elevator, I can see the inside of Daddy’s office through the room’s glass walls.

We pass through cubicles before reaching Daddy’s assistant’s desk, who looks at us with a smile.

“Mrs. Brooks! It’s nice to see you,” she says to Grandma. She looks down at Gabe and I and goes, “Hey there, kids! How are you two holding up?”

“We’re fine,” Gabe says and I manage a small smile.

“I would like a word with you, Ashley,” Grandma demands.

“Oh,” she exclaims. Though Ashley’s skin is dark, a deep pink appears on her cheeks, which I didn’t expect, and she begins to look around her desk nervously. “Yes, of course. Give me a moment.”

After she collects a few documents and folders, Ashley looks at my brother and I to say, “A co-worker’s birthday was today. There’s cake, donuts, and some juice over there. Why don’t you guys take a look?”

We nod our heads and walk off in the direction that Ashley pointed towards while her and Grandma walk into Daddy’s office.

In the room, people are talking to each other and they don’t notice us when we each grab a donut. Gabe pours himself some juice and asks me if I want any.

“Could you also give me a slice of cake, please?” I request.

“The knife for the cake is already there,” he tells me.

“Mama told me no knives. Remember what happened last Thanksgiving?” I laugh to myself.

“I wish I could forget what happened last Thanksgiving, but this knife is different, Ella, it’s more blunt. Just cut how big you want your slice and pull it out.”

He puts my apple juice on my plate, goes to grab his own plate and walk off, but I whine, “Pleaseeee?”

“Ella, I swear. Look, the pieces are already cut up! You can just grab it with your hands!”

“But....” I give a sad pout.

“Oh, God,” Gabe sighs and uses his fingers to grab a piece and put it on my plate. I look at it distastefully.

There’s frosting on his fingers. He licks it off, thinks for a second, and then grabs another piece to put on his own plate. Grabbing two forks he leads me to a couple chairs against the wall.

We sit down and eat. I finish my cake and my donut, and then ask Gabe to get us seconds while I get more apple juice. The table with all the food on it is near the door, and while I pour my drink I can see Grandma talking to Ashley. Ashley pulls out some papers from the pile she brought in and hands them to Grandma. She then goes into Daddy’s desk and pulls out some more papers. Grandma examines everything with a frown. She turns back towards Ashely and nods. She walks towards the door, but at the last second says something else to Ashley, who looks down at her feet. She replies, and Grandma seems disappointed.

“I wonder what they’re talking about,” I say.

“Grandma looks mad,” Gabe notices. “Do you know why?”

I shrug and go back to our seats.

Once Grandma finishes talking to Ashley, she comes over to us and tells us to eat quickly. Every worker in the room turns to give her a “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brooks,” or a polite nod.

On Tuesday, Grandma calls Molly, my piano teacher, and asks her to come in to give me a lesson. The night before I cried to my grandmother about how I wanted something to go back to normal, so I guess this was her way of giving me that.

When Molly came in, she gave me a long hug, then hugged Grandma and Gabe, too. After she had a short conversation with Grandma, she sat down in a chair next to my stool. Looking through my folder of music sheets, she couldn't decide what to give me.

“I know,” she says at last. “Why don’t you play your dad’s favorite piece? Remember how proud of you he was when you mastered it?”

I nod my head, but there are tears threatening to fall. I had never cried in front of Molly before. I didn’t want her to think that I was a baby who couldn’t get over anything. I wanted her to think that I was the girl who wanted to make her father proud, so I was determined to play it.

My fingers are stiff when I hit the first note. Molly doesn’t say anything. When I bring my right hand to play along, my fingers don’t flow — they just jab at the keys. I can tell my wrists are too stiff. Molly still doesn’t correct me.

Daddy wouldn’t have liked that. He would have wanted you to play better. And you can play better. So why aren’t you? Why can’t you do it for Daddy? Do you want him to be disappointed in you?

I stop playing and my hands hover over the keys. They’re cold and shaking.

“Ella?” Molly tries to get my attention.

My shoulders drop, and my arms fall to my sides. I shake my head, staring down at the keys, at the instrument I loved so much. I don’t cry, but Molly still brings me in for a hug.

Grandma has work again on Wednesday, but I wasn’t looking forward to going back to the ICU. I asked her if I could go with her to the part of the hospital that she was working at and be away from the ICU for a little bit, but Grandma convinces me: “When Mama wakes up, don’t you want to see her right away, instead of later, after Gabriel gets a chance to come and get you?”

Thankfully we didn’t have to go into the waiting room, but whenever a doctor or Cheryl wanted to check in on Mama, they’d ask us to stand on the other side of the curtain for a few moments.

Gabe and I don’t cry as much as we had been the past couple days, and I was proud of us for it. A while after we had been sitting there, Gabe gets out of his seat and sits on the edge of Mama’s bed, putting his head on her stomach. He doesn’t cry — just looks at her. I go to the other side of her bed and hold the palm of her hand. I begin to tell her about how the first half of this week has gone, and how much I miss talking to her and hearing her laugh at the jokes Gabe always said weren’t funny.

He sits up and laces his hand through her fingers. We both sit silently.

I turn my head around in surprise at the sound of the curtain moving. Mama’s doctor holds the curtain open for a tall man who stares at us. His blond hair was messy, like how Gabe’s got sometimes when he’d forget to brush it. He stands there and looks between Mama and us. The doctor motions for him to take a seat, and he walks towards it, but doesn’t sit down.

He’s too quiet. It made me nervous. The area under his eyes were dark, and I knew he hadn’t slept for at least two days. Daddy’s eyes did that sometimes, too.

I didn’t like him staring at us. I wanted to ask him what he was there for, but I try to be nice and say, “Hi. I’m Ella. This is Gabe. Are you here to see our mom?”

Finally he starts moving towards me, but his eyes were locked on Mama, so I move away and stand near Gabe.

He holds her hand. I hear him start crying. He kisses Mama’s knuckles in between his cries.

I’m almost mad. No one kissed Mama except for Daddy. And who was this man anyway? But seeing a grown man cry, waterfalls falling out of his eyes and his face scrunched, I start crying, too.

Gabe tries to comfort me, but my head jolts up when I hear the sheets moving. Mama shook her head around and finally looked at the man. She pulls her hand back and I think, “Ha!”.

He stands up straight and looks a little intimidating. “Hello, Riley,” he says.

Mama frowns at him. She then looks at us, her eyes wide. I want to jump and give her all the hugs and kisses in the world, but she looks so shocked I’m almost scared to move.

“Do I...,” she takes another look around the room. “Do I know you people?”

We all stare at Mama in shock. My heart thunders in my chest.

“Riley...,” the man starts. “It’s me... Liam.”

“Who? I don’t... I don’t know you....”

“Mom, what do you mean?” Gabe asks, he reaches for her hand, but she pulls it back. Gabe’s face falls, defeated.

The curtain moves again, and Grandma walks in. Immediately, I rush to her and cry, “Mama doesn’t remember us, Grandma, Mama doesn’t know us!”

Cheryl was right behind her, and once she hears me, she turns back and calls the doctor in. Grandma pulls me out, calling for Gabe, and the doctor asks the man to step out as well.

We stand at a distance from the curtain for a few moments. I can hear the doctor talking inside, but I don’t know what she’s saying. The man who said he was Liam turns to Grandma and asks in a small voice, “Has her condition improved since the incident?”

“Not significantly,” Grandma responds. “She’s been unconscious ever since the surgery on Sunday. This is the first time she’s woken up.”

Another man, this one with dark hair, walks up to us and goes, “Surgery?”

Grandma looks at him. “Yes. She suffered a head injury.”

“Are you the nurse assigned to her?” Liam questions.

“No,” she answers. “I am her mother.”

“Ah,” Liam holds out his hand. “Liam Rys. A pleasure to meet you.”

Grandma shakes his hand, not breaking eye contact. Liam regards Gabe and I.

“These two are...?”

“My grandchildren. Riley’s children. Eleanor and Gabriel.”

Both men stare at Grandma, their mouths slightly agape. “I see.” Liam clears his throat. He looks down at us and forces a smile. “It’s nice to meet you two.”

The doctor finally comes out from the curtain and says something to a couple of nurses. She then comes to us and says, “We’re going to take her in for another CT scan. See if there’s anything we didn’t notice before.”

“Of course,” Liam goes.

The doctor motions the two men towards the waiting room, and then comes back to us.

“Will you let me know what happens?” Grandma asks. “I have to take these two home.”

“Of course,” the doctor promises.

We leave the hospital, not saying anything to one another.

Once we’re in the elevator of our building, Gabe turns to Grandma and questions her, “Grandma did you know who those men were?”

“I knew the blond one. Liam,” she answers, continuing to stare at the elevator doors. “I could guess who the second one was. Your Mama told me about them some time ago.”

“Why are they here? I’ve never seen them before.”

“Because now they know where your Mama is.”

“They didn’t know before?” I ask.

“No,” Grandma says curtly.

“Why?” Gabe continues. I almost tell him to stop. Grandma looks annoyed, but I want to know why, too.

“Because they didn’t know Mama’s last name was Blaise.”

Gabe scoffs. “What did they think it was?”

“Brooks.” She still doesn’t look at us. My anxiety increases, and I want to almost yell at her to just be direct with us.

“Why did they think she had your last name?” I question.

“Because that’s what Mama’s last name was before she got married.”

“So they didn’t know where she was because...,” Gabe starts, but he doesn’t know what to say next.

“Because her name changed?” I continue for him.

“Yes. And no one knew what your Mama looked like. Your Daddy told people he was married. People only knew his wife’s name, not her face. Now people know her face, so they used her old name.”

“Did Daddy do that on purpose?” I wonder aloud.

“Yes,” Grandma says.

Gabe looks at me, frowning. He’s confused, just as I am. I can see he still wants to ask questions. I want to ask some, too, but the fact that Grandma hadn't looked at us when she spoke made me think she was mad. I didn’t want her to get angrier.

For dinner we have some leftover pasta from the night before. We eat in silence, scared that we would agitate Grandma. But once she finishes her plate, she looks up at us. “I don’t want you both talking to those men, okay?”

“Yes, Grandma,” we say, but I want to ask more questions. I decide against it, and go to sleep confused.

The next day, they finally move Mama into a regular hospital room. There are two more men who came to see Mama. Today was the day that they were going to ask her questions. First the doctors and Grandma asked questions, and they found out that she knew her own name and she knew who Grandma was. Mama also knew the names of every school she had gone to.

Next, they asked us if we wanted to go ask questions. We walked in, but once we looked at Mama, and Mama’s empty, emotionless face looked back at us, Gabe and I couldn’t say anything, so we shook our heads.

They let us sit in the little room with her. Cheryl stayed, too, in the corner of the room. Liam was the next person. He stood at a distance from her this time. He looked like he had done enough crying for everyone in the room. He gently asked her about a bar who’s name I had never heard of, then about the Statue of Liberty, then about some place called Corndania, I think it was. I thought it was the name of a town, and wanted to tell him that she had never been there. Then he asked if she remembered anything about a social season or a tour. I could tell that he had to stop himself from asking her more questions. With every sentence, Mama looked more distressed, and the same distress was mirrored on Liam's face. She looked like she was going to cry, and I thought it was interesting that she didn’t.

Then the other man that was here yesterday walked in after Liam left.

“Do you recognize me?” he asked.

“No,” she stated.

“Name’s Drake.” He lifted his eyebrows.

She nods.

For a couple moments, they just stare at each other. Mama looks like she’s trying to memorize his face. 

He doesn't look like he has much to say. Drake catches his breath and starts again: “Do... do you remember what I said to you, at Applewood Manor, or what happened when the court was there?”

“...Where?”

“You don’t... remember anything about Applewood?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so....”

“Well... then do you remember when you helped me pick an engagement gift for Liam?”

“For who?”

He paused. “Liam.... The guy that was just in here.”

“Oh. No, I don’t. Did you end up with a nice gift?”

“I did, thanks to you.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah...,” Drake trails off. He sniffles and wipes at his eyes. “Well, I don’t have anything else to ask you, really. There are two guys who are gonna come in next, Maxwell and Bertrand. After that some detectives are gonna ask some questions.”

“Okay.”

He opens his mouth to say something more, but decides against it and walks out.

While we wait for Maxwell and Bertrand, Gabe asks her a question: “Do you remember us? Or know who we are?”

She examines us for a second. “No.”

“What about our dad? Do you remember him?” Gabe continues.

“What’s your dad’s name?” she asks.

“Theodore. Theodore Blaise.”

“Oh, yeah. I've known him since we were both kids. I think we went to high school together? Maybe it was elementary. It might have been both.”

Gabe and I look at each other. Mama and Daddy had never told us how long they had known one another, so we didn’t know how to react.

Two men walk in, and I assume that they’re Maxwell and Bertrand. The one in the vest notices us, and gapes. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?” The second man turns to look as well.

“We’re Ella and Gabe. That’s our Mama.” I point at my mother.

The men look at each other for so long I imagine they’ve turned into statues. “Baby blossoms?” one of them breathes. The other one scoffs at him.

“Aren’t you here to ask her some questions?” Cheryl asks. I almost forgot she was in the room.

The man in the vest clears his throat. “Yes.”

They walk up to the foot of the bed. The second man goes, “Do you remember us, little blossom?”

Mama shakes her head.

“Duke Bertrand Beaumont of Ramsford,” says the one with the vest. “Does that ring a bell?”

“No,” she answers.

“I’m Maxwell,” the second one continues. “Do you remember our Beaumont Bash? Or our investigation on the Engagement Tour?”

“I... don’t know what that is...,” she states.

The men look at each other hopelessly.

We see people in suits at the door to her room. They knock and come in, and ask the two men to step out. “You too, kiddos,” one of them commands, almost as an afterthought.

Gabe and I follow behind Maxwell and Bertrand. Near the door, Liam and Drake are waiting for them. I look around for Grandma.

“Any luck?” Drake asks.

The two men shake their heads.

“What about you two?” Liam asks us in a gentle voice. We look at each other, wondering if Grandma would be mad if we answered a simple question. “Did you get to ask her anything?”

“We asked her if she knew us,” Gabe starts, turning back towards the man, “but she said no. She remembers our dad, though, but from when she was a kid.”

“Ah,” Liam breathes. “Were you both at the museum when... everything happened?”

I don’t really like him, so I stay quiet. Gabe answers, simply saying, “No.”

“You two didn’t have school today?” Maxwell asks.

“Grandma got us time off.”

“That must be nice.”

Gabe shrugs. “I guess.”

After a few moments, the third man, whose name I assume is Bertrand, asks us, “How old are you two?”

“I just turned ten. Ella’s seven.”

He makes a “humph?” sound, as if he’s confused, and frowns. Grandma calls to us from the other side of the room, talking to another nurse. We wave goodbye.

“Will you both be coming back tomorrow?” Liam asks.

“No. Tomorrow’s our dad’s funeral,” Gabe answers. I grab his arm and try to pull him away. I don’t want Grandma to see us talking to them.

“Maybe we’ll see you guys on Saturday?” Maxwell inquires cheerfully.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” We wave again and walk next to Grandma. Once she sees that we’re at her side, she grabs our hands and leads us out. I wonder if she’s going to reprimand us for talking to those men, but for the rest of the night she talks to us about something that one of her patients did, and doesn’t mention any of the four men or Mama.

- Bastien -

After paying the taxi cab driver, Bastien stands to regard the modern building in front of him. The doorman eyes him, smiling. Bastien gives him a curt nod and the man holds the door open for him. There’s another staff member in similar uniform at the reception desk. “Excuse me, sir?” he calls out to Bastien. “Can I help you?”

“No, thank you,” Bastien doesn’t look at him. “I know where I’m going.”

Theodore Blaise’s funeral should have ended more than five hours ago. He knew that Riley’s children and her mother would be back in their penthouse by now.

He walks into the elevator and presses the number he memorized.

A woman walks in and reaches over Bastien to click her button. When they reach his floor, she watches him silently step out and walk down the short hall way.

Once Bastien gets to the end of said hallway, he knocks on the last door.

When the door doesn’t open, he knocks again.

Eleanor is the one to open it. Her short, curly hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. She wears a white leotard and pointe shoes. Sweat drips from the corner of her brow, but her breathing is even.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello,” Bastien looks behind her. “Is your grandmother nearby?”

“Yes.”

“Could you go get her, please?”

“Okay.” She closes the door.

A few moments pass, in which Bastien thinks that the girl left him just to pull on his strings. But the door opens again, this time by Charlotte Brooks.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Brooks. May I come in?”

The woman stares at Bastien for a moment. He can tell she’s contemplating whether to close the door in his face or not.

“Yes,” she allows, stepping aside.

Bastien takes a step in and regards the entryway. To his right he can see a doorway to a kitchen, and to his left are stairs going down.

Mrs. Brooks walks straight ahead, leading him into the living room with wall-length mirrors. Before she reaches the couches, she turns around. “Would you like to sit down?” she asks.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Tea? Coffee?”

“I’m alright.”

“Then what are you here for? To spy on me again?”

“Sorry?” He frowns.

“Don’t you remember? A couple years ago you sent out a team to spy on my house. I saw you come and leave sometimes. It was around when my daughter left your king.”

Bastien holds up a hand. “I apologize for that, but I am here for something else.”

“What more do you want from my family?”

Bastien sighs. “Do you remember seeing Duke Bertrand yesterday? Him and his brother were there to see Lady Riley.”

“Yes, I remember. The one with the sweater vest.”

“Precisely. Your grandchildren spoke to him momentarily yesterday.”

Mrs. Brooks takes a deep breath. “And?”

“This morning the Duke alerted me that he believes Gabriel Blaise is His Majesty’s and Lady Riley’s son.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Do you have proof?”

“No,” he begins, “which is why I am here. If you have followed Cordonian news after His Majesty broke off his engagement with Countess Madeleine, you’ll know that he has had a lot of pressure to produce an heir to the throne.”

“So?”

“Some of his advisors and his step-mother have tried to convince him for years to marry or to begin attempts for a child who could later rule Cordonia. He continuously refuses, and his close friends know that he hasn't gotten over Lady Riley. Since there has been no chance of them marrying or His Majesty having children, other countries have been quite... unfriendly, you could say, and some have even tried to begin hostile occupations in Cordonia, in an attempt to attack our king and our already weakened monarchy. If Gabriel is his heir, Cordonia would have stability, which is what the country and its people desperately need.”

“Did Liam tell you to come here?”

“No, ma’am. His friends simply helped me piece together the puzzle.”

“Does your king even know you’re here?”

Bastien sighs. “No, ma’am. I wished to speak to you first. I still believe His Majesty is oblivious to the fact that he may be a father, and wanted to make sure that you would be alright with us taking a DNA sample of your grandson.”

“So you asked me before talking to him about it because you wanted to finish the difficult task first?”

“...Yes.”

“Do you really think I would subject my family to the same type of pain that your king made my daughter suffer through? Do you really think I’m going to let my daughter, who was shamed by a foreign country, have her child be put to the same, if not similar, subjection?” Her voice breaks.

“I understand, ma’am—.”

“Do you now?” she interrupts, laughing.

“I am not asking you to do this for Cordonia. I am asking you to do this for a man. Wouldn’t you agree that every father has the right to meet his son?”

Mrs. Brooks takes a moment to absorb Bastien’s words. He can hear music playing from another room.

In a soft voice, quieter than a gentle summer breeze, Mrs. Brooks agrees, saying, “Alright. I’ll be bringing him and his sister to the hospital tomorrow. Tell the king before then.” At the last second she adds, “I’ll bring his birth certificate as well. Hopefully it'll all be enough to prove paternity.”