#ive seen so many people come & go. ive been through all the procedure changes. through fucking COVID

[mysweetlapetitemort]

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[tea-and-spoons]

What happens when... I get an MRI?

MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging.  It’s a scan that creates very detailed images of the inside of your body, so it’s used for just about any scenario where the doctors want to know what’s going on without cutting you open.  I’ve had MRIs done while I was in the emergency room or admitted to the hospital, but also as an outpatient visitor to a hospital or orthopedics clinic- it depends why you’re getting it.  So, let’s get into what this actually is!

You might recognize this scan as the one that’s bad if you’re claustrophobic at all.  I’m not going to lie, there are some MRI machines that are pretty tight.  If you google “MRI machine”, most of the pictures are a version of the standard kind so you can see the variety, but I’ll put a picture and image description below too:

[image description:  A white, standard MRI machine in a room with windows.  The machine is a large, thick tube with a hole in the middle that is about two feet (60 cm) wide and long enough for an adult to lie in.  There is a long, narrow table that extends from about 7 feet (213 cm) out of the machine and all the way through it.  A person is lying on the table inside the machine.  End image description]

So your average MRI machine is like the one above and has about a 2 foot (60 cm) diameter opening (also called the bore).  There are lights inside though, and many of them are open on both ends, so that helps.  If that’s too small for you, they also make wide bore machines, which are just like the one above except with an extra 4 inches (10 cm) of space.  I’ve also seen machines that look like these, except they’re more of a ring than a long tube.  The best kind (in my highly professional opinion, I’ve had 7 MRI’s, okay?) is an open MRI.  There are a lot of variations on this one, but generally there’s a big piece over you and a big piece below you, but the sides are open.  I’ll put a picture and image description of one kind below:

[Image description:  White MRI machine with a big platform that a person is lying on, and another big piece of plastic directly over the person’s torso.  There is about 2 feet (60 cm) of vertical space between the pieces.  End image description.]

If you’re at all nervous, it’s definitely worth asking the doctor who ordered the MRI if you can get it done somewhere that has a more open MRI machine.  Or even somewhere with windows in the room, that made me feel better.

If these pictures are making you super nervous already- take a couple deep breaths.  You’re going to be okay.  Every form I’ve ever filled out for an MRI asked if I am claustrophobic, and gave the option for an anti-anxiety medication to be prescribed to take before the scan.  The MRI techs also do this all day every day and have probably seen it all.  They understand that people might be scared and can help you along the way too.

Because an MRI uses giant magnets to take the pictures, nothing made of potentially magnetic metal can be in the room with the scanner.  Anything you bring with you will go safely into a locked space while you’re getting scanned.  In my experience, if you’re careful about getting dressed that morning and don’t have any metal, they’ll let you wear your own clothes minus shoes.  This means check for zippers, buttons, rivets, rings around drawstrings, metal caps on drawstrings, snaps, bra fasteners, adjustable strap sliders, glitter fabric, studs, belt buckles, jewelry, piercings, or glasses.  If you show up with metal in your clothes, you’ll probably be given scrubs or a gown to change into instead.  Although the facility might also have a standard procedure of making everyone change, so I make no promises.  If you have metal somewhere that is part of you and can’t be taken off, that will get flagged on the pre-MRI paperwork, and your doctor will help you decide what to do.

Once you’re metal free, you get positioned on the table that goes into the MRI machine.  This is to make you comfortable, but also to make sure the body part getting scanned holds still, or else it will be blurry and you’ll have to do part of the scan again.  Body part getting scanned gets held still with some combination of pillows, foam wedges, and/or plastic frames.  For example, when I got my foot scanned, they had a plastic u-shape that my foot went in, surrounded by little pillows.  When I got my neck scanned, a special plastic frame went over my neck- although it wasn’t even close to actually touching me and was more to align the camera.

Speaking of aligning the camera- if you have a very specific spot that needs to be looked at, you might get a vitamin E pill taped to it!  This shows up as a bright spot on the MRI results so they know where to look.  If you need an overall more detailed picture, you’ll be given contrast.  This means you get an IV placed, and they inject a dye into you.  That happens either right before you go in, or they’ll slide you out mid-MRI to do it.  It feels weird and cold, but it’s pretty safe. 

I’ve always been offered earplugs and/or headphones, and they let me pick what music I want to listen to during the scan, so that’s fun!  You’ll also get a button that goes in with you that you can press if you want to stop for any reason, and the tech will come get you right away.  Once you’re all lined up, you get slowly slid into position, and the tech will check in with you the whole time to make sure you’re doing okay.  To get the right body part in the middle of the machine, it’s always farther in than I expect to go- just so you’re not as surprised as I was!

The MRI itself will take somewhere between 15 minutes to an hour and a half.  (I like to play the alphabet categories game in my head to pass the time, or you could even take a nap!  Also pro tip- pee before your scan).  It consists of a series of pictures, and the techs can explain to you how long each picture and the overall scan will take.  During the pictures, the MRI machine is LOUD.  It makes these rhythmic banging, clunking, clicking, humming noises and sounds a little like it’s falling apart, but it’s normal.  In between pictures, you’ll stay in the machine but probably be allowed to wiggle a little bit.  The headphones they give you also connect to the tech, so they talk to you to check in between pictures, and you can talk to them as well.  It also tends to get pretty warm inside the machine, so maybe don’t wear a sweatshirt.  But by all means press the button if you’re too hot or feeling icky!

Once you’re done, you get slid back out and sit up slowly in case you get dizzy from lying down so long.  But then you’re all done and just have to wait for results!  Fingers crossed that they show whatever is most helpful for you 🤞🏻

Source for the precise numbers:  https://info.blockimaging.com/bid/102182/closed-bore-mri-vs-open-mri-vs-wide-bore-mri 

Source for picture 1: https://www.itnonline.com/content/mri-scan-used-heart-disease-could-also-pick-out-aggressive-cancers

Source for picture 2:  https://www.tampabay.com/news/health/medicine/more-soothing-mri-option-is-a-tradeoff/1274118/

[katblu42]

The End?

This is something I wrote for a creative writing competition. The challenge was to write something (within a week) starting at the end and working back to the beginning. For some reason the prompt/challenge sparked this little piece, which is pretty much non-fiction. I guess it came at a time when the subject matter was on my mind. I wanted to post it now because a related anniversary is coming up.

There are warnings!!! Please heed the tags. Death, Sickness, Hospitals, Cancer. (If more warnings/tags are needed please let me know so I can make appropriate edits!)

Below the cut for length and warnings.

This was not how their story was supposed to end. There were still so many chapters they had hoped to write together, so many journeys toward possible futures that they had imagined spending side by side. She never anticipated being a childless widow before she had even turned forty-two. She’d never considered being faced with a hopeless situation, or the unenviable decision to allow them to stop treatment and let him slip away. Treatments that could prolong his life a little, but not fix him. Their plans had never included his hand desperately clinging to hers as she tearfully told him it was okay for him to let go and leave her behind.

He had wanted to fight. It broke her heart that there was nothing the combined efforts of all the medical staff could do to support his fight. It was a losing battle. His body was giving up on him, organs shutting down even though his mind was not ready to give up. The three weeks he lasted in the ICU had left him battle-scarred and exhausted, but he had still not wanted to give in, or let her down.

His Forty-second birthday was less than a week before the end. It was spent with family, visiting two by two according to ICU visitor limits. He was barely able to communicate by then, his lips scabbed and bloody, and a ventilator tube in his throat inserted by tracheostomy. The medical team had not wanted the tube to remain in his mouth any longer, but he was too weak to breathe on his own.

He had been off the ventilator for a while, during one of the hopeful moments. They’d been able to remove the breathing tube, and they had been able to reduce the blood pressure medication for a while. His temperature had stabilised and she’d focused on the improvements, encouraging him to think positive. Facing the alternative had been unthinkable.

She had put such hope in the drug she’d had to sign permission for them to administer – one that had to be shipped urgently from interstate, that had approval for use in the US, but not here. They had told her it was possible too much time had passed for the reversal drug to be fully effective. It had been more than five days since the chemo treatment which now needed reversing had ended.

Hope was all she’d had at that point. Seeing him finally settled in Intensive Care with all the monitors and their beeps and alarms, the ventilator with its click and hiss, the hum of the heat pump regulating his temperature, the blood transfusion and IV lines all keeping her unconscious husband alive, she had to cling to every scrap of hope she could. His immune system was so compromised she had to wear the gown and gloves and mask just to sit in the corner of the room and let the silent tears fall.

The ICU waiting room was deserted during the wee hours. She and her Mum stayed until dawn before buzzing the door intercom to enquire about seeing him. His Dad had left after the surgeon had spoken to them all some hours before, explaining that in his current state surgery was not a viable option for the infection in his gut. The previous wait in Emergency had been shorter, and the waiting room slightly more comfortable, but the constant worry and the lack of information had been excruciating.

Two ambulances had attended their tiny unit in answer to her call, such was the seriousness of his condition. Despite having four uniformed people fussing over her husband, she had not been given much information about what was happening. She’d been instructed to get all his medication together to bring with her to the hospital, then left to change out of her pyjamas while they loaded him into an ambulance. All this happened in a blur of action and confusion. Less than 20 minutes before they all headed to the hospital she had been performing chest compressions on him on the tiled floor of their cramped bathroom.

The Emergency Services operator on the other end of the phone had talked her through the CPR procedure. She’d learned it years before in first aid training, but having to actually perform the chest compressions on someone she loved was still horrifyingly daunting. He hadn’t stopped breathing, but the ES operator had assured her CPR was necessary because his gasping breaths had been so far apart.

She had never had to call an ambulance for anyone before, but it didn’t take a genius to see she needed help. His level of responsiveness had decreased so rapidly after she’d found him slumped forward sitting on the toilet, unable to sit up unaided. The yellow tinge to his skin had startled her. He had cried out to her in such a way that instinct had brought her rushing from the loungeroom without taking a moment to process anything more than the feeling that something was very wrong.

He had just wanted to sleep, so she tried to give him space to do that, sitting quietly in the loungeroom while he stayed in the darkened bedroom. He had refused to let her bring him something to eat, which had concerned her. She’d offered to call the hospital for advice, knowing he was uncomfortable and wanting to make sure he was okay, but he had refused to let her, insisting that there was no need to make a fuss. She’d arrived home from work around five, and suspected he had been in bed all day, “just feeling a bit yuck.” Later she would feel so much guilt for not trusting her instinct to get help for him then.

For the first couple of days after his chemo treatment ended he had seemed okay, feeling upbeat, acting normal. He had been in high spirits despite the prospect of months of treatment still ahead. There had been a little grumbling about feeling a little bit off, but that was to be expected, right?

His first (and only) round of chemo had been a five day affair. Three medications, two of which had been administered within a day at the clinic and the third he had carried around in a little pack while it slowly released over the five days. The plan had been laid out by the oncology team, with lots of consultations and discussions during the preceding weeks. He was to have two or three rounds of the chemo drugs, then radiation treatment would begin. Combination therapy to treat the cancers in his mouth and throat.

There had been months of discomfort, reducing his ability to eat properly, or enjoy food. He had lost a considerable amount of weight before she had been able to convince him to finally go and see a doctor and find out what was wrong. He’d always been the type to avoid going to a doctor unless he was literally at death’s door. She knew that part of what had held him back for so long was the fear that it could be something serious.

He didn’t want to ruin their holiday, but he promised he would see someone about the sore throat when they got back from the Gold Coast. It was only a week spent away, but they had visited all their favourite haunts. This was one of their regular holiday spots during their ten year marriage. They always felt like big kids, visiting the theme parks and the beaches, playing mini golf, messing about in the resort pool.

The two of them had been lucky to share many little trips away over the years. They’d had many more days of laughter and smiles than they’d had of tears and troubles. There had been precious gifts exchanged between them – but not many in a physical form she could lay her hands on. Each of them had broadened the other’s horizons, sparking interest in new experiences, sharing the activities and pass-times they loved.

Their wedding day had been filled with fun and friends and family. She had seen then how many people his bright and generous personality drew to him. So many people had wanted to share in their joy, and had told her she would never find a more loyal and loving mate. All the elegance and finery, the colour and music, the celebration of their union had been a wonderful way to begin their journey hand in hand to the future.

His proposal on the beach, early in the morning in a place he had been holidaying with his family every year since he was tiny, had taken her by surprise. He had asked her to come with him for a walk. They had travelled quite a long way up the beach, just watching the waves crash on the shore, listening to the shrieks of the gulls and making small talk. Then he had dropped to one knee and asked the question. She needed a moment to take in what was happening. His heart just about stopped, thinking she was hesitating. She had said yes, and put him out of his nervous agony.

Their first “proper” date was a walk to the local McDonalds for burgers and sundaes. Neither of them had much money, so neither had wanted to go anywhere fancy. She had been happy with the little things – like the way he always walked beside her on the footpath placing himself between her and the busy road. He was not rich, nor did he have impressive style or a brainiac’s intelligence, but he was open and funny and kind and she wanted to spend time with him.

She hadn’t ever been to the trivia night at the local bowling club, so she wasn’t sure what to expect, or how it all worked. The lady who hosted the quiz gave her an answer sheet and steered her towards a table, telling her the young man with the twinkle in his blue eyes, and the dimpled smile would look after her. That was the moment their story had begun.

[snowdice]

The Things We Never Mentioned (Part 3-Final) [Part of the Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters: Logan, Patton, The one EMT from the last chapter

Summary:

“Believe it or not, academia and relationships are not mutually exclusive.” That was likely true, Logan knew. It was also not the problem.

The problem was his ability to move things with his mind, a blue suit he kept in his bag, and the mountains of red files he kept hidden in his apartment. No one knew that Logan was Bluebird, the cities resident superhero. He hadn’t even told his parents and he wasn’t planning on doing so. Sharing such a secret with anyone was a danger to everyone involved. He refused to do so.

At the same time, he knew that starting a romantic relationship with anyone who didn’t know the truth, was unfair to that person. Inevitably they would find out and there would be a disastrous fallout, but beyond that, starting a relationship on a foundation of lies was a horribly cruel thing to do to another person.

These two conflicting rules Logan followed had never posed an issue for him before recently, but…

But he did like Patton.

This is a three-shot dealing with events set before my story Sometimes Labels Fail set about a month and a half after the mini fics A Coffee Shop Meet Cute and A Coffee Shop Incident Report.

Notes: Superhero AU, Surgery, Medical Procedures, Drugs for Medical Purposes

Part 1  Part 2

Awareness came in waves for Logan.

At first there were just impressions of voices, but no understanding of any of the words. The sharp smell of disinfectant tingled at his nose and he strung together with bits of memory that he was likely in a hospital, but that knowledge faded as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Next, he was jostled a bit and then he could feel himself being moved while the click-clack of wheels met his ears. He cracked open his eyes briefly to see the long rectangular lights in a hallway’s roof. Someone spoke but he just hummed and closed his eyes again.

Then, he woke briefly as just a bit of sunlight was starting to stream through the windows, opening his eyes for just a moment before closing them again. Things were starting to hurt just a bit now beyond the fog of whatever drugs were in his system. He tried to struggle against the drowsiness that seemed to creep through his veins, not particularly content with the sensation, but a hand touched his shoulder. “It’s okay,” a voice said softly and for some reason he believed it and let himself be pulled back under.

He listened for a bit the next time he woke. He could hear the steady beat of the heart monitor and a whispered conversation a small distance away. That was probably a good sign. Though he had yet to try to move, his body ached and smarted, especially his chest and lower abdomen. Luckily, the pressure of his mask was still on his face. With a breath, he blinked open his eyes. He moved a bit and a face was immediately hovering over him.

“You’re awake,” Patton said. Why was Patton here? He racked his brain, a vague memory of Patton dressed up as a doctor coming to mind. In fact, he was wearing a doctor’s coat now. Was he a doctor? Logan didn’t know he was a doctor…

That didn’t matter right now. He wasn’t Logan right now.

He cleared his throat, but it still came out a little hoarse. “I am.”

“Your mask was not removed,” Patton said, face serious in a way Logan hadn’t seen it be before. “You had a couple of people making sure of that.” He nodded at a woman sitting in a chair on the other side of Logan’s bed.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I was one of the EMTs on scene.” Yes, Logan thought. He remembered her if only through a pain filled haze. “I was tasked with upholding the mask courtesy.”

“Thank you,” Logan said, but then he blinked up at Patton. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Patton bit his lip. “I was your surgeon. You, uh, said a couple of things when you were out of it.”

Logan swallowed. “What did I say?” he asked.

“Nothing that reveled much other than that you know me.”

Logan closed his eyes and sighed. “I see.”

“If you feel you are well enough and are willing to sign the release form for me, I can leave and let you two have this discussion in private,” the EMT offered.

He nodded. “That would probably be for the best.” She produced the papers and he quickly signed them. With a brief nod to Patton, she was gone.

Patton slowly sat down on the edge of Logan’s bed, angled so Logan could see half of his face. “I won’t ask your identity,” he started, “but I do have to admit I… figured it out. Not many people know me by name, but don’t know I’m a doctor.”

Logan felt his throat tighten. “I see.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the heaviness of knowledge hanging in the air around them.

“You never mentioned you were a doctor,” Logan said softly.

A melancholy smile ghosted across his lips. “I like to pretend sometimes that I’m not,” he said. “I go to coffee shops or parks and just exist. I read books and talk to interesting mathematicians,” his smile got just a little bit more genuine as his eyes flickered to Logan’s, “and I try to forget for a couple of hours all the responsibilities I have in these walls, all of the things I see, the feelings I can’t escape when it’s all over and I’m alone.”

“That’s…” Logan said. He didn’t know what that was. Patton always seemed so cheerful. He was always ready with soft smiles and warm touches, but he did not seem happy now.

“I…” he said when Logan didn’t move to say anything else for a long moment, “I’m pretty good at pretending. I can forget that I know this. But…”

“But?”

“Will you let me drive you home?” he asked. “I know you can’t stay here long, but you’re hurt and I… I would like to make sure you get home okay.”

Logan paused to think, but there was really no reason to refuse at this point. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“I feel I should be the one thanking you.”

“Please don’t.” Logan was frozen, unsure what to do in this situation, but he wanted to do something. Before Logan could devise an action to take, Patton seemed to shake off whatever emotion had had ahold of him and turned to face Logan fully. “I’d like you to eat something before I release you and then I have some cloths for you that should fit in my locker.”

Logan agreed, and he was quickly handed a package of applesauce and a carton of milk. When he found he was still hungry, Patton brought him a sandwich. After that, Patton checked on his wounds briefly with intense eyes and gentle fingers. He seemed reluctant to leave him alone to go get the cloths, but Logan tossed the empty apple sauce container and plastic spoon into the trashcan with his powers, carefully hiding the wince as everything inside him ached at the action, and he left.

Patton came back with a bag of clothing and without his doctor’s coat and removed the IV before helping Logan get to his feet. Logan’s ribs ached horribly at the movement, but he schooled his face. Patton gave him a suspicious look at the lack of pain on his face.

Logan changed into the clothing in a small bathroom that he was pretty sure was only for staff and stuck the mask into the bag the cloths had been in. He watched Patton’s face when he exited the bathroom, but there wasn’t even a flicker of surprise.

“Here, sit,” Patton ordered, making Logan bristle just a bit at the tone even though he was probably right.

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Logan argued, his face twisting up.

“Please,” Patton said softly and oh, Logan wanted to argue, but he couldn’t when he caught sight of the expression on the other man’s face. He sat in the chair and let Patton fuss a bit over him before he wheeled him into the hospital parking lot. If Logan was being honest, walking to the bathroom had worn him out and the parking lot was quite a distance away, so it was likely best that he hadn’t walked even though it wounded his pride a bit.

He gave Patton directions to his apartment complex. He pulled into some of the street parking outside the building. “You live closer to the hospital than I do,” Patton commented. “I live on Monroe.” He fed the meter a few coins before coming around to help Logan into the apartments.

They took it slow, but Logan was still trying not to pant when they finally made it to his door. “How many ribs did I break again?” he asked once the door closed behind him.

Patton frowned at him and herded him toward his couch. “Four,” he replied. “So, make sure to take it easy.” Logan nodded and leaned back against his couch exhausted. Patton looked around. “Your apartment is… very tidy,” he commented. “Do you have any blankets or pillows?”

Logan hummed. “Hall closet.” Patton walked away and came back with what was almost certainly his entire blanket and pillow collection. “I’m not that cold,” he protested. Patton ignored the protest and positioned the blankets and pillows around him to make a sort of nest and pulled one of the blankets over him. Okay, he had to admit that was sort of nice. He relaxed back into the couch.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Logan said.

“Water at least,” Patton fretted.

“Patton,” he said. Patton blinked at him. The faucet in the kitchen started running and a glass of water zipped into his hand, Logan being careful to keep the water in the cup despite the speed. Using his powers hurt a bit less this time at least.

“Right,” Patton said. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but then he stopped and looked away. “Do you need a doctor’s note or anything for work or school? I could get one for you.”

“I didn’t have to be anywhere today. All I have left to do is grade which I can do from my couch. Also, I wouldn’t want people to be able to trace things back to you. It’s unlikely anyone would look, but you are on record for having done surgery on Bluebird last night.”

“I was going to forge Doctor Walter’s signature on it. He forgets when his glasses are on his face half the time. If someone ever brought it up to him, he’d just assume he forgot about writing it.”

“Should the man be working as a health professional then?”

Patton shrugged. “No.”

Logan laughed and Patton smiled back at him, but it faded slightly at the edges after a moment. “Well, if you really don’t need anything, then I should probably go.”

Logan paused, an ache in his chest not due to the fractured ribs. He didn’t need anything from Patton, but he really didn’t want him to go. “Of course,” Logan said anyway. Patton after all, had his own life to attend to.

Patton nodded and grabbed his bag. “Here are instructions for homecare,” he said, setting down a packet of paper on Logan’s coffee table. “Follow them, please,” he requested.

“I will,” Logan promised.

“Good,” Patton replied, “I… hope you feel better soon.”

“I’m sure I will. From what I understand, my doctor was very good.” Patton gave him a half smile and turned to the door. Logan stopped him before he opened it. “You said you’d be willing to forget this ever happened,” Logan said.

Patton paused and turned back to give him a tiny smile. “Of course.”

“I don’t want that,” Logan said.

Patton blinked at him a few times before a larger smile graced his face. “Okay then,” he said. “Um, I left my phone number on the instructions in case you needed anything medical related. So, call me if you need me?”

“I will,” said Logan and then he paused. “Also, if you are at any point worried, you can feel free to come back and check on me. If you aren’t busy.”

He looked relieved at the offer. “I’ll do that,” Patton said. “I’ll bring you something to eat for dinner, so you don’t have to cook.”

“That would be nice.”

“Okay,” he replied and bit his lip before opening the door and stepping back into the apartment hallway. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Logan said. He closed the door behind him. Logan had a long time to think that day and the days after while he healed, even while trying to grade his student’s exams on time. Most of those thoughts were about Patton. He had two rules, you see, that were almost always in conflict, but…

But they weren’t for Patton anymore.

Thanks for reading!

The next part of the Relabeled; Refiled prequel series is  Logan’s 25 Step Plan to Ask a Boy Out.

[captainscanadian]

Better | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 6)

My Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Summary: Bucky Barnes is ready to fix the mess that your parents had created, but he doesn’t want you to know about it.

Word Count: 7076

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky x Doctor!Reader, Doctor!Bucky x Doctor!Steve (Platonic), Doctor!Steve x Lawyer!Peggy

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Abuse & Alcoholism, Surgery, Organ Donation, IV & Needles, Emotional Distress, Physical Pain, Drugs, Hospital Stay, Homelessness, Mentions of Death & Cancer

A/N: Recently a lot of people have been asking me if Bucky can murder the reader’s parents. As much as I understand your strong hatred towards them, the answer is no. Sorry not worry. This one’s dedicated to Naynay for being the reason why I started posting all of my crappy writing on here. <3 Pic & gif are not mine, credits to the respective owners!

It was only a matter of time before Dr. James Barnes had been paged down to the Emergency Room for a consult. A patient had come in complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. This eventually led him into the OR to repair the woman’s dissecting aorta, a surgery that typically lasted a few hours with no complications. It was a procedure that he had performed many times before. He need not fret over it, despite it being an emergency procedure than a pre-planned one like the one this morning. Perhaps, it was the unpredictable nature of heart surgery that had been so attractive to him. He could not deny that he liked the adrenaline rush that came with literally racing death itself and beating it fair and square.

By the time he had gotten out of surgery, it was way past lunchtime and Bucky was starving. After getting Shuri to inform the patient’s family about the patient’s current status, he found himself grabbing a salad from the hospital’s cafeteria and retreating to the doctors’ lounge for some rest before he was to get hit by the next cardiovascular crisis at hand. The unexpected circumstances that came with the job were perfect for a guy who had once wanted no commitments. But now to say that his attitude had changed would be quite the understatement. Nevertheless, Bucky sucked it up and went about his day like any other surgeon in the hospital.

While a part of him was feeling uneasy, thanks to the escalation of things that he had returned to, he knew that all he had to do was push through it all until his shift would finally be over. But he was unsure what to do next. He wondered if he should go back down to the post-op ward and see you. As much as he wanted to return to his place at your bedside, a part of him was hesitant. He was unsure about whether you would want him there, especially after what had happened with your mother coming to see you. He did not want to risk being shooed away by you.

After all, it made him wonder if you could not even trust your own mother, how you could be able to trust anyone else. All of a sudden, your hesitance to become close to anyone in the hospital made sense to him. After all, your mother had been the source of all of your trust issues. And as much as he was willing to accept that you might never ever trust him and let him into your life, he could not deny that it would hurt like a bitch either way. He was not ready to put himself through that, at least not yet.

“Steve, you’re still here.” Bucky noted upon seeing his best friend lying down on the sofa once he entered the lounge. “Your shift ended hours ago. Why haven’t gone home, you punk? You’re one of the only ones who actually have a life outside of the hospital. Why are you even here right now?”

Sleepily flipping through the channels of the television to find something decent to watch, Steve looked up to see his best friend and gave him a weak smile. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, Buck, not after what happened to Y/L/N. Being her emergency contact is a huge responsibility and I feel like I should stick around, you know, just in case... I don’t want any her to have any other complications.” He told him with a sigh and a shrug of his shoulders, sitting up to face his best friend who sat down in front of him.

“How is she?” He asked, biting down on his bottom lip as he picked at his salad for a moment.

“She’s... awake, talking. No further complications, no infections. She’s in a bit of pain but she’s a little hesitant about the amount of drugs she puts in her body. Nat redid the sutures herself and closed her up so they’re all... still in place. Wanda’s sitting at her bedside to make sure she doesn’t move at all, just to keep them still intact. Thor’s watching the door to make sure no one comes in or leaves without being noticed.” He explained. “She’ll be fine, Buck. She’s... recovering.”

Nodding as he bit down on his bottom lip once more, the dark haired doctor continued to pick at his salad. “You should go home, Steve. I’ll be here and... I’ll call you if anything happens. Just go home, get some sleep. You haven’t even seen Sarah in two days. At least, spend the night at home for her and come back in the morning.”

“No, Buck, it’s fine... I don’t mind sticking around the hospital for a few more hours. I’m way too sleepy. It’s definitely not safe for me to be driving home on my own and Peggy had a meeting at the firm this afternoon. She said she won’t be back until she’s picked Sarah up from daycare, so I’m just hanging out here, waiting for my girls.”

A soft chuckle escaped Bucky’s lips as he finally took a bite of his salad, leaning back in his seat and putting his feet up against the coffee table. “You’ve really got your shit figured out, Steve. Work-life balance, marriage and kids...” This was true. Compared to him, his best friend really did have his whole life figured out. The two of them had always been competitive despite being best friends since childhood. From the SATs to their undergraduate years to the MCATs to Columbia Medical School, even their surgical residencies thereafter, Bucky and Steve had always come in neck and neck at the top of their classes. But when it came to family life though, it seemed like Steve was already way ahead of Bucky.

“You know, you could have that too if you really wanted to.” Steve reminded him, a sigh escaping his lips as he fidgeted with the remote in his hand. “If you’re willing to commit and sacrifice being a complete workaholic to make time for a wife and kids, you could...” He was not an idiot. He knew that Bucky wanted the kind of life that he had with Peggy, even if he had denied it countless times before. He could not help but want that for his best friend too. After all, he knew that not only did Bucky want to settle down and have family, but that a part of him also wanted it all with you.

And knowing of your past, Steve wanted that for you too. He knew that you deserved to be unconditionally loved by someone, for you had not experienced unconditional love ever before. He wanted that for you because he understood how much Bucky loved you. If only things did work out in your favor and the two of you finally accepted your feelings for each other. Steve can only hope or sit back and watch, for he was certainly not a meddler of things.

The dark haired doctor let out a sigh before shaking his head, taking another bite of his salad and trying to ignore Steve’s words. “Yeah, well... that’s not what I want.” He lied, even though a part of him knew that the other could see right through his bullshit. “I mean, I do love her but... I don’t think she’d ever love me back, Steve. I know for a fact that she won’t ever accept me. So if it’s not her, then it won’t be anyone else.”

Before Steve could even say anything in response to that, the door burst open with a rather annoyed Peggy Carter entering the doctor’s lounge. “I got your text, darling, and I must admit that I’m not surprised at all.” She announced, plopping down on the sofa next to her husband. “Hello, Barnes.”

“Peggy.” He gave her a nod, continuing to pick at his salad before taking another bite.

“Where’s Sarah?”

“Her cousin Sharon wanted to get her some lunch. She had just woken up from a nap when I picked her up from daycare. Seemed a little cranky because she was hungry.” The woman replied with a shrug. “And I didn’t think she should be here when we’re talking about this, you know? Sharon said she’ll bring her back in an hour or so. Gives us enough time to talk, you know?”

Bucky grew confused at her words and raised his eyebrows at Steve. “Talking about what?”

Peggy turned around to look at Steve. “Have you told him yet, Steve? Because he sure does look too calm to know what happened.”  

Steve let out a sigh as he rubbed his eyes. “I’m way too tired to deal with how he would react so I thought I’d wait until you were here. You’re better at breaking this kind of bad news than I am.” This was partially true. Being a doctor, a cardiothoracic surgeon at that, Dr. Rogers had certainly been trained on how to deliver bad news to his patients. Most of the time, such bad news included the unforeseeable factors: the patient’s condition receding beyond the surgeon’s control, surgical complications and even death.

But with what Steve was forced to deal with at that moment, though certainly not as bad as patient death, it was Peggy who was much more equipped to deal with such dilemmas. She was a Cambridge-educated attorney who happened to work at one of the most reputable law firms in New York. She was certainly used to dealing with extortion cases, not to mention that you had also approached her for legal advice on becoming an organ donor to your abusive father.

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asked as he sat up on the sofa and set down his food, turning over to look at his best friend’s wife. “Peggy, what is it?”

Peggy let out a sigh as she sat back in her seat. “I’ll tell you but I want you to promise me that you won’t go off on a complete fit of rage or do anything absolutely stupid.”

He let out a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair. “If this has something to do with Y/N, then I'm not making any promises I know I can't keep.” He told her before turning to Steve. “Did she tell you something? Did she... tell you what happened with her mother?”

Steve bit down on his bottom lip before leaning forwards in his seat. “Her mother... told her that her decision to come forward and donate her liver to her father lead to... them having hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills. And now she’s emotionally blackmailing Y/L/N to pay for them because they couldn’t afford the surgery.”

To say that Bucky was completely unsurprised by this revelation would be an understatement. After all, this had exactly been his suspicion ever since he had found out about your parents coming down to Brooklyn Hospital in the first place. They had not come searching for better medical treatment from Dr. Romanoff. They had come in search of a way to extort money from you. But finding out that your mother’s attempt at extortion was the reason behind you bleeding out like that only made the man feel angrier at your parents. But he did not show it. “I mean, I saw that coming.” He said with a shrug, returning to his salad.

His calm and composed reaction made Steve and Peggy turn to look at each other for a moment.

“What?” Steve asked, blankly.

“I got suspicious.” Bucky replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “When Y/N told me that her formerly abusive slash estranged father was admitted here, I was... a little surprised. I knew she was from this small town near Philadelphia so, how in the world did they manage to get all the way to Brooklyn, let alone at the hospital where their daughter worked? I mean, it all did seem like a coincidence but... I didn’t think that there was any way that they did not know... that their daughter worked there. I... had no reason to trust her parents, right? And I was... right. I mean, they tracked her down... they came here... and I don’t think a liver transplant was what they came looking for. I think they came here to tie Y/N down... emotionally... and try to get money from her to pay for the outstanding medical bills that they have in Philly. But their plan didn’t work. Y/N volunteered to get tested because she... has a heart. She cared about doing the right thing and being the better person. She cares... about... everyone but herself, even her abusive parents. When Y/N volunteered to get tested, do you remember what happened, Steve? Her mother wouldn’t even accept it at first, because she knew that the surgery would mean more medical bills and they weren’t financially stable. She’d just lost her job and they don’t have insurance. Y/N had to get Romanoff to explain how long they would have to wait until UNOS found him a match just so that she would agree. This has been their motive all along... to get money from her. Because they... went bankrupt when Y/N was a little kid and the mom had to work as a maid to keep things going, dad drank away all of their money and now that mom doesn’t have a job anymore, hey... look, the child we abused who ran away from us is working as a doctor in New York and making six figures so why don’t we just go over there and do what we always did best... emotionally abuse her and get her to pay us a large amount?” He could not help but roll his eyes, huffing as he leaned back in his seat. “Fucking pieces of shit, they are...”

Peggy Carter’s eyes grew so wide at Bucky’s speech that Steve almost feared that they might have popped right out of her skull. “Holy shit, Barnes.” She covered her mouth as her jaw dropped. As a mother to a little girl herself, she could not understand how anyone could put their own child in such a situation. To say that she was disgusted by your parents would be an understatement. She was beyond glad that you had managed to break free from their abuse when you did, but the fact that they were still very a part of your life at that moment pissed her off. She needed to find a solution to all of this and make sure that they never bothered you again.

“How do you know all of this?” Steve asked. “How do you know about them going bankrupt when she was a kid and that she ran away from their abuse?” After all, he was well aware that you had not disclosed these events of your past to anyone but him and his wife. He knew of your circumstances with your parents, because he was your emergency contact. You had told Peggy in case there was a legal dilemma to your decision. You wanted to ensure that the fact that you had reported their abuse all those years ago did not get in the way of you donating your liver now. But how did Bucky know all of this? Steve had no idea.

“Yeah, the whole ‘outstanding medical bills in Philly’ thing is news to the both of us.” She agreed, looking at her husband before turning over to his best friend. “I don’t think she intended to tell anyone about this, not even to Steve and I. And... as much as I would like to believe that she trusted you enough to tell you any of this, I think she would have at least told us that you were also aware of her past. But we know Y/N and she wouldn’t have just told you any of this that easily. So, let’s just cut to the chase... What did you do, Bucky?”

The blonde haired doctor’s eyes grew wide as he realized the change of tone in his wife’s voice, for he knew that this was the tone she often used in court. “Bucky... please don’t tell me that you...” A part of him did know what his friend might have done, but he still refused to believe it until he admitted it himself.

“I got Becca to look into her parents.” He confessed.

“Bucky!”

“Are you insane?!” The hospital’s in-house attorney exclaimed, her British accent rolling off of her tongue with such ease and poise despite the fact that she was fuming at the man’s actions. “You fucking hired a PI to look into a patient?! Do you even realize how many potential lawsuits could possibly come out of that?”

“You violated Y/N’s privacy, Buck!” Dr. Rogers added, shaking his head in a slight disappointment. “How do think she’d feel if she ever found out what you’ve done? She’s already got a lot of trust issues and you’re not making this any easier for yourself!”

“I mean, I had to do what I had to do!” The dark haired doctor defended himself. “I get it, Steve. I violated her privacy by hiring Becca to look into her parents and her abusive childhood with them. Sure, she might hate me for it. I don’t care. I only did it because I care about her, Steve. I knew that something wasn’t right when her parents showed up at the hospital. As much as I wasn’t okay with her donating her liver, I respected her decision and her bodily autonomy. She had the right to do whatever the fuck she wanted and I had no say in that whatsoever. But that did not stop me from being suspicious about her parents. I mean, I couldn’t ask her because she wouldn’t tell me. I knew that you knew a lot more about her past than any of us, Steve. Of course, she tells you everything. But is she going to tell me if I asked? Not even a chance. And are you going to tell me if I asked you what was up with her and her parents? Also no, because you’re the most righteous human being on this entire fucking planet who cares about honor and all that bullshit and you trained your God damn fellow to be just as honorable and righteous and follow in your footsteps... which has now cost her a piece of her liver and a whole lot of blood.” Bucky paused to take a breath before turning over to Peggy. “And of course, you knew everything too, Peggy. Y/N told me that she came to you for legal advice, just in case. But I also knew not to ask you either, because you would have given me a whole lecture about attorney-client privilege and I saved us all a hell of lot of time by just going ahead and hiring Becca to do the work for me.”

Steve let out a sigh as he stood up from his seat. “I need a cup of coffee.” He announced as he walked over to the kitchenette and started to make himself a cup.

“Can you also make me a cup of tea, please darling?” Peggy asked Steve as she rubbed her temples, her eyes not leaving Bucky’s. “You’re insane, Barnes. You’re absolutely insane and you know that. And to even call you the godfather of my child, good lord, what have we done? You’ll be such a terrible influence on her when she’s older, I’m sure of it.”

Dr. Barnes finished the last of his salad and nodded, chuckling softly at her remark. “I know, Peggy. They say that love makes you crazy... and I’ve been doing some pretty crazy things lately. I won’t even deny it.” This was true. After all, Bucky had been doing more than just sit at your bedside while you were asleep. A week after he had found out about your make shift clinic at the homeless shelter, he had made an anonymous donation of a million dollars to the shelter in hopes that a part of it would be able to fund your cause. And for the next two years, he would go on to do much crazier things when it came to you.

Whether it was buying an extra cup of coffee every morning and bringing it over to you just to see you give him a sleepy smile in gratitude, or waiting for you to get out of surgery every other night and lying about a late night craving for Indian food just so that he could give you a ride home, there were certain things that he had started to do that would make anyone think he was crazy. But to him, it was all a part of him trying to become a better person, because you had made him want to be a better person.

Even last year, he had startled the entire surgical department meeting by suggesting a fundraising gala to help raise money to increase the number of pro bono surgeries that were being performed at the hospital. Chief Stark had been surprised that Dr. Barnes had been the one to even make that suggestion; his bet would have been on Rogers. But without much debate, the gala had been approved by the hospital’s board of directors. Tony had put Bucky in charge of throwing the ball itself, which the man had surprisingly managed to pull off.

James Barnes had made yet another generous donation to his own cause this time, while also convincing his three sisters in helping him organize the event so that others could also take part in the act of giving back. He had approached his retired parents in hopes that their contacts could help him find more sponsors. And thanks to you, he had hired the lovely Indian couple who owned the restaurant you had been living above to cater the event. The rest of the event had been paid by him, with some of the doctors also pitching in.

It had been a rare occurrence for Dr. James Barnes to take part is such formal events, so there was no denying that his attempts at organizing one and showing up at that was quite refreshing to see. He had donned a designer tuxedo, his luscious long hair coiffed into a neat bun. He looked prim and proper, to say the least.

But if one had observed him rather closely that night, they would have noticed that his bright blue eyes were constantly darting towards the entrance throughout the whole event. Even when he had taken to the stage to make a speech and had commanded the attention of an entire banquet hall, no one had noticed how his gaze was constantly wandering towards the double doors that led his guests inside. Perhaps no one except Wanda Maximoff was able to figure out that this entire event had been Bucky Barnes’ attempt at channelling his inner Jay Gatsby.

The bottles of champagne had been popped, poured into flutes and emptied long before, dinner and dessert served promptly thereafter. It was not until after the DJ had opened up the dance floor did James finally receive the long-awaited arrival of the woman he loved. And in an instant, his lips curled into a smile at the sight of you in your silver-grey evening gown. He knew that the shimmer and sequins were very unlike you, but he appreciated the effort you had taken to follow the dress code.

As you noticed the host of the evening upon your entrance and made your way towards the dance floor to greet him, you could not help but notice that he cleaned up quite well, in his tuxedo and his hair in a bun. Oh how attractive he looked in that bun, you could not deny it. You rarely saw him put his hair up, except for that one time when he had showed up to a consult with his hair tied up with a Hello Kitty hair-tie a while back.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the thought of how handsome he looked that evening and you quickly shooed away your thoughts, walking up to him with a bright smile. “James, hey... I’m so sorry I’m late. I didn’t mean to miss the dinner and half of the party. I had a last minute consult at the ER and I had to do an Endarterectomy. It took longer than expected and by the time I got home, showered and got ready... it took me a while. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” His smile was genuine and one that brought you a sense of calm. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it, things like that are not always in our hands. I wasn’t even sure if you’d show up, to be honest. I know that... social events like these are not really your thing. At least I’m glad you decided to spend the rest of your evening here instead of being cooped up in your little clinic. It means a lot, doll, really... thank you for being here.” He bit down on his bottom lip rather nervously as he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. It was an act of politeness to say the least, a sign of gratitude that you had even bothered to show up late than never, even though you did have an excuse to not be there.

You felt your cheeks heat up once more, a sense of warmth in your heart as you felt his lips against your cheek. There was something gentle about the way his warm breath lingered against your skin, but you quickly looked down to hide the blush. You could not help but grin widely at his understanding nature and you looked around the ball room.

It seemed as though a majority of the guests had already left. The DJ had been playing a slow song and naturally, Steve and Peggy were at the center of the dance floor. You must have heard a thousand times during your bi-weekly dinners with the Rogers’ of the story of their first date and their first dance. Even after years of being married, the two of them still looked so in love. You could not help but want that for yourself. But you felt slightly greedy for it. After all, you had always believed that you did not deserve to be loved by anyone.

The blonde haired doctor noticed your gaze on him and gave you a wave, his wife still leant against his shoulder as they swayed along to the song. You chuckled, shooting him a quick thumbs up before turning to James. “Looks like you’ve really pulled this off, Dr. Barnes.” You noted, seeing that the gala had been quite the success. “I must say that I’m impressed.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help though, doll, thanks to you and your undying loyalty to the Singh’s.” He politely remarked. “The food’s a big hit- hey; have you even had a chance to eat anything since you got out of your surgery?” It had taken Bucky a moment to realize that it was way past dinner time and knowing you and the way you had rushed to get here after your surgery, you might not have eaten.

“Um... no.” You shook your head.

“Come on, let’s get you in the kitchen and grab you some of that delicious food.” It had been a rather impulsive move on his part, when he had just casually grabbed your hand and lead you away from the dance floor.

You had been caught off guard by his actions but you paid no heed to them anyways. You had assumed that it was just his way of being a host, making sure that all of his guests were well fed and taken care of. After all, you had paid for your ticket to attend this gala and he probably just wanted to give you your money’s worth. You would not have imagined that his actions were a sign of his undying love for you.

He walked out of the ball room before turning down the hallway to where the kitchen was, complimenting and thanking a few of the wait staff along the way before entering the kitchen.

You stood at the door, watching as he made his way over to the head chef who was also your landlord. He really was a wonder of a man, you thought. How thoughtful and kind had he really been, for as long as you’ve known him? To think that the two of you had managed to not get along in the OR at some point seemed to surprise you. But that fall out had only made the two of you become the closer. There was no denying that.

After asking the woman to fix you a plate of food, he walked back to you with a cheeky grin on his face. “I told them to set aside your plate in case you showed up. They’ll just reheat it in a moment.”

You could not help but let out a chuckle at that, raising an eyebrow nevertheless. “How did you know that I would even show up though, James?” You asked, curiously. “After all, I do have a tendency to make plans at first and bail on people.”

“I just had a little faith that you would be here... considering that it’s for a good cause and you’re not the kind of person who turns away from doing something to give back.” He replied, grinning widely as he realized that he really did know you well. “Plus, you did pay for the food, the champagne and a little dancing. As a responsible host, I wanted to make sure you did get your money’s worth.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you walked past him to enter the kitchen, greeting the lovely Indian chef with a hug before taking the plate from her. “Well... since I’ve got my food here now, where’s my champagne?”

As the banquet was wrapping up, Bucky had excused himself to check on the clean up. The red carpet had been rolled up, the table linens piled up and the chairs stacked neatly on top of one another. The DJ had taken down the speakers and loaded up his equipment in his van, the cleaning staff was busy sweeping the confetti off the hard wooden floor.

You found yourself wafting down your plate of food in the kitchen while the staff got busy with doing the dishes. Chatting away with the lovely Indian woman who continued to pile up the remainder of the food onto your plate, you managed to eat until you were full. You did not realize how hungry you had been until you had eaten second and third helpings of the Singh’s signature biryani, but you were grateful to the woman for wanting to feed you well. After all, this was the closest experience you had to a mother’s love.

James had not returned until an hour later, having sent off the last of his guests home before dealing with the payments for the DJ and the linen rentals. He let Rebecca take care of the rest before excusing himself for the night, grabbing the last remaining bottle of champagne from the fridge before making his way over to you. “Sorry that took a while, doll.” He told you as he chuckled, holding up the bottle. “But I got what you asked for...” He could not help but notice the aluminum tray of food that you were holding and he raised his eyebrow at you.

“What? I had three plates of food but there was still some left over. There was no way I was going to let some good biryani go into the trash. Plus, I figured that you wouldn’t have had a chance to eat anything either, being a good host and all. So, what do you say, we get out of here and find ourselves a really nice late night view of the bridge and... have a little picnic?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him before letting out a laugh.

“I... think I’d like that.”

Bucky was taken by surprise that you had even made this suggestion, but it was not very unlikely of you to be concerned about wasting food or watching someone else go hungry either. Having left the venue of the banquet together, the two of you somehow managed to end up on the roof of your loft home somehow. You had been the one to suggest it though, for you wanted him to see the view from up there.

It was a mid-August night, the air was breezy. You kicked off your heels and sat down on the concrete step as you looked up at the stars. The night was quiet, even though there was the occasional laughter of passerby’s walking past the restaurant that stirred up the silence every now and then.

He had taken off his coat and wrapped it over your shoulder, in case you got cold, a plastic fork in his hand that was picking through the aluminum tray as he ate the food that you had packed up for him. “Did I tell you how lovely you look in that dress, Y/N?”

“Did I tell you how much I like your hair like that, James?” You asked, teasingly. “I have to admit, you clean up real nice.”

“You too.” He chuckled as he took a bite of his food, looking around the neighborhood that he had been so familiar with when he had been younger, but now he felt like a stranger. After Steve had moved in with him, he rarely came down to this part of town. While it was home to his best friend, to him it had been an insignificant part of Brooklyn, at least until you had moved here. Nowadays, it seemed that he came by this neighborhood every few days whenever he’d offered you a ride home and to see that these trips only made him miss his former nanny would be an understatement.

He missed her dearly, for the woman had raised him as her own. He knew that it was people like her who needed the care and concern of people like him. It was why he had thrown this gala in the first place, not even Steve knew about how close this was for Bucky.

Perhaps if Sarah Rogers had the money to afford the best care in Brooklyn, her doctors would not have managed to misdiagnose her with pneumonia. Her cancer could have been caught sooner and she might be alive. These pro bono surgeries were just a way for him to prevent such tragic deaths that could have been easily avoided.

You popped the bottle of champagne, laughing heartily at the fizz that spilled slightly on your gown. But you could care less about it. “You first.” You told him as you held the bottle towards him.

Taking the bottle from you and taking a swing, he turned over to look at you with a smile. “Why do you still live here, Y/N?” He asked you, curiously. “You’re not a fellow anymore. You’re a board certified cardiothoracic surgeon and a good one at that. I’m sure you can afford a nicer apartment with the amount you get paid.”

“I mean, I could... but I don’t really want to leave my little loft.” You replied, shrugging as you took the bottle from him and took a sip. “It’s been my first real home in forever, James. It’s the first place that I moved into... that wasn’t a campus dorm or a sorority house. It wasn’t supposed to be some kind of temporary accommodation.” Like a foster home. “I mean, I could find myself a bigger apartment but... it’s just me. I don’t take up that much space. I don’t like taking up too much space. I’m fine living here. It’s nice and cozy. It’s home.”

“But aren’t you worried about the safety hazards, Y/N? You live above a restaurant, the stairs are too narrow. In case of an emergency, you won’t be able to get out quickly.” He noted.

You let out a sigh as you handed him the bottle. “You know, after spending a cold winter night in the street... any other place can feel the safest.” You admitted, biting down on your bottom lip. “Plus, I work so much that I’m barely home anyways. It’s fine, James. I’m fine here.”

“Alright... if that’s what you say so.” He nodded, giving in since he knew that he could not change your mind that easily, taking a sip of the champagne before setting it down for a moment. He set down his tray and stood up from his seat on the step. “Anyways, I think the roof has enough space for just the two of us.” He remarked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “And I think I owe you a little dance. So if you wouldn’t mind, Dr. Y/N/N... shall we?””

You could not help but roll your eyes at that. “I believe you do.” You remarked as you stood up, brushing off the back of your dress before slipping back into your heels.

Bucky put on a song before setting down his phone, holding out his hand with a bow of his head. “M’Lady.”

You giggled softly as you tried your best at a curtsey, only to trip over your gown and grab onto the man’s hand as you laughed.

He let out a hearty laugh as he helped you regain your balance, his arm wrapped around your waist as he began to slowly sway along to the music.

You blushed slightly as you held onto him, your ear pressed gently against his chest, the sound of his beating heart bringing you a sense of solace as the song began.

You look so wonderful in your dress I love your hair like that The way it falls on the side of your neck Down your shoulders and back We are surrounded by all of these lies And people who talk too much You got the kind of look in your eyes As if no one knows anything but us Should this be the last thing I see I want you to know it's enough for me 'Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need I'm so in love, so in love So in love, so in love You look so beautiful in this light Your silhouette over me The way it brings out the blue in your eyes Is the Tenerife Sea And all of the voices surrounding us here They just fade out when you take a breath Just say the word and I will disappear Into the wilderness Should this be the last thing I see I want you to know it's enough for me 'Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need I'm so in love, so in love So in love, so in love

 “Well, the fact that you deliberately admitted that only makes me wonder what kind of crazy thing you’re about to do next, Barnes.” Peggy noted as she took her steaming cup of tea from her husband. “Because I know that look on your face. You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

Bucky let out a chuckle as he stood up from his seat, tossing away the container that had held his salad in the trash can before walking over to his locker. “I’m not planning anything, Peggy. I’m just... coming up with a solution to Y/N’s dilemma.” He told her with a shrug as he retrived his lab coat and put it on over his scrubs.

“Also known as planning.” Steve clarified as he sat down next to his wife and took a sip of his coffee. “Spill it, you punk. What are you going to do?”

“Well, right now... I’m going to go down to the pediatrics ward because Clint asked me to cover his shift for the afternoon.” Rolling his eyes, Dr. Barnes grabbed his stethoscope that hung on the hook in his locker. He turned around to look at Peggy for a moment. “Peggy, out of curiosity, how long will it take for you to draft a contract?”

The lawyer gave him a confused look. “It really depends on what the terms on this contract will be?”

“How about something along the lines of... ‘by accepting these two million dollars and an additional allowance of three grand’s per month... we, the Y/L/N’s agree that we will leave our estranged daughter alone for the rest of her life, we’ll never try to contact her and we won’t try to extort any more money from her,’ or something like that?” He asked her, smirking as he tossed his stethoscope over his neck and crossed his arms against his chest.

“Bucky, no.”

“I pay off her dad’s medical bills and give them a little extra so that they don’t come crawling back to her ever again.” Bucky stated with a shrug. “Steve, you and I both know what Y/N does with her hard-earned money. This clinic is... her everything. If she pays them off, she won’t be able to keep it going. I don’t think I can let that be taken away from her.”

Steve let out a sigh as he pondered Bucky’s suggestion for a moment. “As much as I agree with you, Buck, this isn’t your call to make. It’s hers. And even if she did find out about you wanting to do this, you know she won’t let you. Hell, she wouldn’t even let me pay them off when I offered to do it this morning.”

“She... doesn’t need to know, Steve. That’s why I’m telling the two of you. Peggy drafts a contract; I write a cheque, the Y/L/N’s sign the contract and take the money that they came for. Y/N will be happy once they are out of her life for good and that’s all that fucking matters.”

“But... Bucky, what even is the point of you doing all of this if Y/L/N doesn’t even find out about it?”

[hawkland]

Dear Fandom5k Author

My AO3 account (sidewinder)

Hello and thank you for writing for me! I’m excited to give this exchange a try for the first time and cannot wait to read what you can come up with for one of my requests. Please note I’d love any of them equally, no matter if I have more prompt ideas for one or the other. Some I seriously would love just about anything about since they are so rare, others I have more specific requests to scratch itches I haven’t seen written before (or that much.)

General Likes:

Soumates with a twist. I love soulmate/soulbond AUs, as long as it’s just not a shortcut to happily-ever, no-conflict fluff. I want there to be some difficulties or angst involved. For instance, I’d love seeing any fusion/inspired-by fics based off the concept of the AMC Soumates series - where there’s a newly-developed scientific test a person can choose to take to find their soulmate (if the other person out there has also taken the test). That way it’s a choice to find out or not. Would an already established couple want to take the test to find out if they’re really “meant” to be together or not? What if they find out other people are their “soulmates”? What about the possibility of platonic soulmates vs romantic? Discussions for the future if/when one partner dies before the other? I’d love to see these questions played out with one of my fave ships in either a  happy or somewhat angsty/dark way.

Vacation/travel stories. Being unable to travel this past year+ thanks to covid-19 has me desperate to explore and live vicariously through my favorite characters! So I’d love a story involving travel to somewhere new (to them). It could be a romantic getaway/honeymoon trip to somewhere special - and I love it when an author “takes me” to a favorite city/place of their own. Or two friends just going on an escapade together, maybe one sensing the other needs some time away from a stressful situation or workplace.

Smutty likes: I love extended kissing scenes, frottage, light restraint play, sharing-one-bed-for-~reasons~-ooops-how-did-we-wake-up-cuddling, bathing/caretaking an injured partner-turns-erotic, desperate/reunion sex.

Canon-divergent AUs - I’m always good with fix-its, shifts in canon that only change one thing and see what happens next or instead.

Do Not Wants:

A/B/O dynamics, mating heats. (I do like Supernatural fics that explore Castiel and the angels having bird-like behaviors and instincts, however.)

animal abuse/death

anything related to pregnancy/childbirth/kidfic (except for Jack in SPN)

formalized BDSM relationships

scat/watersports

unrequested alternative-universe scenarios such as high school/mundane/genderswap/coffee shop/fantasy/etc. There are a few ships/groups where I would enjoy specific AUs, and those are outlined below.

Completely sad endings/permanent character death or injury that isn’t part of canon

Rape/non-con between requested characters. Dubious consent is fine in situations like magic spells/possession/fuck-or-die, however.

Supernatural

AU - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Fix-it fic, Interpersonal Drama, Smut, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding, Horror

In general for SPN, I love canon-divergence AUs at pretty much any point in time (especially as they kept having so many dumb reasons in canon to keep Dean & Cas apart just when one or the other seriously needed support or TLC!) I’m okay with post-series Heaven fics as well as canon fix-its/completely ignoring the finale, and I like exploring both human!Cas as endgame or Cas keeping/getting his full angelic grace back (which is a slight preference to me, as he repeatedly seemed to genuinely value/want to be an angel? But exploring all possibilities in fic is cool for me.)

I’m a sucker for Castiel Whump/hurt!Cas in general, so long as the author remembers Cas is a bad ass and not just a baby in a trenchcoat. If he’s going to suffer, I want him to suffer stoically until he just cannot keep up the facade any longer.  

SPN-specific DNWs: mentions/implications of Wincest, past or present; extreme bashing/characterization of John and Mary Winchester, or Jimmy Nowak, as homophobic. 

Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Give me all the finale fix-it fics - no I’m still not over it, I’m still happy to read any new twist on how Cas got out of the Empty and got back together with Dean (and Sam). If Dean still dies early/ends up in Heaven, I’d like a story that explores what happens when one gets bored of peace-and-happiness-ever-after. (Yes, I’m a big fan of The Good Place and as such it makes me wonder if eternity with no conflict and everything you could ever want would just melt your brain and identity after a few millennia.) So what then?

I’m also stealing a Tumblr rant as a prompt I’d love to read, if you want to get into some good dirty smut:

ive had it up to here with fictional gays being like “i love you and if all i can ever have is that knowledge it’s enough for me” we need more “i have been struck down by horny insanity and i beg you to fuck me once. i’ve had three smirnoff ices and i’m gonna be crazy now. we can pretend it didn’t happen i don’t give a shit just gimme daddy’s blunt instrument” it’s more realistic [x]

Um so yeah. I’d love an au where, anywhere along the line when it’s been their/someone’s/the universe’s life on the life, Cas takes the initiative decides they’re gonna have crazy sex even if it’s just once before the end of the world/we die. But then, oops, we’ve survived, now we have to deal with it. ...Please?

For something different, maybe more romantic/fluffy, I’d really love a vacation/getaway story here, since they never really got anything like that of substance on the show. I want to see Cas take Dean somewhere beautiful and amazing in the world he’s never gotten to see before. Show him there’s more than just greasy diners and the landscape of America to enjoy and experience. If you want, they could stumble on a case/haunting/monster from another part of the world while they’re at it...but I just really want to see Dean having some mind-opening and expanding experiences beyond what’s he’s known and seen so far in life.

In specific with Cas/Dean + Sam, I love another tumblr idea I saw recently where Sam totally keeps bringing up the idea of “Sastiel” as a fun joke between him and Cas, and Cas plays along, and it drives Dean up the wall. Cas has to just keep re-assuring Dean that no, he doesn’t see Sam that way...but why does it bother Dean so much? A.k.a. Dean has to finally own up to the fact that it bothers him because he wants Cas to feel that way about him.

Castiel (Supernatural)

I just love Cas, period, end of story, he’s my One True Character of SPN. I love any stories that try to explore him more fully—be it his relationships in the past with other angels and being a BAMF commander/warrior of Heaven, or what specifically it is that keeps him so tied to the Winchesters. I love stories that feature his true-form in some fashion or try to dig into the alien/different nature of angels vs. humans.

Also, another Tumblr-musing-turned-prompt (I lost who posted it, sorry!) I'd love to see explored in a canon divergence fic focused on Cas. Specifically: 

"I would have loved an arc for Cas (after he got his grace back) where he wanted to help people, like he was helped. Spending time in soup kitchens or healing people, and through that developing a sense of self purpose, leading to his grace replenishing unexpectedly. Sort of fulfilling the traditional angel role (as we know it nowadays) by replacing his faith in heaven/dean with faith in himself, to redefine himself as a protector of humanity instead of heaven's soldier."

Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Jimmy Novak Group: Castiel & Jimmy Novak

We know Cas carried a lot of guilt for what happened to Jimmy and his whole family. So I'm interested in a post-finale, canon-compliant (I guess?) fic where Cas tries to reconcile things with Jimmy in Heaven. Maybe Jimmy & Amelia were one of his first "projects" or test cases in trying to build a new and better Heaven with Jack? (And it's what he was so busy with while Dean was still alive.) Or, is it weird in Heaven with Cas and Jimmy looking so similar? Does Cas still fight doubts as to whether Dean really loves him, or just desires this body/form that isn’t his own?

Otherwise, I've been thinking about Endverse!Cas, who had lost his grace/powers as the angels have all left and abandoned humankind. What happened to/where is Jimmy in all of that? (If we go by the canon that Jimmy was not killed, nor went to Heaven, until the end of Season 5, when Lucifer blew up that vessel and Cas was resurrected by Chuck.) Are they now two "mortal men"/souls trapped sharing one body? Is that why Cas is so messed up/always seeking an escape through drugs and sex? (Besides of course Dean having changed so much.) This is one prompt where I don’t mind a very dark/not-so-happily-ever-after ending.

The Police

Angst, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Humor, Interpersonal Drama, Smut

Group: Sting/Stewart Copeland

Yeah I’ll always request these two together even though I know it’s a long shot to find anyone else as obsessed about them as I am. Really anything at all whatsoever would make me happy for this ship: Reunion Tour-era fic, early punk days before they grew successful, soulmate AUs...

I’d also love a spooky story where they’re on tour/on the road somewhere and end up in a haunted hotel. Or their tour bus/van breaks down in the middle of nowhere and they have to seek shelter in an abandoned house or farm or something...and supernatural weirdness ends up affecting them or bringing them together.

If you want to go the crack route: it wasn’t enough for Miles to take them all around the world to tour in “exotic” locations back in the day. He’s arranged for them now to go on the ultimate tour...of outer space and alien worlds.

Crossover Fandom

Action/Adventure, Character Development, Interpersonal Drama, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural

Group: Abe Morgan (Forever TV) & John Munch (L&O: SVU)

I’ve had a long running headcanon that these two could have been friends back in their respective 60s/early 70s hippie days. I’d love either a story set back then, “pre-canon”, or them running into each other in NYC later in life. Munch ending up in Abe’s antique shop, for instance, while on an investigation?  

Group: Dean Winchester (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone) Group: Castiel (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone)

I’m fascinated by the idea of crossing over these two canons. Even if there’s some conflict in their approach to Hell/Lucifer/demons, there’s still a lot in common. Dean & Ezekiel having both put in their time in Hell and being demon hunters, for instance, and their complicated relationships with (fallen) angels. I’d love to see them bonding over their experiences (Maybe they even meet in Hell? Time DOES work differently there…) Maybe somehow after Ezekiel completed his mission for the Devil, he did get his second chance at “life on Earth”…but the devil’s trick is that it’s not HIS Earth, it’s in a different dimension (Supernatural’s). I’m also curious how Ezekiel might respond to Castiel as an angel–perhaps he mistakes Cas for a demon at first, with his powers, but then they realize they are in fact hunting the same demon? Cas is stuck in an alternative dimension and recognizes Ezekiel as a similar soul to Dean’s, and seeks out his help?

Basically I’d love some kind of casefic/demon hunt here, with the characters bonding over their shared/similar past traumas, taking care of each other when/if injured on a hunt, and/or perhaps helping them sort out their complicated feelings for another (ie, background Cas/Dean and/or Zeke/the Devil are TOTALLY welcome here, as I ship both of those ships.)

Law & Order: SVU

Group: John Munch/Odafin "Fin" Tutuola

Character Development, Established Relationship, Humor, Getting Together, Interpersonal Drama, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, AU-Genre shift

Munch/Fin is one of my eternal OTPs so I’m always happy to see something new featuring them! I’m always good for procedural/case-fics. And this is one request where I’d love to read some AU-Genre or setting shift, reimagining the two in some other situations besides police work. I’ve always loved the idea of John hosting a conspiracy/weird news radio show or podcast, and Fin as someone completely skeptical but who gets wrapped up in one of John’s mysteries. Or John as the owner of a bar somewhere that Fin is one of his regulars, and over time their friendship develops/deepens into something more.

Supernatural RPF

Misha Collins/Jensen Ackles Established Relationship, Getting Together, Smut, Fluff, Slice of Life, Humor

It’s odd for me to be into an actor RPF fandom (I usually only fall for music/band-related ones), but what can I say...these two just make it almost impossible not to see the possibilities!

I was thinking I’d love something set post-Supernatural...their first time seeing each other again after a long time apart? (What with the show ending, covid, Misha’s surgery, etc etc.) Could be at a convention or maybe they get to go off on a getaway together somewhere private/romantic and it’s...kind of tense and maybe nervous/angsty at first? Like with doubts about whether they can/should go back to the way things were before.

Or: putting tin-hatty speculation about the “secret/real identity” of Alma Perpetua aside, I love their poetry and I’d love any “Cockles” fic using one of their poems as inspiration.

[bae-science]

❥,+,✘

❥: barefoot, sleepy wanderings

✘: forehead kisses

+: being led back to bed with patient whispers

TW: light blood, surgeries, mentions of hospital setting, needles, portrayal of OCD, vomiting

When people hear that Vanessa was diagnosed at five years old, they assume she doesn’t remember the experience. Her brain wasn’t developed enough. Other memories have clouded it over. Things got blocked out for being too frightening for a small child to deal with.

They’re all wrong, of course. She wishes they weren’t.

The experience isn’t totally crystallized in a perfect sequence of events; she doesn’t know exactly how her parents noticed her disorientation, weight loss, and difficulty with toilet training. She can’t remember the faces of the nurses who took care of her, or the doctor that tried to gently explain how drastically her life had changed forever. She doesn’t even know the title of the binder the social worker gave her parents on Type 1. Probably something ridiculous, though, since it was a pediatric ward. Sometimes she wonders if hospitals have crack teams specifically for that.

She remembers the IV, though. The way she couldn’t stop thinking about the way it lay under her skin, putting things inside her body she couldn’t see or understand, and the image of blood pooling underneath the clear tape from all the times she bent her elbow. Her mind looped the thoughts over and over again, expanding like a dense mass of black cotton that would, later in her life, prove persistent, and open to other topics of obsession. How she seemed to never be able to get warm. The exhaustion from being woken several times a night to be pricked and poked and sent back to bed for a few more measly hours of sleep, until the parade of doctors began anew. The blurry vision that seemed to take months to fade.

It seems almost comical, after twelve years of this, when a routine trip to the dentist reveals that her wisdom teeth are coming in wrong. The issue is so laughably common, so often played for jokes with laughing gas and woozy patients spouting nonsense before the anesthetic wears off, that Vanessa almost has trouble developing anxieties about the whole thing.

It’s then of course she’s informed about her own personal risk factors. The anesthesia could send her blood sugar either way: low because of the blood loss and healing required during the surgery, or high because of the adrenaline and falling asleep during the daytime. She’ll need to calculate her ratios, test her blood sugars, and monitor herself and her food while still recovering from the procedure. It makes a knot swell in her stomach as the dentist talks on, growing so large and choking that she nearly sprints for the car as her mother takes care of the paperwork, slamming the door and curling into the passenger seat to scream at the top of her lungs.

That night, Vanessa has to check the stove burners three times before she feels safe enough to go to bed. 

Karla, bless her heart, doesn’t quite understand, but Hermann does. He tells her how he felt going under, and which over the counter painkillers help and hinder sleep. They go out and purchase an electric blanket to drape over her pillow, hoping the heat will help any pain in her jaw, and both him and Karla declare they’ll be sleeping over several nights while she recovers, Vanessa not even given a chance to dissuade them. She’s never loved her friends more.

Hermann’s correct in that she barely remembers nearly the whole hour before the assistant slips an IV in, Vanessa clenching down her jaw to steady her breathing. The drive home, too, is a blurry haze of aches and the wooziness that comes with hovering just above the lower end of her blood sugar bracket. They pass by a McDonald’s hanging just on the outskirts of the city, gripping to the slow crawl of modernity by its fingernails, and Vanessa thinks of her classmate Rebecca, who boasted two years ago after getting her own wisdom teeth removed that she ate nothing but ice cream for a week afterwards. The gauze in her mouth is sticky and bland. Her stomach growls. 

Hermann and Karla are sitting on the porch steps when they pull in, overnight bags and cane sprawled beside them. Karla leaps to her feet before Vanessa’s mother is even parked, opening the passenger side door and taking her hand. Even with no small amount of anesthesia in her system, Vanessa still feels her heart skip a beat at Karla’s slim, cool fingers closing around hers.

“How are you feeling?” she asks anxiously, sliding her other hand around Vanessa’s waist and helping her up the steps. “Are you hungry? What hurts? Hermann,” she snaps, “get the Ibuprofen; I told you to have it out already!”

Hermann shoots Vanessa a look, and she gives a weak chuckle. The gauze in her mouth prevents any real speaking, but he understands. 

“She’s not dying, Karla,” he says, holding open the door as Karla hurries her inside. Vanessa’s mother and Hermann follow after them, and after instructing the twins to call for her if they need anything, gives Vanessa a careful hug and kisses her forehead. Karla looks as if every second Vanessa isn’t tucked into bed like a sardine and being fussed over is causing her personal agony. 

“‘c’n wohlk,” Vanessa mumbles, tongue refusing to shape the words right, but the gentle way Karla guides her up the stairs and down the hallway to her bedroom makes something soft and funny flutter in her chest. It’s been happening more often lately; this rush of discomforting elation whenever Karla shines that focused, diligent attention on her.

Hermann, seeming to sense that this is his role now, holds open her bedroom door and fetches her water bottle from the desk to bring it over. Karla pulls back the covers and eases Vanessa to sit down, kneeling to untie her sneakers. The world still hums with a muted fuzziness, but the sight gives Vanessa a brief, powerful urge to run her hand through Karla’s short, choppy curls. She wonders what it would feel like clipped and uniform, in the buzzcut she’s seen her admire on so many men. 

Karla pulls her shoes, then socks off, and Vanessa crawls under her comforter and places the side of her jaw most painful at the moment onto the electric blanket. She fumbles for the switch to turn it on, but Karla brushes her hand aside and puts it on medium. “There,” she says with an air of frazzled satisfaction. “Right. Now Hermann and I will be right here, and we’ll wake you every two hours if we need to to take your medication. You’re supposed to alternate Ibuprofen and Advil, and you can drink and eat but only liquids at the moment.” She turns to Hermann with the sharpness of a military general. “Hermann, get the soup out. We made soup,” she clarifies. “Well, I did. Hermann’s a horrible cook. Are you hungry?”

Vanessa shakes her head as best she can, swallowing spit that tastes like iron. “’m okay. Th’nk y’.”

Karla pulls out her desk chair for Hermann to take a seat, then sets a cluster of Vanessa’s throw pillows on the floor next to the bed. She leans back against the side and looks up at Vanessa, face craned so far back it’s nearly upside down. “Are you okay?”

Vanessa nods into the pillow, letting one hand dangle down off the bed. Karla catches it without missing a beat and runs a finger over the tops of her knuckles. “Mmhm.” She’s hungry; no breakfast besides a glass of water for the first dose of medication, but can’t find the energy to even consider calculating how much insulin she needs, especially when she’s so sedentary. Sleep, however, is a tantalizing prospect so close to going low, and Vanessa is out the second her eyes close again.

She wakes excruciatingly thirsty, disoriented and heart pounding. Her body is the kind of overheated she recognizes as a telltale sign of a high, and panic races through her as she tries to push herself up and search for her bag.

It’s not there.

Vanessa’s breath catches, and she slides her hands over the jumble of books and empty plastic cups and pens on her bedside table. Where the fuck is her bag? She needs her bag; she needs to find out how high she is; never mind that she doesn’t know she’ll hold her finger steady enough to prick it, or insert the strip into the meter, but she needs her insulin because she’s hot, and exhausted, and her numbers are definitely so, so bad right now.

She stumbles out of bed and towards the door, catching herself on the doorframe briefly before fear propels her forward. Maybe she left it in the bathroom? Did she go to the bathroom? She might need to if she’s over 240; oh God, if she’s over 200 she’ll just stick her head in the bathtub and turn on the faucet because that is way, way too high, and if her numbers are too high her A1C will be bad, and if her A1C is bad then she’s doing it all wrong and failing diabetes, which is definitely something that is possible to do, and her stomach twists with anxiety so badly at the thought of her beautiful, perfect 5.7 going up even a percentage that she barely makes it to the toilet before dry heaving.

Pure bile, void of anything else from her empty stomach, splatters her tongue and the inside of the bowl, and Vanessa presses her face against the cool porcelain before the stench of bleach makes her retch again. She hears footsteps just outside, barely processing the sound of the door opening wider over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

“Vanessa--?” Karla asks, before seeing the scene before her and rushing to her side. She puts a hand on each shoulder and immediately begins rubbing them soothingly, a sensation that does a surprisingly good deal to steady Vanessa’s pulse. 

She gags out, “High,” the last of bloody gauze finally falling into the toilet, and Karla nods against the back of her neck.

“Hermann!” she calls, “Hermann, get her kit! On the desk! Put a strip in the meter and new lancet!”

Oh, thinks Vanessa, that’s where it went, but Hermann is already clacking down the hall towards them. He quickly sets his cane on the bathroom counter and prepares the meter, then hands it and the lancet to Karla, who in turn hands Vanessa a tissue.

“Here,” she says gently, “for your mouth. May I see your hand?”

Vanessa clumsily wipes the acid from her chin and holds out a shaking hand, letting Karla take her pinky with careful fingers and prick it on the lowest setting she can. The pain is dulled there as well, thankfully, but the countdown as the meter processes her blood makes Vanessa’s stomach swoop.

When it shows 122, she frowns.

“But... ‘m hot,” she says, leaning back against the side of the bathtub. Karla hands the supplies back to Hermann and resumes rubbing her shoulders. 

“Well you were lying on a heating bad under a bunch of blankets, ‘Ness. That might have something to do with it.”

“Thirsty?” Vanessa adds. Hermann makes a startled face and quickly leaves, returning with her water bottle. As she takes it and swallows a few grateful mouthfuls, he raises an eyebrow.

“Dry mouth from anesthesia is a common side effect. You really should be drinking regularly, especially since you weren’t able to for several hours.” He takes his cane from the counter and shifts his weight to it. “Come on. You should go back to bed.”

Vanessa tilts her head back against the rim of the tub and lets out a long, shaky sigh. “Yeah. Okay. Gimme a sec.”

She lets herself lean into the feeling of Karla’s hands on her skin, the chilled lip of the tub on her neck, and hears Hermann move to lean against the doorframe. Karla never pauses for a moment. 

“You’re alright,” she murmurs, her head just brushing Vanessa’s hair. “We’re right here. You’re alright.”

She takes another breath, then nods. “’Kay. Let’s go.”

[thegoldenlily3]

Part 1of 2

Trigger warning! Graphic photos in this post.

4-6-17 In the very first photo, I have a horrible tooth ache and had no idea the pain and agony it was going to bring. It ultimately changed my life and for a very long time it was changed for the worse. In the photos following, you’ll see me change and look like death and then recover. You’ll see me living life to the fullest but behind closed doors or under my shirt rather, you’ll see how much I’ve had to overcome. This is my story.

On October 30th 2013, I had a colonoscopy and was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis(UC) which is a chronic inflammatory bowel disease(IBD) and an autoimmune disease. I was prescribed Canasa suppositories and my symptoms when away for about a year or so and then came back. I had to get a new Gastroenterologist doctor because my previous one had retired. He wasn’t much help anyway. My new GI doctor was amazing and caring and she saved my life. She prescribed me Lialda(NSAID) and Uceris(steroid).

At the end of March 2017, I had horrible tooth pain and called my dentist and they prescribed me Tramadol and Augmentin. The Tramadol made me sick so I called and had them switch the med and they gave me Clindamycin and that made me sick too. They gave me Hydrocodone and that also made me sick so they just had me taking Ibuprofen and Augmentin. I started to have a bad reaction to the Augmentin and got sores all in my throat and mouth and was throwing up and had severe diarrhea. I finished the antibiotic but went to the er because of the pain in my mouth and the vomiting. Mary’s magic mouthwash was prescribed to me to help with the sores and also nausea meds. The only time I was able to get any sleep was when this mouthwash numbed my mouth and throat. For weeks, I was unable to eat or drink anything nor was I able to take my UC meds and my heart rate was high. I went to the er multiple times during this whole ordeal because I couldn’t stop throwing up and all they would do is give me fluids and nausea meds then send me home. I went to an er and waited for 3 hours all the while throwing up with no end in sight and ended up leaving to go to a different hospital. On April 15th, I was pacing the house back and forth because I was miserable and didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go to the er yet again for them to just send me right back home. I remember I was pacing by the front door and my husband Issaac went to check the mail. I watched him and then started to say his name over and over because I felt like something was really wrong. Next thing I remember is Issaac kneeling over me and having shoes stabbing me in the back. I had passed out and my eyes were open the whole time but I was unresponsive. Issaac had ran in and thought I was dead. He called 911 and they wouldn’t answer. He used my finger to unlock my phone and dialed 911 and had both phones ringing and finally got an answer. (Fun fact for iPhones: if you press the big button on the side it will call 911 and they can track your location. Dialing 911 will not allow them to track your location.) The ambulance took me to the er and they did 2 EKG’s, CT scan(only after Issaac asked them to because I hit my head when I fell.), chest X-ray, and blood work. I was also tested for CDiff many times but it was always negative. Again, I was given fluids and sent home. They said it was normal for a lot of people to live with an elevated heart rate so they weren’t concerned. A couple days later I went to my primary care doctors office. My doctor was on maternity leave so I saw a different doctor. He did blood work and then wanted me to take depression meds. That was a hard NO! He said I wasn’t getting better because I was depressed about being sick. Yes, I was absolutely miserable and sad about it. BUT, there was something more going on. I wasn’t getting better and I knew it wasn’t my fault. I had to keep advocating for myself because I wasn’t getting help from any of these doctors I’ve seen. I think I went to the er again at some point and was sent home. Then they called me and said my potassium levels were too low and they didn’t think I’d be able to get down the prescribed potassium drink. So we went back to the er. Again. The er wouldn’t take the word of the doctor from another hospital so they did blood work again. We went to a different hospital because the wait at the previous one was way too long. So I received potassium through an iv and that is not comfortable. It burned as it went through my arm. I was also given Magnesium. I was sent home the next day.

Even though the sores were finally gone from my mouth, I was still struggling to swallow. I had my GI doctor schedule an upper Endoscopy which I had done on April 20th. My esophagus had no damage and there wasn’t anything stuck in there. While I was under anesthesia, my GI doctor did a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy. This a colonoscopy but only through a small portion of the colon. It was then that I finally, FINALLY after a month of being so sick that I was admitted to the hospital. My doctor said I looked like I was going to die. She said my colon was so severely inflamed that she couldn’t let me go home even though a patient being admitted after a procedure being done by her makes her look bad. She saved my life and I’m eternally grateful. I had 10 er visits and a scheduled dr visit and none of these doctors thought to have my colon checked knowing that I had UC and continued to show anemia in the blood tests they all ran. It all finally made sense. I wasn’t able to take my UC meds and I was taking 800mg of Ibuprofen for the tooth ache I had. This is what caused my UC to flare up. Why couldn’t 11 doctors put that together?

While I was in the hospital, I received 3 Iron infusions to raise my hemoglobin. I also had a speech therapist come in and she helped me with my throat issue. I was still struggling to swallow and she said that I was protecting my self subconsciously. She worked with me and I was finally able to swallow normally. I was so happy to finally eat a meal without a struggle. I was released 5 days later on April 25th even though I felt I should have stayed. The very next day I woke Issaac up because I was shivering and my teeth were rattling like crazy. My heart rate was 145. Issaac called 911 and we went to the er for the 11th time within a months time. I was put in the observation unit at Methodist which was in the basement because they didn’t have any rooms in the er available. I remember telling a nurse that I needed to go to the bathroom and I wasn’t allowed to get up on my own. She said ok and that she’d be back but when she got back, it was too late...She was gone for a long time. I at least was wearing a hospital gown. I was later put into constant care in the er. My heart rate had gone up to 180 and I was shivering and rattling teeth again. It was uncontrollable and the nurses looked at me like I was faking it. They hooked a heart monitor onto me and suddenly changed their tune because my heart rate was at 200. I believe they gave me aspirin and eventually I was transferred to another room where I waited for a permanent room because I was being admitted again. On April 28, I was admitted and I had another night of the shivering episode with my heart rate at 190. I’m trying to remember what this felt like but I can’t. I was so out of it and not even aware of my surroundings. It was on this day that our grass had been cut and it turned out to be our next door neighbor. We were very thankful for that.

A few days later, my heart rate was around 100 and my hemoglobin was much better. The diarrhea had slowed down so I wasn’t losing as much blood(because of UC) but I wasn’t eating either. I had iv fluids and they wanted me to drink Gatorade but my body was retaining fluids and I was swollen. That was a very weird experience. They did an Echo Cardiogram which turned out to be normal. My ejection fraction was 65% and 55% or above is considered normal. I know this is what they said but I don’t really know what that means. On April 30th, I received a blood transfusion because the retest of my hemoglobin showed 6.6 grams per deciliter and it should be for women between 12-15.5. A blood transfusion is scary. For the first 15 minutes, the nurse has to stay and watch me as I receive the blood to make sure I don’t have any adverse reactions and reject the blood. It turned out to be fine and I received at least a pint of blood. I feel I received another pint but I can’t remember. So I’ve been in the hospital for 10 days so far and I’ve been taking a steroid called Prednisone this whole time to treat my UC. I was also on morphine for the pain. I received physical therapy to help me walk but they were 3 days late. It turned out that there wasn’t an order for pt even though the doctors mentioned it every time they visited. On May 2nd, I was in severe pain and I went about 4 hours or longer without pain meds. The doctor was supposed to call them in and ended up leaving for the day without doing it. The next day, my bloodwork still showed inflammation so my colon wasn’t responding to the Prednisone. All the Prednisone did was make my head hurt sooo bad. I was taking Tylenol for it and it did nothing. My head hurt non stop for many days. I had warned them that Prednisone wouldn’t treat me right. I had taken it before and it made me so dizzy I had to have Issaac drive me home from work. This time it was just the severe head pain.

On May 5th 2017, I’m still in the hospital but I’m about to be released. For some reason my doctor was switched to a different doctor. This doctor decided to schedule for a colonoscopy. They gave me the bowel prep to drink with some clear Gatorade. This stuff was horrible. I’m supposed to drink it all within an hour and every minute of it sucked. I somehow managed to get it all down at the end of the hour. But then...I adjusted my body very slightly, and I threw it all up! I didn’t know it was coming and I had zero time to prepare for it. I just threw it all up all over my gown and in my gown and all over the blankets. I said to them, “I don’t understand why I have to do this. I have had severe diarrhea and I can’t even eat. There’s nothing in my stomach.” But they made me do the prep again... This time I drank it over the course of like 4 hours and managed to get it down without throwing up. I had the colonoscopy which they said went fine...I was still severely inflamed and they wanted to start me on a biological medicine called Humira and continue the steroids. During a colonoscopy, they insert a colonoscope into your bottom that transmits an image of the lining of the colon. The scope blows air to expand the colon so the doctor can see better. Well, after the procedure I was actually feeling alright but I had so much pressure in my belly and I felt like I needed to poop. I tried over and over to go on the toilet and it just wasn’t happening. But finally, it happened. And I was in bed...The nurses hadn’t been in for a long time and didn’t plan to be in for awhile. I was so embarrassed that I had Issaac clean me before they came in. Imagine a father changing a dirty diaper and gagging the whole time. This was Issaac and he kept running to the toilet afraid he was going to puke. To this day, we still laugh about it. It doesn’t matter how horrible the whole experience was, I can still laugh about it. Later that day, I was feeling a lot of pain and they had moved me to a different room with closer care. I remember this floor had some of the best nurses I’d ever had. Hospital policy was that a patient was to be bathed when changing floors. Issaac stood out in the hall as they transferred me from one bed to the other. This was an out of body experience and I can remember it so vividly. As they raised me off the bed, I started screaming in pain and continued to moan in pain after they transferred me to the new bed. I didn’t have any pain meds but I shouldn’t have been in pain. They were ordered not to give me pain meds because the doctor wanted me to be clear headed when they talked to me. I could tell the nurses felt so badly for me because of how much pain I was in. Issaac could hear me screaming down the hall. i was finally given multiple doses of morphine but it didn’t really touch the pain. I then had a CT scan done to see why I was in so much pain. The CT showed air outside of my colon which meant that the doctor had perforated my bowel during the colonoscopy. They started me on antibiotics and said a surgeon would be in to speak with me about possibly removing my entire colon. The surgeon came in and discussed my options. I either stuck with the antibiotics and steroids to see if I heal or I have the surgery. They said it was very unlikely that my colon would recover because there wasn’t any good colon left. I would have had to take a biological medicine for my UC which meant that my immune system would be even weaker and I wouldn’t be able to work in the Microbiology lab where I was currently employed. Even then, there was a slim chance of recovery. She said that even if I didn’t have a perforation, that this surgery was inevitable in my case. I cried and cried and cried. I asked her if I would still be able to have children and she said yes and that she would put extra tissue around my ovaries to protect them. A lot of people said I should get a second opinion but I wasn’t in that state of mind. All I could think about was being able to have children. I also did not want to be on medicine for the rest of my life.

On May 6th 2017, I decided to have the surgery. I had a total abdominal colectomy and an ileostomy surgery. My entire larger intestines was removed and they pulled my small intestines outside my stomach wall and created what’s called a stoma. The stoma is covered with a bag that has adhesive on it to stick to my skin. I essentially poop in a bag. I wish I remember more from this time. I can’t remember what it was like waking up to this. I do remember emptying my bag into the toilet though when I was finally able to walk. I couldn’t go alone though. I had to call the nurse every time I wanted to use the bathroom and there was an alarm on the bed if I tried to get up. One time I let it go off and went anyway because I had called them saying I need to go to the bathroom and they took too long. I don’t blame them. Each nurse had way too many patients to care for. At this point, my arms were completely black from all of the blood draws and IVs I received. Each nurse that came to draw my blood was so confident that they could get it even though I told them they wouldn’t be able to without the ultra sound machine. I had a nurse poke me 3 times and one of those times was in my thumb. Every time, they always had to call the team with the ultra sound to draw my blood. I had a Russian nurse for a few days and she was really hard to understand as her accent was strong. My issue with her was that she wouldn’t listen to me and would disagree with everything I said. I had been in the hospital for a few weeks so I knew what to do and I knew what my body could handle. I also had a male nurse who led me to ask my case manager if I could only have female nurses. I didn’t have a problem with the fact that he was a man. My problem was that he was too rough and he probably didn’t know it. I didn’t blame him for that but it was hurting me unnecessarily. He also forced me to walk to the bathroom on my own without help when I wasn’t supposed to be alone. I started taking walks with a walker through the halls after getting pt. Everyone who passed me cheered me on. It was extremely hard. They say every day you spend in bed is 3 days off of your life expectancy. I had been in bed for basically a month or so. After this surgery, I was on a morphine pump which I controlled and Oxycodone. The oxy kept me loopy. I was on 15 mg every dose. I hated taking it. I didn’t worry as much with the morphine as it didn’t really work for me. It helped give me relief for a few minutes but then faded. I pushed that pump button every time I was able to though. It was every 15 minutes. On May 12th, I finally went home.

Through the next couple of weeks, I had follow up appointments with my GI doctor and my surgeon. When I went to see my GI doctor, I told her about some pain I was having on my bottom. The pain from it made it very hard to walk or move or even sleep. She said it looked like an abscess but to confirm with my surgeon. So I went to see my surgeon and for some reason on that day I was pain free and happy so she didn’t think it was concerning. On May 26th I went to the er for the 12th time. I had a fever and was in so much pain. The er took me back immediately since I had just had surgery and they feared I was septic. It turned out to be an abscess and they took me into surgery to drain it. I was given anesthesia because of how much pain I was in. Thankfully I wasn’t septic and this turned out better than they originally thought. I guess since I was on steroids for so long, my body wasn’t able to fight off an infection so the abscess was very large and inflamed. I received another unit of blood and I still had a fever for a few days. The antibiotics were making me sick and I was really struggling to eat. Between the beginning of April and it now being the end of May, I had lost 30 pounds unintentionally. May 31 2017, I was released from the hospital for the third and final time.

Over the next few weeks, I was walking around the neighborhood and family and friends were coming to help care for me so Issaac could go back to work. I started to taper off the Oxy and that was not fun. I was taking such a high dose that I would nod off mid conversation. When I would wake, I would feel like I slept for hours when it was really only minutes and I would get upset because I was so tired and never really got rest. Even though I was high, I remember how I felt and the things I did. I remember trying to dance with Issaac in the kitchen when he was walking me through the house. I remember contacting people on fb that I hadn’t talked to in a long time. All I wanted to do was talk. I was oddly cheerful and accepted my situation. Anyone who really knows me knows that I am a half glass empty kind of person so this was unusual for me. I didn’t realize all of this until after I tapered off the oxy. My Dad was the only person who told me he was worried that when I came down, I would not feel the same. He knew that it wasn’t really me. I remember going to the ball park to watch a softball game with family and I ended up having to leave because I was in pain and I didn’t bring the Oxy with me. I started to cry because I was so embarrassed and sad that I wasn’t strong enough yet to be at one of my favorite places in the world. On June 18th, I was tapering and I had to have Issaac come home because I was feeling horrible and I couldn’t stop crying about it. I called him because I was home alone at this point because I could finally walk to the bathroom alone and make my own food. So I had to call in another order of Oxy to taper down slower because I was trying to go too fast and I was having withdrawal symptoms. I really don’t know why anyone would want to go through that. Eventually, I was completely off the Oxy and I was so happy to not have any withdrawal symptoms.

So Issaac went back to work after spending every single day with me in the hospital. I didn’t have short term disability because there was some confusion when we signed up for insurance together. I tried to appeal and it was denied Mid June, people from work hosted a bake sale at work to raise money for me. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I never felt that I had people in my life who cared enough to do something like this. Someone also created a go fund me page as well. I was overcome with shame, shock, and most importantly gratitude for such amazing acts of kindness. Issaac handed me the money that was raised and I just lost it. I was so emotional and just couldn’t believe that this was real life. I feel like this whole ordeal is something you hear about happening but never think that it’ll happen to you. Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who contributed to raising money and helping me get better and for all of the continuous prayers during this time.

July 4th 2017, I finally returned to work. You can see through all of the photos around this time and the rest of the year that I was enjoying life the best I could. In October 2017, I started to have issues with my skin under my bag. This became an issue off and on for over a year. I had been using the same brand of products since surgery for a year and then all of a sudden I couldn’t use it anymore without having an allergic reaction. My skin would start weeping and oozing and was extremely itchy. It also burned badly which over powered the itchiness. Throughout the year of 2018 I struggled with this a lot but I still went on living. The photos I provided are to show how one day I’m very low spirited and the next day I’m blissful. And I was. I was very blessed to enjoy time with family and to go on vacation with Issaac to the Niagara Falls and to go Gen Con. Gen Con was really hard. There was so much walking and I was so weak and still hadn’t built muscles back up. If I stood on my tippy toes, I would fall over from the pain in my calves. Standing outside in the food truck lines was the worst. The heat was making me sweat and interfering with the adhesive of my ostomy bag. Little did I know that this incident would make my skin worse than it ever was before. The photos are a reminder to me of what I’ve overcome. I wanted to create a timeline and show myself how strong our bodies really are. If you’ve read this far, thank you. Part 2 will be posted soon.

[truthbeetoldmedia]

Shameless 9x11 “The Hobo Games” Review

With just a few episodes of the season left, Shameless is really amping up the drama — but it might be too little too late.

Episode 11, “The Hobo Games,” begins with Fiona in a motel room full of people. The viewer doesn’t know how she got here, as she was most recently seen being carted off to jail in a cop car, and it’s likely Fiona doesn’t have the answer either. She steals a bottle of oxy and is chased out of the building with a “Southside trash” thrown her way for good measure, an insult Fiona has certainly claimed with pride by now.

When she returns to the Gallagher house, Debbie is still making home improvements and needs cash to buy a furnace. So, Fiona wanders off to the street corner Carl used to frequent in his drug peddling days and sells the pills. She has to get creative after all, now that she’s out of a real job.

Meanwhile, Carl goes to work where he’s promoted to fry cook, though he’s distracted throughout the day by fears of Debbie attempting to seduce his girlfriend, Kelly. The two are getting suspiciously close and even Carl’s coworkers feed into his fears when they tell him the two look like lovers.

Across town, V has convinced Kev to get a vasectomy following their bad luck fostering Santiago. V believes he’s gone through with the procedure and when he’s acting strange, decides to drop off Amy and Gemma at the Gallagher house before going to work at the Alibis. Veronica later finds out that Kev had chickened out of the procedure and lied to her.

At the Hobo Loco Games, the last few competitors face off for the cash prize. As Frank attempts to focus all his energy on winning, Ingrid fears he will not stay loyal to her and her unborn babies. She decides to test Frank by lying to him, telling him she’s miscarrying. However, he’s more concerned with winning the money. After he loses the competition and Ingrid’s test, Frank returns home to find that she is leaving him and reducing the embryos to two — not that Frank will have anything to do with them as far as she’s concerned.

Lip, all the while, is attempting to adopt Xan who, in the last episode, showed up at the Gallagher house as her mom had disappeared (again). Though the initial appointment goes okay, Tammi is missing. And then, when Lip is out buying Xan a bunk bed, a social worker shows up at the house. A drunk Fiona answers the door and the social worker is left visibly unimpressed by the state of her and the house.

Lip’s bad luck continues when he waits outside of Tammi’s work to confront her about her no show and she reveals to him that she’s pregnant. The two have virtually no time to talk about their options because just when Lip thinks things can’t get any more stressful, his sponsee Jason calls. He reveals to Lip that he’s slipped up and needs to talk.

Jason later reveals to Lip that Fiona had stopped by the shop looking for him and offered him vodka, sending him into a downward spiral during which he also shot up heroin. Furious, Lip finds Fiona at home and confronts her about her interaction with Jason. After an icy standoff, Lip tells Fiona that he wants her out of the house.

There were so many interesting twists and turns this episode, but why are they just happening now?

This season as a whole has felt so oddly paced to me, with several episodes feeling like filler material and others being stuffed to the brim with tension and plot twists. For example, why has Fiona spent a quarter of the season drinking her days away with no intervention from anyone and is just now facing consequences, such as being fired from her job and kicked out of the house?

Why has Lip been doing nothing but hanging out with Tammi for several episodes in a row, only to now have three significant plot points dropped in his lap?

And what was the point of giving Frank the opportunity to be a father again and to win a large sum of money, only for both plotlines to be abandoned anticlimactically at the end of the season?

And meanwhile, the other characters in the show have been given lackluster storylines. Debbie especially has done next to nothing this half-season besides make improvements to the house and pay for the bills.

Carl, meanwhile, has shown no ambition to continue his military career, the dream he’s been chasing for three seasons now.

This episode was entertaining, don’t get me wrong. I love Lip and Fiona arguments with every fiber of my being. Jeremy and Emmy have such an amazing chemistry that makes these scenes absolutely electric. However, it almost felt like this scene should’ve happened a long time ago. Lip should’ve confronted Fiona about her behavior long before she gave his sponsee alcohol, especially because he knows what it’s like to be an alcoholic who needs help and support.

I enjoyed Lip immensely this episode, but part of me feels like I’m seeing a version of him I’ve never seen before, and not in a good way. He’s changed drastically without any onscreen development, and this makes it hard for me to believe who he is and what he’s doing. This is pretty much consistent for every character this season If I’m being honest.

The placement of blame on Fiona for everything going wrong feels unnecessary and solely ammo for Lip to get so angry he kicks her out, thus giving Emmy an exit. I suppose if Lip offered to help her, something much more in character for him or any of the other siblings, really, she wouldn’t have an out.

Perhaps Emmy’s decision to leave the show was last minute, but her exit has been written poorly and caused so many characters to do things they would never do. Even Fiona’s friends like Kev and V are absent from her life, which is extremely out of character for both of them.

I’m still looking forward to seeing how this season ends and how Fiona gets her final exit, but I’m unsure of how this leaves every other character moving forward. How will they continue to interact with each other, given that they’re suddenly so cold and no longer focused on being a family? With Fiona and Ian both gone, are we finally seeing the demise of the Gallagher clan?

I’m not sure how much longer this show can continue, quite frankly, and I’m more fearful than excited for what Season 10 may bring. I worry that Shameless has become unrecognizable, and is no longer the story of the dysfunctional but tightly-knit and fiercely loyal Gallagher family we’ve all grown to love. With that being said though, it’s been renewed for a reason. So maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised by the episodes to come.

Shameless airs Sundays on Showtime at 9/8c.

Jessica’s episode rating: 🐝🐝

[unproduciblesmackdown]

here’s me talking about the month since i was last online

firstly it was/is depressing not to be able to talk with ppl or hear from them. or just to be able to talk somewhere i know people CAN hear. i also mentioned being completely detached from the news. i like to be current about the news. anyways i was like “well not like this is anything new” as its technically unusual for me to NOT be cut off both irl and from the internet. but, shockingly, that doesnt make it not depressing. and having something for even a bit makes it more frustrating to lose it even if its “normal” for you not to have it. also by depressing i mean i was going like hmm i sure am even more tired than usual and i am less interested in my few lingering faint interests. whats up with that! and then i was like oh yeah thats called Even More Depression

it is funny because im someone who has never really had that many friends and when i do we often end up separated one way or another. Very Close friends &/or Very Longtime friends are a foreign concept. basically the heights of my “what i wish it was like” for life involve having a group of friends with whom you can have fun in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night just talking and hanging out and messing around. friends that you feel comfortable being yourself around and like they appreciate you as much as you do them. i do not think this is ever going to happen, but oh well because in reality i can be very picky about people because i am weird, to put it that way for now. my social landscape and language is not always considered normal or even tolerable. and i have a lot of standards for who i want to have around me in terms of traits and personality. theres a lot of things im not interested in. anyways. i also just, in the way things actually are, often prefer to be alone, so that i can be myself and do things i feel like. i dont have to worry about being strange or feeling like i need to please people. anyways. unfortunately i dont ONLY like being alone. i actually really like to be with people and talk with them but i rarely can, and i figure this is bad for me. isolation isnt good for anyone obviously. not being able to be around friends in person depresses me. not being able to talk online either depresses me further.

i think sometimes about how much i dont say. its a funny place to say it, in an overly long text post. but one of the reasons they can be so long is because irl i dont really talk much to people. so it builds up and can come out through writing. sometimes it comes out in talking. i think that in conversations, when i do talk, i talk too much because of this. so one of the reasons i dont talk much is to prevent this, which obviously is like “well that would just cancel out” but there are other reasons i dont talk. but i have loads of thoughts and things to say. i end up keeping so much of it to myself and wonder sometimes if i’ll ever get to say some of it. sometimes i’ll have something to say and bite it back. i’ve been “quiet” all these past twenty some years of talking and i know the reasons i dont talk. i was thinking about the feeling of biting something back in an individual occasion feeling like the cumulation of all the years worth of keeping my own voice running in my head alone. it kind of feels like what you want to say is in your chest and throat and the roof of your mouth.

speaking of the roof of your mouth, theres a weird sensation i can feel sometimes, seemingly at random but mostly in strange times like trying to fall asleep. it is so transient and unlike any actual externally caused sensations that its been difficult to try to get a grasp of how to describe it, but i think i have it thanks to ongoing effort and an unusually long period of it a few days ago during which i was especially alert about it. it’s like having a pressure radiating out from inside your mouth. like an orb pushing outwards against the teeth and roof of the mouth. which i’m fairly sure isn’t anything that would ever happen, so i am assuming its some little neurological hiccup that happens to align every now and then, but maybe a previous life cycle has put something weird in their mouth. or shot into it, because i would be like, well not much has changed.

anyways. words sitting like a pressure in your mouth. i was seeing a thread about how grief is ongoing and reoccurring which also mentioned that people who specialize in knowing how grieving and living with it works often consider it to be a form of grief when someone’s life is affected by something like trauma. they have to grieve themselves because of the possibilities taken away from them. i feel that, sometimes. thinking about how i wish i had a life where i felt free to speak and where my identity mattered and i got to feel like i could be myself and it was important and it was important what i thought and wanted and who i really was. and where i got to have friends and do things and realize what it was to actually feel happy, not try to understand an unhappy existence as what must be okay. its not just what couldve been in the past, but also how that couldve affected the present and future. im not sure who i’d be if my life didnt have to be about survival and escape. i say i never had dreams, which is true, but in retrospect i DO think that when i was fifteen and really bearing down in trying to figure out what i wanted to do, i was already seeing activism as the answer, which made sense why it wouldnt register as a dream or ambition and why it was also impossible to pursue. i still dont think of anything like personal fulfillment through a career/job or anything. but i also dont think of what i want to do as very relevant to anything at all anymore.

anyways. i’m “used” to things, but they still depress and hurt me. i actually have a lot of sadness and anger about some of these things, like never getting to have the friends i wanted or never being able to speak and it not mattering who i really was, and how long it took me to realize this really wasn’t okay and it wasn’t because of some personal deficiency which made me deserve it somehow. also the abuse. i remember i had this how-to book about weaving friendship bracelets which i got sometime in elementary school, and it even supplied some twine and stuff. i had always wanted to have occasion to use it, and i never did, which is just symbolic. the twine/potential friendship bracelets can also be things like positive social connections that feel real and open, or my ability to feel secure in expressing affection because it seems mutual. but anyways. i also just go along.

i was thinking about the Being Gone For A Month thing and the not-talking and holding all my words back even though i think so much about all sorts of junk and thus have too much to say, and about a week ago i just spent like six hours writing about myself. i was debating doing so in the first place because i figured i wouldnt post it. i did write it, but i won’t post it. its just good to talk to myself in the form of writing. getting thoughts into that form requires an extra level of analysis and coherent flow that can help put even things you already knew more in order. so here’s this stuff instead.

there’s not much to say about this past month. the worst of it was that discovering my weird tooth is all janky and broken has made me on edge about teeth. i mean, i’ve already all but stopped worrying about the broke tooth, because i kind of do that sometimes when i can. just worry hard and then stop, because what can you do? might as well try to avoid stressing even worse. and in this case i dont have money and doubt i will ever have a job w dental coverage, so i cant do anything about it. but im always worried about my teeth because, fittingly, my parents dental genes seem to combine into that of a tasmanian devil. i think im in some Dental Report b/c i had this weird situation that needed basically a root canal but it wasnt the normal kind of root canal situation and the dentist said he hadn’t seen it or heard of it even. special. i was horrified about needing the root canal, because of the clichés. but it ended up being fine and i really just sat there for an hour thinking about whatever. dental procedures are truly not what theyre hyped up to be. on account of local anesthetics. anyways. when i left my parents house i was specifically worried about leaving my access to a dentist, but obviously it wouldve been far from worth it. but that doesn’t mean i dont worry about my teeth. so i had these few days where i just had a spontaneously sensitive gum spot and another one which im guessing i caused by jamming corn shards down in there by eating corn on the cob. that happened sort of last year, i got really worried about an angry-looking spot on my gums and finally realized something was just up in there that needed to be flossed out. anyhow. the point is i got overly worried about everything that always worries me even though it used to worry me even before going to the dentist and they’d say the stuff was fine actually. but still. i got

very worried for a minute there and i realized very easily that if i start getting any really serious tooth problems i am out of here. i have no motivation at all to live through it. i don’t want to have to deal with that. it’s way too much. i dont even have motivation to be alive now. but when i was worrying i was thinking about not using my handful of cash to change locations, but instead to get some fancy Dying Equipment. there are still some methods by which im not sure i could try offing myself. but if things got a lot worse, like teeth problems, i could probably lower those standards. i COULD obtain some items for one method, or by necessity do it for free. im less worried about the tooth stuff now. it was just an unfortunate convergence of a couple tiny things. but ive still got a sensitive spot or two, and im always a bit worried. if something bad happens i cant do anything about it except get tf out of this life cycle, right.

there was something else unfortunate i was going to talk about. maybe just the depression.

there were nice, small things. i always knew how to enjoy those kinds of stuff. i like the sky, and i appreciate that its summer. theres a lot of fireflies sometimes and i saw kittens chasing them one day. one of those kittens mightve gotten killed by something since. i got to hear rain on the roof a few times. i like corn on the cob even if it betrayed me. i was wanting some last summer. i also got to make sweet tea and lemonade for the first time in forever. i’d been wanting that for a long time too.

the nicest surprise was that i had been writing extra hard since the start of june. i sort of really pushed at it and got to the dividing point between the section and the next, and i was sure it was shorter than previous sections. but actually it was just over 1000 words short of being 140k, and i’d written it all in about five weeks, and it was abt 22.5% longer than the next longest section i’d written. i’ve since gotten to a point i’ve been writing towards since this whole time, and im right on the verge of another long awaited one right now. it’s nice, but writing has been fun, and i hope i dont get depressed if i hopefully do finish it. i can just write some more, but doing so on my phone isnt the most efficient. it doesnt seem sustainable.

anyways thats it for now before i can think of anything else to say am i right

[barelynakedthoughts]

Wow, the past few days have been unreal. I last updated on Thursday in the morning soon after they had started pumping in pitocin. From 12pm, May 12th, until 5 am, May 14th, I was dealing with contractions. 41 hours of early labor and it only led to being dilated by 4cm.

I used a fitness orb, a fitness peanut, slow dancing, varying leg positions. Nothing pushed me into active labor. They kept saying to make it to 6cm and we'll be in the home stretch. The contractions got so strong throughout the day, too. I didn't want an epidural because I didn't want to do it so early. If the beginning took this long, can the ending really be that short? I wanted the baby in my arms but I knew he wasn't ready so I waited for him to give me a sign. (Note we can freely say pronouns now)

I believe at 10am on May 13th, they broke my water because I had made it to 4cm. It felt like things were moving so nicely! The doctor who came in at 6 am wa snot very comforting -made me cry. She gave me minimal answers and her visit was brief. Had I obtained the knowledge of inductions and labor that I have now, I would have been okay, but it was all so new to me and she was very curt after working her 24 hour shift. I wish she would do people favors and just not do those shifts. It would give her a better bedside manner. She basically gave me my first crying spell and I felt so desperate for four hours.

A new doctor came in soon after that. She reminded me of General Holdo from Star Wars, except I have no clue if she had purple-ish hair. Though Jackie, the nurse who talked a lot, had purple-ish hair. I could see it sticking out through her hair cap thing. Our room was always dark so I didn't really see much going on. Anyways, they broke my water and the contractions quickly turned into pain, pain and more pain. Not cramping pain, but pain nonetheless. I was on 2-30 levels of pitocin (whatever that means), and when the water broke, I was contracting every 1-2 minutes for hours on end. I breathed through all of them, dealt with the pain and kept my mind on the goal.

-----

I was thankful for the nurse we had the night before they broke my water, Shawna, because she knew how to just be there for me. When the new nurse came in after that terrible doctor visit, I wasn't all too thrilled cuz she talked a lot and overexplained things, but she at least made it very apparent that she cared. Shawna came back later in the evening, but she wasn't my nurse. She just knew that I liked her and she just wanted to help. It was a relief to have her there for a little bits she came in on.

-----

May 13th was like one last date day between Ryan and I. Besides the constant pain and regular contraction pauses, he and I just talked, hugged, watched Falcon and Winter Soldier, cried, laughed, and appreciated the other one being there. We barely got any rest. Though Ry was able to get a bit more than me, but not much. It was honestly a blurry of a day for me since I spent most of staring at focal points (the red light from the TV being turned off or Ryan's eyes or the up button for the bed or even this white piece on a red container on the baby's soon-to-be panda warmer). Im trying to write as much down as possible, but I know I'll miss a few things.

-----

As the day progressed, my energy level dropped substantially. I gave up my fitness orb life and I embraced bedrest for the first time in the pregnancy. Going to the bathroom was difficult and I was constipated. Stupid magical hemorrhoids that appeared two days before going in the hospital.

Those pesky IV issues got worse. As my pain increased, I had to deal with a 5 IVs. After the one in my elbow went off sixty thousand times, the nurse finally called the anesthesiology team to try another spot but with a deeper vein. She found it with an ultrasound, which was neat, and she had to really numb my arm to get it in there. It was the best IV, though. It really stuck in there and I only had minimal issues with the IV tower. Thank goodness because I was at my wits end at that point. Though Jackie ended up finish the IV and reconnecting my pitocin and fluid drips...she taped the IV to my hospital bracelet. So when anyone tried to scan it, I had to twist my arm painfully.

The one time, the food people came. I twisted my arm to have them read it, and they didn't even scan it....but we'll the damage was done. I had accidentally disconnected everything. The IV started gushing blood like a fountain and I just sat on my fitness orb with nothing much to do but hope it stopped soon...or that someone would come in. My husband actually had to go get someone because there was blood everywhere. All the while, I was contracting every 3 minutes at that point. So a fountain of blood just pushing out while squeezed my own legs. What a trip! The final IV sat in my arm up until May 15th...it was annoying to breastfeed with it in. I had to finish my toradol pain meds before it could come out.

-----

As the day went on, I kept contracting but nothing changed...at 10pm, they finally told us our options: more of the same or having a c-section. We were looking at a failed induction if we didn't progress to 6 cm by 5am, May 14th. At the point, it would have been 18 hours post my water being broke and the chance of infection would then steadily increase. I didn't take the news well and I cried. My night time doctor, who I had seen in the office and who is actually a midwife, was the one who broke the news. She tried to say it was natural to feel sad about this, but honestly...nothing was going to console me after here the word "failure".

Just like my sister, the pitocin failed. Before they officially said it failed, they did a pit rest (a 1-2 hour pitocin break) and then started the process at 2 levels again. We made it up to 10 levels before they called it at 430am. My cervix stopped at 4cm and there was no changing it. Though at that time, I had finally accepted the c-section. It was the right choice and it meant getting to see our baby sooner. We just needed to pray again for safety, healing and life...plus tell our families that I was having a c-section. They were wondering where we went for so long because I just cried for a while and asked that my husband not share anything until we were ready.

-----

The surgery was interesting. I wasn't really contracting anymore but I was exhausted, starving, shaking, and ready to be done. They wheeled me over without my husband so they could give me a spinal anesthetic, still no epidural. I sat there breathing in and out. Using yoga techniques to keep myself present and prepared for a flexible response. I hate the idea of needles going into my spine. I don't care about needles...it's the whole losing movement permanently issue. I need to be able to move and fidget to breathe calmly and react appropriately.

After they were finished, they slowly lowered me back. My legs went numbs and I started to shake uncontrollably. My teeth started chattering. It was if I was extremely cold so they put 3-4 warm blankets on me. I can't remember how many but I do know there were 5 total on me when all was said and done. They splayed my arms out like I was being crucified and I made sure not to move them beyond the shaking. I have no clue how long the procedure lasted but it was light outside when they were done. I believe it was less than an hour, but I honestly don't know. Time had become irrelevant yet so necessary by then. Time still hasn't recovered and it's been almost 3 weeks. (Note: I've been writing this on and off since the hospital stay.)

C-sections are weird. You're awake for the whole procedure and you can feel everything happening to you - the incision, the hands rooting around your insides for the baby, the baby coming out with their arms and legs hitting the sides of your open stomach as they leave, the uterus flopping around. There's just no pain involved.

When my baby came out, he didn't cry much, but when I heard his first squeal, my husband and I cried, too. He was finally here. Our baby boy was alive and well. A 7lb 5oz baby measuring at 20 inches even though he was a few weeks early. He was fully grown and ready to be with us. They measured him, cleaned him a little and got all his vitals while the doctors finished up with my stomach. They gave him to my husband to hold and I got to slightly touch the baby. I cried the whole time because of how happy I was. It was the most fulfilling moment and it was just the beginning of my son's life.

The surgeon was the OBGYN who recommended us to the fertility clinic three years prior, almost to the date. We had come full circle. She still has a weird bedside manner, but the whole thing was surreal. She did a good job and we all made it out safely. My husband was so nervous holding our baby. It was his first time ever holding a baby. I didn't want a c-section, but I was glad when everything was over. My legs remained numb for a while - a few hours I think? In order to graduate to the mother/baby unit and to eat, I had to be able to move my toes. It was a weird feeling to be able to move my arms and not my lower body. Around my incision, I'm still a bit numb there and apparently, I could be for a long time.

We took our first picture together and I look terrible, as if I had gone through pain for 3 days straight. My husband, the always photogenic one, looked great and our son could barely be seen. At least we have this family photo - even if no one else is allowed to see it. My body was still shaking. My shoulders were starting to hurt and feeling was coming back to my lower extremities slowly. They were prescribing me motrin, tylenol and oxy. I only took tylenol because the rest seemed frivolous. Sure, I was in pain, but nothing compared to the contractions and well, I survived all of that with just a tylenol here and there for headaches.

By about noon, I was starving by this point. It had been 30ish+ hours of early labor since I had last eaten. We ordered food (with some hiccups along the way) and finally got to eat when we arrived the mother/baby unit. It was then we started our four day stay of recovering, figuring out parenting, breastfeeding, and personal survival, and being interrupted every hour by nurses, doctors, consultants, social workers and who knows who else. I had only gotten about 2-3 hours of sleep in total during the 3 days of delivery. I matched this during the first few days of parenting, too. Even when I got home, I lived on 2 hours max for about three days straight. A week+ of no sleep really did me in. I was exhausted and finally got rest when I slept through a few alarms. Thankfully my husband took over that night because I needed it.

While in the mother/baby unit, our son had dropped about 10% of his birthweight. He was dehydrated and having a tough time pooping because of the weight loss. It was getting much milk because my nipples wouldn't stay erect while he was eating. Plus he kept falling asleep and it was hard to keep him demeanor.

A lactation consultant visited 6 times. I didn't like the first one, but then we lucked out with Renee for the rest of the visits. She was understanding and she didn't pressure us to breastfeed her way. She thought of different ways to encourage us and give solutions, such as a nipple shield or supplementing formula. Renee revealed that her oldest went through this as well and that it doesn't help when the hospital staff tells you how to do everything their way without listening to your needs. I commend her for her absolutely genuine care and reassuring assistance.

A few nurses were stellar (not Shawna awesome, but still great to have). Katie gave us our first few hours of rest. It also hurt his weight cuz I was delayed on the feedings, but she gave us swaddlers, extra blankets, shirts, etc. She also made sure to talk to us like we were humans and not patients who were leaving in a few days. Kristie was the first one to see me cry and she knew exactly what to do. She brought us the right sized nipple shield and flanges. She brought us a ton of formula. She helped ease my feelings of hopelessness transition into a sense of pointed purpose. The other nurses - Salimah, Anna, Natalie and a few others in the mother/baby unit were the best parts of the stay. Even if they all provided varying levels of care.

The doctors were too quick with their check-ins and I didn't really enjoy their presence. They had the best intentions but we felt like a mark on their checklist. I assume they have too much to do in one day.

The room was small for a three person family but large enough for everything we needed to do while there. Our baby had a little plastic tube of a bassinet with two drawers of storage. My husband had to sleep on the most uncomfortable couch out of the three he ventured on. I believe it was this one that he caught an ear infection from because he didn't use the bed setting. He used the regular couch setup because the bedding was slanting.

The bathroom was pretty big, though. I put many mesh underwear and large pads on in there. It's where a nurses used a perineal bottle on me and showed me how to use it. It's where I took my first post-surgery shower and found out my stomach was numb still. I liked our original room with the induction unit best because of the couch for my husband, and I loved the huge size of the labor/delivery room. The bathroom for the mother/baby unit was best. It was right next to my bed during a time when it was hard to walk. Plus it served as a dish washing site and a great place to rest from all the noises in a hospital.

I had a catheter in from the c-section and by the time they took it out, I was very hydrated. Peeing clear impressed the nurses who took it out - I guess it's the little odd things that make the day better.

My husband and I fought multiple times in the hospital and since coming home. We're exhausted. We don't fight often, but when we do, it is normally because one of us is tired...and well, we're always tired right now.

-----

It's now 6 weeks post delivery and our little guy is doing well. He's a tad under the weather (doctors says a cold), but otherwise he is 11 pounds and 22 inches long. He grows pretty fast so he may be heavier by now.

These last few weeks have been very tough and I've gone through a lot of emotions. It's a lot of work and we asked for it. We really wanted a child and now we're finding out how hard it is to raise one. Yet would I trade my son for anything? No. This shows how bad we wanted a child and also how much we are still willing to sacrifice in order to hold him for many more years. The birthing experience was not what I wanted, but he came home. That's all I prayed for...and it's exactly what we got. I can only be thankful to God for his life right now. My heart feels warm.

-----

This post took six weeks to write because I don't have much time anymore. Most of it was done while in the hospital, but some parts had to be completed or filled in afterwards. It barely covers everything that happened during our 6-day stay. It was a long and arduous time, and now we are met we an harder time of caretaking. Parenthood is so glamorized and I'm here to tell you how much it shouldn't be. The afterglow is wonderful and the heart fuzziness is neverending. No, seriously. I feel joy even when my son is crying and I don't know what to do to help. Yet, we paint pictures of cuddling babies and doing fun activities, but it's a lot more than that. Make sure you want a baby before having one. It's a lot of work to get to the time where they can take care of themselves alongside you. It's years of waiting for them to grow old enough to just pee on their on own. It's many days wondering if you're doing okay as a guardian. You just hope they survive your mistakes and your novice-abilities of taking care of a human life. As rewarding as it may be, you are forever changed. For at least the beginning parts, you will not have much time to do anything for yourselves besides eat and sleep, which is still something you lose and have to reteach yourself and your baby how to do at the same time.

I'm not complaining, just not being dishonest. I'd rather be open about my struggles than to sink in self-negligence. Sure, I probably have postpartum depression in a mild sense, but I am actively working to go beyond it. It's been tough to not have much time for myself, but I can't give up. I have to do this for my baby and for my husband. I have to keep going for myself, too. I owe it to me.

[thesithdiaries]

Betrayal (Part 3) (Jonathan Morgenstern imagine)

Betrayal (Part 3) (Jonathan Morgenstern imagine)

 Pairing: Jonathan Morgenstern x reader

Warnings: abortion, not eating, substance abuse, weight talk A/N: y’all, I don’t know how much time it took for him to come back in the book, so I’ll do my own timeline 

Part 1 | Part 2

-

You didn’t go back to the Institute. The Seelie Queen herself found you wondering around the park, and offered you shelter. That took you by surprise, you knew what she was capable of. 

You mostly kept to yourself, rarely leaving your room. She did go check up on you sometimes, but you discovered that Simon was her new boy toy. You were fond of him, he was funny and caring. But he reminded you of Clary, and reminding her just brought memories back like a flood. 

After two months passed, you left the Seelie realm. You went back to Jonathan’s place… Well, it wasn’t really his place to begin with but you shared so many things there. As you walked in, you noticed that Sebastian’s family hadn’t come to the apartment yet, which was a good thing.

You picked up some sweaters, t-shirts and jackets. Sniffing them to make sure it still smelled like him. You folded everything nicely and placed it inside a bag. You also packed the cologne he wore, a book he would read to you to help you sleep, his pillow and his blanket. As you were walking out, you saw the huge picture frame that was filled with polaroid pictures.

“I miss you so much, my love” you whispered, slightly touching the pictures.

Hours later, you walked into the Institute. Everyone stopped to look at you. Their faces showed pity, few showed anger and even disgust. Ignoring them all, you walked into your room and locked the door. 

Loud knocks snapped you out of your memory. Shaking your head, you walked into your bathroom and locked that door as well. You filled the bathtub with hot water and got in. “Y/N! Are you in here?” Alec screamed. His insistent knocks were louder by the second. Almost to the point of breaking down the door. 

“Open the door!” Someone else. Jace. They left after a while, finally realizing that you weren’t going to let them in the room.

When the water got cold, you got out and dried yourself. You put on one of his sweaters. You smiled as you looked in the mirror. His favorite sweater. “Darling, have you seen my jumper?” Jonathan called out, looking around the closet. In that moment, you were in the bathroom. Wearing what he was looking for. “Uh, didn’t you throw it in the wash?” You asked him, trying not to laugh. “The wash is empty. There’s nothing there” he replied, sitting down on the bed. You opened the door quietly, his back was facing you. You cleared your throat and he turned around. “Is it this one?” You asked him shyly, biting your lip. In a split second, he was in front of you. His hands slowly went from your waist up to your cheeks, and he kissed you.

“You look so good in my clothes. But you look better without them” he said cheekily. You blushed.

“Help me take it off?”

Another two months went by. Just like in the Seelie realm, you almost didn’t leave your room. The only times you did was just to go grab water from the kitchen. You had skipped tons of missions, to the point that the Inquisitor sent you a warning because of it.

The next day you woke up to the alarm. Demons were wondering around the city. You put on a baggy hoodie and sweats, not really caring how you looked. When you reached the main room, your friends looked at you surprised. Izzy was going to hug you but she decided against it when she saw your face. She would talk to you later.

 “There are Ravener demons in Queens. Some are inside a high school and the others are in a park” Izzy informed us, everyone surrounding the table. You stood close to Alec, but someone Jace was standing next to you.

“Inside a high school, that’s just great” Alec said sarcastically.

“It’s going to be easy guys” Clary assured them. You started getting cross-eyed, but you shook your head to make it go away. Then you started seeing double. You turned your back to them, still holding the table for support. “You okay?” Jace asked you worried. With your free hand you dismissed him, basically telling him you were okay. He saw how your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you almost fell back but he grabbed you just in time. “Y/N! ”

“Call a medic!” Clary screamed.

“By the angel!” Izzy screeched as she watched your body. Your skin looked almost light grey, dark circles under your eyes, your face looked almost hollow. The worst thing of all, was that your body weight changed drastically. You were mostly skin and bones. 

“Jace hurry” Alec rushed him. He picked you up and ran towards the infirmary. There was a medic there and few nurses. Jace set you down on the bed, and then he and the others were pushed outside. 

Almost an hour later, they were allowed to come back inside.

“How is she?” Izzy asked. “Will she be okay?”

“She hasn’t been eating” the doctor replied. Alec was taken aback, his eyes widened.

“We see her going to the kitchen a lot, she at least drinks a lot of water” Clary told him.

“Of course she has” he sassed. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jace barked at him.

“There’s Yin Fen in her system. A lot of it.” Izzy gripped Clary’s hand, immediately feeling guilty.

“Yin Fen? That’s impossible, every container Aldertree had was thrown away” Izzy told him. 

“This was in silver powder, it can be dissolved with water” the doctor informed them. “She has been using this for months, her body is dependent of it. I don’t really know how she has gone this long without actually eating.”

 “Can she be saved from it?” Clary asked.

“It will be hard… but that is the least of our worries.” “What do you mean?” Alec question, getting impatient.

“She’s pregnant.”

They went silent. 

“So the girl is pregnant” Imogen Herondale appeared suddenly.

“Apparently she is” Jace muttered.

“Is it Valentine’s grandson?” She asked the doctor. He nodded. “Get rid of it.” 

“No!” Izzy yelled.

 “You can’t be serious” Jace argued.

 “Get. Rid. Of. It.” She repeated.

“Yes ma’am” the doctor said, he was clearly afraid of her. “Please move outside… so we can do the procedure.” Guards came and took everyone out when they started protesting.

The next day, you woke up to people talking around. Confused, you looked around and saw you were hooked up to an IV. The Inquisitor was there, along with Jace, Izzy, Alec, and Clary. There was a doctor as well. You felt something cold in your stomach. There was a clear gel on it, they were doing an ultrasound on you.

“What’s going on?” You voice was groggy, your throat felt dry.

“See?” the doctor said, pointing at the screen, ignoring your question.

“Perfect” the Inquisitor smiled. She looked down at you. “We took out your demon.”

“What?” Now you were confused.

“You were pregnant…” Clary told you.

“What?” You said again, a strange feeling in your heart. Jonathan’s baby.

“Don’t get too excited sweetheart, there’s nothing there” she informed you.

“What did you do to my baby?” You questioned, anger running through your veins.

“Isn’t it obvious? Get rid of it” she walked towards the door, not even bothering to face you. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spotted scissors. Ripping your IV out, you threw yourself on top of her, stabbing her in the shoulder. 

Jace and Alec grabbed your arms before you could choke her and pulled you back. you growled loudly, almost demon like.

 “Take her to a cell!” The Inquisitor yelled. “Get her ready, she’s going to Idris.”

After dressing you, they locked you inside the cell. The doctor had another IV on you, which contained Yin Fen to keep you calm. But you didn’t care about that. They took your baby away. Jonathan’s baby. You grabbed your necklace carefully, feeling thankfully that no one took it off. You held it and cried. 

You cried the tears you held back for months. Part 4 

[dxmedstudent]

Hi dxmedstudent ... I adore 😍 your blog. You're so helpful with the info and stories you share. Makes me look forward to life as a doc. Im hoping you could help me. Im a 5th year med student, my final year is equivalent to FY1. I want to apply to FY2 when I come back to bg (study in europe). Can you please give me any tips on how to improve my chance, what clinical skills are expected? I heard about LAS/LAT positions. Anything you can tell me would be appreciated :) ... thank you so so much x

Hello! and Thank you! I try my best :) Congratulations on getting this far, I think everyone nearing the end of med school deserves a pat on the back for making it this far.

In terms of the technicalities of what you may need to do, the GMC has lots of helpful advice for international graduates. Including guidance about acceptable overseas qualifications. Their website is particularly useful. I actually don’t think you’d have a huge problem getting in. You might be expected to do the SJT exam, look it up and see if international grads are expected to do it (there are books to help you prepare, if you do), but otherwise I imagine your applications might be based on a points-based system like FPAS or core/speciality applications. Basically, any prizes you’ve won, any publications or poster presentations are good, though not strictly necessary. Previous degrees are useful. Extracurricular achievements can also add flair. Many people don’t have much in this department, and lots of people still get in. You might be lucky and get something in the next few months, but there’s not really much you can do to drastically change your odds in a short space of time. So I don’t think it’s worth worrying too much about revolutionising your application. Just do your best. In terms of the technicalities, the 15 core clinical skills expected of FY1s are:

Venepuncture

IV cannulation

Prepare and administer IV medications and injections           

Arterial puncture in an adult    

Blood culture from peripheral sites     

Intravenous infusion including the prescription of fluids          

Intravenous infusion of blood and blood products            

Injection of local anaesthetic to skin         

Injection – subcutaneous (eg insulin or LMW heparin)    

Injection – intramuscular         

Perform and interpret an ECG            

Perform and interpret peak flow            

Urethral catheterisation (male)

Urethral catheterisation (female)       

Airway care including simple adjuncts (eg Guedel airway or laryngeal masks).

I didn’t remember them off by heart, I’ve lifted them from the GMC website, in case you thought this was a new level of nerdery. These are practical things we are expected to get signed off  under supervision,during the course of FY1, in order to gain full registration with the GMC. Although that’s not the only thing we’re expected to do, the curriculum is on the GMC website in the section on foundation training. On top of that, we’re expected to  be able to take a history, complete an examination, and start treatment. I’d recommend getting pretty comfortable with the above things, because as an FY2 you’d be expected to be able to do them. Coincidentally, it’s where I’ve seen straight-to-FY2 international docs really struggle, because they had relatively little patient contact during their med school years, and didn’t really feel comfortable with this aspect. FY1 is partly about gaining competency in these skills, altough we do some of them a lot more than others. It doesn’t mean you have to be perfect, or ‘get it’ each time, there will still be times when we struggle. But practice is so important; the more we practice in med school, the better we will be when we hit the wards as doctors.  I find it really interesting that many of the 6 year universities in Europe technically qualify you to become a baby SHO in the UK straight off, with all the responsibilities and expectations of someone who’s already been doctoring for a year. It makes sense in terms of the number of years we’ve studied, but not in terms of most people’s experience?  I don’t think that another year in med school is necessarily comparable to a year as a doctor; not in terms of theoretical knowledge (I’m sure many European graduates might kick a UK FY1′s butt in terms of theoretical knowledge), but in terms of practical experience. For the reason that a lot of the schools in Europe (generalising based on the students I’ve talked to, sorry!) often focus more heavily on theory over practice, compared to UK med schools. UK med schools have increasingly moved away from bogging us down with technical detail or anatomy, to getting you practically ready to hit the wards as an FY1. We spend year 3, 4, and 5 basically mostly on the wards seeing patients, with year 5 basically being shadowing FY1 doctors. There’s always an added challenge facing graduates is that each medical school system prepares you best for the system in that country, but not necessarily for another country. What’s expected of new docs in each country can be a little different; for example, in the UK there’s a heavy emphasis on practical procedures like the ones above; in many countries a doctor wouldn’t even be expected to do most of these! But in the UK a junior doctor is often expected to. I was adequately prepared to be an FY1 here when I graduated, but I’m sure if I moved over to the US for intern year I would have struggled, because the expectations there are a bit different. I’m particularly in awe of people who choose to go abroad to start working, because it adds an extra layer of scary and difficult (though, let’s be honest, it’s always going to be scary, and regardless of that, you’ll get through OK). An FY2 year is a training year, in which you’d be treated exactly the same as ‘homegrown’ FY2s, and would prepare you for the next step (core or speciality training), so I’d advise on picking an FY2 job over a locum or trust grade job, if you can.  I wouldn’t personally advise starting your career on a locum or non-training job, any more than I’d advise taking a locum position in a speciality you haven’t yet worked in. Because locums are paid more, people basically expect you to already be competent, not need much direction, and get on with things; there’s no emphasis on teaching you. These jobs are usually picked up by people who’ve worked in that speciality but want to take a little time out of training. That’s because those kinds of job usually entail less support and teaching than training jobs. You’d also be expected to navigate appraisal by yourself.  I’ve met people who’ve done it, so it can be done if you have to, but it always seems like an unnecessarily stressful choice. They advised me against trust grade jobs because of the lack of support, so I’m passing on that tip. Especially if you’re new to the NHS, I’d recommend going for the most supported job you can find.

When I’ve talked to Brits graduating in Europe who want to come back to the UK to work, they’ve often been quite keen to apply for an FY1 to start with, rather than going in at FY2 like they could. Which, once I thought about it, seemed quite sensible. Firstly, there are much fewer unpaired solitary FY2 placements available; you’ll probably be stuck applying to places where an FY1 has dropped out of training. Whereas there are lots of FY1 jobs by comparison. So you might get more choice in terms of where you can apply. FY1 jobs also tend to be a bit more protected; they expect new docs to need more supervision. FY1 jobs in high-pressure specialities like paeds or obs and gynae tend to be supernumerary (no on-calls, and always with SHO supervision), and in many hospitals FY1s don’t work nights, or do less clerking, and usually have SHOs to ask for support. Whereas FY2 can see you seeing sick patients in A&E, paeds, gynae, GP or psych and you may be the only SHO around, with only a stretched registrar for advice. On top of that, you might have FY1s coming to you for advice! You might not have any of those specialities in your FY2 placement, but I personally feel they are stressful enough as an FY2 when you have experience; I certainly wouldn’t have volunteered myself to do them straight out of med school, no matter if I had one more year of theory under my belt. In general, FY2 jobs tend to be more isolated; you’re often either working a busy rota or else on a more specialised placement where you may be the only FY or SHO doctor, so there’s generally less support or community. Fy1s tend to be more social and there’s a cameraderie amongst FY1s bonding over the terror of hitting the wards for the first time that you just don’t get at any other time. FY1 jobs tend to either have another FY1 on your ward, or an SHO who can support you. More importantly, if you start as an FY1, you’ll be treated on par with everyone else who is a new doctor; people might not know that you’re actually a new doc, because they’ll expect someone who’s already got a year of experience. Most people are nice, but people can be impatient if they don’t understand the level you are working at, so if you go for the FY2 route, you should be honest that you’re only just starting out as a doc, despite your grade. Make sure people know what you feel comfortable doing, and don’t let people pressure you into doing something you don’t feel competent to do. The main drawbacks are that your first year will be paid less as an FY1 than FY2, though I believe that’s probably less pronounced now on the new contract.  And of course, it would mean one more year of training. But that can sometimes be a good thing; you actually apply for core or specality training a few months into FY2, which would be really soon if you only just started working as a doctor a few months ago! The best thing about FY1 and FY2 for me were doing lots of rotations in different specialities, so that I could get a better idea of which ones I liked, and I think a lot of people would benefit from having that opportunity before picking for good. Though I can understand the draw in skipping a year and going for FY2, particularly when it’s better paid. I’m sure that starting straight as an FY2 might be the best option for some people, and since there are a lot of different med schools out there, perhaps some people from across the continent feel adequately prepared  to follow that path. So I’m not about to judge anyone who decides this is the best option for them, given that they are technically entitled to make that choice. (albeit, allowed by a system that cares relatively little for our welfare or training) But having talked to people who’ve studied in a few places, if it were me, unless my med school had quite a big emphasis on seeing patients and doing simple procedures, I’d still start at FY1 if I had the choice. LAS and LAT jobs are basically similar to trust grade jobs or clinical fellowships, which can sometimes be used to count towards your training time, however they are basically long-term locum jobs in a department where there is a vacancy because they haven’t managed to get a training doctor to fill the gap. Many departments offer non-training jobs (trust grade SHO jobs), LAT or LAS jobs tend to be fewer, because departments probably prefer to get by with less responsibility for their employees. Training people is more difficult and requires more supervision, after all. Always remember that hospitals are employers: whilst they are not out to get you, they also aren’t there to do you any more favours than they have to. So look out for yourself and your wellbeing, and think hard about whether any jobs you apply to are suited for you. Hospitals just want someone to fill their job vacancies and get on with service provision. Look after yourself, and make the choice that you feel would be best for you, because the system isn’t set up to put us first. So you have to do that. Whatever and wherever you choose, do it because you feel it’s right for you, not because the opportunity exists; not every job and not every opportunity we have in medicine is in our favour. For example, some FY1 or FY2 jobs have 2 relatively low stress jobs and 1 high stress job. Whereas some offer jobs that have 3 stressful jobs in a row with a high number of on-calls. The fact that the burnout rates for those placements are higher doesn’t seem to matter to the deaneries that keep offering those rotations. So my ranking, in terms of how protected/supported jobs are is FY1 > FY2 > LAS/LAT > Trust grade or clinical fellow > Locum. If you don’t want to do an FY1 year, then starting from FY2 is more supported than going fora LAS/LAT which is mroe supported than trust grade or short term locums. My advice would be, if you have an opportunity for work experience or electives, try to do an elective in the UK to get a feel for what it’s like, and how ready you feel you’d be. Even if it’s just a few weeks over the summer, it might be worth it if it could put you mind at ease. No matter what you choose, I hope it makes you happy, and good luck for the coming years. I look forward to you joining the team :)

[therealdiligent]

Chapter 1: “Lost Ones”

There is no other way to say all this but to just do it in chapters cause like many of us it really feels like things have been just pouring down on us, blow after blow these days. There has been so much going on that I feel it will also be easier to end each story or use a “to be continue”  when moving forward with sharing, as things did run into each other, piled on, and some are not done yet.

The end of 2019 and first few of months of 2020 have been rather bumpy to say the least.

I do want to let you know that it’s all seasons though, and as they come, they also go. And throughout it our faith has been tested and forged. But know that the light is always real and there- at the end of the tunnel and each chapter, and that light,  if i’ve not made it clear with my living and sharing is........ Jesus.

Let’s call this first Chapter:

“Lost Ones”

November 2019 I go in to see my kidney doctor for a routine appointment to go over my blood pressure and kidney health. This is the doctor that over the past 2 years had been helping me with the effects of my bad management of my type one diabetes. Was assigned to him cause of some swelling in my feet and legs back in January 2017.

He had been mentioning dialysis from the beginning and for a while but during these almost 3 years, Harelyn and I had changed up our nutrition so much so that I was feeling better and the symptoms that brought us to Him in the first place weren’t there. So here we are thinking everything is gucci! And we were in one way reversing things. 

See when we would come see Him he would share numbers concerning my kidney function and let me know that I had to do better but to me they where just numbers. Plus I was feeling 100% compared to when i first saw Him and not symptomatic. But this visit was different....

He shares: “Jeancarlo your creatinine level is at 4.0″, so my reaction to this info was pretty much the same, “Again with the numbers!”, but it didn't register until he used the words “ STAGE 4 KIDNEY FAILURE & END STAGE KIDNEY FAILURE.”

We finally arrived and were on the same page. The seriousness and weight of it all finally landed and hit home. It wasn’t that we were ignoring it, cause we were eating kidney friendly, low sodium meals, on top of our low carb diet to continue with my diabetes care.

See the damage was done, the past 5 years of great management did not hold up against 13 years of bad choices and bad management, this is what got the best of them.

“Lost Ones” 

So here He comes again with the dialysis talk, and i'm like there’s gotta be something else doc, cause i am feeling fine and i am working with no issues, i was not at the symptomatic point of the need to go on dialysis. He went on as to why I should, I honestly was just getting lost in His words, blurred concepts, as His voice muffled and continued to fade i snapped and was like “Doc, WAIT! Is there nothing we can do to preemptively fix this!?” He pauses for a moment and then says, “Well, there is also a Kidney  Transplant.” I thought to myself after and as i've shared this with people, like “MY GUY!!!! Why in the world would you not start with that instead of Dialysis!”

So, boom! Harelyn and I start doing our research, the Dr. sets up my appointments with the Transplant Team to get Hip and start into what this process looks like. 

March is Kidney month and if you are not aware 1 in 3 Adults thats approx. 80 Million people are at risk of CKD (Chronic Kidney Disease). 93K people are on the Kidney transplant waiting list. It takes between 5-7 Years if you are waiting on the list and don’t have a living donor. Those stats are for a deceased kidney. A living kidney donor’s wait time is drastically shorter and is dependant on different variables, but we are talking months compared to years.

So we are in prayer and trusting for miracle in whichever way God chooses to bring this Organ cause the odds had stacked up against us once again. 

We share the info with our parents and sibs and consider the risks and all the factors that come with a living donor and recipient scenario.

Its now January 2020 and some Living donors had stepped forward but no blood match had been found yet. Im still working and im feeling alright, until i start getting some back pain and swelling in my legs again.

 I go in to the ER and get admitted as they consider my blood work, numbers, and options to treat.  I am still trying to avoid dialysis like the plague, because i've seen the toll it takes on people and how withered away they seem after. 

(See Chapter 1.5 “God Move” for details of those humbling crazy nights at the hospital)

After a few days in there and prayers we’ve come to the understanding that its best to start dialysis while not symptomatic rather than in an emergency situation. To start it I would need to go through a small procedure and get these ports put in near my neck for the dialysis treatments. 

This is all temporary in our minds cause we have several living donors that are willing to gift us such an amazing gift, and some of them were pretty far ahead in their evaluation process. Also, we hadn’t gone public with the need either, so we had all these plans to start a campaign to extend the search for a Kidney. So we felt ok with starting, its been just over a month now since ive been on it. (but wait... keep reading)

So just so we are all caught up: Pause

November we Hit some critical numbers with the kidney failure and January we start the search for a living donor, and also are now considering starting dialysis temporarily given that we know for sure that there are Living Donors, and will potentially have more once we go public with things.

 OK let’s continue: Play

Ports are installed for dialysis and i am getting prepped to go in to my first session. Leading up to this there have been so many conversations of faith, words of encouragement shared, tears shed, doubts crushed, sight refocused, and we were ready, I was ready. 

The nurse finishes up connecting me to the most scary looking machine i've ever seen, she leans in and turns it on. 

At this point all i see is my blood pumping and flowing down one tube, entering the machine and returning on the other tube back into me.  I just closed my eyes and took a breath, remembered the peace that only God can provide and  exhaled. Then this happened!:

  5 MINUTES INTO MY FIRST SESSION 

I look over to my left and there is my wife with this look on her face and she says to me:

WE FOUND A DONOR WHO IS A MATCH!

I dont think ill ever know how to express with words the flood of emotion that took over me and the feeling of gratitude in that moment. 

It felt like a cheesy hallmark/lifetime movie. Super dramatic, but clutch. God was moving pieces around without us knowing and in a matter of months i found a donor. We still asked those who started the process to finish just in case, and if you are willing and would like to potentially join us in our health journey in this manner, we would love to talk and would be grateful as well.

Now things have gotten complicated because of this COVID19 business. Scheduling the transplant and any other procedures right now is tough. But we’re trusting and confident that all will work its way as we get closer.

We are floored and honored that God would use our family to show off His power, love, care, goodness, control, and best for us and all those that will know, hear, and read of our journey.

Stay tuned....

[canwetalkaboutcaptainswan]

Soon, I Hope.

@justcheckingstuffcs @dark-ones-dont-need-sleep @losttalongthewayy @leatherjacketsandrum @mrandmrsswan @naiariddle @raggedyclaraa @mayquita @thegladelf @onceuponiwishmytime @galadriel26 @captainswanslay @allofthismatters @caaptain-swan @jennjenn615 @strawberrycupcakeprincess @thelifeofannabanana @kmomof4 @supergirl42universe​ @blackwidownat2814​ @caaptain-swan​ @that-one--book-nerd​ @t-tamm-​ @blowmiakisscolin​ @willow154​ @onceuponaprincessworld 

***If I missed tagging you (or you want to be tagged from now on) drop me a message!

Okay folks! This is the follow-up Daddy!Killian piece of 280 Days. I need to apologize in advance because it’s not as cotton-candy fluffy as my norm, but there is still a VERY healthy dose of daddy!Killian. This is the first of I don’t know how many chapters. Minimum 3, maximum probable like 6. Also, I just recently got myself an AO3 account. So you can read it on there also. My username is the same. Thank you for all the support! ~ Jenn! 

****************************************************************************************** 

Up until this moment in time, Emma has never really regretted any of her mistakes. Sure, some of the ones she’d made were downright stupid and could’ve been avoided, but she couldn’t deny that most of the mistakes she’s made in her life (mainly the big ones) have eventually led to some form of good. For instance: was getting into the yellow bug with Neal a mistake? Probably, but now she has Henry. Was giving Henry up for adoption a mistake? Some days she wishes she hadn’t, but then she realizes that if she hadn’t done it, her family wouldn’t be nearly as big as it is now. Was handcuffing Captain Hook and trapping him at the top of a beanstalk a mistake? Definitely. 100%. But hey, now she’s married to him.

So, as Emma saw it, mistakes weren’t all that bad. On the contrary, they usually turned out beneficial, in the long run. Made her stronger, taught her something, helped her grow.

Until now.

***

Now, despite the fact that she’d been told multiple times that it’s highly advisable that she remain in her chair, she gets up. Not just because she wants to, but because she needs to. Needs to so viscerally that she feels like she might combust into flames if she doesn’t. She crosses the short distance from her chair to where her husband stands, hunched and broken, in between two very complicated looking contraptions. To any other he may appear fine, but not to her. The ache within her grows with each passing step because she can feel hopelessness boiling off him like steam from a screaming kettle. He hasn’t even realized she’s entered the room, but the minute her palms make contact with his shoulder blades, he loses it. He turns and leans into her, and she finds that suddenly she’s bearing a startling amount of his weight, (definitely against any and all recommendations for a woman in her state) but she manages. She manages because she knows that she needs to be the strong one this time, and that is non-negotiable. Yes, she needs to be strong, because this time, he just can’t. He’s hopeless and frail and more downright terrified then she’s ever seen him in all her life. And it’s with Killian's chin sharp against her collarbone and his nails digging into her back and his ragged, breathless sobs flowing into her ear that she realizes what a colossal, terrible mistake she has made. And this mistake? No one will be benefiting from. No one will be learning from it or growing from it and it will not be leading to anything but pain. And honestly? If she could go back in time and erase it, there’s not any doubt in her mind that she would.

**** hours earlier.****

Dr Cameron speaks calmly, but her words still chill Killian to the bone.

“So Baby A still isn’t progressing all that far into the birth canal, and he’s starting to experience mild fetal distress. So, although I know it’s not in your birth plan, I’m going to suggest we do a cesarean. We can wait another half hour to see if he goes further down, but I’d agree to do it now if that’s what you want me to do.”

Fetal distress? DISTRESS? Killian’s heart is racing at a mile a minute and all the beeping going on is doing nothing to help. Cesarean? He’d read about that. That’s where they make an incision and then—

“Yes, I’m fine with that,” Emma nods, her sweaty brow furrowed. “I just want them out.”

Killian also nods, not because he necessarily assents but because he feels like he should. He’s still locked on the words fetal distress, and he stares at the screens surrounding Emma’s hospital bed, desperately wishing he had a better understanding of what they all mean. Emma squeezes his hand, and he turns his attention back to her. She's been ridiculously calm this entire time, and he has not a clue how she’s managing it. He loves her fiercely for it.

“Hey. Come here,” she orders, and he crouches obediently. She reaches her hand up, being careful of her IV, and tugs him in for a quick, reassuring kiss. “It’s going to be okay, Killian. It won’t be long now. The doctor’s going to take them out surgically. Like, she’s gunna cut me open. It sounds scary but it’s a perfectly safe procedure. It’ll be safer for the babies that way. They’ll let you stay with me while it happens, but you’re gunna have to change into special clothes that they give you. They’re called scrubs. It’s okay. They’ll be here soon, okay? Remember what my dad told you. Focus on being excited, not on being worried.”

Killian gulps but nods, forcing a smile and taking her hand. Emma rubs the back of his fingers with her thumb, knowing for a fact that he’s totally freaked out. Medical personnel rush around her, getting things ready, and she sees Killian watching them, his bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth. “Hey,” she says again, tugging on his hand. “Just focus on me, Killian,” she says gently. “Eyes on me. We’re doing this together, okay?”

“Okay, Swan,” he says. “Okay.”

The next hour is a blur, and when he thinks back on it, all he can really remember of the procedure is holding Emma’s hand while he sat by her head. There was a tall sheet separating them from Emma’s abdomen and the doctors, and before he knew it, Dr. Cameron was holding up the tiniest human being he’d ever laid eyes on in his life. “Here’s Baby A!” she said happily, and Emma’s gasp matched his. The baby was immediately handed off to someone, and after a minute his wails filled the room. That’s when Killian’s tears started. He didn’t know where to look, whether at Emma or the baby or at the doctor who was busy retrieving the other baby. A few minutes passed and a second tiny boy was hoisted in the air, purpler than the first. “Here’s your baby B!”

“Killian, we did it!” Emma exclaimed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Our boys!”

Killian nodded and smiled, tears falling freely down his face. The second baby got passed off to the waiting nurse, and soon he was crying too. Killian leaned down and kissed Emma’s forehead, nuzzling her briefly. His heart was doing all sorts of things, panic and joy tumbling into each other over and over again.

“Surgical count!” someone yelled over the cries of the babies. Suddenly Killian was hyperaware of the various noises in the room. The babies were still crying, Dr. Cameron was yelling out numbers as well as something about sponges, and there were many people crowded around the little platforms where their infants lay, and they were shouting things. Killian’s panic flared, not knowing where to look, not knowing what to do. Emma had her eyes closed and that worried him. His babies were crying. There were so many noises.

Suddenly Doctor Cameron was next to Killian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The babies will get checked out and taken to the NICU now. Emma, you’ll have to stay in recovery for a few hours. Dad can go with babies or stay with Mom.”

Killian’s eyes blew wide and he felt his breath catch. Stay with his wife who’d just undergone major surgery, or go with the two tiniest little things on the planet? An impossible choice. One he couldn’t possibly—

“Go with them, Killian,” Emma orders, interrupting Killian’s mental distress. Emma’s eyes are open again, and she squeezes his hand with all of her might before letting it go.  “I’ll be fine. You stay with our boys, that way they won’t be alone. I’ll be down there soon. I love you. Go with them.”

Killian nods at her, leaning to kiss her on the lips, and smoothes her sweaty hair down and behind her ear. “I’ll go with them, darling.” he promises her. “You did so good, Emma. I’m so proud of you.” Dr. Cameron pats his shoulder again, giving him a slight push in the direction of the crowd of doctors and nurses who are clearly about to wheel their babies down the hallway.

Emma turns her head to watch him go, the tension in his back and shoulder muscles discernible through his scrubs even from where she lays on the gurney 10 feet away. She wonders idly if she made the right choice, sending him with the twins rather than keeping him next to her. She hopes it wasn’t a mistake. She hopes he’ll be okay.

***************************************************

(It was a mistake. A terrible mistake.)

****************************************************

“Hey. Hey. Look at me, Killian. Sweetheart. My love. Breathe with me, just for a minute. Eyes on me. Good. Deep breath in, slow. That’s it, just try. Again, Killian. For me, okay?”

Killian tries his best to obey his wife, but she’s hazy through the tears in his eyes and the panic in his mind. His breathing is ragged, rough, and the air he gets just doesn’t seem like enough. He can feel Emma's hands on his face, and he tries to focus on that, on the soft slide of her palms against his stubble, her thumbs sweeping gently across his cheeks. But then, all at once he seems to lose her, and suddenly he’s back in that room with the beeping and the yelling and the wires and the tubes, too many places to look and too many noises and not enough space, not enough space and his babies, his babies-

Emma gives up trying to get him to breathe right and pulls him back into her, cradling his head against her chest. Her heart positively aches for him, his tangible fear cutting into her soul like broken shards of glass. She hates herself for the mistake she made. She never should’ve sent him out here by himself, equipped with absolutely zero knowledge about anything going on around him. If she’d been with him? Sure. There’s no doubt even though he would’ve been scared, she could’ve kept him reasonably calm with actions, with explanations, with her mere presence at his side. But no. Instead, she’d made him leave his cut-open wife on a gurney to follow after his two tiny, helpless, wailing infants while doctors and nurses shouted words he didn’t understand and connected scary looking machinery to various parts of his babies’ bodies. And now, hours later, he’s shaking and shaking, falling more truly apart than she’s ever seen him fall. She holds him tight, her face pressed against his hair, trying desperately to shut the world off for him, if only for a minute. At first she doesn’t know what to say, can’t think of any words that will ground him to her or help him find his breath. But then she remembers when Leia was born, and how she had been the one in hysterics. She remembers feeling like she’d die if she let Leia out of her grip for the nurses to clean and weigh, and she remembers what Killian had said that helped calm her down.

“Killian, I won’t let go,” she whispers to him now, her body starting to really ache from holding them up in this position, “We are going to get through this, I promise. And I will not let go, okay? I’m so sorry you were all by yourself out here for so long. But I’m here now. I’m not gunna let go, Killian. And our babies are right here, it’s alright. You did so good, Killian. I love you so much. I’m so sorry you were out here by yourself but you did so good. You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you. I love you.” She’s whispering to him as calmly as she can, a continuous string of reassurance right into his ear. She strokes his face with her palm still, fingers grazing his stubble, a familiar action she hopes will help. After a few minutes he shifts, albeit still quaking, and leans up to look at her. The weight of the mistake hits Emma again when she takes in the veins pulsing in his forehead, the endless wrinkles of worry creased in his brow, and the seemingly bottomless sorrow set deep in his red-rimmed blue eyes.

“I…I didn’t even...” he starts, his voice raw and quivering, and she tilts her head in encouragement, waiting for him to collect himself. He tries again. “They...I...didn’t even get to hold them,” he croaks, and Emma feels tears well up and a lump form in her throat at how devastated he sounds. “They were crying, both of them, so much for so long and I couldn’t…”

“Oh Killian, I’m so sorry,” she tells him, wrapping her arms around him in a more traditional type of hug. She can’t even comprehend how terrible the past few hours must’ve been for him. When it comes to his children, the best way Emma can think to describe Killian is protector. Since the minute Leia arrived into the world, Killian has focused on naught but keeping her safe and free from harm, both physical and emotional. He can’t stand it when she cries and does not rest until she’s calm and tucked safely in his arms. So to literally have been trapped in a room, while his minutes-old sons squalled in the hands of strangers, completely powerless to do anything to help them? Emma’s gut twists. Not even Hades himself could’ve cooked up a purer form of torture for him.

“I promise you, they are both okay. Yes, they are super tiny and need a lot of support from the machines right now. But the nurse who was with me in recovery was getting me constant updates on both of them, and nothing is majorly wrong with them, Killian. I know it looks scary and it feels scary. I mean, it is scary, how small and fragile they are. But I need you to understand that the stuff happening to them is all more or less typical for premature babies. Especially twins. And I know that’s super hard for you to understand. But trust me, okay? I promise you, they’ll both be okay. You know I wouldn’t say that to you if it wasn’t true.”

Killian listens as intently as he can, trying to let himself be comforted by the calm lilt in his wife’s tone. The slightest fraction of tension eases out of his shoulders, and though it’s only a tiny step of progress, Emma still appreciates it. She scratches his back lightly, trying to think of a question to ask him that won’t increase his level of panic.

“So? Can you tell them apart, Daddy?” she whispers gently, her tone light and airy now.

He manages the tiniest of smiles. “I can, actually. It was difficult at first, but they’re quite different. At least, to me.”

She smiles proudly at him, trying not to let tears form in her eyes. “Will you teach me?” she asks him.

He looks at Emma then, really looks at her, and again, another fraction of tension seems to leave him. “Of course, love,” he tells her, pulling at her waist, “come and see.”

The move in tandem to the contraption on the left, and Emma looks at the baby inside for the first time. Her heart swells and shatters all at once. He’s so tiny, covered in wires, a mask over his face to help him breathe and a shield covering his eyes. A needle stuck in his foot. Her poor baby. Her poor son. Like Killian, she aches desperately to hold him, but she quells her sudden urge to cry; she’s being strong. She has to be strong right now.

“This one is our Odyn,” Killian explains, even though somehow, Emma just knew already that it was. “He’s a bit bigger than his brother. Rounder. He has your chin. They both do, actually,” he says lovingly, lightly caressing her dimple. "His cheeks are puffier than his brother’s. His complexion is darker, too.”

Emma crouches then, letting the tears form. (You’re still strong even with tears in your eyes, she thinks to herself. Something Killian has said to Leia before, she’s sure.) “He’s so beautiful,” she whispers. “Hi there, Mr. Odyn. Are you mama’s strong boy? I love you so much, honey. I’m right here, yes I am. I love you, tiny love. Daddy’s here too. We’re right here, Odyn. You aren’t all by yourself.”

She’s really gunna lose it and just cry if she doesn’t stop looking and she can feel Killian getting worked up right behind her, so she tears herself away from Odyn and turns to his older (but smaller) brother.  Her breath catches again when she sees their little Oliver, a spitting image of Odyn but at the same time, so different. Killian is right, he’s paler. He’s thinner too, with the most delicate and beautiful fingers and toes. Oliver doesn’t have a breathing mask like Odyn does, and seeing almost all of his sweet face takes Emma’s breath away. He’s got a shield over his eyes, just like his brother.  “Oh my goodness, look at those Leia lips, Daddy,” Emma comments, and Killian nods instantly.

“I know. You’ve your sister’s pout, my little lad. Our tiny one. You did a very good job being at the bottom of the heap, my boy. You kept you and your brother growing in there as long as you could, hmm? I’m so proud of you, Oliver. We love you so much.”

“We do,” Emma agrees, wiping at her eyes, “Oh, my sweet buddy,” she coos. Oliver’s IV is tapped to a vein in his head, and he’s got much the same amount of wires as his brother. “Mama’s gunna snuggle you so soon, tiny love. I promise, okay? I’m right here, Oliver. And your brother’s not far, either. I’ll bet it’s strange not having him right beside you, huh? He’s okay. You’re both okay. My sweet boys.”

A nurse comes up behind them then, tapping Emma on the shoulder. Emma turns to look at her, and suddenly Killian’s grip is tightening around her waist. She cards her fingers through his hair, willing him to believe that this woman is friend rather than foe. “Hi, I’m Carly,” the nurse introduces herself, smiling. “I’m the primary nurse caring for your twins. Before I start prattling away, do you have any questions for me?”

“Yes actually, we do,” Emma says politely, “When do you think we’ll be able to hold our little guys?”

Carly smiles brightly. “As soon as they’re done their phototherapy sessions, you can hold them right away. See the little timer in the corner of their monitors there? It’s counting down. Odyn’s is 21 minutes and Oliver’s…” she pauses, walking over to Oliver’s monitor, “…is at 13 and a half! So as soon as that’s done we can take their eye shields off and you can snuggle them,” she promises.

Killian’s breath catches in his throat at that, and again Emma feels him minutely relax. She also starts to feel pricks of pain in her abdomen, and she winces. The nurse doesn’t miss it.

“Can I grab your wheelchair for you, Emma? It’s best if you don’t stand for too too long,” she says gently.

Emma nods and Killian lets go of her immediately, surveying her for any visible injuries or signs of distress, and she can tell he’s considering panicking again. “I’m okay. It’s okay,” she assures him, kissing his cheek before settling in the chair.

“Are these boys your first?” the nurse asks.

“No, our third and fourth, actually,” Emma explains, “but this is our first time in the NICU. The nurse in recovery explained some things to me, but would you mind explaining everything that’s going on? Just so we have a better understanding.”

Carly nods immediately. “That’s exactly what I meant about the prattling. I’ll explain everything in the care plans set out for each of your boys. Stop me if you have a question, okay?”

Emma looks up at Killian, who looks as though maybe he’s beginning to consider trusting this woman. “That sounds great,” Emma agrees.

Slowly and methodically, Carly explains each machine, wire, tube, and its respective purpose. She tells them about how Odyn has some fluid in his lungs, which is why he has the breathing machine. Oliver is paler because his blood count is low, and is scheduled to get a transfusion in the morning. Both boys have jaundice, which is what the special light treatments are for. As the conversation progresses, Killian seems to find his voice, and he starts asking periodic questions like Emma does.

And then, just like that, it’s been 13 and a half minutes.

A beeping noise starts and Carly stops mid-sentence to turn the bright light above Oliver’s NICU bed off. She presses various buttons and then unlocks the top of the pod-esque baby bed so she can open it up.

“Okay, time to take his little sunglasses off,” she coos, reaching to remove the mask from Oliver’s eyes. The baby’s tiny arms flail and his eyes flutter open, much to the enchantment of both his parents.

“Oh, little guy’s awake!” Carly exclaims. “Ready to hold him, Mama?”

Emma’s eyes are glued to Oliver’s sweet face, and though she wants nothing more than to hold him right this second, she knows that she absolutely cannot.

“I got to have him close to me for months and months,” she says softly, turning to look up at Killian, “so I think I’ll let Daddy go first.”

Killian beams at her, and he fights to swallow the lump in his throat. The nurse nods and gestures to the nearby chair, where Killian sits immediately. She tells him to take off his shirt so they can be skin to skin, and both Emma and Killian expect her to comment on his lack of left hand. But she doesn’t.

“I’ll teach you both next time how to take them out of their little baby greenhouses so you can do it yourselves,” she promises, reaching in to get Oliver for Killian. She carefully moves all the wires attached to him to one side, before picking his tiny body up into her arms. Immediately, Oliver starts to cry. Killian’s arms twitch toward him automatically, desperate to finally have one of his babies in his arms.

“Oh, I’m sorry I disturbed you bud,” Carly coos to the baby, moving him carefully, “Here, there’s your daddy. He’ll make it all better.”

Emma wheels herself right next to Killian’s chair and watches reverently as Carly puts Oliver’s teeny tiny body on her husband’s warm chest. Muscle memory serves Killian well, and his hand comes up gently to cradle his son, all the while being mindful of the cords attached to him. The baby quiets as soon as he’s comfortable, his little ear nestled right over his father’s heartbeat.

Emma isn’t quite sure if her heart can handle the sight in front of her. Killian’s face is again filled with tears, but finally, thank goodness, they’re the happy kind. He’s got his lips pressed against the baby’s tiny dusting of light hair, his eyes closed tight in what has to be a moment of pure, untainted bliss. Tiny Oliver is perfect in every imaginable way, and Emma simply can’t resist leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his little nose.

“There we go, huh, sweetheart?” Emma coos to the sweet baby, whose eyes are still wide and staring at her, now. “Daddy has you, duckling. Yeah, Daddy’s got you. He’s been waiting for you, tiny love. And Mummy is right here. But you already knew that, hmm? You know your Mummy’s voice. My sweet Oliver. I love you so much.”

Killian is falling deeply, madly in love all at once, his heart swelling to accommodate the weight of it all. The second the baby had been placed in his arms, everything finally started to feel real. And although he was still scared out of his wits (for various reasons), the soft rise and fall of Oliver’s back under his palm made it all worthwhile.

“Hi there, my precious lad,” Killian says ever so softly, and Emma gets all covered in gooseflesh because oh how she’s missed the sweet sound of Killian talking to his baby. “I’m so happy to have you in my arms, tiny love. So happy.”

Emma swipes at a tear that’s slipped down her cheek before leaning in to nuzzle her face against Killian’s shoulder. She feels him turn and press his lips to her forehead, the kiss gentle and perfect. “Thank you so much, my love,” he whispers to her, “You are amazing. So strong, my Emma.”

Emma smiles, kissing his bare shoulder softly. “I love you. Could not have done it without you.”

A few more minutes go by, and then Odyn’s timer goes off. Carly re-emerges and opens Odyn’s NICU bed, and Emma reaches up to untie her hospital gown. Killian looks very concerned when he spies her cesarean site, but thankfully Carly taking Odyn’s phototherapy shield off distracts him.

“He’s a little chunkier than his brother,” Carly says as she picks him up. Just like Oliver, Odyn starts to cry, and Oliver startles in Killian’s arms at the sound of his brother’s wail. Carly gives Odyn to Emma carefully, ensuring not to knock his breathing machine off his nose. “Shh, it’s okay, duckling. Your Mumma has you now,” Emma hushes the baby, and at the sound of her voice his crying ceases. She leans down to nuzzle the baby’s soft head, inhaling his fresh, calming baby scent. “There you go, little love. You go off to dreamland now, okay Odyn? You gotta sleep lots and get big and strong for me, okay? Yeah, it’s okay. Mummy won’t let you go.” The baby is delightfully warm in Emma’s arms, and she holds him close, loving the feeling of her tiny son pressed safely against her bare skin. Carly moves Emma’s wheelchair so she’s next to Killian and Oliver again, and Killian looks over in wonder at his wife and his…second baby.

Emma catches him staring and finds herself suddenly suppressing a fit of giggles. “Okay. Okay. How freaking crazy is this?”

Killian shakes his head, his smile wide. “Beyond, Swan. I can barely comprehend it. There’s this one…” he gestures to Oliver, now snoozing against his chest, “and then…that other one,” he laughs, nodding toward Odyn.

“Crazy.”

“Bonkers.”

“I love it.”

“Me too.”

Carly offers to take pictures of the four of them then, and they happily accept. “Leia is going to be so excited,” Emma says suddenly, picturing their little girl's sweet, loving smile. Killian’s face lights up at the mere mention of his daughter.

“Aye, love, she is. Your sister will be so smitten with you, my lads,” Killian coos. “Do you think she’s alright?” He asks suddenly, his brow furrowing as guilt seeps into his heart for a minute. He hates being away from Leia in any capacity, and it suddenly feels like it’s been forever since he’s seen her smiling face.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine, Killian,” Emma assures him, picturing their daughter cuddled up with her Uncle Neal, most likely watching The Force Awakens. “She’s so grown up.”

Killian gives her a death stare. “Swan. We agreed not to speak of that ever, ever again, remember?”

Emma chuckles at him, glad to see he’s slowly easing back into his normal personality. “Right, right. Sorry, Daddy.”

Another nurse approaches them then, and Emma recognizes it to be Amber, the one who’d been with her in recovery. “Hi Emma,” she greets, “I’m just here to assess your pain level real quick. Could you rate it on a scale of 0-10 for me?”

Up until this point, Emma’s been paying virtually no mind to the ache in her abdomen, having been much too focused on calming Killian down, and of course the babies. But now, when she concentrates on it, she realizes that it hurts. Quite a bit. (Yeah. Standing and supporting nearly all of Killian’s weight? Definitely a terrible idea.) She clenches her teeth for a second, and braces herself for what will surely be a worried reaction from Killian. “I’d say about a 7.5,” she says, praying that Killian is too wrapped up in his sons to listen to her answer.

Amber’s eyes widen. “Oh dear, I’m sorry about that. I’m gunna wheel you down for some pain meds before it gets any worse and check out your incision, okay? I promise it won’t take long.”

Emma turns to look at Killian, who is indeed visibly, extremely upset that she’s experiencing pain. She also feels her heart clench at the thought of putting Odyn back down in his bassinet. She’d just promised him that she wouldn’t let him go. Amber seems to sense the silent conversation going on between Emma and Killian, not failing to notice their matching frowns.

“Hey, I have an idea,” she suggests, and Emma and Killian both turn to her. “Would Daddy like to hold both his boys while we go?”

Emma feels her anxiety leave her body at the nurse’s words, and her frown turns instantly into a smile. “Oh. Daddy would absolutely love that.”

Emma locks eyes with her husband, whose face is a pure mixture of agony because she’s in pain and utter joy at the fact that finally, he’s getting the chance to have both his boys close, where he can feel them breathe and know they’re safe. It’s all he’s wanted for the past 7 months, and Emma is so, so happy for him.

Amber first adjusts Oliver, moving him over to one side of Killian’s chest to make enough room for Odyn too. Emma kisses Odyn’s forehead just before Amber takes him from her, carefully transferring him into Killian’s arms. Amber arranges the boys so they’re facing each other, practically forehead to forehead, snuggled safely side by side with their daddy. Their sweet, perfect father who once again, has tears filling his eyes.

Amber smiles and goes to push Emma down the hallway, but Emma raises a hand. “I just need a few more minutes. Is that okay?” she begs, and immediately the nurse nods, turning to grab Emma’s chart from the portfolio.

“There we go, sweet babies,” Emma croons to them, reaching up to rub their backs with her knuckles, “Look at your daddy. Successfully hogging you both already. Is this how it’s gunna be? Hmm? Do you have any idea yet how much your daddy loves you, boys? So much. He loves you so, so much, my ducklings. He’ll keep you safe while I’m gone, okay? He’ll always keep you safe. Always, always.”

Emma leans to wipe the tears off Killian’s cheeks. “Are you okay if I go? I won’t be long,” she asks him seriously, worried about leaving him by himself again.

“Aye, we’ll be just fine, Emma,” he promises, holding the babies a fraction tighter. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you, darling?” he asks her, again feeling the same ache he felt when he left her by herself after the twins were born.

“No no, I want you to stay with them,” she assures him, rubbing his forearm with her thumb, “I’ll be fine alone. I just want to make sure you’re really okay if I’m gone for a bit. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nods, and it’s enough to convince her. “If anything happens, just call for Carly, Killian. You can trust her. You can trust everybody here, remember? They all have the babies’ best interests in mind. I promise.”

“Aye love,” he says, frowning. “I’m so sorry about before, Swan. I should’ve kept my head, been stronger for-“

“Hey, hey, hey. Stop,” she cuts him off, squeezing his arm, “I don’t want to hear you apologizing for any of it, Killian. These are your babies and you were scared and I was not here to make you feel better or explain anything to you. That is not your fault, not any of it. You had every right to be scared, sweetheart. It was scary, hey?”

He winces, shuddering at the memories. “I was terrified, Emma. I’ve never felt more helpless in all my life,” he whispers.

She nods encouragingly, cupping his face, wanting him to tell her these things, to share these feelings with her now instead of bottling them up to fester at him later. “Better now, though?” she asks, gesturing with her chin to the two infants sleeping soundly against him.

“So much better.”

“Okay, good. I’m gunna go now, okay? I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you too, Mummy. We’ll be waiting.”

She smiles, leaning in to kiss him quickly. Right on cue, Amber appears again. “Ready now?”

Emma nods. “Ready.”

The nurse takes control of Emma’s chair, pushing her out towards the hallway. Killian tightens his grip on his sons, checking to make sure Odyn’s breathing mask is still snugly over his nose.

He knows they’re sleeping but he doesn’t care. He talks anyway.

“Mummy will be right back, sweet lads,” he promises the boys. “She took such good care of you, didn’t she? Yes, she’s a marvel, your mum. You’d best get used to me going on about her. She is the most amazing woman in the world, after all. Which, I’m sure you’d agree.”

He talks softly like that to his sons, hoping that the sound of his voice will help them sleep better, grow faster. They feel so small in his arms, worlds smaller than Leia ever did, and it worries him, but he tries to do what David advised him. Focus on excitement instead of worry.

He tells the boys all about their brother and sister, his chest again growing tight when he thinks of Leia, at home without her parents. He’s always been loathe to leave her, and even when he does, it’s never for long at all. He spies a clock on the wall and notices that it’s 11:14pm, much past his little love’s bedtime. Bedtime is Killian and Leia’s sacred time of the day, has been since the day she came home from the hospital. He prays to Zeus that his daughter is alright, that Snow and David told her enough stories, that now she’s sleeping soundly in her giant Jolly Roger bed, dreaming happy things.

**********

On her way to get pain meds, Emma checks her phone. Her eyes widen when she notices she has 3 missed calls from her mom.

“Okay if I make a phone call?” she asks Amber, already dialling. Amber nods, and Emma presses the phone to her ear. Her mother answers on the first ring.

“Emma!” she cries, relieved. “Finally!”

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t have my phone on hand. Things have been a bit crazy around here, what with the birthing twins thing,” Emma says. “Is everything okay?”

“Well is everything okay over there? Grandma needs more frequent updates!”

“Yes, we’re all stable now,” Emma assures her, feeling bad for not contacting her parents sooner. “I’ll send you some pictures in a bit. I’m actually really sorry for the lack of updates. We’re all doing great. I’m just on my way to get more pain meds.”

“That’s okay, honey. Are you in a lot of pain? How’s Killian doing?”

“Umm…not like a lot a lot. But kind of. And Killian’s…okay now. When I left him he had both boys in his arms, so that made him happy. Honestly he kind of…well he got super traumatized by the whole thing. I should’ve kept him with me instead of sending him to intensive care with the boys. It was all a little too 21st century and foreign to him and he freaked out. But he’s doing better now,” she finishes hurriedly.

“Oh,” her mother says, and Emma’s ears bristle at her mother’s strange tone. She almost sounds like she’s coming to some kind of realization. Suddenly, Emma remembers the three missed calls and-wait. Shit. SHIT.

“Mom, why did you call me those times earlier?” she asks suddenly, her heart sinking in her chest. Please god, no. Please, no. “Did something happen with Leia?”

Her mother is quiet for a beat. “…well, before you start to worry—“

“MOM,” Emma orders, feeling the stress well in her chest. She can sense what’s coming.

“She’s fine now,” are the words her mother chooses to start with, “Henry came. We called him when you didn’t pick up. She’s sleeping in her bed.”

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her palm to her forehead. “She felt it, didn’t she? When Killian was upset,” she states, not even caring what Amber will think if she happens to be eavesdropping.

“….I’m afraid so.”

Fuck. SHIT. Emma’s heart literally severs in half and Killian—fuck. Killian is going to lose it when he finds this out. “Oh god. Was it bad?”

Another beat of silence. Oh god. “…it was…intense,” Snow says slowly, and Emma shakes her head, the goddamn lump back in her throat and this time, not for a happy reason. “The kids were playing outside, and suddenly she ran into the house, and…”

She was in a fit of hysterics. Screaming that her daddy was in trouble. Out of breath and purple in the face and crying and crying for her father, Emma filled in the blanks for her mother. It was unexplainable, the connection Killian and Leia had. Leia had always been super attuned to Killian’s feelings, but they never considered that she’d be able to sense anything from miles and miles away. It was usually just in the middle of the night, when they were a mere hallway apart from each other. Whenever Killian had a nightmare, Leia woke up in tears. And sometimes, without even realizing it, she’d magic herself from her room to her parents’, so she could crawl in Killian’s lap until he calmed down. And now-

“Henry came as soon as we called him. And she did so good, she didn’t even try to use any magic.”

Emma sighs in relief at that. “But she cried herself to sleep in his arms, didn’t she?”

“…yes,” her mother sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry. God, I’m really the parent of the year. I should’ve seen this coming,” Emma scolds herself, sighing, and nodding to the nurse who is about to administer pain meds in her IV.

“Emma, it isn’t your fault. And you were a little preoccupied, you know with the birthing twins thing,” she echoes Emma’s words from before.

Emma sighs again, battling the lump. “How long has she been asleep?”

“Just over an hour.”

“Can you wake her up? I want to talk to her right now.”

Snow knows not even to consider arguing with Emma when it comes to Leia. “Sure, sweetheart. Give me a minute.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and Emma takes that opportunity to get out of the chair and lay on the examination table. She smiles apologetically at Amber for the fact that she’s still on the phone, but Amber just shakes her head politely.

“Mommy?” a groggy, sad-sounding voice croaks through the phone. Emma’s breath catches.

“Hi, Leiabear,” Emma says gently. “I love you so much, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“…Daddy…” Leia whimpers, and Emma can feel her daughter’s panic, her fear.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, cygnet. Daddy’s better now, I promise, Leia. He’s okay. I’m so sorry, honey.”

“What happened?”

Emma is quiet for a moment while she thinks of the best way to explain.

“Mama? Where are my baby brothers?”

“Daddy’s with them, Leiabear,” Emma answers quickly. “They’re teeny tiny, so they need lots of cuddles. And you know how Daddy loves to cuddle.”

“But why was Daddy so sad?” she asks.

“He was so sad because he couldn’t hold your brothers right away, cygnet,” Emma explains gently.  “Right after they were born, the baby doctors had to make sure they were okay, so they took them into a different room. Daddy went, too. And Olly and Odyn were crying, but Daddy couldn’t pick them up because the doctors needed to give them check-ups, and special stuff that will help them grow and get stronger. They were crying and crying, and Daddy just wanted to make them feel better but he wasn’t allowed to while the doctors did their work. See, when you were first born, and you were crying and crying, Daddy could pick you up right away and made you feel better. And he couldn’t do that with Oliver and Odyn. So that’s why he was sad.”

“And he was crying?”

“Yeah, sweetie. He was. You could feel it, huh? When Daddy was so sad?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Leia says quietly, and she takes a sharp little breath, like she's reliving it for a second. “It was like when he has nightmares, but it was worser. It hurt my belly and it was hard to breathe. He was so so sad, and he was scared, too. He wanted you.”

Emma feels her heart break further. “I’m so sorry it hurt you, honey. You’re so brave, Leia. And yeah, he was scared, sweetheart. He was all by himself.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?” she asks.

“I was still laying down after getting the babies out of my belly. I couldn’t get up yet.”

“Oh."

“I’m so proud of you, Leia. Grandma told me you didn’t do any magic.”

Leia’s quiet for a minute. “I wanted to,” she confesses. “He would’ve felt so much better if I gave him a hug.”

Emma sighs sadly. Leia just loves Killian so much. “I know, sweetheart. You’re so right, he would’ve. But he’s okay now. I gave him lots of hugs. I know yours are better, but mine still did the trick.”

Leia’s breath quickens, like it does whenever she’s trying not to cry. “I want Daddy,” she whispers.

“Oh, honey. He wants you too. We miss you so much.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Of course, Leia. I’m just getting some medicine and then I’m going back to where Daddy and the babies are. So you snuggle with Henry for a few minutes, okay? Then Daddy will call you.”

“Okay.”

“I love you so much, Leia. You’re being so brave. Give the phone back to Grandma, okay? And give Henry a kiss for me.”

“I love you too, Mommy. Is your belly small now?”

Emma laughs. “It’s definitely not small,” she explains. “But it’s a lot less round now. I’m so happy your brothers are finally here.”

“Me too, Mommy. Bye-bye.”

“Bye, duckling. I love you.”

********** Killian takes the news about Leia as heartbrokenly as Emma imagined he would. Carly gives Oliver to Emma so Killian has his hand free to use the phone, and Emma rubs his thigh soothingly as she listens to his side of the conversation.

“Hi, my sweet little love. Oh, my Leia. My heart aches for you, darling. I’m so sorry. Please, sweetheart. Please don’t cry. Daddy loves you so much.”

Killian hushes her gently, and Emma reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, for he’s holding the phone with his hand and cradling Odyn in his left arm and therefore can’t do it himself.

“Aye, that’s right, darling. And I’m much, much better. Your wee brothers are doing just fine for now.”

“Because it was just like whenever you have to get a shot, little lass. You know how Daddy always gets so upset? It was much the same as that. Aye, they did.”

“Hey, now. You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it’s alright. I promise you.”

“Oh, my lass. You mustn’t think yourself cruel, Leia. I understand what you mean. I wish we were together, too. You know how I can’t bear leaving you.”

“Aye, that’s right. You’ll love them so much, Leia. They’re perfect, like you. And they look just like you, but with light hair. Yes, I have Odyn right now. Mummy’s right next to me, with Oliver.”

“I don’t truly know, sweetness. Soon, I hope. Me and Mummy will find out, alright?”

“Yes, she’s just fine, she’s just a bit sore is all. She’s so magnificent, Leia. She makes me so proud.”

“We could talk for hours I’m sure, but you’re tired, sweetness. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Hey, hey. Shh, shh, my lass. You know I’m always with you, right? Even when we’re not in the same place, you still have me in your heart, precious one. And you know how much I love you. My brave, sweet Leia. Everything will be alright.”

“Of course I will, darling. Snuggle up with your brother now. Shall I sing you to sleep, little love?”

Leia must’ve said yes, because Killian starts to sing softly into the phone, absentmindedly rocking his son while he does it. Emma closes her eyes, resting her cheek against Oliver’s soft hair. As Killian sings, Emma imagines Leia curled up next to Henry, nestled under her navy blue covers in her gigantic Jolly Roger bed, and suddenly she can’t wait. She can’t wait until this is all over, until they’re home, until they’re all curled up in the huge bed together, Henry on the edge with the storybook and Leia’s head on Killian’s chest and baby boys everywhere you look.

Soon, I hope. Killian’s words echo in her mind as his singing becomes softer and softer, and the steady beeping of the various monitors reminds Emma where they are, and suddenly the baby in her arms feels impossibly tiny.

I hope so too, she thinks.

[sending-the-message]

Apotemnophilia by Middlenameredundant

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve never really felt at home in my own body. Early on, it was just the sense that there was something not right. Later, that sense of unease solidified and became clear. My body didn’t feel like my own. Even though it looked like it should, according to most definitions of ‘should,’ to me, it looked grotesque and ugly. There was just too much of it.

They used to call it apotemnophilia, but my therapist says that’s old-fashioned. “Body Integrity Identity Disorder” is what they call it now. Much more clinical, much more safe for people to talk about. Instead of saying “I want to cut off my own legs because they don’t feel like they belong on me,” I can now say “I’m a sufferer of BIID.” So much better.

Whatever it is, it makes me hate myself and this body I’m trapped in.

Can I tell you about the times when my body has let me down? About those times in my childhood when I would dig my dirty fingernails into the flesh of my thigh just to get a semblance of relief? Of how I would sit on my legs until they went numb? The pleasure of for once feeling ‘right’ would wash over me in waves until the sensation once again returned to those hateful appendages.

For most of my life, I thought I was alone in my particular brand of torment. No one could really understand this desire I had. Occasionally I would see some trashy daytime talk show where people like me were guests. The audience gawped and hooted and the host smirked incredulously, as if asking the audience “can you believe these freaks?” But I saw something different in those shows. When I looked at the faces of the people who had successfully transformed their bodies into the right shape, I saw happiness. Not even the disgust emanating from the audience could take that away from them.

I was incredibly jealous of those people, and lonely in my jealousy. No one could possibly understand what I felt; society had deemed it wrong. We’re taught from the moment of birth that our bodies are precious, temples even, and that we should do whatever we can to preserve them. We look at people with physical disabilities as if they are somehow wrong. That’s not what I see at all.

The internet was a godsend for me, and other people like me. In my adolescence I discovered newsgroups for people with apotemnophilia, and later on message boards for those with BIID (by that point the language had ‘evolved’). I was able to finally connect with other people who understood me as I had always wanted to be understood. It was as if a weight had been lifted from me, and I could finally be myself. In these groups, I wasn’t a freak or a mistake, I was accepted.

We didn’t meet in person for a long time. Most of us lived far away from one another, and many of us were too poor or too young to travel halfway across the country. We did talk, though, and formed deep friendships. We played role-playing games on those message boards, each of us disappearing for a moment into a world where our perceptions matched our bodies. In my fantasies, I was me, but without the dead meat hanging from my hips. I wheeled around town, satisfied and whole, even though parts of me were missing.

When eventually I would snap back to reality, depression would overcome me. That’s when the friendships I had developed were their most precious. We all could share in that feeling. We all could comfort one another, even though we were miles away. Those groups were how I survived this long. If not for them, well, I don’t know that I could have kept myself from doing something stupid.

Late last year, I discovered that three of the people in our group lived in my city. It was like learning I had a long-lost twin. We talked for months, growing our bond through the internet, before we opted to meet in person. It was necessary to wait, given how disingenuous some people can be online.

Grace and Howard were both near my age, and had struggled with BIID for their entire lives. Kyle was slightly older, and no longer considered himself a sufferer of BIID.

We all met up at a coffee shop downtown. I arrived first, and I knew Kyle the second I saw him. I could tell it was him: he had one arm, and the biggest smile I’d ever seen. Grace and Howard arrived a few minutes later, and we immediately got down to sharing our stories. When it came time for Kyle to share his, we all listened with rapt fascination.

“I always knew I was wrong,” he said. We nodded in understanding.

He continued. “The arm that was attached to me was not my own. It was like I knew it instinctively from childhood. It drove me crazy. Every day I’d look at it and feel hate well up inside of me. I used to cut it, little strokes to see what it was like. It didn’t help. I only wanted it gone. It was an obsession, really. All I thought about all day every day was getting rid of my arm.

“Then, one day, I’d had enough. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to do something. I was so keyed up and I did the only thing I could think of. I turned on the garbage disposal, and before I could talk myself out of it, shoved my arm into it.

“I passed out from the pain, I’ll admit. Thankfully my wife came home just after it happened. They got me to the hospital in time to save my life, though I was unconscious for it all. When the long-faced doctor came to tell me that the couldn’t save the arm, I nearly jumped for joy. I tried to hide it, but honestly it was the happiest day of my life.”

We stared at him in shocked envy.

“And did it make you feel better, long-term, I mean?” I asked.

“Maggie, it made me feel like I was complete. Since that day, my life has been so happy. So fulfilled. I don’t regret it for a second.”

Howard, Grace and I exchanged looks. I knew what we were all thinking: how can we do the same thing? Kyle must have understood that look, because he piped up again.

“Listen, though, happy as I am, you do not want to go about things the way I did. It’s incredibly risky, and you could easily die.”

“But what are the alternatives?” asked Grace. “I’ve been to every surgeon in the state, and no one will remove an undamaged limb.”

“It’s true even out of state,” grumbled Howard. “They don’t understand what it’s like to wake up every day in a body that isn’t your own.”

Kyle nodded. “I know, I know,” he said. He looked around the room, and leaned in, whispering. “What if I told you there is a surgeon who will do it?”

Grace laughed. “Some back-alley amputation? There’s no way anyone would do that.”

“There is, though,” said Kyle. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s this guy, Dr. Felix, and he helps people like us. It’s his life’s goal. And he’s legit.”

I sat back in my chair, chewing on my bottom lip. If this was true, if a doctor really would do the surgery without damage to the limb, it could be a life-changer.

Kyle once again spoke up. “What would you have him do, if you could?”

“My left leg,” Howard said, not even pausing to consider.

“Both of my legs,” I replied.

“Same as Maggie,” said Grace. We exchanged glances as Kyle smiled.

“It can absolutely be done.” He pushed a business card across the table toward us.

I debated calling the number for days. We all did. In the end, we each decided that only one thing could make us happy. We all eventually called Dr. Felix. He agreed to come to town, and scheduled appointments with each of us.

The surgery would be done in my own house, as hospitals and doctors’ offices were much too dangerous. Dr. Felix was adamant about discretion; his license was on the line, after all. I agreed, and the date was set for a month out.

I spent the next few weeks in a tizzy. I bought a wheelchair and practiced maneuvering around my house, picking up or rearranging anything that got in my way. I studied post-surgery care instructions, and read up on the procedure. The days passed in agonizing slowness.

When the day of the surgery came, I felt like a weight had been lifted. I met Dr. Felix at my front door. Anticipation and excitement bubbled up inside of me, just like the Christmases of my childhood. Finally, it would all be okay.

He greeted me warmly, taking my hand in both of his.

“Maggie! How nice to meet you. I know you’re excited to get started, but I want to go over a few things with you first.”

I nodded my assent.

“You wish to have both of your legs amputated, correct? Above the knee?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” I said, barely able to contain myself.

“And you understand the ramifications of the surgery? I know this sounds stupid, but you do realize that once your legs have been removed, there is no getting them back?”

I smiled broadly at him. “Yes, Dr. Felix. I understand that perfectly.”

“Okay,” he said, “let’s get to work then.”

I waited in the kitchen while Dr. Felix prepared the bedroom. It had to be sanitized for the surgery, and I understood that it would take some time. Every second of waiting felt like an eternity. Finally, he appeared in my doorway.

“It’s time. Your room has been prepared.”

I let out a little squeak and followed the doctor to the bedroom. Crisp, clean white linens lay on my bed, and an IV drip sat next to it. I changed into a gown and lay on the sheets. The doctor made quick work of cleaning my legs and inserting the IV. I watched as he pulled a syringe from the table beside the bed, and injected its contents into the IV bag.

I felt myself relax and waited for the unconsciousness that would usher me into my new life.

It did not come.

After some seconds, I tried to move, to alert the doctor that I was still awake. I found that I could not. I was paralyzed.

“You may be wondering,” Dr. Felix said as he moved around the bed, “why it is that you are both awake and immobile. Well, that’s simple enough. I need you to be aware of what I’m doing. I need you to see the procedure unfold. Unfortunately, there will be some pain.”

I tried to force my body to move, tried to wrench myself free of the drug-induced prison I was in, but I could not. Was he really going to cut off my legs with me awake? As the thought passed through my mind, Dr. Felix propped me up slightly and positioned my head so that I was looking directly at my legs.

“I’ve been working on a treatment, you know?” He looked at me as if I could answer him, and then shrugged his shoulders.

“No one really knows what causes BIID. Some think that it’s the brain’s inability to accurately map the body. Others take a more Freudian stance on the whole thing, saying that it’s those all-important early childhood experiences. That’s, of course, complete hogwash.”

I could only stare as the doctor pulled another needle from his bag. He tapped it twice with his forefinger and then injected it into my IV.

“My theory, which I will need your help to test, is that it’s actually a...well, that’s not for me to say. Wouldn’t want to confound my research, would I? All I can tell you is this drug you’ve been given is a cure, plain and simple.”

The doctor hummed to himself as he began taking his instruments from his bag. Panic welled inside of me with each subsequent tool he produced. The scalpel, the oscillating saw, the ligature. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and wanted desperately to shut my eyes. Try as I might, however, my eyelids stayed open and unblinking.

As the doctor began to tie off my right leg above the knee, a new and unfamiliar feeling washed over me. Suddenly, and with the force of jackhammer to the gut, I did not want to lose my legs. I felt a surge of desire so strong it was overwhelming. I needed to keep my legs. They were part of me. They were my legs. Mine. I would have cried if I could, would have screamed out until my throat was raw. But I could not. I could only watch while he brought the scalpel to my skin. I could only watch as a line of bright red appeared on my thigh.

I felt the cut throughout my entire body. The pain was sharp and radiant. I can’t say whether the pain distracted from the regret or whether the regret distracted from the pain; all I know is that my mind mixed the two together until they became one in the same.

I’m not sure how deep the doctor got before I lost consciousness. That blissful escape as my brain shut down might have lasted a few moments, or might have lasted hours. I faintly recall coming to at the sound of the oscillating saw cutting into my femur before blacking out once more. When I finally awoke for good, I was lying in my homemade hospital bed. I was alone, and my legs were gone.

I screamed, both relieved and frightened that I could once again move my body. At the sound of my voice, Dr. Felix entered the room.

“What have you done to me?” I asked, angry at myself for the way my voice sounded, like a petulant child’s voice.

“I have eliminated, permanently, your BIID. You are quite welcome.”

“You took my legs!”

“Yes, well, you did request that, did you not?”

“You changed my brain. You made me want my legs, and then you took them!”

“My dear girl, don’t you see? You have been instrumental in providing a cure for this wretched disease! I “messed” nothing up, only repaired a broken neural pathway.”

I stared at him.

“Now, of course, it won’t be your name in the literature, but you’ll be there just the same. Patient 7, cured of her Body Integrity Identity Disorder.”

“But why take my legs? Why take them from me just as I want to keep them?”

“Oh, well, I do have to be rigorous, do I not? If I had given you the shot without taking your legs, you might not have come to the realization that you desired them. You might have rationalized away your newfound affection for your own body.”

“But, doesn’t that just confound your research? I mean, how do you know it was the drug and not the realization that I was losing my legs that made me want to keep them?”

He stared at me for a long time before finally speaking again.

“It’s not your place to know my methods. Your reaction upon waking told me more than any post-intervention interview could have. Now, no more talking, girl. You need your rest.”

I watched as he pulled a syringe from his pocket and injected it into the IV. He faded from my vision as I lost consciousness.

When I awoke again, Dr. Felix was gone. I was alone in my room; my wheelchair sat beside me, with a packet of post-surgery instructions in the seat. I saw that straps had been installed above my bed, presumably to allow me to move from bed to chair.

For hours I sat in my bed, alternating between bursts of crying and fits of rage. How could he have done that to me? I’m ashamed to admit how long it took for me to think of the others. Grace and Howard. They had appointments with Dr. Felix, too.

I felt along my bedside table until I could locate my phone. I turned it on and immediately called Grace. There was no answer. Neither was there an answer at Howard’s. I sat still as the realization hit me fully. We were all his test subjects. I didn’t want to think about Howard and Grace, about how they too would have felt the same fear and regret as I had.

As I sat with my thoughts, I began to feel a dull throbbing in my legs. No, in the remnants of my legs. The pain medicine was evidently wearing off. I reached for the bottle of Vicodin that the doctor had left on the nightstand, only to find that it was empty. I shook the bottle, but heard nothing.

All the while, pain began to prick the nerve endings up and down my legs. I reached down to rub the spot that hurt the most, and encountered only empty sheets. My leg was gone, but still pain pulsed through it. Phantom limb. I had read about it in my surgery preparation, but the reality shocked me still.

Alone and butchered in my room, I screamed.

It was days later before I heard from Grace. By then, I was moving around the house as I’d practiced. I was recovering physically, but mentally, I was a wreck. My legs throbbed with pain from my ankle to my hip, and no pain medication could soothe the limbs that weren’t there. They burned and pulsed, as if punishing me for ever having hated them.

Grace had fared no better. We spoke on the phone for hours, each mostly just crying into the receiver. In her desperation, she had even gone to the police. But once she told them she’d consented to the surgery, they only referred her to a psychologist.

She had also heard from Howard, she told me, and he was doing slightly better than us. He’d only lost the one leg, after all. She and I resolved to find as much information as we could on Dr. Felix. Tracking him down became our only goal.

We met up, Grace, Howard and I, a few weeks after our surgeries to exchange notes and try to find the good doctor. We had all come up with nothing.

“His office is empty,” said Grace over a steaming mug of coffee at my kitchen table. “I went by last week. No sign that anyone had been there in ages.”

“And you asked the neighbors?” Howard asked.

Grace looked irritated. “Of course I asked the neighbors! They hadn’t seen anyone that fit the doctor’s description.”

“I couldn’t find a thing about him, not in any of the medical journals. Whoever he really is, he’s not publishing his work,” I said.

“Figures,” said Grace. “I tried to track down his phone number, but it was a burner. No record of the guy anywhere. No trace of Kyle, either.”

“Goddamnit!” Howard shouted, slamming his palm on the table.

We jumped back, startled.

“It’s just…” he started, “it’s just so unfair. This was all I ever wanted, and he’s turned my dream into a living hell.”

Grace and I each reached out to Howard, holding him as he started to cry. We sat like that for what could have been hours, consoling each other through the tears. We had all gotten what we wanted, and now we’d have to live with it for the rest of our lives.