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shirtlesssammy · 4 years ago

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1x18: Something Wicked

Then:

After this they toss the ball around like old times

Now:

Fitchburg, WI

When I first started watching this show, I found great delight in all the locations the Winchesters visited that I recognized. I also laughed at how much these locations didn’t look a thing like the real place.

We begin this episode with a little girl saying her prayers. Her dad tucks her in, and she asks about her mom. She’ll be staying the night at the hospital with the little girl’s sister.

Later that night, the little girl sits up listening to the wind beat tree branches against her window. One of the branches turns into a hand that opens her window. A shadowy figure creeps across the room ---and a Deatheater scares the girl into a comatose state.

Sam and Dean are on the hunt since John is TOO LAME AND PETTY AND MEAN to go himself. Sam swears there’s nothing on their radar, but Dean insists they check it out.

(This episode gets pretty dark when it comes to John and Dean so we’ll try to add lots of pretty pictures to help with the pain.)

For Side Profile Science:

The boys pull into the nice rural town of Fitchberg Fitchburg, WI, not the more urban suburb of the state’s capital.

They ask around about anything weird in town ---just the freemasons being sneaky again. (Flashes of Hot Fuzz). Sam then notices that there are no kids at the school playground at 4 in the afternoon.

Dean heads over to talk to Hannah a mother who tells him about kids falling sick in town, and parents getting anxious over it.

Dean and Bikini Inspector/CDC doctor Sam head to the hospital.

For Bikini Inspector Science:

They head to the pediatric ward. Dean notices an old woman who decorates her room with an upside down cross (way to play with our ingrained bias of ageism and sexism show!)

Dr. Hydeker explains that 6 children are sick with pneumonia so far, and their bodies are just shutting down. They won’t respond to antibiotics or anything.

This disease works its way through families, one child after another. None of the children are conscious. They interview the father of Mary and Bethany. He mentions that they think they caught this from an open window.

Sam and Dean wonder what opened the window and go to the house to check it out. Initially, they find nothing, but then Sam notices one WACKY handprint. “What the hell leaves a handprint like that?” Sam wonders.

*RAGE Flashback Alert*

John’s heading out on a hunt and he’s giving young Dean instructions. Then he scolds his 9 year old son to pay attention.

Dean recites John’s fatherly advice: “Shoot first, ask questions later.” before John takes off. I love how he bullies Dean into being an adult here, and doesn’t even acknowledge Sam at all when he leaves.

Present day, Dean tells Sam that he knows why they’re in Fitchburg. John’s faced this monster in the past, and he wants them to finish it.

When they pull into their motel for the night, Sam asks what a shtriga is. Dean thinks it’s a witch of some sort. John faced one over 15 years ago in Wisconsin, and now it appears to be back.

Dean heads inside to get a room for them. He’s greeted with a surly 10 year old hotel proprietor. Well, the son of the real hotel manager. Dean can’t decide to be upset with the kid questioning his sexuality or soft for the kid who clearly has a great responsibility taking care of his younger brother. The mom helps Dean get a room.

While Dean gets checked in, he has another flashback.

*Scabetti-os Flashback Alert*

Dean’s feeding Sam his dinner. Sam’s sick of the same old food. He wants Lucky Charms, but there’s only one bowl left, and Dean needs to eat too. Sam throws on his baby-puppy dog look and Dean throws away the spaghetti-os and let’s Sam eat the cereal. It BREAKS me that this child has to think rationally and maturely to feed his younger brother, but he’s JUST A KID so he throws the pasta away in anger instead of eating it himself.

For One Day Sam Won’t Touch Sugar Cereal Science:

Sam does his research and discovers more about shtriga. They feed off of spiritus vitae --or breath of life. Sam says they prefer children and they’re invulnerable to everything. Dean corrects him and says that they’re vulnerable when they feed.

Sam continues that this monster takes the form of a human when it’s not feeding --generally an old woman. Dean remembers the woman from the hospital.

They head to the hospital, ready to do their worst to the old lady.

A nice jump scare that gets me every time reveals that she’s just an old woman. She demands they fix the crucifix that fell on her wall --so it wasn’t supposed to be upside down. WINCHESTER BAD.

At the motel, Michael and his little brother sleep peacefully. A shadowy hand creeps across the window and opens it.

The next morning the Winchesters return to the motel. Dean notices Michael moping outside the office. It turns out that Asher is very sick and just got shipped to the hospital. The window was unlatched, and Michael blames himself for not protecting his younger brother. Dean “Guilt Spiral” Winchester tries to help him avoid lifelong trauma by telling him that it isn’t his fault. Excuse me while I WEEP A SINGLE TEAR!

Dean gives the mom a lift to the hospital while Michael stays behind. Sam heads to the library, where I am forced ONCE AGAIN to include a picture of a Winchester rocking a microfiche machine.

For (This Joke Will Never Die) Library Science:

Sam fills Dean in on a string of child deaths tied to a mysterious pneumonia-like illness. The Fitchburg body count is just getting started. Sam finds a newspaper photo from the 1890’s featuring the very same doctor who is caring for the pediatric patients today. Dean, still at the hospital, puts on his murder face. Doctor Hydecker is IN THAT VERY ROOM looking over Asher. He asks Dean what the CDC has uncovered so far. Um. Nothing? Except a big ol’ liar and murderer.

Back at the motel, Dean fills Sam in on the hospital encounter with Hydecker. He didn’t attack the doctor at the hospital because a shtriga is only vulnerable when feeding. Also - more importantly - he didn’t have his guns on him. Dean plans to catch the shtriga in action that very night...when it returns to feed on Michael.

Sam’s horrified by this plan, but Dean insists that the end justifies the means. After all, their dad sent Dean to Fitchburg to clean up the hunt he botched...WHEN HE WAS JUST A KID.

Dean explains: years ago John Winchester left Sam and Dean alone in a motel room in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. A few nights into John’s absence, Dean leaves the room (with Sam asleep) so he can play arcade games at a local tavern. When he returns, there’s a terrifying spectre hovering over Sam.

Dean calmly picks up the shotgun(!!!) his father left him, only for John to shout Dean out of the way. John blasts the heck out of the shtriga and then moves to cradle Sam (who is fine, don’t worry bbys).

Dean explains that he just left for a little bit! (A few hours and not, like, THREE DAYS, AMIRITE?) John’s pissed at Dean for failing to parent Sam properly. After the failed attack, John dropped Sam and Dean off at Pastor Jim’s. “Dad never spoke about it again. I didn’t ask. But he, uh… He looked at me different. You know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order and I didn’t listen.”

Sam tries to convince Dean that he was just a kid and not responsible, but Dean “Guilt is Ninety Percent of My Personality” Winchester refuses to listen. John sent them this hunt as a personal message to DEAN. (Pardon me while I step outside and kick the shit out of John Winchester.) ANYWHO, Dean’s going to kill the shtriga any way he can...so young Michael gets to be bait. They head over to talk to Michael.

Dean and Sam try to convince Michael to let them watch over him while he sleeps????? Lordy lord lord. Dean tries to convince Michael that monsters are real. Only, Michael doesn’t need much convincing. He saw the monster when it attacked his brother. (Side note: I give the person filming Jensen in this episode a Major Award.)

Michael decides to sign on for the hunt on the chance that it might save Asher. Big brother club FTW! The Winchesters set up a nanny cam, instruct Michael to hide under the bed when they burst into the room, and get ready for the shtriga’s arrival. Dean tells Michael that he doesn’t have to be bait and he “won’t be mad” if he wants out after all. (I stroke Dean’s cheek and whisper, “Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester.”) But Michael’s all in if it means helping his brother.

The shtriga arrives for its murder appointment and the window slides open. The shtriga leans down in classic dementor mode to feed on a completely wide awake Michael, when the Winchesters burst in and start firing. The shtriga goes down like a trick target at a carnival, but it isn’t dead yet! (Only mostly dead.) It attacks Dean and then, symbolically, attacks Sam. While it begins to feed on Sam, Dean fires off one perfect shot into the shtriga’s forehead, killing it. “You okay, little brother?” Dean asks, also SYMBOLICALLY.

Tiny, life-force soul bits float out of the dying shtriga’s mouth, on their way to reinhabit all the sick children in town.

The next day, the Winchesters prepare to leave town. All the kids are on the road to recovery, and Michael gets ready to head off to visit his brother. (YAY!)

Sam takes a turn for the morose and mourns the fact that Michael knows monsters are real now. Dean “I’m Your Parent” Winchester tells Sam that he wishes he could have ensured that innocence for Sam as well. They drive off in a swirling cloud of Winchester angst.

Live, from Fitchquote, Wisconsin:

I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right

I was sleeping with my peepers open

You were just a kid

Sometimes nightmares are real

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#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 1x18 #something wicked #supernatural season 1

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agentkgent · 5 years ago

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Fic: If You Want It Back

Read on AO3

13-year-old Richie/Eddie fluff because my heart needs it (apparently my boys taking care of each other is my favorite thing in the world??); This is probably a multi-chapter slowburn deal that I may or may not have the patience to complete; We’ll see!

Pros: Intimate medical care, sleepy cuteness, innocent sleepovers

Cons (Warnings): Mild blood, profanity, nightmares, sexual humor dialogue

- - -

Eddie | 13

“Would you stop being so fuckin loud? It doesn’t take much for her to check on me,” Eddie whisper-shouts.

Richie yanks his momentarily-stuck leg past the threshold of the window seal. “Dude, she’s used to me sneaking into the house late at night,” he smirks. “She’ll just be jealous-”

“Shut up, Richie.”

It’s dark - at least 11 o’clock at night in the shithole that is Derry. Fall is coming and nighttime is colder than it’s been for months.

He had been waiting up for Richie in his second-floor bedroom, gently lit by an old desk lamp. While his room had always been pristine and prepared for a Sonia Kaspbrak inspection, it’s fallen into a slightly less-than-perfect state the past few days while he preoccupied himself taking every possible moment to join the Losers in their final days with Beverly; final days of their summer vacation.

A few items of clothing lay on the floor near the bed, a jacket strewn across the corner of the bedspread. Socks hanging inside-out on top of a pair of Converse sneakers near the door.

Richie stands upright and tugs his hooded sweatshirt gently, fixing the zipped sides. Without pause, strides across the room to Eddie’s closet and pulls out his (well, not really his , but no one else uses it) comforter and pillow. “Move your shit, Eds.”

He scoffs. “Don’t fucking act like your room isn’t a pigstye.” And starts to grab clothing from the floor and throw it to a vacant corner, avoiding using his cast-covered limb.

“You couldn’t clean up for company?” Richie teases while he tosses the pillow onto the floor near the bed and unfolds the comforter.

“Yeah, well,” He begins, annoyed. “I’ve been distracted by the giant festering garbage wound on my hand, thanks to Bill. It’s freaking disgusting. He just fucking picked up a piece of glass and started cutting us with it. What the hell were we thinking? We’re all gonna get tetanus and shit.” He’s speaking faster, the horror setting in again. “What if the infection spreads to my arm? What if one of us has AIDS? Now we all have AIDS because Bill wanted to make a stupid fucking blood oath. Why couldn’t we have just created a secret handshake-”

“Shhh!” Richie throws his index finger over his mouth.

Eddie swats a hand over his own mouth in alert, realizing his own volume. The two wait a moment in silence, listening for a reaction, eyeing the bedroom door. They wait to hear footsteps in the hall or creaking on wood floors.

Nothing. He exhales in relief and continues, a bit calmer. “I don’t think there’s enough penicillin in the world to prevent me from getting an infection from that fucking piece of glass he used.” He watches Richie de-shevel his hoodie and kick off his sneakers. “Did you clean up your hand?”

Richie half-shrugs. “Yeah, I’m good. I washed my hands after I took a piss.”

His jaw drops. He thinks he might literally scream. “WHAT THE HELL, RICHIE?” He quietly shouts, his voice squeaking.

He can’t tell if Richie’s joking or not but he definitely DIDN’T see any kind of bandage over the moron’s hand, so he scrambles urgently to his desk’s designated medical drawer and digs out all the necessities. Fucking Trashmouth WOULD bring infection and sickness into his bedroom, goddamn it. Alcohol, gauze pads, antibiotic cream, yep. Medical tape, gauze wrap, rubber gloves...

“Jesus Christ, chill out,” Richie protests, a shit eating grin on his face from Eddie’s urgency. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“No!” He points a finger at his stupid friend. “You are not gonna touch my stuff and leave blood and puss and infection and whatever-the-fuck-else in my bedroom.” He crudely dumps his First Aid supplies across his bed and yanks Richie to sit next to him. He leans back down towards the floor next to the head of his bed, grabs a flashlight, flicks it on, and slams it into Richie’s un-injured hand. “Hold this so I can see, idiot.”

It’d been a significant moment, the seven of them holding hands; committing to each other and to keeping It from hurting more people. Although they laughed off the tension at Stanley’s “I hate you,” and lightly talked about plans for the following day, something about the situation made it feel melancholy. The weight of their promise had also felt… a little suffocating, to be honest.

He needed to hug his best friend. It sprouted from deep in his gut and drove his movement. Almost instinctively, Richie opened his arms for a hug and patted Eddie’s back affectionately.

He finally took wide steps across the weeds-covered ground to head home, and turned to wave goodbye to his Losers. His attention landed on Richie, though. And Richie’s expression was… dopey? His huge eyes were fixed on Eddie, but it looked like he was far away. He was sort-of smiling? But wasn’t entirely focused behind his thick glasses. Eddie didn’t read into it too much. It was a heavy day.

Two hours later, the Kaspbrak residence phone rang. “Hello?” He answered.

“Spuhgett!” A poor Italian impression came through the line. “Come over and stay the night!”

“Richie, really?”

“Yeah man, let’s dive into some new issues of Hustler and howl into the night! Ow OW!”

He held the phone down in shock, the asshole’s howling audible from the handset. He flung his head to either side, looking for his mother, and then hissed into the phone. “You can’t say shit like that on the phone, asshole! My mom could be listening! She’s been on me nonstop.”

“Dude, that’s some kinky incest shit. But pretty hot.”

At this point, Eddie was confident his mother wasn’t listening on the line. That would have been her opportunity to shut down the conversation. “You’re fucking disgusting. I’m hanging up.”

“Come on! I’ve got some comics I need to catch up on, let’s hang out!”

He sighed. “Rich, my mom’s basically put me on house arrest.”

“I can come over there, if that’s easier.”

“How is that easier?”

“I’ll climb up to your room from the gate.”

“Wow. Genius.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Thank you, I agree.”

“Dude, I’m tired.”

“Alright then, you can fuckin’ sleep, I’ll entertain myself.”

“So then why don’t you just stay home?”

A quiet moment, and then, “Eddieeeee!” Richie faked a whine.

He closed his eyes in defeat. “Fine. But I’m not staying up late. And you need to get out before my mom’s up tomorrow.” He remembered the most important part. “HEY AND you need to wait until it’s been dark for a while or she’ll still be watching TV.”

“Edward, I’m quite familiar with my lady’s nighttime habits. She watches porn ‘til 10 p.m., then I come over, then we do a couple lines, and after you’ve gone to sleep, she sucks my-”

Eddie slammed the phone back on the cradle.

Richie’s hand is now clean and covered, at least until the bandages need to be replaced. Eddie had only gagged once (maybe twice) while cleaning the Trashmouth’s palm. He inspects his handiwork one more time before closing the container of gauze. He takes the flashlight from Richie into his arm along with the impromptu First Aid kit.

“Do you think Bev will come back and see us? Like, visit from Portland?” Richie asks suddenly, looking at his cared-for hand.

Eddie pads across the room. He looks back towards Richie. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

“Come back for more quickies down by the Barrens, probably,” Richie sneers. “Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll let us watch.”

“Ew, dude, what?” He asks. He knows Richie doesn’t mean it, they all genuinely like Beverly. She’s cool and funny and treats them like normal people, which is more than they could say for other girls at school. But who-?

Richie knows what Eddie’s asking. “She and Bill sucked face after we left,” He wiggles his eyebrows.

He isn’t really surprised, he supposes. “Oh,” he says after a moment.

He turns off the desk lamp and walks back towards the bed. Richie scoots carefully until his back is against the wall, and Eddie plops his weight onto the bed, shifting until he’s next to him. They sit quietly for a whole three seconds before Richie continues with his gratuitous humor.

“Or maybe Bill will go see her .” And Richie starts with a dramatic tone of voice. “She might leave her bedroom window open at night for Big Bill, her dear auntie not knowing about the debauchery taking place in their home-”

He shakes his head slightly and ignores Richie. “Do you think Bev remembers Ben kissing her?”

Richie considers the question for a moment.

Everything that transpired in the filthy, dark tunnels beneath Derry had been something of a blur, but they all remembered that moment clearly. They found Beverly in the sewers, floating and white-eyed. She wouldn’t wake up. Ben was terrified. “What’s wrong with her?!” He looked at the others for answers, but no one knew what to do. Then he made a decision. Ben cupped Beverly’s face with both hands, and pressed their lips together, to everyone’s confusion. What the hell was that? ...And then Beverly woke up. Why did it work? Who knows. But it did. Bev mumbled something about ‘January embers’ and was back to normal.

“I don’t know, dude?” Richie dismisses, snatching the flashlight from Eddie’s hand and flicking it off. The whole room becomes immediately darker, only lit by the slightest bit of moonlight coming through the window. “Ben’s a nerd, anyway. Bev may be a Loser, but she’s still hot. And she and Bill like each other.”

“Poor Ben,” Eddie concludes.

“Plenty of fish in the sea, my dear Eds! Benjamin will be just fine,” Richie proclaims.

“Don’t call me ‘Eds.’”

“You love it.” Richie smirks.

“I don’t. And Ben will probably be fine, but YOU sure won’t. No one wants to kiss a Trashmouth.”

“If you only knew, shorty. Half of Derry has tasted my tonsils.”

Eddie smiles widely, preparing to call Richie’s bluff. “Bullshit. You haven’t kissed anyone.”

Richie’s smile drops. He looks into Eddie’s eyes. “Eddie…”

Eddie’s smile drops, too.

Richie continues, leaning in closer. “When are you going to face reality? Your mom and I care about each other very much. The woman has the most talented tongue-”

“Shut UP, Richie!” Eddie swats Richie with a pillow, landing with a muffled whack . Richie laughs quietly to himself.

Another quiet moment, and they’re both looking down at their hands in their laps.

He presses the question. “Rich, really. Have you kissed anyone before?”

It’s a risky question. They talk about girls all the time, but it’s always been something of a distant topic: jokes and celebrity crushes and their classmates. Bill, Stanley, Ben, and Mike always kept things PG. They’d each mentioned having crushes. Of course, Bill talked about kissing Beverly in the 3rd grade school play, something Richie taunted him about ruthlessly. Eddie kept quiet while the others discussed. He’d laugh when they joked or look when they shared photos from magazines, but he stayed away from the subject, afraid to reveal how little experience he had interacting with the opposite sex. Or, interest, honestly.

Richie, on the other hand, basked in loudly telling about his fictional sexual conquests with every female he’d supposedly ever encountered. At every opportunity. No one believed it, but no one bothered to dispute it.

But this was new territory for Eddie. Talking seriously about this stuff. Girls and kissing and feelings. Or rather, Eddie’s complete lack of anything to do with girls and kissing and feelings.

And with Richie, of all people?

But something about the events of the summer of 1989 made their friendship feel less… adolescent.

Richie slides onto his comforter on the floor. Without looking at Eddie, he answers. “No.” He takes off his glasses and tosses them recklessly onto Eddie’s desk.

Eddie expects a follow-up or a joke, but doesn’t hear one. “Me neither.”

“Yeah, that I know, Eddie-bear.”

“Fucking-”

- - -

Eddie dreams of Beverly, alone in the darkness.

He recognizes the horrible place that they’re back in. He’d hoped to never be back there ever again, smelling the piss and shit of Derry, mixed into a nice concoction with blood and remains of Pennywise’s victims.

Bev is a couple feet in front of him, eyes wide open. They’re solid white, no irises or pupils. She’s in the trance again.

Eddie places a hand on either of Bev’s shoulders, shaking her gently. “Shit, Bev! Bev! Beverly! Come on! You can snap out of it again, Bev!” Eddie yells. T hen shaking her with a little more force. She is slack-jawed and unresponsive, facing him blindly. “Guys! Guys, it’s Bev!” He looks around frantically for the other Losers. “She’s zonked out again, what do we do?!” But they are alone. Matter of fact, he can’t make out any of the terrain around them, either. No water, no drainage pipes, no pile of murder trophies. No ‘new kid’ to wake her up.

Eddie swallows and looks back towards the damsel in distress. If it worked for Ben, maybe it’ll work… for him? He places a hand on each side of Beverly’s face, squeezes his eyes closed, and gently pulls her towards him, pressing their lips together.

‘Please wake up, please wake up!’ He thinks, trying not to panic about what he’s doing. And Eddie releases the kiss, letting himself move back a few inches, and opens his eyes.

He’s holding Richie’s face, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, lips slightly pursed and shiny. Richie’s white eyes fly open, wide and horrified.

“WHAT the fu-” Eddie wakes with a heaving chest.

He’s confused and flustered and about to have a fucking asthma attack. He reaches behind his head to his nightstand and grabs his inhaler, placebo be damned. As he puffs and takes deep breaths, he looks around quickly, reminding his brain that he’s safe in his clean, non-sewer bedroom.

It’s still dark outside, and a little cold. He’s only been asleep for a couple hours. And he’s moved around so much in his nightmare that his comforter has slid onto the floor, ...and is starting to move on its own? Wha-

The comforter folds back. “Eddie?” Richie mumbles, half-asleep.

Eddie yelps and slams his back against the bedroom wall with a thud. Richie tries to shush him and continues, “Whoa! What the fuck?”

He dramatically clutches at his chest and uses his inhaler again. He examines Richie’s alerted expression, making sure his eyes have irises and pupils. Then his eyes glance at Richie’s lips, which are so-slightly parted. And maybe looks a little too long.

“Eddie, are you okay?” Richie climbs onto the bed and places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

He resettles in reality. Right. Richie stayed the night. He’s actually here. “No, I didn’t- I forgot you were here.” He covers his face with both hands and exhales deeply, embarrassed. “It was a stupid nightmare.”

Maybe another time, Richie would seize the opportunity to make an ‘erotic nightmare’ joke, but he leaves it be. “Well, breathe, dummy.”

Eddie focuses on his breathing for a few moments. He drops his hands into his lap. There’s something wet on his face, but maybe it’s just sweat? Richie’s brow furrows. And that’s when he comes to terms with a sharp pain in his hand.

“Eds, your hand!” Richie whispers urgently. “Shit, you got blood all over your face!”

He can’t even process what’s happening before Richie flies across the room to fetch the medical stash and his glasses.

“Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks. His hand is still bandaged, but it’s bleeding and has soaked through, running down his arm. He can feel the panic and terror bubbling in his throat at the utter level of unsanitary , but Richie’s back and holding his arms.

“Shhh, okay, hold on,” Richie tries to calm him. “I’m gonna get something to clean off your face.” And he hurries out of the bedroom, leaving the door open. The water runs in the faucet down the hall and Eddie hears gentle splashing. He looks towards the dark door opening, then back at his hand. His fingernails have blood under them. His cast has a large, rusty-red tint across the inside of his arm.

And Richie’s back, holding his chin carefully and cleaning with a wet cloth. He continues shushing Eddie, sensing his nausea. “It’s okay, you’re okay, don’t barf.” Richie works at his cheeks and brow, and softly wipes at his nose. His attention turns to Eddie’s hand and he looks closer. Seeing someone in that proximity to his injury makes him queasy, but Richie’s hold grounds him. Since when is Richie capable of being so… caring? (Last time Richie tried to help him, he re-broke his goddamn arm and called his mother, who wouldn’t let him leave the house for almost a month.) “Looks like you just squeezed your hand too hard. Probably fucked it up while you were sleeping. I’ll rewrap it. I watched you do mine. Jesus fuck, breathe, Eds. You’re panting like a pornstar.”

Right. Breathe. Where the fuck is his inhaler? He’s starting to feel lightheaded.

“You probably need to take off your shirt.”

“FUCK OFF, Richie!” He spits.

Richie raises his eyebrows. “No, seriously. You got blood all over your shirt, too.”

He blinks and looks down at his- oh. Fuck. Yeah, his favorite night shirt is ruined. It’s covered in blotches of red. He feels like he might pass out.

He pulls it from behind his neck and over his shoulders and head. He almost immediately starts shaking from the cold rush of air. Richie rolls his eyes, leans down to the floor where he slept, scoops his hoodie with one hand, and hands it to Eddie. He quickly pulls it on but leaves his casted arm and hand for Richie to tend to. He mumbles a drowsy, “Thanks.”

“Just try not to bleed on it, please? It’s one of my faves.”

- - -

Eddie doesn’t have any more dreams that night. Actually, he has the best night’s sleep in recent memory. No nightmares.

He also doesn’t remember falling asleep. But the morning light is shining directly into his face now, and he reluctantly comes to consciousness.

The pieces of last night reassemble in his mind, and he quickly looks at his injured hand. It’s wrapped tightly, only a few smudges of dried blood in between his fingers evidence of the late night mess. A tiny bit of dried red on the very edge of the cuff of his sleeve. And poorly written in Sharpie in the center of his bandaged palm, Sweet dreams, Spaghetti ♡

“You really know how to fuck up a nice gesture, huh?” Eddie says quietly to his probably-still-sleeping friend. He didn’t know what time it was or if his mother was lurking around yet.

No blood on his bedding, thank GOD, and no more blood on his- ...wait. What is he wearing?

He leans up on his elbows. He’s warmer than usual. Something hard is scratching at his chest and his neck, but the rest of whatever he’s wearing is so, so soft and very oversized on him.

Its an ash grey zipped-hoodie. It’s Richie’s.

His sense of smell kicks in, and he scrunches his nose at the reek of shitty body spray coming from it. He sits up and unzips the gross, unwashed jacket, pulling on the cuffs at each wrist carefully.

“Rich, come on. It’s morning. You gotta go before my mom wakes up.” He glances over the edge of the bed, but Richie’s not there. The comforter and pillow are wadded up in front of Eddie’s closet, and his sneakers are gone. No glasses on the desk.

Which means... he left already? Eddie’s heart sinks a little. Whatever. He’ll see Rich today, probably.

He looks back at his wrapped palm.

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

Richie | 13

“Just try not to bleed on it, please? It’s one of my faves.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh or fuss, which is disappointing. Richie needs to keep Eddie’s attention away from the fuckin’ Carrie episode triggered by some nightmare.

He wants to keep things light because he knows, he’s certain , Eddie’s violent nightmare probably has something to do with It. Because he’s been having nightmares about It, too. He dreams of missing posters hanging across Derry with his face on them, with no one looking for him. He dreams of that giant lumberjack trying to stab him to death in the middle of the park, and no one will help him. He dreams of being lost in the sewers, his friends calling to find him, but his mouth is sewn shut. Horrific realities every night. He can’t stay asleep more than a couple hours.

That’s why he’s risking getting caught in the Kaspbrak house. Anymore, he doesn’t feel okay unless he’s with his friends. The Great Richie Tozier is reduced to a sleepless baby, and the only possible remedy is having one of his Losers at arm’s length. And Eddie is his favorite Loser, after all.

And up until Eddie woke him up, it seemed to be working.

He focuses on unwrapping the crimson tide mess of cloth wrapped around an apparently catatonic version of his friend Eddie. It isn’t until he’s gently wiping away fresh blood from the cut that Eddie actually responds again.

Eddie hisses. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” He apologizes softly. “I’m just gonna clean this up, and then… I’ll put some stuff on it?”

He looks up and meets Eddie’s eyes, which are half-lidded and sleepy. He figures the horror has subsided and his firey little friend has worn himself out in his own panic. Or maybe he’s about to pass out? Either way, he’s glad Eddie isn’t making this difficult.

Eddie nods. “Yeah we can jus’ put some triple antibiotic on it.”

He looks over the products he brought to the temporary emergency room that is the bed. Triple… antibionic… ?

“S’the yellow tube,” Eddie mumbles and points lazily. Richie picks it up and uses some across Eddie’s wound. “Don’t use it all, dumb.”

“‘Dumb’ what?” He replaces the cap.

“You’re not qualified to do this.”

“You’re not qualified. I’m qualified as shit.” He’s glad Eddie wants to bicker instead of freak out. He finishes wrapping a first layer of gauze and tape around Eddie’s small hand. Richie risks a glance up at Eddie’s face, only a few inches away. The kid hasn’t fallen back asleep, but his eyes are shut and he’s tilting his head back against the wall.

Richie allows his fingers to gently drag across Eddie’s as he pulls back. He pinches Eddie’s fingertips softly as he lets go. The sensation tingles up his arm and to his center, where it’s growing warmly. (He thought it couldn’t get better than Eddie tending to his hand earlier in the night. He enjoyed the rough way that Eddie yanked his hand into a position easy to clean and bandage, lectured Richie about cleanliness and all the risks involved with not properly taking care of a wound.) There’s a tightness in his chest at how he gets to take care of Eddie like this, totally in control and responsible for his well-being.

He looks over the casted arm, with LOVER written across it and smiles fondly at Eddie’s determination to fight back against that stupid bitch Greta Keene. (He really wishes he could hit a girl.) But even more than that, the fact that Eddie prefers to be thought of as a “lover” makes Richie’s heart pound.

He’s almost done wrapping Eddie’s hand.

“Richie?” Eddie whispers.

“Yes, ‘muh boy?” He whispers back.

“Can I go back ‘ta sleep?” He slurs.

“Hand’s almost done. And then,” He pinches Eddie’s cheek. “We just gotta wrap you in fucking bubble wrap because you can’t fucking manage NOT to hurt yourself every chance!” Eddie is apparently too sleepy to fight back and allows him to hold the freshly bandaged hand in both of his own. “All better, Spaghetti Man.” And he presses his lips to the center of Eddie’s palm in a quick kiss and smiles widely.

Eddie lifts his head and opens his eyes at Richie. He looks down at his hand, and then back to Richie. “Thank you.” His eyelids drop, he quickly tips over, and plops his head onto his pillow, bouncing on the mattress slightly.

Richie has to cover his mouth to stifle his laugh. Eddie muffles something into his pillow. “Pardon me?” He says quietly with a big smile. He can’t help it. This is cute as shit.

Eddie turns his face away from the pillow. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m gonna sleep.”

“Can you sleep without injuring yourself?”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. “I dunno but I’m tired.” He shuffles and twists his body around until he’s facing upward and looking at Richie. His hand reaches up and wraps around Richie’s wrist. “You can sleep on the bed too, if you want?”

Richie’s throat closes. He’s not entirely sure how much of this Eddie is actually processing, he seems really out of it. And his wrist feels like it’s on fire from Eddie’s touch.

“I just… Maybe that way if I start hav’ ‘nuther nightmare, you can wake me up. If you don’t wanna, tha’s fine-”

“No it’s fine.” He stops Eddie, taking a breath before continuing. “If you start freaking out again I’ll kick you in the dick until you stop.” He hopes that Eddie believes his nonchalant agreeance.

Eddie, once again, doesn’t laugh or fuss. He scoots to the outer side of the twin mattress and closes his eyes. The oversized hoodie swallowing his tiny form, almost covering his sleep shorts. He leaves space between himself and the wall.

Richie gulps. He can feel his hear pounding in his ears as he steps across the room to turn off the light on the desk, and pick up Eddie’s discarded comforter from the floor. He looks over his patient lying on the bed. His chest is moving gently as he breathes. It’s really cute. Too cute. Dangerously cute.

He can already hear steady breathing coming from the little wad of hypochondria. He’s out.

Richie steps back towards the desk and plucks a Sharpie from next to the lamp. He pads back towards the bed and kneels down close to Eddie’s face. He gently pulls Eddie’s bandaged hand from near his neck. He can feel Eddie’s breath on his fingers and it sends chills down his spine, but he stays focused. He scribbles, Sweet dreams, Spaghetti ♡ into the center of the palm, and replaces it against Eddie’s chest. He knows Eddie won’t think too deeply about it, he’ll just be pissed off and probably want to change the bandages as soon as possible. He hopes, at least.

After he tosses the closed marker onto the floor, he prays to WHATEVER evil God has put him in this position that Eddie won’t feel him shaking as he lays down facing the wall, pulling the cover over them. His ears are ringing, at this point. They’re echoes of blood rushing all over the place, his heart on overdrive. He tries to keep at least a couple inches distance from Eddie’s back, but he’s starting to get a contact high from the proximity and the body heat. His breathing is totally out of rhythm. His body is buzzing with a want to close the gap.

Listening to Eddie’s soft breathing, Richie drifts asleep.

And oh, by the way, it’s been exactly six days, 13 hours, and 12 minutes since he decided he was in completely love with Eddie Kaspbrak. And it fucking sucks.

- - -

“Eddie!” An irritating voice rings from the hallway. “Why is the bathroom light on?”

The sound shakes Richie awake. Looks like the sun has just started coming up, and it’s still a little chilly. He knows right away that Sonia is up and on the move. He’s got to go before she starts jiggling Eddie’s doorknob. By then, she’ll hear him climbing out of the house.

Richie rubs his eyes quickly and touches the top of his head, checking for his glasses, but doesn’t feel them. He tries to lean himself up on his arms, but something is weighing one of them down…

He doesn’t need his glasses to figure out that the blurry figure laying on his arm is Eddie. He can make out the features of Eddie’s nose and eyebrows, and lips… Really close to his own face. His breathing intensifies as he realizes how closely they’re facing each other. Eddie is only a few inches away, weight holding down Richie’s right arm.

He would have loved to stay like this longer… but he can hear the floorboards creaking outside the bedroom.

“Fuck.” Richie mouths to himself.

As gently as possible, he pulls his arm from under the still-sleeping angel next to him. He scoots to the far end, away from Eddie, and worms off the bed, avoiding touching him. He places the comforter back on Eddie and scrambles to clean up the rest of the evidence. He scoops his make-shift bed from the floor and tosses it in front of Eddie’s closet. He clumsily pulls on his sneakers and grabs his glasses from the desk.

He turns towards Eddie, still dead asleep. Must have slept okay?

Man, for that matter, Richie didn’t have any nightmares either. The Great Richie Tozier slept like a sleep-full baby.

“Sorry, Eds, I gotta scram.” Richie whispers affectionately as if to a one night stand, and moves towards the window. Out the window, across the roof to the gate, down onto the fence, then he’ll escape out the back yard. Carefully, he lifts the window and climbs out, focusing on not catching his leg again. He pauses to take one more look inside, towards the bed.

“Eddie!” Mrs. K repeats, from behind the door. “Are you awake this early?”

“Shit!” And he rushes away from the window, out of sight. He’s moving quietly, and he hears the window shut behind him.

#eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie #it (2017)#reddie fic #reddie fluff #ao3

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wisechildstrawberry · 5 years ago

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When Bryan and I were in the hospital the month of February last year, I kept everyone updated through Facebook because it was easier to do a mass post than update everyone individually. I also journaled because I knew I wanted to remember everything at some point. As a result, I had a hodge-podge of posts during that crazy month. Given my innate desire to constantly self-evaluate, I put it all together in a coherent timeline so I could review it.

Cystic Fibrosis sucks in so many ways. Bryan was lucky. He lived way beyond the normal life expectation out of sheer stubbornness. Our story still ended way too soon. I still am trying to figure out where my place is in all this and where I go from here. My hope with these blog posts is that it will help me sort through my feelings, that it will help me heal, and that it may help someone else. It’s long, and full of medical mumbo-jumbo, but there you have it.

The Facebook and journal posts are italicized. 💜

February 4, 2019

And just like that, our pre-transplant testing at Vanderbilt is canceled. 😞

We had to check into Baptist East which effectively canceled our plans to drive up to Vanderbilt to go through the process of getting put on the kidney transplant list. We had already gotten so close to being placed on the one here at Methodist that we could taste the freedom from dialysis.

February 5, 2019

We originally got these for our road trip to Vanderbilt (because see the first photo) and now that the road trip is no more, they turned into great hospital snacks. I can’t stay out of them. I may need an intervention…

One of the things I loved about this man was that he was on the same wavelength as me when it came to road trips. Rule #1 – When packing for a road trip, it’s an absolute necessity to bring enough snacks to feed an army. Rule #2 – They can’t be healthy. Rule #3 – You can’t have any leftovers by the time you get home.

February 6, 2019

Keep the prayers coming! We’re still here at our unconventional vacation home, drinking all the coffee, eating all the snacks, and watching way too much TV.

February 7, 2019

We’ve been in the hospital since Monday evening. I spend the nights with him and his days are filled with tests, pills, nurses, and pain. A nagging place on his leg that wasn’t responding to antibiotics landed us here. Once we were in a private ER room, they did an ultrasound and found the blood clot. It runs the entire length of his leg; similar to the one he had two years ago the day after his surprise 50th birthday party. When people ask how Bryan is doing, I’m tempted to ask, How much time do you have? They’ve been pumping him with blood thinner. They were pumping him with a couple of different antibiotics, but that has appeared to stop. They set him up on dialysis every night. It’s hard to tell which is worse, the pain from the dialysis sucking the fluid off of him or the pain from the mysterious sore on his leg. He has a mid-line pic and an IV in the same arm and his arm has swollen up in such a way that would make Popeye proud. They ran an ultrasound on it and thankfully, it came back negative for blood clots. The food is okay. His appetite is off and he has so much going on that it’s hard to pinpoint what’s knocking it out of whack. He’s taking a pain pill to alleviate some of the pain. The doctors come in late in the evenings to check in. A dermatologist came in last night to pick samples off of both of his legs to send to pathology to be biopsied. More pain. And stitches. So now we wait. We’re waiting for the biopsy results to come back so we know how to move forward. We’re waiting for the blood clot to go down. This is just another hurdle in the CF life. We’re going to jump it and keep moving forward. Keep the prayers coming, keep the visits coming, and keep the texts and calls coming. They’re good for Bryan and to be honest, they’re good for me as well.

The dermatologist was such a sweet man and very no-nonsense. He came in and did his thing, barely batting an eye while making pleasant conversation with us.

February 8, 2019

I’m probably the only person in the world who has to watch a video on how to use this thing. After trying to use it with the cap on. 🙄😂

The beginning of hospital brain.

I have the utmost respect for nurses, but I’m about five seconds away from giving our nurse whatfor. We’ve had great nurses all week, then I get up here to the hospital room and barely get sat down before she comes in and proceeds to inform us that Bryan needs to eat and she’s not waiting an hour and we need to make this happen. Girl. Don’t. Even.

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That’s one of the problems with the shift changes. Nurses come in who don’t know what’s going on and there’s a few who think bullying through is how to get people to do the things they need them to do. There’s no telling what this poor nurse thought of us.

February 9, 2019

The nurse from hell apparently doesn’t work weekends. I snuck down to the cafe to get the biggest coffee imaginable and breakfast. They have a pretty decent breakfast down here. They had Bryan do five cycles of dialysis yesterday and again last night so he’s been on dialysis for I guess about 16 hours. His potassium (or is it the phosphorus) has been high-about 7 when it’s supposed to be between 3.5 and 5. His blood sugar has been wonky which is pretty typical. His blood pressure has been high which is pretty typical with the dialysis and the blood clot. We didn’t hear anything about the results of the skin biopsy. I don’t know if the doctors come through on the weekends or not. For now, I’m taking my now halfway caffeinated self back up to the room.

The Yellow Sock Club. I couldn’t pack my pajamas without including these awesome things. 😎

Anyone who has had a transplant or has a chronic illness that requires multiple hospital stays belongs to the Yellow Sock Club. It’s not a very fancy club, but you do get pairs of awesome yellow socks and while they don’t allow you to slide across the floor Tom Cruise/Risky Business style, they do keep you from falling on your ass on slick floors. So there’s that.

February 10, 2019

Dealing with the doctors surrounding Cystic Fibrosis and all the issues stemming from it is like dealing with a baseball lineup-everyone plays but comes up to bat at different times. Up to bat now is the nephrologist who is currently on vacation in Iceland.

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There are a few advantages to being in the hospital for a week. I finally figured out how to operate the motion-detected ice machine and can dispense water and ice like a pro without a single drop spilled. I figured out the good food in the cafeteria is served at lunch and if you wait long enough in the evenings, you get free food. Contraband is Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and alcohol. They’re considered evil, but caffeine is thrown around like an Oprah freebie. I’ve been a little grouchy and Bryan’s been a little grouchy. Some nights I sleep better and some nights he sleeps better. Sometimes I’m talkative and he just wants to sleep. Sometimes he’s talkative and I’m too tired to put a sentence together. I rub his feet and give him professionally dispensed ice and he gives me sweet kisses and that cute little smile. I’m learning that when someone with a chronic illness is hospitalized, you don’t come out cured. You come out with a game plan for how to move forward and you hold on to the optimism that you are in control of the quality of your life. We are holding on to that optimism because you only get one life and you get to choose how to live it. We are choosing to live life because God blesses each one of us with one life and the freedom to live it how we see fit. Keep the prayers coming!

February 13, 2019

Watching the sun rise on Day 9 of our hospital stay with my styrofoam cup of pretty decent coffee. We have a diagnosis that I will gladly share via message, but we also have a plan. We’re switching from peritoneal dialysis to a combination program of hemodialysis and an IV of sodium thiosulfate. His bloodwork came back within the range we needed to have the perma-cath put in this morning sometime. We asked the nurse when they would know the time of the procedure and he responded, “We typically find out when we get the call from downstairs saying, we’re sending the transport team up now.” Another thing I learned in the hospital. There is no planning your day. Ever.

February 14, 2019

Attempt #1 at a perma-cath was a failure because he’s had so many port catheters put in over the years that they can’t get one in his chest. Attempt #2 was supposed to happen earlier this morning, but his nephrologist wanted him to do one more cycle of peritoneal dialysis. Bryan wanted to refuse it because he didn’t want to miss the window for surgery. The result? He missed his window for the surgery and now we’re waiting for them to find time to fit him in. They just didn’t listen. He didn’t have much dinner, no breakfast, no lunch, and we’re hoping his blood sugar holds steady long enough to do this. We’re also hoping it happens quickly because hemodialysis takes 3-4 hours and doing THAT late at night won’t exactly be thrilling. Bryan is getting ready to pinch somebody’s head off after this morning. I’m about ready to pinch somebody’s head off. There’s a difference between refusing treatment because we’re being ornery and refusing treatment because we’re trying to keep things on schedule. Bryan’s spent his entire life dealing with hospitals so he knows a bit how things work when too many people are involved. This is one of those days where there’s just too many roosters in the hen house.

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The perma-cath is in and he’s doing just fine. He’s downstairs doing his first round of hemodialysis and sodium thiosulfate which left me time to wander down to the cafeteria to see what’s for supper. My next hospital discovery: they do it up big for Valentine’s Day:

February 15, 2019

So this morning has already been eventful. We discovered what the fire alarm sounds like (apparently some jackwagon on the 4th floor thought it was a great idea to smoke in the bathroom). We also watched in disbelief as the breakfast cart glided right past our room (think of how you felt as a kid when you just missed the ice cream truck) without stopping. Bryan was like, oh hell no! The desk secretary was sweet enough to grab a plate for him while I was downstairs grabbing him some food as well so Bryan got double breakfast today. We haven’t heard when we’ll get to leave, but we’re hoping soon.

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Well, shoot. We’re stuck in here another night. That’ll be 13 nights in the hospital. Boo!

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When the fire alarm goes off (again), what do we do? Drink our hot chocolate, watch our basketball game, calmly eat our chicken, and snooze. As our nurse told us, what else are we going to do? 😂

I originally had a video showing this. You can plainly hear the fire alarm going off while we’re all calmly doing our thing. I didn’t think it was probably a good idea to show it since it was in a hospital. I figured there’s a rule out there somewhere forbidding that.

February 16, 2019

Hemodialysis was scheduled for 9. Dude shows up at 7:30. The nurses are scrambling, trying to get his mountainous pile of morning meds together (it’s always amusing to watch them when they realize just how many there are 😂 ), figure out how they’re going to get breakfast to him, and navigate around who is now in the room: two nurses, the dialysis dude, the PCA, a doctor from the cardiovascular group, and the bed which is now cattywampus. It’s a circus in here and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.

Chaos Bei Dunder Mifflin GIF from Chaos GIFs

February 17, 2019

One side effect of the hemodialysis is violent nausea. I think all the food he ate yesterday, along with whatever meds that didn’t absorb, are now in blue bags in the garbage. We’re trying to manage pain and figure out how to minimize the nausea. As of right now, we don’t have a discharge date. The board says February 19th which right now would be an awesome birthday present, but we’ll see. The doctors want to get his blood levels regulated, get his swelling down, and get insurance to approve the outpatient sodium thiosulfate IV (a daily dose is almost four months of my salary 😮). Please keep the prayers coming.

February 18, 2019

I didn’t post a Facebook status here, but I did journal:

Bryan dreams about sports. Mainly soccer. He organizes the teams in his mind and coaches the players, gesturing with his hands. Then, he wakes up and glances over at me sheepishly to see if I’m watching. He smiles that silly little smile of his. “I was dreaming.” Hospitals are shitty places to make final memories. I want us to be able to go sit in a park, on a blanket, making organic conversation that doesn’t involve what pills are working and which ones aren’t; where we can smell the lovely outdoorsy smell of trees, grass, and blanket, not the smell of the things inside him that are slowly killing him. I want to crawl up in the hospital bed with him and snuggle. Just the simple act of snuggling washes away so many cares. He finally researched calciphylaxis thoroughly enough to know that he may not make it out of this alive. We’ve been sitting here talking a little bit. While we were watching a basketball game, he gets out his phone and looks a few things up. A few minutes later, he declares, “I bet I have peritonitis.” The cloudy dialysis, the distended belly, the feeling of always being full, the nausea, the slight fever. It makes total sense. The best part? It’s firing him up. Especially after I got a little miffed myself and made the comment that we have gone an entire year and successfully avoided peritonitis only to contract it in the hospital when they did the peritoneal dialysis themselves.

February 19, 2019

Thank you so much for all the birthday wishes. Once we break out of the hospital, I foresee a Muddy’s cupcake in my future to celebrate. We’re on Day 16 now (I had to go back and count the days). Bryan’s been about the same. The doctors are figuring out the whole fluid retention/blood thinner issues/general pukiness thing. We were hoping to get out of here today which would’ve been an AWESOME birthday, but that’s okay. He’s where he needs to be while they get things figured out. The nurses who showed up today are the same ones we had towards the beginning of this ordeal which made me deliriously happy. I would’ve hugged them, but that would have been weird.

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February 20, 2019

Bryan now refers to the pain pill as “the one that f**ks up your dreams”.

I have to share my journal post that shows what happened after Bryan made that statement:

Bryan woke up this morning and asked me to check his bag for his car keys. When I said, sure, why? he said he was afraid he had dropped them on the ground after he got out of his car last night. I said, Honey, you didn’t drive last night. You’ve been in the hospital. He responded back saying he had the most vivid dream last night, he dreamed he had gone to Target and left his car and the nurses took it and drove away in it. He still wanted me to check his bag for his car key.

February 21, 2019

So we had a bit of a room change. We’re in ICU. His blood pressure dropped and oxygen levels dropped and they’re trying to figure out what’s going on. On the agenda tomorrow is a broncoscopy and a few other things. For now, he’s stable. I lost my couch so my bed is two chairs pushed together. At least the TV is bigger. Keep the prayers coming, please. We’re going to have an active couple of days.

Would anyone happen to have a lightweight small camping cot I could borrow for the next night or two? ICU doesn’t have anything.

Today was bronchoscopy day. Those of you who know Bryan well know that he has bucked at the prospect of a bronchoscopy for years. He caved this time. They did it and he spent the day resting. He was so lethargic. About 5 this evening, he was sleeping, would quit breathing, and we would have to wake him up and remind him, hey dude, breathing’s kind of important around here. It was similar to sleep apnea. They fitted him with a ventilator. They tried doing the one that doesn’t go down the throat, but the tube that’s pulling the stomach bile out wouldn’t allow for a tight fit so we went with the regular ventilator. He’s sedated and resting comfortably. They’ll check in tomorrow and test him to see if he can breathe on his own. For now, I feel better knowing he’s breathing, knowing that it’s temporary (the ventilator, not the breathing. Lol), and knowing that he’s getting enough rest in order to gear up for the next battle round. Y’all, I cannot express my gratitude and love enough. All the prayers, the calls, the texts, the visits, the little favors, have made this whole process bearable. Keep up the prayers and we’re facing tomorrow with our game face!

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The next couple of days after my birthday were a bit scary. I didn’t journal the process of what initially landed us in the ICU because to be honest, it scared the hell out of me. It was a blur of his numbers dropping, of nurses in and out, of them putting an NG tube in. The first girl couldn’t get it in. They grabbed another girl to do it who was a total angel (they actually all were angels) so we had nurses handing him things, nurses putting things in him, and there I am in the middle of it all with Bryan’s puke bag and providing the NG nurse ninja with an extra set of hands. We finally got the tube in him and got him over to ICU. We never left the ICT Here’s a bit of my journal entry for the 21st:

Today they bathed him. He’s been in and out of consciousness. [Our associate rector] came by this morning while [his mother] and [his brother] and I were in the conference room while they bathed him. We went back in and [our associate rector] anointed him and prayed over him. We went down to eat while they did the bronchoscopy. [His brother] was impressed with the updated cafeteria. When we came back up, they had finished and he was resting. I went home to shower and to pick up my glasses. When I got back, he was still in and out, but mostly out. I settled into my chair. Suddenly, I noticed his oxygen level dropping. It was dropping pretty quickly, so I grabbed a nurse. She ran in, saw the numbers dropping, hollered for a crash cart, and tried to wake him up. He woke up, she told him to breathe deeply, and he started breathing again. A few minutes later, the same thing happened. Our day nurse, B, said he may have to be put on a ventilator. They brought one that didn’t have to be put down his throat – one that just fit over his face. They couldn’t get it around the tube that was pulling the stomach bile out of his tummy. One of the doctors came in and suggested putting the ventilator with the tube in him and I agreed. He’s now sedated and resting. They’re doing hemodialysis on him. They’re going to try and see if he’ll breathe on his own tomorrow and see if he can have the tube taken out.

February 22, 2019

Day 19 of our hospital stay. The ventilator tube is out! He’s breathing good so apparently it was just the light anesthesia he was given for the bronchoscopy (add that to the growing list of things he’s sensitive to). We haven’t heard anything about the results of the bronchoscopy yet. His white blood count is crazy high. They were able to get a second IV in him so he now has an IV and midline pic in his left arm and an IV in his right. Everyone meet my husband, the human swiss cheese. That nurse was awesome, though. He used an ultrasound to find a place to put the IV. The main battle right now is getting the lungs back up to par. He has some fungus in them, light pneumonia was mentioned, and when he was getting the ENT line put in (through his nostrils to his tummy), he urped and some of it went into his lungs which is why we wound up in the ICU to begin with. Then, they’ll deal with the blockage in his intestine. There’s lots of other things going on that the doctors seem to find on a daily basis, but we’re just dealing with them as we can. He’s getting hemodialysis today. He got it last night as well. I can’t be in the same room when they do the procedure and it takes about four hours so I had time to come down to the cafe to grab a bite to eat. The hemodialysis helps to heal the places on his leg and helps with his creatinine levels. I have learned more medical terms in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life. I’m discovering one of my favorite places to sit and eat in the hospital isn’t in the cafeteria – it’s in the front lobby area. The eating area in the cafeteria is quiet and mundane. Everyone is focused on eating and the reason they’re in a hospital café in the first place. The lobby is active. Everyone walks with a purpose. I see people lugging suitcases, books, pillows, flowers, and food. Doctors and nurses walk more slowly in than they do coming out. Man, you ain’t seen a purposeful walk like the walk of a doctor or nurse trying to get out of the hospital. It’s like they’re afraid they’re going to get stopped by someone before they’re able to escape out of the front door. I totally get that, but the evil person inside of me wants to stop one just for the sheer fun of it and pretend I need to ask them a question (I apologize for nothing). The other reason I like sitting in the front lobby are the couches. My poor tush just sinks down into that couch. There’s a lot of chatter – white noise. We are hoping. We’re hoping to get stabilized so we can get back into a regular room. We’re hoping we can get healed up enough to go home to continue the process. This is the hope John Sewell had talked about all those years – hope, in spite of the facts.

As always, please keep up the prayers. Pray for healing, pray for both of us to have strength when we think we don’t have enough, pray for us to have peace regardless, and pray for the doctors and nurses who have their hands full with our case, but who continue to shower us with their uplifting attitudes and competent care.

I have a little more to add from a portion of my journal for that day:

Dr. M came in and said his white blood count was in the 3000s rather than the 100s. He’s not sure why. The IV in his right arm blew and they put another one in using an ultrasound. That one blew. They tried again and got it. They gave him a breathing treatment. The pulmonologist came in and said they were going to do a pst where they see if Bryan can breathe on his own. The day nurse used an ultrasound to put in a second IV and found calcification of his blood vessels.

I have little memory of the pst, but I do remember that it seemed to take forever until he got to where they were comfortable enough to let him breathe on his own.

February 23, 2019

Day 20: Bryan’s IV in his right arm blew this morning. They did a pic line in his right arm to replace it. I noticed his arm swelling around the blood pressure cuff later and the nurse took it off. She thought the swelling and redness was from the blown IV at first, but I told her about the blood clot and she agreed that it was probably from that. He now has one blood clot in his right arm, two in the left, and the big one in his right leg that was discovered our first night here. The results from the peritoneal dialysis sample showed his white blood count went from the 3000 range to the 900 range which is good even though no one seems to know why it went to 3000 in the first place or how it got to 900. His nose bled a bit today from the ENG line. He also got three breathing treatments to help his lungs out. They’re giving him pain medication tonight at 10 so he can sleep through the night.

Our current little project is the bowel obstruction. They inserted a special dye through the ENG line that apparently not only allows them to see it through an x-ray, but it’s also water-soluble and theoretically is supposed to break up the blockage. They’ve x-rayed him five times now and will be doing it multiple times throughout the night to monitor the progress. After seeing the first x-ray, I can now safely say I know Bryan inside and out.

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Bryan’s stress level at this point was pretty high. Looking back, I wish I had asked them for something to help that. I was completely helpless at this point. I could do nothing to help alleviate his pain or his fears that he kept locked inside. Friends came with food, ate with us, talked with us, and for a while, things seemed somewhat normal. Or as normal as it could possibly be. I had started going home and getting showers, but by this point, I had gone three days with no shower or changing my clothes. One of Bryan’s doctors came by to visit. Another one of his friends came by to visit and we all watched the Memphis Tigers play Wichita State.

February 24, 2019

Coffee is absolutely necessary to keep me from babbling on like a 2-year-old. Especially in this place. #Day21

It’s been very calm and peaceful this morning which is unusual in a hospital, especially in ICU. Bryan is sleeping and slept pretty well despite x-ray coming in and out. They’re still taking pictures and came by about 15 minutes ago. Our priority now is the bowel obstruction. If we can get that broken up, then we can start getting him back on his regular pills vs the IV method. Once that happens and they can get his blood pressure stabilized, THAT will get us back into our lovely suite complete with couch. We just need his Diva Bowels to quit horsing around and start doing their job. In the meantime, I have enough coffee in my system to crochet a bit. That’s my true stress reliever.

Before you come up to visit, call or text me first only because he does hemodialysis at all hours, it’s a 3-4 hour process, and no one can be in the room during it (including me). 😜 He’s on it right now so he should be done about 4:30 or 5.

I was able to crochet only a couple of times while we were in the hospital. By the time we were in there for a couple of weeks, my brain had melted. Bryan’s brain had melted. We watched ESPN and I watched movies while he slept. It was all we had the mental capacity to do.

February 25, 2019

Today’s story is about poop. 💩 They had been running x-rays all night, tracking the dye as it traveled through his small intestine. Unfortunately, the dye wasn’t working and instead of moving on through and taking the poop with it, the dye back-pedaled and came out the other way. The general surgeon had been in and out over the last day or so, talking to us about possible surgery. He was reluctant to operate, but now we’re at a point where we’re out of options. On the x-rays of the small intestine, the surgeon saw pockets of stool all over the inside of the small intestine that are just hanging out in true CF style. Bryan is going to have surgery mid-morning about 9-ish. They’re going to discontinue his immunosuppressant medications and his blood thinners in preparation for the surgery. The peritoneal dialysis port will have to be removed during the procedure and they won’t be able to put it back in so we’ll be doing hemodialysis from now on. Then the surgeon is going to literally push the poop into his colon. The results for the bronchoscopy also came back. They found E. coli present in his lungs which means we now have to don blue gowns and blue gloves before we go into his room. I feel like a Smurf. This is our 22nd day in the hospital. I lose track of the days. We came in Monday, February 4th. Is my math right? They come by daily to do rounds. You don’t truly feel like you’re in a fishbowl until you’re in ICU when they do rounds. The nurse in charge explains the case to a large group of nurses, PCAs, and other folks who stare intently into our room and take notes on their tablets. I have to keep myself from waving or doing something silly. It’s so odd – being gawked at as if we were an animal in a zoo. For the surgery, we’re getting kicked out of our room temporarily. If you come visit, come up to the 2nd floor and the first waiting room you see right across from the elevators is the one we’ll be in. I don’t know how long the surgery will take, but I’ll post updates tomorrow as I get them. I apologize in advance for clogging up the news feed. Pray, pray, pray! This will be a big surgery. If this is successful, then he will be able to start receiving meds orally and start eating real food. THEN, we’ll be able to move back into our lovely little suite from whence we came. THEN, we can continue the process of hopefully getting well enough to break out of this place.

Bryan had been gurgly all night and the dye that was back-pedaling was the culprit. It was mixed with some of the stool from his intestine. He threw up quite a bit. It was the first time he had thrown up since being in the ICU. His IV was hurting by this point so one of the nurses fixed that. His Mom came by to sit with him so I could go home to do some laundry, pay bills, and get a quick shower. We found out Bryan was going to lose his peritoneal dialysis catheter so at that point, he was going to have to continue the hemodialysis. His response, “I hate my body.”

February 26, 2019

We’re currently waiting on the surgeon. He’s operating on someone else at the moment and we’re slated for 9:00 to 9:30. The procedure should last about an hour to an hour and a half. Y’all. I am so beyond touched. Not only are you guys posting comments on my updates that you’re praying, I’ve seen people post on their own walls to pray. With this much prayer chatter going on, God is going to do His thing just to shut us all up.

Bryan’s still in surgery. I got a call saying they’re about halfway through, but everything seemed to be going good so far!

He’s out and in recovery! The surgery was a success! In order to avoid the gory details, he was quite literally full of poop (I’m thinking it’ll be a while before I let him live that one down 😜). He will be asleep 3-5 days (yes, you read that right). He’ll be in ICU. Then he’ll start back on a liquid diet and we will go from there one day at a time. UPDATE: My poor brain. His BOWELS will be asleep 3-5 days – not him. 😂

February 27, 2019

The surgeon came in this morning and said everything looked good. He’ll get the stitches out in five days. Bryan’s now on a liquid diet so we’ll test that here in a few minutes. He’s taking his medications orally (yay!) and getting breathing treatments. He has three germs in his lungs that the antibiotics should clear out in a week or two. The NG tube is stopped so I’m hoping that gets taken out here soon. They had him sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed this morning and had him standing briefly with the walker at lunchtime. His blood pressure seems to finally be leveling out a bit. They have him on morphine with a button he can push. We’re still moving forward so I’m hoping we can continue that and not take a bunch of steps backwards again.

February 28, 2019

So [his mother] is sitting with Bryan while I come down to the SS office to get a bit of paperwork done. It’s beyond crowded. I feel like pulling a Mr. Bean.

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At this point, we were going to need to get things in place for long-term care until the kidney transplant. I had gone into the SS office and it was a madhouse. I got to a care worker, sat down, he asked me a question, and I fell apart. He was wonderful. He’d been on dialysis himself and shared his story with me. While it wasn’t the same as Bryan’s, it was so nice to hear someone’s happy-ever-after story. I needed that.

Day 25: Today is hemodialysis day. I’m not allowed to be in the ICU room at the hospital so I took the opportunity to run home and get laundry done because I’m out of clothes. It feels very weird to be back in the apartment. It’s almost like it’s not even home. After 25 days in the hospital, the world shrinks a bit. Our time will come when we can get out of the hospital, come home, and build our new routine. Bryan has lived in the moment his whole life so we continue to do that while also hoping we are free from hospital beds, hospital food, and the marking of days by the nurse shift change.

March 1, 2019

Today was a big day. Bryan had a bowel movement, he was propped up in a chair where he could eat Jello and broth, and they removed the NG tube as well as the morphine. He sat in the chair a good bit of the day and is now back in his bed. I guess I had imagined a different scenario playing out when he was able to poop. I envisioned pooping, smiling, and halfway coherent conversation. Instead, he pooped, he argued, and he’s almost as lethargic as he was when he was on the morphine. He coughs and it hurts his tummy where the stitches are located. I don’t know a whole lot about morphine so maybe it stays in your system for a while? Nonetheless, he has made excellent progress and we’re that much closer to getting back into a regular room. He was able to take his pills and eat on his own at lunch. His dinner came a little bit ago and he stated he wanted the Jello. He appears to have forgotten all about that request, though. He’s nodded off, buried under warm blankets and pillows. He’ll get his pills shortly after the shift change and hopefully he’ll get those down without me having to be the pill Nazi.

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He had thrown up a bit and it may have been from him drinking too much liquid while he was trying to take his meds. They had done another ultrasound on his arm with the IV as well. He was burping some which was a possible sign of his bowel system waking back up. His pooping was a good thing, but I missed it because I was at the SS office. I was ecstatic when I heard. He was grouchy. I realized then how much I missed conversation. I would have given anything to have talked about anything but the hospital. I also started getting an overpowering urge to talk to people about Bryan’s life.

The ultrasound came back and revealed his right shoulder area had more blood clots.

March 2, 2019

Coffee has been my savior these early mornings.

The hospital does a pretty good job with themes based on current holidays so today I get to enjoy some king cake and coffee. I hate to complain because our situation is just beyond our control, but what goofy, small thing do I miss? Being able to enjoy this king cake on a proper dessert plate and the coffee in a well-loved mug.

March 3, 2019

We had a bit of a setback last night. He had been taking liquids and sitting up in a chair. Later in the evening, he felt burpy, but still took his meds. About midnight or so, he got gurgly and start throwing up some the liquid and just couldn’t stop. He aspirated again. He’s now intubated, they put the NG tube back in, and he’s sedated. The plan for today is to check on his lungs and to slowly wean him back off to see if we can get him off the intubator and moving forward again towards getting out of ICU.

When you’re in ICU, you hear Code ___ get announced too many times. Someone has flatlined. When it happened in our ICU unit, we would watch as doctors and nurses would go into high energy mode and pile into the patient’s room to administer CPR, administer paddles, and do whatever it took to keep that person’s soul from drifting off into the netherworld.

Here was what I wrote in my journal later:

Bryan was a bit cranky Saturday evening. He had been taking his pills slowly. He was on a liquid diet, but hadn’t eaten much. He drank plenty of fluids with his pills, though. He didn’t like to be repeatedly reminded to take his pills. We got our night nurse team, R and a PCA. The PCA was the one who administered Bryan’s medication. She kept asking us things that we didn’t know because we just always went along with what the nurses did. She was starting to annoy Bryan and to be honest, she was starting to annoy me as well. She administered the night meds and I got Richie to double-check and make sure she had the right ones. I kept trying to get Bryan to take his meds, but I was unusually tired that evening. I left him to it and drifted off to sleep. I woke up to hear the nurse giving him his meds. Then I woke to hear Bryan coughing. I got up to help him out. He kept coughing and started throwing up some. Another nurse gave him some medicine for nausea, but it didn’t seem to help. He continued to throw up and suddenly became unresponsive. He was sitting up and breathing, but he wasn’t responding to me at all. It was as if he were asleep with his eyes open. I called the nurse and said he wasn’t responsive. They came in and tried to get him to say something, but couldn’t. After consulting with Dr. E, they set things up to intubate him and re-insert the NG tube. They called in Dr. W to do the intubation. That whole process took a couple of hours. Things were stabilizing until about 7 this morning. They had discovered he had aspirated and acidic bile had gotten into his lungs. His body started to shut down and he coded. Our room was suddenly filled with people. They couldn’t get a blood pressure reading so they inserted an arterial line. They used his hemodialysis port to put IVs in. I was already upset, but about lost it when they had to do chest compressions. I thought to myself, is this it? I’m not done talking to him yet. We’re not done with our lives together. The whole scenario was unreal. [The PCA], that sweet man, came in to help with the chest compressions and came over to hug me. Another nurse asked me if I was okay and if I needed to step out. Another doctor who was new was a bit overly dramatic and was like a puppy dog in the middle of all his older buddies. He was hopping around, giving orders cheerily and trying to put an IV in. He was mostly ignored. The doctor who came in to assist was very calm and proficient. Now it’s 8:00pm. They’ve weaned him off of the heart rate meds and his heart is beating on its own. They’ve weaned him off of one blood pressure medication. Tomorrow, they’ll try to wean him off of the ventilator.

He was now almost completely unresponsive.

My journal entry from March 4th:

Overnight, the nurse, woke me up and said Bryan’s eyes weren’t dilating and they were taking him down for a CT scan. The CT scan ruled out a stroke, but he’s been off of the sedation now for 12 hours and there’s very little response. If I massage his feet, he wiggles his toes. They did an EEG as well and we’re waiting to hear back from that. Dr. E is supposed to be by today to talk to us. The next 24 hours are crucial. If Bryan gets taken off the ventilator and breathes on his own, then we’ll let him and then let whatever happens, happen. If he can’t be taken off the ventilator, then we’re going to have to make a very difficult decision. I’m running on automatic today. Bryan never wanted to be on a ventilator.

“I’m a success today because I had a friend who believed in me and I didn’t have the heart to let him down.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

That “him” is Bryan. I don’t want to lose Bryan. We are just beginning our life together. We have too many things to learn about each other. I haven’t irritated him nearly enough. We haven’t been able to have a house together. We’ve only been able to enjoy Saturday morning breakfasts for a short period of time. There are too many things I want to do with him.

March 5, 2019

We had a bit of a scare after he aspirated on Sunday. He’s still on a ventilator and we’re going to give it a few days to see if he improves based on results from the CT scan and results from the EEG which we haven’t seen yet. I realize that’s a bit vague so I can provide more details via FB Messenger. We’re still here in ICU, just silently waiting and watching and talking smack to Bryan to try and get him to respond. ❤️

This was on Tuesday. It was all I could mentally post on Facebook for everyone. Family and friends started coming by in earnest.

March 6, 2019

A friend shared a set of verses from Philippians with me yesterday. I pulled two verses out that I’m holding closely for the next few days. We’re holding steady at the moment. They’re doing a more extensive EEG today. He’s supposed to have hemodialysis today as well (so if you had planned to come up, let me know first to make sure he’s not still in dialysis). I can provide more details via messenger. As always, keep us in your prayers. Pray for healing, pray for my mental strength as well as the mental strength of our family, pray for quiet peace and confidence for our family as we wait over the next few days. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. ~ Philippians 4:6-7

My journal entry for March 6th:

We’re in a countdown now. A countdown until we pull Bryan off of the ventilator. We’re hoping, in spite of the facts. We’re hoping Bryan wakes up, recognizes who he is and we can start the road to recovery. The facts are that he has brain damage and we’re not clear on how much. The next few days are allowing his body to recover to the extent that it’s going to recover and if there’s no improvement by Sunday, we’re pulling him off of the ventilator. I’m not sure what to expect with this.

March 7, 2019

I am so sorry for the delay-it’s been an emotional afternoon. I am sad to say that Bryan has left us for a better place. We’re setting things up over the next couple of days so if you message me and I don’t respond immediately, that’s why. Message me anyway. Thank you, everyone, for your prayers, your assistance, and your thoughts. He was my best buddy. ❤️

Piecing the Jigsaw Puzzle of our Last Month When Bryan and I were in the hospital the month of February last year, I kept everyone updated through Facebook because it was easier to do a mass post than update everyone individually.

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pharmacyfollies · 7 years ago

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Dumbshittery At It’s Finest: Pharmacy Follies

-Perhaps it's just the asshole company I work for but we can't get any damn Atenolol in. Our supplier says it's on a long term back order. We haven't had any for a few months. Because we can't have people going without their blood pressure medication, we've been calling doctor's to get it switched. No biggy. There's plenty of blood pressure medications out there to choose from and if people don't want to switch, they're free to get the brand name but no one wants to pay a million dollars a month for that shit. ANYWAYS, there's ALWAYS gotta be those people who cannot accept a shortage of medication and it goes like this....

Me: "Atenolol is on a long term manufacturer back order. That means the manufacturers are having a hard time supplying the medication to the masses. So what we have to do is contact your doctor to switch you to something else."

Idiot: "So you can't refill my medication?"

Me: "No. It's unavailable. We'll contact your doctor for a different medication."

Idiot: "I've been on this for years! So you're telling me you're not going to give me my medication?"

Me: "I can't give you what we don't have."

Idiot: "Can you call the store down the street to see if they have it?"

Me: "They don't have it either. This is a manufacturer issue. It's not available."

Idiot: "Can you order it for tomorrow? I really need this!"

Me: "I can't order it. It's unavailable. Our supplier is saying it may be available in September."

Idiot: "I can't wait until September! I need this today! This is for BLOOD PRESSURE!!!"

Me: "I know what it's for. Which is why we're going to contact your doctor to get you a different blood pressure medication."

Idiot: "A different one may not work for me!"

Me: "Would you want brand name? We have that. Let me see if your insurance covers it. They do cover it but your insurance is charging $100 for it."

Idiot: "I'm not paying that much when I only pay $5 for the generic!"

Me: "Understandable. So we'll just contact the doctor to switch it to another generic that will be comparable in price to the Atenolol."

Idiot: "Can you just go in the back and check to make sure you don't have Atenolol?"

Yeah, let me go check in "The Back". You know that elusive place where I have to enter through a secret door, swing on vines over crocodile infested waters, climb ladders, and elude snakes to a chamber where we have a never ending supply of drugs.

-Asshole: "I picked up this prescription the other day and I want to return this. It has a hole in the box."

Me: "Was the glucometer damaged?"

Asshole: "I don't know. I refused to open the box because it has a hole in it."

Me: "The glucometer looks fine."

Asshole: "Would you use a glucometer if there was a hole in the box?"

Me: "If the box looked like this, yes I would because I'm not using the box to test my blood sugar."

Asshole: "Well, I want a new one!"

That's when I paged for a manager. I didn't have time for this dumbshittery.

-So the asshole with the glucometer wrote in a complaint. In it, they asked "Do they hate women?" and the very next sentence asked "Are they lesbians?". Anyone wanna take a stab at that dumbfuckery? Lord have mercy.

-Aye, FB was kind enough to remind me of when my Uncle came to visit me at the pharmacy 4 years ago....

-There's nothing like getting a visit at that shitter of a pharmacy from my Uncle.

Chief: "What did the doctor send over?"

Me: "Azithromycin. It's an antibiotic. What's wrong?"

Chief: "You know how I like to go swimming at the pool? I got water in my ear and it's been bothering me."

Me: "I'm surprised he didn't give you any ear drops for that."

Chief: "I know. The doctor's an idiot. He said my ear looked red and asked if I've been flying. I was like 'Yeah, my fuckin plane is right outside, you asshole!' What the fuck kind of question was that?!"

Needless to say, I damn near died laughing. ROFLMAO!! My uncle's a riot!

-Today was a fucking day from Hell. Just pure fuckery. Apparently, it started last night. All sorts of problems but the highlight was when someone sent her kids to drop off a prescription for Norco. Apparently, she received a month supply a few weeks ago so M asked the kids why was she bringing in another prescription. She had surgery so M was asking if she still had any of the last prescription left. They didn't know. M told the kids she had to call the doctor just to verify that he's aware of her previous script and get the ok to release this script. She called the doctor, had him paged and told the kids that she would call the mom when she heard back from he doctor.

So why in the fuck did these punk ass kids go home and tell their mother that M refused to fill the Norco because, in their words, "She's a junkie"? The mother calls up screaming at M. M tells her that's not what she told them and explains the situation. The mother wants to know why M would even discuss her pharmacy business with her children. Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw, if you have a problem with your kids knowing your prescription business then why in the fuck would you send them to the pharmacy to drop off and pick up your prescription? M tells her that until she hears back from the doctor, she cannot fill the prescription. The mother is demanding to speak to a manager because she's pissed off that M called her a junkie, because she spoke to her kids about her personal prescription business and how she needs her Norco and all that jazz. At one point, V got on the phone and told her "Your children totally lied to you about what the pharmacist said. The pharmacist did not say that to them. She asked them questions pertaining to the prescription and informed them that she needed to speak to the doctor to get the ok to fill it early so I don't know why they're telling you otherwise." but that wasn't good enough.

The punk ass kids came back to the pharmacy, causing a fucking scene and started giving one of the assistant managers some shit, although she had no clue as to what the fuck was going on. That's when M had enough of that nonsense and asked them why did they lie to their mother about what was said. What was their reason for causing all of this? Apparently, these idiots were recording the conversation because they're going to call Corporate. It's a good fucking thing I wasn't there. It would be a cold day in Hell before I'd have some punk ass bust down kids try to cause drama, for whatever hood rat reason, and letting them get away with that. I would've handed their prescription back and told them to get the fuck outta my pharmacy and take their bullshit somewhere else. The bad part is M was really upset by that. She was telling me that she went home and was like "I didn't go to school for this. This isn't what I want" and I don't blame her. We're short handed, due to hours being cut, and we're running around like fucking nuts. The last thing anyone wants to deal with are 2 drama queen cunts and their equally cunty mother.

-So to make my day complete, one of the guys from upfront decides to show me that our company can afford to pay our CEO over 10 million dollars but somehow, they can't find the money to properly staff our stores. A lot of people got cut hours, they're working fucked up schedules that change every fucking week, some employees have to find work at different stores just to make enough hours to keep their insurance and we're running around like someone lit our asses on fire in order to try to keep the stores afloat. I'm lucky if I get 5 cent raise every year but this asshole makes over 10 million. When I saw that shit, I told everyone to make sure they take all of their fucking breaks, make sure they get their 30 minute lunch and walk out the fucking door the minute their shift ends. If this company can afford to give 1 person that much money then they can afford to kick a LOT of money down to a LOT of people down at store level. If they choose not to then you get what you pay for which means I'm NOT going out of my fucking way for this company. Fuck em! I'm tired of this shit. This is how I'll be walking out of the pharmacy henceforth....

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-So the other day, I see one of the fucking fruitcake patients in line. One day, she had a fucking flip out on me and made a complaint accusing me of assaulting her. Which we all know is a lie because I wouldn't be allowed to humor you silly shites from jail but that's neither here nor there.

Anyways, we had a floater pharmacist so I asked him to grab the counter because I refuse to take care of her. Here's where the fun begins....

Fruitcake: "I need to refill my dad's Atenolol."

Floater Pharmacist: "Atenolol is on a back order. It's not available."

FC: "Well, I spoke to the Pharmacy Manager last month and she assured me it would be in by the end of August."

FP: "It was supposed to be released by the end of August but they extended the back order to September. At this point, we're calling doctors and having them switch patients to different medications."

FC: "My dad can't take anything else! He had a heart attack and can only take Atenolol! I was told it would be in at the end of August!"

FP: "We can try to order some for tomorrow."

That's when I fucking interjected and told him, loud enough for her to hear me....

Me: "It's on a long term back order and will not come in tomorrow."

FC: "My dad really needs this! He can NOT go without it!"

FP: "We'll try to order it. It may be in tomorrow."

Me: "HOMES! I'm telling you, it will NOT come in tomorrow!"

FP: "It may come in."

Me: "It's NOT going to come in."

He continues to speak to Fruitcake about how we'll put it on order for tomorrow, it may come in and she wants to know his name, when the Pharmacy Manager will be in and all that jazz. She leaves and that's when I fucking let him have it....

Me: "You should've NEVER told her that! She's a fucking nut job and when she finds out that it's not in, she's going to raise Hell and cause a huge scene. Don't be too surprised when you get a complaint because you told her it would be in. That's why she asked for your name."

Well, spank my ass and call me Charles, guess who comes sauntering in on Wednesday night looking for fucking Atenolol because the floater pharmacist told her it would be ordered? She catches H in the aisle....

FC: "What's going on with my dad's Atenolol? Last time, you told me that it would be in at the end of August."

H: "They were supposed to release it at the end of August but they extended the back order to sometime in September. The last time you were here, I told you it may be best to contact the doctor to get it switched to something else but you didn't want to do that. I do know that another chain had some in stock so we may be able to call them and have the prescription transferred to them."

FC: "Can you do that? He needs his Atenolol."

H: "I'm off the clock right now but if you go back there, one of the girls can help you."

So you can imagine everyone's shock when she cuts the line, goes to the consultation window and starts screaming for V.

V: "Why are you screaming at me?"

FC: "H told me that she spoke to you regarding my dad's Atenolol!"

V: "H didn't tell me anything. She's not even here."

FC: "I saw her in her in the aisle and she said that you will call the other store!"

V: "What other store? I don't know what you're talking about."

FC: "H said that this store has it!"

V: "Do you have their phone number?"

FC: "She said you have it. You can look it up on your phone!"

V: "I don't have a cell phone to look it up."

FC: "She said you did! You know, the last time I was here, the Pharmacy Manager told me the Atenolol would be in and now it's not and my dad really needs this!!"

V: "It's on a long term back order. No one here has any control over that. We can only go by what our supplier tells us."

FC: "MY DAD REALLY NEEDS THIS!! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE PROBLEM IS!!!"

At this point, M the Pharmacist is on her phone looking up the phone number so she can call that pharmacy. Fruitcake is having a fucking flip out because no one is giving her 100% attention, because there's other fucking people to take care of, and she makes the mistake of demanding to M....

FC: "YOU GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE AND TALK TO ME!!!"

M put her fucking ass on ignore which set her off even more. M is on the phone with the other pharmacy getting it transferred while Fruitcake is standing at the consultation window just screaming and ranting and raving. That's when one of the assistant managers came over and she began to ream her a new asshole. Another assistant manager came over and she's reaming him a new asshole too. She refused to have a seat, she's screaming like a lunatic, V's trying to take care of other patients but can hardly hear them, it's going on 45 minutes and V had enough.....

V: "Will you be quiet for one minute! I can NOT hear while you're screaming!"

FC: "WHAT IF THIS WAS YOUR DAD?!!!"

V: "MY DAD IS DEAD!!"

And V had to walk away because after that, she was about to go off on this asshole. They finally get it transferred and M tells her...

M: "It's transferred. You can go get the medication at the other pharmacy."

FC: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S TRANSFERRED?!!"

M: "It's ready at the other pharmacy."

FC: "SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!!!"

M: "You go there and pick it up!"

FC: "WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GO?!"

M: "To the other pharmacy located at XXX and XXXX."

FC: "I HAVE TO GO THERE TO GET THE MEDICINE?!!!"

M: "Yes! That's the only pharmacy in the area that has it! That's what you wanted!"

And that's when she got M's name, both assistant managers name, the district managers name and is making a phone call to complain about how horrible *she* was treated. Thank God I wasn't there. I would've lost my job because I probably would've assaulted her stupid ass for real, lol.

-Homeboy comes to the pharmacy to drop off a script for Oxycontin. The script looked weird, as it was an uncommon blank, and he had no insurance and was more than willing to pay cash. I enter it, tell him to come back later and B decides to call and verify it. While she's on the phone, he comes back to pick it up. It turns out to be a fake and the doctor wants him arrested. While we're waiting for the Man to show up, some people in the drive-thru are dropping off a script for Norco, on the same blank and same doctor as the fake Oxycontin. B calls the doctor back and sure as shit, that one's fake too. The Man rolls up 6 deep, pull Homeboy in the immunization room and began to have a little chat with him.

The highlight of this is I was completely unaware that we had some good looking cops on the squad. Some of my regulars are Po but don't look half as good as these dudes. These guys must be rookies but hot damn! They can frisk me and rough me up anytime! But I digress. So they're hauling Homeboy away in cuffs and B is telling them that someone else came through the drive-thru and dropped off another fake. At that point, they already drove off so there was nothing they could do.

But it gets better. About an hour later, guess who's in the drive-thru coming to pick up their Norco? B gets back on the horn with the Man and gives them the low down. C takes their money and pretends she's fetching the script when the Man, some undercover Po AND the God damn K-9 unit come flying in and surround these assholes in the drive-thru! More hot cops! As I walk past the drive-thru to see the action, I caught a glimpse of the passengers face. He had this stupid look as if to say: "FUCK! BUSTED!" and I damn near died laughing. One of the hot cops comes in and was like....

Po: "We're back! The fuck's going on around here today?!"

Me: "I'm telling you, you all might as well get jobs here since we're always calling you!"

I go back to the drive and see the K-9 unit and I'm getting really excited because I'm hoping to see one of these assholes try to make a break for it, the Po set the dog loose which results in a severe police dog regulation ass whooping mauling but I wasn't that lucky. These numbskulls didn't put up a fight and got put in the back of the squad car without incident. Damn!

And that was my day today. I'm fucking done for! I've had enough. I had to break out the Vodka because I'm dreading going back to work tomorrow because if this is how the last few days have been, I can only imagine what kind of fuckery awaits us tomorrow! God help us!!

-A PF fan shared this one. I can't anymore with these numbskulls!!

-This whole week has been a clusterfuck of crapness. Being that the hours cut has resulted in less staff, it's all fuckered up in the pharmacy. We're running around like nuts, nothing is getting done and we have to deal with peoples shit attitudes on top of that. At this point, I have no fucking patience for the latter simply because I don't have time to listen to someone bitch and moan about shit that's beyond my control when I got 10 other son'bitches in line waiting to be helped. The one that took the fucking cake today was an asshole noticing a sign, that's been up for damn near all fucking summer, explaining that there's been a change in our loyalty card and that change is any bonus you earn is no longer good for 3 years, it's only good for a year now and if you've been hoarding your bonus since the inception of this loyalty card, you're going to lose it if you didn't redeem it by a certain date.

Of course, most of these shit wits lack reading comprehension so I had to explain that the company was NOT doing away with the bonus, they just reduced how long the bonus is good for. So I'm at the counter when Asshole saunters up and demands to know.....

Asshole: "Why didn't anyone inform me of this?"

Me: "Inform you of what?"

Asshole: "This."

And he points to the sign.

Me: "The sign has been there since June. It's one of many posted around the store. That's one of the ways we've been informing people."

Asshole: "Well, I'm hardly in here so I didn't know about that. So I'm going to lose my bonus. That's real nice."

Me: "That's not what the sign says. It explains that the bonus earned is only good for a year instead of 3 years when originally started. Unless you haven't been using the bonus since the program started, you're not going to lose anything."

Asshole: "Someone should've informed me!"

Me: "The registers have also been printing out more information about it. You've never received anything about it?"

Asshole: "No. I don't think that's right! Someone should've told me! That's not fair!"

Me: "Feel free to take it up with Corporate. They're the ones who came up with the change."

Asshole: "Don't you think that's wrong?! People should be notified about this!"

Me: "It doesn't matter what I think because I have no control over that, I did not make the changes so any issues you have is better taken up at Corporate level. You want their phone number so you can express your displeasure over this?"

Asshole: "No, that's ok."

Then what the fuck was the fucking point of bitching about this shit to me?!!!! GAH!!!

-So the company decided to ask for donations to the Red Cross for those affected by the hurricane. It's done via the pin pad. Great in theory. Horrific in reality because I deal with a bunch of shit wits. Here's how that went down....

Me: "Would you like to donate to the Red cross for those affected by the hurricane?"

Idiot presses $10. I ring up their script and ask....

Me: "Any questions for the pharmacist?"

Idiot: "No."

Me: "Have a nice day."

Idiot: "You forgot to give me my cash."

Me: "Huh?"

Idiot: "I wanted cash back. I pressed $10."

Me: "That wasn't for cash back. That was for a donation to the Red Cross."

Idiot: "I didn't want to donate to the Red Cross! I wanted cash back!"

Me: "Uh, I asked you if you wanted to donate because the pin pad specifically asked for it. If you didn't want to donate, why didn't you choose no thanks?"

Idiot: "Because I thought that was for cash back."

And along those lines, if you do not want to donate, I do NOT need to know your excuse. It's totally ok if you choose not to. I don't care. I'm not judging. I just don't need to know that you donated yesterday, you're broke, you prefer to donate to other charities, you're not convinced the money really goes to the Red Cross or any other fucking reason you come up with. Just hit "no thanks" and go on your fucking way!

-Numbskull: "I'm from out of town. I forgot my medication. Can I get a weeks worth?"

Me: "Sure. What's your date of birth and name?"

She gives me all that info and I ask....

Me: "I see you take one tablet daily. 7 tablets is good?"

Numbskull: "Yes."

Me: "Ok, your insurance won't cover it because you just picked up a 30 day supply 2 days ago. I would have to call your insurance to see if they'll do an override or I can bill it to a discount card and it will be $9."

Numbskull: "What do you mean? I only need 7 tablets."

Me: "That is for 7 tablets."

Numbskull: "I don't think you're understanding me. I forgot my medication at home. I only need 7 tablets."

Me: "I understood you just fine. For 7 tablets, it's going to be $9."

Numbskull: "Why would I pay for 7 tablets?"

Me: "Because that's the only way you can get 7 tablets."

Numbskull: "You're telling me that I have to pay for 7 tablets?"

Me: "Yes."

Numbskull: "You can't just give me 7 tablets?"

Me: "No."

Numbskull: "Are you serious?"

Me: "Yes."

Numbskull: "Well, every other pharmacy would just give me 7 tablets at no charge!"

Me: "You're free to visit those pharmacies. However, at *this* pharmacy, if you want 7 tablets, it's going to be $9."

Numbskull: "That's ridiculous! I'm not paying $9! I already picked up my medicine the other day! I can't believe you just won't give me 7 tablets to hold me over until I get home! I guess I'll go without my blood pressure medication!"

Me: "Ok, you have a good day. I can help the next customer!"

As the next patient, who happens to be one of my regulars, comes to the counter, he heard the whole conversation and is looking at Numbskull up and down as if she's nuttier than a bag of squirrel shit. I'm about to enter in his prescription when Numbskull interrupts...

Numbskull: "So you're really not going to give me the medication?"

Regular: "Lady. How many times does she have to tell you that if you want to get the medication, it's going to be $9! I heard it. Everyone else heard it. Is it that difficult to understand that unless you fork over $9, you're NOT getting free medication?!"

And she stomped off.

Regular: "Oh my fucking God! I don't know how you can deal with these idiots all day! I You have the patience of a saint! She really thought she could come in here and get free medicine because she left hers at home?"

Me: "I guess. I wonder if these same people go to other places and expect free shit because they left something at home."

Regular: "Seriously! And if you ever snap and kill one of these assholes, I'll help raise your bail to spring you from the joint!"

Well, at least some of my patients are kind hearted decent people. ROFLMAO!!! Lord have mercy.

#pharmacy #pharmacy tech #pharmacist #pharmacy technician #pharmacy hell #pharmacy follies

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ofcloudsandstars · 7 years ago

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.。. ☆ :* Hey Everyone! °☆.。.:*

I am now ~officially~ back on this blog. My full undivided attention will be here now. Sorry for the lack of interaction but my life has been an adventure for the past two weeks and a disaster for the last one. The transition back has been hard and I don't know why I am somehow just suffering so much for it, it's almost laughable and ludicrous.

I will post more about my personal disasters below in a read me but I will be trying to focus on good things since Autumn's Climax is passing (a time in my personal wheel where I focus on the height of each season before their pinnacle (crossquarter sabbat) and for autumn it generally means nice long walks in forests, making cider, enjoying seasonal treats etc etc) today Venus moves in Libra and my job let me take home some white roses so I might do some self love spells with that, and Samhaintide is nearly upon us! (though I know MANY prefer to just celebrate the 1st of October, I enjoy waiting until the 15th-20th since I just like to enjoy fall itself at it's peak.) I WILL be participating in Trick or Treat so feel free to drop me a message! (starting Tomorrow October 15th 2017) I might do the goosebumps bibliography again cause its fun.

Bonus: I will be opening up my submit box to see your most halloweeniest of lewks! I want to see that witch burst forth for the season! So if you submit a selfie of yourself in your Witchiest of attires/lewks then I will definitely give you a treat! Let that colorful lipstick flare, the hair run wild, the cloaks flow!

Anyway I will finish the high autumn queue and move into samhain for tomorrow. Down below in the read me is more personal stuff:

Coming back from London was like returning from Narnia to a hell like dystopia. It was like waking up from a magical wonderland to a nightmare reality and having to accept it. I mean I enjoy being in NYC but like anyone here can tell you it's called gotham city for a reason.

This place literally is a vibe of hell on earth. Where as London has this beautiful Harry Potter witchy vibe, New York has this grungy welcome-to-hell sin city witchy vibe. Both are cool in their own ways but you know its just.. rough.. transitioning back to the hell life lol. Day 1 the MTA machines were not working (oh and of course it would be too much to ask them to put up signs anywhere or even program the machine to) but it stole $121 from both my card accounts for monthly passes but didn't give me one. I had to wait for hours on the MTA phone line to have robotic messages just be like: sorry don't use the machines. I had to battle with my bank for a long time and now I don't have a debit card (great to help me from not spending a lot after the trip though lol. Looking on the bright side.) I had to work four days in a row for 8-10 hours including on my birthday. It was a miserable birthday and I would have been depressed if it was not for London. Also my private region is like.. having a Revolt. I guess I am lucky enough to have never had a yeast infection until now since they are common but this one is like D R A M A T I C including a symtomless UTI with a swollen ureter vessel. Me explaining to the doctors at the clinic that I met a wonderful man and in the moment we had a Night of Passion™ didn't cut it since they were all like wtf you filthy whore not having protected sex but yes here I am getting shamed by puritan doctors reluctantly giving me antibiotics as my vagina is on fire. I did a blood test for STDs just- in- case- and I did a formula soak of apple cider vinegar, sea salt and lavender oil for 20 minutes which was like drastically relieving. Since its not good to soak there too much (unless it's case of emergencies like this) I am just drinking a mixture of apple cider vinegar in glasses of water with probiotics every morning along with some herbal tea I've crafted (with red clovers, raspberry leaf, cherry wood, catnip) to help my condition. The symptoms are getting better but since my ureter is like doing some weird shit I think I am going to take the antibiotics though I am not a huge fan of it.

Anyway soon I will post all of the cool things I got from London that are magical and talk about it more but this is just a personal update on my life.

#witches of tumblr #trick or treat #autumn #personal

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lisaroquin · 7 years ago

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yeah, I’m a redneck, but leave the kids alone no matter your opinion

I suppose this all falls under the disconnect, absolute ignorance, and what most out in the sticks would just shake their heads or roll thier eyes with various levels of disbelief and/or disgust at 'city stupid'

Like the post I've seen several times on my dash about calf nose tags, or the post that has gone around several times at OMGWTFBBQ!!! Pigs are big?

THere was a post "I'll unfriend you if you post a dead deer and your six year old kid" and the hilariously stupid on that of "I don't kill anything for my food, I buy it at the grocery store like a civilized person"

"Civilized" in that case is extremely disconnected. Dude the meat you buy at the grocery store did not just magically appear. Yeah something was killed for it, even if you want to pretend otherwise and didn't do it yourself, something was killed for it. And a hell of a lot more of that animal was probably wasted than the deer some kid was proud as hell of bringing down. (Now trophy hunters after a set of antlers make me fucking see red, but that is not the majority--though the pricing of hunting permits certainly seem to cater to those fuckers. Nor do I have much use for 'fish-in-a-barrel hunting where wildlife ranches sell 'hunting packages' with animals trained to show up in certain spots because food is always left out there)

Hunting season is actually a necessary part of wildlife management--it is also limited, the amount of hunting permits can vary from year to year, and the type of permit (doe or buck for deer season since that is what is coming up and had the comment of stupidity about being 'civilized')

Wildlife management is about maintaining healthy wild populations. Overpopulation? Means starvation for a deer population because too many deer, not enough to eat, that crosses over to damaged and destroyed crops--which if there's enough of that, your civilized food--particularly cereals or grain based of any type go up in cost. Farmers financial issues can result from that--and guess what civilized folks, that impacts you. Because family farms are a hell of a lot better for the environment than corporate--corporate farms do not give a fuck. The ones making the money are in a city somewhere and do not care about the runoff of anything be it animal waste or chemicals into the water table. (and on a side note--the massive issues of growth hormone and antibiotics in meat supplies come down from fda type mandates on 'safe food standards' same with so much of hte chemicals now used in crop production--pushed by corps, forced on farmers that originally were clueless on how the long term issues would go. family farms keep their animals healthy because their family *depends* on it. and pay a hell of a lot more attention to the impact of things on the land because *their family lives there* and will be effected first.)

Over population also means disease. Some which very easily hops species to farm animals, and there goes your 'civilized food' at the grocery store, possibly contamniated, recalls. etc etc etc.

And the diseases can wipe out wild populations in an area, can cause some major problems that spread just--well like we had bluetongue go through the deer around here about 3yrs ago. Lot of dead deer around, just dropping dead with cyanotic lips and tongues and then you have the issues brought by carcasses rotting especially along the rivers, which I live near. Populations devastated by disease have years, possibly decades coming back from that and rebalancing the areas ecosystem.

Wildlife management --which includes hunting for some animals--actually keeps the population healthy and prevents the spread of diseases, starvation of the wildlife etc.

But that (eventual, always a few, majority I see ar emore like 10-14 of kids w/ deer but sometimes the littler one gets a really lucky shot) little kid you're howling about pictured with that dead deer--do you know what that little kid actually did? That little kid was up by four at the latest, to go out, and walking through terrain that is not a stroll in park. November--cold, wet, 4am. While there my not be snow, temps esp in early morning are not higher than 20s F (which, for those of you measuring temps differently 32 is freezing). Wait in dew and cold, rain or snow easily possiblilities as well, and quite possibly come home with jack shit, hours of patience and down right cold and shitty-ick-to miserable if it's rainy/snowy for nothing. A permit doesn't mean you get a deer, just means you have a *chance* at getting a deer.

So that six, seven eight year old--who has by the point they go out hunting had hours upon hours of gun safety, like as not been put through hunting and gun safety classes--spends hours of at least semi challenging endurance (which the civilized commenter going to the grocery store probably couldn't stand and would be appalled at). Has had numerous types of wildlife sign, plants, etc pointed out (if they haven't already learned htem) has spent *HOURS* huddled up with parent/grandparent/aunt/uncle and a sibling or cousin or two pending how big the hunting party is and how scattered they are where they're hunting, even if they're sitting up in a deer blind, that's generally fucking cold and windy and not a lot of room so only two or three likely in it (because yup women and girls hunt too, this is not toxic masculinity. Hell I know some women who'll leave the husband at home with the kids and go on a girls hunting trip. hubby more city and doesn't hunt in the particular case I'm thinking of) *gasp* the horrors, hours of quiet conversation, passing down of knowledge.

So the kid gets a deer and is over the fucking moon because actually got one. Picture necessary. Just like any other activity the kid is in (little league/softball/soccer/dance/band/choir/midget football wtf ever)

You know what happens then? The kid gets a lesson in field dressing most likely. Possibly a lesson in butchering--pending if the parents/grandparents do it themselves or they take it to a meat locker to do.

That little kid you'e so horrified over, just provided a fuck of a lot of meat for their family for the winter--and that meat will not be wasted. Unlike the civilized meat at the grocery store which is garbage when it gets past it's packaged expiration date. (and for those of you that don't know--Bambi tastes fucking awesome. Lot like beef only a bit stronger and richer, for the most general comparison) That kid just possibly fed their family for the next two fucking months. That kid has put in some long miserable hours to get that deer, because you don't just walk out and boom come home with a big deer (that *can* happen but realistically it's several days of freezing your ass off, hoping and praying like hell you actually get something. I'm not arguing sport or not--but it is work, with some real fucking physical effort and physical endurance as well as, usually, hours upon hours of patience put in to get a deer)

And if the family is really lucky and the household brings down their limit--which means they have more than their freezer can hold--it's gifted. There's papers got to fill out --yep you have to have your hunting license and have paperwork to legally have deer in your freezer. Has to be accounted for in case of poaching investigation ever cropping up (hey that gives someone a minimum wage data entry job with gov bennies so whatever even if is rather redundant and aggravating for the common folk.) so fill out your gifting paper and give it along with some meat to extended family/neighbors etc.

Several foodbanks accept deer. And give the meat to people who are at the fucking foodbank because they can't afford to eat.

That little kid grinning so proudly with their deer--deserves to be proud. And in the process of getting that deer have gotten a hell of a lot of lessons in everything from gun safety, nature, possibly wildlife diseases (hopefully not, because that would mean there are visible signs of disease on the deer, and meat then unsafe to eat.) has put more time, effort and discomfort into that than a 'civilized' person at the grocery store will ever grasp--even in the learning of gun safety and so on to be able to go, long before there's thought of that child going hunting. That little kid just learned a hell of a lot more of what it takes to feed their family or strangers if that meat is donated, what it feels like to really accomplish something worthwhile. That little kid has spent more time out in nature than the 'civilized' person deriding them and their family likely has--even if one counts a manicured public park as nature.

That little kid has learned a hell of a lot bringing down that deer, even getting to the point it was deemed they could go hunting. (no one takes a completely untaught and unmindful child hunting). That little kid, is a kid who knows how to listen, who knows how to follow instruction and learn, is a kid who has more respect for and knowledge of wildlife and nature than some airhead model prancing around naked for PETA. Is a kid who has spent hours upon hours time with parent/older family member, probably listening to stories of parent/aunts/uncles childhood, grandparents childhood. Like as not with a few lessons thrown in unthinkingly like finding deer tracks/trails, possibly (probably) spotting other tracks--beaver, raccoon, badger, opossum, dog/coyote/wolf, and around here mountain lion. Seeing plenty of other animals and birds besides the deer they're looking for--around here fucking massive populations of wild turkey, plus hawks, eagles, vast assortment of smaller birds, geese and ducks migrating etc.

Y'all so up in arms at all this flailing and wringing hands....

Why don't you take a hunting safety course? You don't have to hunt to take the course, but more and more (if not almost all) places require it for child hunters these days. See what that kid has actually learned before they go near hunting.

Look up deer diseases. Look up the issues with localized overpopulation of wildlife. Look up sharedeer.org.

Hunting is not for everyone, that's fine. (Fuck no, while I'll gladly accept some venison even pay for processing of part of a deer, my ass is not going out and freezing for hours for maybe nothing. Joint deterioration I have is not about to let me even if I wanted to)

But y'all love to go on about 'don't like, scroll on, don't be an asshole' practice what you preach.

Yeah. Scroll on, quietly delete, whatever. Just shut up about it. You don't have to be an asshole--especially about a kid that is quite possibly better educated on several 'uncivilized' subjects like wildlife,gun safety, butchering and meat processing than you'll ever be. A kid that actually *put a fuck of a lot of effort and discomfort* in accomplishing something that will feed their family and/or others, with meat that sure as hell isn't going to be wasted like meat at the supermarket might be (and pro-tip, folks who take their *child* hunting aren't big macho dickheads looking for a trophy, they're looking for fucking *food* and quite probably have scrimped and saved back a dollar here five there for the chance at getting that food becuase hunting permits are not fucking cheap and those looking for food are not rich.) That kid so proud of their deer-- honestly worked for that deer with the amount of effort and discomfort and time put into getting it. Has learned a hell of a lot in the process of getting that deer, and just had the time of their life with parent/grandparent/older relative of some sort in the process of it as well as a good deal of conversation with parent/grandparent/older relative.

Y'all, go watch Lion King again maybe? Maybe that will help you grasp a bit of circle of life.... think what you want, scroll past, unfriend/unfollow wtf, but *don't fucking be an asshole and post shit at the kid.* That kid deserves to be proud, and so do their parents.

#hunting season is coming

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