#like i looked it up my primary doctor measured me i should very much be able to get it done by national healthcare | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mimzy-writing-online · 4 years ago

Text

Writing A Blind/Visually Impaired Character: Canes, Guide Dogs, O&M

Wow, back in June I decided to take a few months break from blogging to recharge and focus on my mental health. About a month ago I began writing this specific post, slowly and in stages because of how demanding, detailed, and long it is.

I’m not sure when I planned to come back. I have about 200 posts with tags and image description in my drafts folder, waiting to be queued, but I wanted to finish this guide before I fully came back.

Come back with a bang, right?

But this blog, and specifically, my Writing a Blind or Visually Impaired Character guide, has gotten so much traffic and support that I felt incredibly motivated to come back now.

So I finished the guide, and now here it is. It’s been a year+ in the making. Since the very beginning of this writing advice series about writing blind characters, I’ve promised to write a guide specifically about canes, guide dogs, O&M, and other accessibility measures the blind community relies on.

In fact, if you look at my master post for this guide (now pinned at the first post on my blog) you’ll find that it was reserved as Part Four, even as other guides and additions were added over the last year.

In this post I’ll be explaining

What Orientation and Mobility (O&M) is

How one learns O&M

About canes, from different types of canes and their parts, as well as how to use a cane.

I will be explaining the sensory experiences of using a cane and how to describe it in narrative.

I will include small mannerisms long-time cane uses might develop.

At the very end will be a section on guide dogs, but this will be limited to research because I have no personal experience with guide dogs, being a cane user.

Disclaimer: I am an actual visually impaired person who has been using a cane for nearly three years and has been experiencing vision loss symptoms for a few years longer than that. This guide is based on both my experiences and my research. My experiences are not universal however because every blind person has a unique experience with their blindness

What Is Orientation & Mobility

Orientation and Mobility (O&M) is the specific skill of understanding and navigating the world safely and confidently with vision loss.

I’m going to quote Vision Aware’s specific definition [link]

"Orientation" refers to the ability to know where you are and where you want to go, whether you're moving from one room to another or walking downtown for a shopping trip.

"Mobility" refers to the ability to move safely, efficiently, and effectively from one place to another, such as being able to walk without tripping or falling on steps or elevation changes, crossing streets, and using public transportation

O&M can involve :

-learning how to use a cane, as well as what cane works best for you

-safely navigating obstacles with your cane, including stairs, ramps, elevators, uneven or curved sidewalks, through crowds, around furniture

-learning safe strategies for crossing the street

-planning routes to new or recurring locations

-using technology enroute, including GPS and apps like Uber and Lyft

-safely accessing public transportation

-how to ask for help when needed

-working with human sighted guides

A Note on the Blind Community and Their Relationship with Canes

The Perkins School for the Blind estimates that only 2-8% of the blind community rely on canes for navigation. The rest rely on remaining vision, guide dogs, and sighted guides. Only about 2% of the blind community relies on guide dogs however, and to get a guide dog in the first place, a person must go through O&M classes and use a cane for six months before they can sign up for a guide dog.

What this means is that 90% of the blind community don’t use a cane.

I didn’t know this fact until I begun research for this guide, and that number astounds me.

Truth be told, while I have navigated my life without a cane before, I can’t imagine going back to the way it was before I got it. Even if I only need my cane some of the time, I can’t bear to not use it in the situations I need it. Having a cane made my life a lot easier, a lot safer.

I don’t know what to attribute this number to.

I might attribute it to the concepts of invisible vs. visible disability, internalized ableism, or the feeling of ‘not being blind enough’ for a cane, as well as accessibility to the blind community and knowledge, and access to buying a cane in the first place. I could write a thing about it, but if I try it’s gonna be its own post.

Onward~

How Do You Learn O&M? How Will My Character Learn?

You will have to find an Orientation and Mobility instructor and have them personally teach you O&M skills.

The O&M Instructor is a sighted adult who has gone to school for a bachelor’s degree and gone through O&M training themselves while blindfolded, usually fulfilling a certain requirement of hours (one program required 400 hours of O&M practice blindfolded before you could become certified), and apply for certification to teach O&M.

(Or, as is the process to become an instructor in the United States, where I am from. Becoming an instructor would vary in other countries, I’m sure)

To find an O&M instructor, you would reach out to your local school or foundation for the blind. Finding your nearest school for the blind could be done through…

Google search

Your Ophthalmologist (eye doctor) referring you to a school for the blind

A Social Service Worker reaching out to you and helping you contact the school

Possibly your school (as in grade/primary school, high school, university) reaching out to the nearest school for the blind on your behalf.

Unfortunately, there is not an abundance of schools and foundations, so your nearest might still be a far travel distance. My local school is a 45 minute drive away. For some it might a few hours away.

This is, again, a U.S. experience, because our land mass is spaced out, and something like a six hour drive feels like nothing to most people (although is highly impractical and very difficult to a blind person who cannot drive themselves), but in other countries a six hour drive would mean crossing several borders, and other countries have different social programs.

There is not a full and complete database of every available school for the blind either, no one website to find every possible option. For example, the school I went to wasn’t listed in most of the website resources I found, even though it has seven branches and locations.

This is more a complaint at the real life struggle to find disabled services, that there are few comprehensive resources out there. If you ask me, it should be made significantly easier to find and access your local blind communities. Accessibility and disabled services should be easily available everywhere.

If your story is based in a real world location, googling ‘school for the blind (city/county/country)’ should suffice in finding the one most local to your setting.

What might a school for the blind provide for your character?

Well, on top of helping your character connect to an O&M instructor, a school for the blind might provide other rehabilitation classes and access to additional resources.

Those rehabilitation classes could include lessons on:

-Reading/Writing Braille & using brailling machines

-Technology classes for screen readers, magnifiers, etc on your computer and smart phone.

My local school has separate classes specific to Andriod, iOS, JAWS, Zoomtext Fusion

-Independent Living skills (cooking, cleaning, organizing, planning how to get groceries and medications)

-Self Improvement (dancing, art, music, self defense. These were classes my school taught)

The additional resources form these schools might include-

Referrals to counselors for coping with vision loss

Access to their audio-book and braille library

Access to magnifier devices, brailler machines (think of a typewriter for writing braille)

Some schools also offer grade-school or high-school education, meaning blind children/teens learn there instead of a mainstream school.

Some schools have lodgings for clients to stay at while going through rehabilitation, especially if the vision loss is sudden and severe. They live on-campus and take part in classes. Other schools only have day classes offered and you need to find transportation for every visit. Many schools might have a rehabilitation specialist or O&M instructor visit you in your home.

My local school did the last two. They had on site classes, but the school is a 45 minute drive from me, so I only visited a few times. They were able to send an O&M instructor to me.

On Wednesdays at 3 pm she would drive to my house and give me lessons on using my cane. Those included her driving me to different locations to practice certain skills (like using stairs and escalators at the mall, or crossing a moderately busy intersection, or visiting a bus station to practice boarding a bus safely and communication with a bus driver where my stop was).

She also brought multiple different types of canes for new students to try out and determine which felt best for them.

The Many Types of Canes

Long Canes are used to sweep the immediate area in front of the cane user as they’re walking. This is the cane type that the general public is most familiar with seeing. There are several sub-types of long canes. They can also be called white canes or probing canes.

[Image Description: Man in business clothes traveling on the side walk with a white and red cane. End Image Description]

White cane can be a misnomer for two reasons: One, the concept of the standard cane for the blind can look different in different countries. In America, the standard is white with a red tip. In some countries the standard is an all-white cane. In some countries an all white cane might mean the user is blind while a white cane with a red tip means the user is deaf-blind.

Two, some companies like Ambutech allow customers to customize their cane colors and tips. Example: Molly Burke’s hot pink cane. My white cane with a purple tip. An all black or all sky blue or all red or all purple cane. A black cane with a blue or purple tip. Ambutech also allows customers to request neon-colored reflective tape to make their canes more visible at night.

Probing cane is not a term I’ve personally heard before, but it is a term Vision Aware uses on their website.

There are three main types of long canes:

Non-folding Canes: a cane that has no sections, cannot be folded or collapsed.

[Image Description: stock photo of man in business suit with a non-folding all white cane. End Image Description]

Folding Canes: The cane has 3-6 sections depending on its height. The taller the cane, the more sections it has. The sections are separate pieces that are made to snap together and are held together by a strong elastic rope inside the sections.

[Image Description: a folding cane with four sections, white with a red tip, and a rolling marshmallow tip. End Image Description]

Telescopic Canes: in which the sections slide into each other, similar to a telescope/spyglass, rather than pulling apart and folding. The handle is the widest section, and the tip section is the thinnest.

[Image Description: Three stacked images of a blue telescopic cane. First is of the cane completely collapsed. Second is of the sections partially sliding out. Third is the cane sections completely out and locked.]

Beyond that is also the Identification Cane. The function of this cane is to visibly identify the user as blind. It’s not used for O&M the way long canes are, there is no sweeping out the next two steps. It can be used as a support cane, however.

It’s appeals most to the elderly who not only make up a huge percentage of the blind community, but might also benefit most from having both a support cane and an identifier for their blindness, in case they need assistance.

[Image Description: identification cane with curved handle. All white with red tip. End Image Description]

A note: From what I’ve heard in the blind community, some people prefer solid/non-folding canes over folding or telescopic canes. The reason for this is that solid canes transfer vibration better than folding or telescopic canes. It’s said that the more sections a cane has, the less precise the vibrations are.

Some cane users train themselves to understand the vibrations of the surfaces their canes are touching. It tells them what kind of surface they’re on (wood vs. marble vs. concrete), if there are nearby objects to their cane. While I rely somewhat on cane vibrations to tell me what surface I’m walking on (more on that later), it is beyond my current O&M abilities to use cane vibrations to sense nearby walls or objects.

Cane vibrations are just an additional information-sense to add to the others in use, and extra bit of data input.

Parts of the Cane: Materials, Handle, Tips, Sections, Elastic Band

Material

The three most common types of materials used to make canes are aluminum, carbon-fiber, and fiberglass. Each material has some drawbacks and benefits.

The ideal cane is lightweight and durable. It should be strong enough to withstand hitting something solid without bending or splintering.

Aluminum is strong and durable, but heavy. If it’s damage, it’s more likely to bend than break entirely. A bend can be straightened out, but it takes considerable strength.

Carbon-fiber is lightweight and durable. It’s stronger than fiberglass, and it can bend out of shape rather than splintering.

Fiberglass is lightweight but a bit rigid. If it breaks, it splinters.

Handles and Elastic Bands

While some canes can have specialized grips (plastic, wood, corkboard) the most common handle material is a black rubber handle that is about ten inches long, give or take. In the previous photos you’ve seen, the canes have had black rubber handles.

Here is an example of a cane with a wood-mesh material used as the handle.

[Image Description: a four section white cane with a red tip and a orange wood mesh handle, with black elastic band attached. End Image Description]

The benefits of black rubber handles over others are that it’s easier to hold onto, especially if your palms are wet or sweaty, than a plastic or polished wood handle. It also wouldn’t show the indents or scratches from wear and tear daily use. I’m guessing that is cheaper to make on the manufacturing standpoint, and thus is conveniently the standard.

Pay attention to the black elastic band attached to the handle in the above photo. Notice how it has a tied off loop? That is so that when the cane is folded, that loop can be stretched over the folded sections to hold it together.

[Image Description: a four section folding cane folded up with the black band around them. End Image Description]

Additional benefits or functions of the elastic could be to use it as a wrist strap while using the cane, or hanging it up on a hook while not in use. I tend to have my cane folded up and tuck my wrist under the strap to hold it more securely while carrying it. Images of that ahead in my cane-isms section.

Cane Height

Ideal cane heights depend on the user. For most users, you want your cane height to be to your shoulder, give or take a few inches. You might need a longer cane if you are a fast walker with long strides, or a shorter cane if you prefer to hold your cane at a lower angle than is traditional.

What I mean when I talk about holding your cane at a certain angle is that the standard is to hold your cane handle in your dominant hand and position it in front of your belly button, moving it side to side with each step. Traditional grip methods are holding your hand palm side up with your cane in hand, or to hold the cane at the section joint closest to the handle with what is called the pencil grip, holding the cane like a fat pencil.

Depending on the height, a cane can have anywhere between three and six sections. Longer canes have more sections. The top section includes the handle, and the last section includes the stripe color (traditionally red, unless customized) and the tip.

The sections of the cane are generally slightly reflective, regardless of color. If you hold a cane up to the light you’ll see tiny specks of light reflected back, almost like very fine, tiny particle glitter paint. This detail is important in cane production because it makes the cane more visible at night, especially if something like car headlights reflect off it while someone is crossing.

Additional visibility at night can be added by wrapping stripes of reflective tape along the shaft.

Cane Tips

There are several different tip options for canes.

[Image Description: four different types of cane tips on a blue background with labels. From left to right: marshmallow tip, ball tip, pencil tip, glide tip.]

[Image Description: a rolling marshmallow tip with a blue background. End Image Description]

[Image Description: Bandu basher tip with a white background. For anyone not familiar with the name, the long, curved cane tip that looks like a hockey stick. End Image Description]

Some of these tips are better for the tap-tap method of cane travel, as in tapping the spots where you plan to step. They can also be used to feel out the shapes of objects, stairs, etc.

marshmallow tip, pencil tip,

They should not be scraped over surfaces, the tips will wear down much faster than they should. There are better tips for rolling over surface

Some tips are better for the rolling method of cane travel, which is the method I use. They aren’t great for tapping, but it can be done in a pinch.

rolling marshmallow tip, ball tip, glide tip

The Bandu Basher tip, the hockey stick shaped tip, is best for hovering an inch off the ground and lightly tapping objects. It could be tapped. It should not be scraped over the ground like a rolling tip. It hovers.

After enough use, the tips will wear down and need to be replaced. The part of the tip that has the most contact with the ground, usually the edge of the shape, gets scrapes, sands down, and eventually begins to look like it was shaved off while still having bits of plastic still gripped to it.

Never fear, cane tips can be removed and replaced when they wear out, replacing the whole cane is not necessary.

Some tips slip on or twist on. Others hook on. By hook on I mean that the elastic that keeps the cane sections together also has a loop at the tip end that a hook onto and stay held into place. Look back at the photo of the rolling marshmallow tip and you will see the hook that attaches to the black elastic.

Cane tips sell for about 5 - 10 U.S. dollars, plus shipping, so it’s advised to buy several back up tips with your cane. I replace my rolling marshmallow tips once every six to twelve months. I don’t know if that’s considered too much or too often. The last time I needed to replace mine was June 2019 (It’s July 2020 at the date of writing this, but I’ve hardly left my home for the last six months because of COVID-virus related quarantine/social distancing.)

Sensory Details/Describing What Using a Cane Feels Like

Every surface type feels and sounds different when tapping or rolling a cane over it. It’s this difference that tells us a lot about our environment.

It tells us when we stepped off the side walk onto the grass, when we’ve walked inside because the concrete changes to wood or carpet flooring. These little details become trail markers too, useful for places we anticipate traveling to a lot.

Example: A week before every semester in college, I would travel to each of the classrooms and learn necessary routes. I learned that certain paths had giant cracks in the sidewalk that would be distinct enough to use as a trail marker to where I was on a path, or that certain paths went from cement to gravel, or cement to brick.

Carpet: The sound is very soft, and if you’re rolling your cane across carpet it sounds like a quiet swish-swish-swish. Tapping sounds depend on how thick the carpet padding underneath is, the thicker the carpet the softer the sound. If there’s a lot of padding then taps don’t make much sound, but if the padding is thin or underneath the carpet is tile or concrete then you hear a louder thudding tap. It’s still pretty quiet. If you’re rolling the cane you would feel a little bit of drag, the cane moves slower over the carpet. The thicker or shaggier the carpet is, the more drag it has.

Wood floor: Cane tips make rumbling sounds when rolling over wood floors. The smoother the wood, the less it rumbles. There’s a little vibration moving from the cane tip, through the cane and into your hand as you roll over wood planks. Very small. The more sensitive you are to vibrations, the more you feel it. Tapping makes hallow, thudding sounds on the wood. Sometimes they sound a little snappish if you’re tapping harshly. You feel stronger vibrations when tapping. Older wood feels softer, with more give. New wood is stronger, more vibrations in the cane.

Tile:It depends on the size of the tiles and the wideness of the grout lines, but it’s not a pleasant feeling. Tiles have grout lines, which are little divets between the tiles. The smaller the tiles or rougher the grout lines are, the more the cane vibrates in your hands. Every bump is felt running from the cane to your hand. The sound is a little grating too. Imagine fifty sets of stiletto shoes walking on tile, that’s what it sounds like when you roll your cane over rough, small tiles. Larger tiles with smoother grout lines aren’t so bad. Tapping the tile with your cane sounds like one really loud step of a stiletto heal, one step for each tap. Tile floors are usually found in bathrooms, kitchens, and industrial locations where the room is going to have harder walls (more tile, concrete, etc) and few furniture, so the room echoes more.

Linoleum: is a smooth even surface. It feels like your cane is gliding when you roll it, barely feeling any vibrations. The rolling sounds are very soft because of the lack of bumps, however tapping sounds are a bit louder. Not as snappish as tile or marble, but almost.

Marble: is similar to linoleum in its smoothness. Your cane glides when rolling. Tapping sounds are sharp. Because marble floors are common in high end malls, luxury homes, and fancy office building entries, places that usually have high ceilings and hard walls with minimal decorations and minimalist furnishing, those sharp tapping sounds may echo. Assuming there isn’t too much noise and the environment is relatively quiet.

Concrete: (I’m referring to concrete found in parking garages and industrial buildings, not sidewalk) It depends on the age of the concrete and how it’s maintained. Old concrete with lots of cracks and mini-craters feels very different from smooth concrete that was set less than a year ago. With old concrete there’s a rattling sound as your cane tip rolls over the bumps and those vibrations travel up your cane. New concrete can feel similar to marble or linoleum. The taps are loud thuds on dull concrete and sharper on new concrete.

Sidewalks: are made of concrete, but in my experience they feel a little different than the above example. Sidewalks have a grittier surface, they’re slightly rougher, more dry. There’s a bit more rolling cane vibration with sidewalks and the taps have more of a thud sound. And because they’re outside, you’re unlikely to hear any echoes unless you’re walking in an alley or between buildings.

Asphalt: is one of the worst surfaces in my personal opinion. Asphalt is the material used in roads and it’s made to be rough and gritty so that car tires can grip onto it and not lose traction while driving. The older and more damaged it is, the rougher it is. Because it’s rough the vibrations are much stronger, sometimes irritatingly so. I can’t roll my cane over asphalt because the bones in my hand can’t handle those kinds of vibrations, so I almost always use the tapping method instead. The sounds are gritty and dull. Unfortunately, asphalt is an unavoidable surface, unless you can find a way to never need to cross a street or walk through a parking lot.

Note: the white or yellow lines that have been painted into asphalt sometimes feel smoother because of the material they’re made of and because they’re added after the asphalt has been laid down.

Note: There’s something called tarmac which is similar to asphalt, used for a similar purpose, and more common in the U.K. (I believe) but I can’t say that I’ve ever knowingly walked on it so I have no personal experience to give you.

Gravel: Another one of those evil surfaces. Gravel is just loose rocks and they’re common in rural roads, driveways, some landscaping. The looseness of them is what makes them untrustworthy. It makes a crunching sound. If you roll your cane, you’re likely to end up tossing small bits of rock and dust here and there. If you tap, you’ll hear the crunch but your brain might not translate that into “it’s gravel” until you’re walking on it and only realize when you walk over it and the sharp rocks begin digging into your shoes.

Wood Chips: I don’t have any experience with this since vision loss and getting a cane, so I’m using my memories of being on the playground in grade school because the surface on the playground was wood chips. I’d say wood ships are a love child between gravel and wood floors. The surface is loose and rolling your cane over it would kick up loose chips and dust. It would probably sound similar to walking on sand I think, because wood chips are much softer than gravel but not as consistent as wood. If it’s rained recently, then the waterlogged wood chips sound even softer.

Hard Dirt: I’m thinking dirt roads here, which are a lesser evil to asphalt and gravel. They can be rough like all roads, but the material isn’t has hard and solid. Rolling your cane will kick up dust on a dry day, but if it rained a few days ago you might hear a soft crunch as you roll over wet dirt. Tapping will have a very soft thud.

Soft Dirt: Think gardening dirt. Because it’s so soft, it makes very little sound and is easily kicked up. There’s a bit of drag, about the same or slightly more drag than grass or sand. Tapping has almost no sound but you might feel a slight give as your tip lands in the dirt, a slight resistance as it sinks in.

Mud: Yuck. I’m imagining this getting in my cane tip and how gross it would be after. Sound and feeling depend on how wet the mud is. Wet mud sounds slurpy. There’s more squish if you roll or tap your cane. Your character might not identify it right away until their shoes begin slipping as they walk over the mud. This is a personal experience. Drier mud sounds soft and feels almost solid underneath your cane. Wetter mud has more drag for a rolling cane. Muddy areas are also generally uneven because top soil has been displaced, so muddy hills and fields have unexpected but usually subtle changes in elevation.

Puddles: have both a slurpy and splash-splash sound. The slurpy sound is more common with rolling cane techniques. The splash sound is more common with tapping. The deeper the puddle, the louder is sounds and the more drag you experience. I am not fond of this texture/experience.

Snow: I have zero experience with snow since the development of blindness. So no experience of what it’s like to walk through with a cane. This is something I hope a blind reader can inform me on so I can edit this at a later date. My best guess is that it has a soft crunch, softer than the crunch of shoes in snow. A lot of drag too. Rolling through snow would probably be near impossible, especially if it’s deep snow or hard packed. Again, my best guess. The last time I experienced snow was when I was twelve.

Grass: One of my least favorites personally. Too much drag. Worse than shag carpeting. It’s very soft and doesn’t make much sound either. Like a crisp crunch you can barely hear. If the grass is wet or frosty you hear it a bit more crunch.

Surface with fallen Autumn leaves: Leaves everywhere! This is a bit dependant on whatever surface the leaves are on. It would soften the sound of cement, but there would be a louder crunch on grass. If the leaves are big and very curvy/pocketed then they’re easy to push aside. Smaller, flatter leaves don’t push as easily. The driest ones will crunch under your cane. It’s fun sometimes, if you’re the kind of person who likes stepping on leaves on purpose, but if you can’t see the leaves it might lose some of its fun and be more unexpected.

Sand: I’ve never personally taken my cane to the beach, despite living so close to the coast. The reason is because beach sand is so squishy and loose that it’s already impossible to stay steady on your feet. The sand is always sinking under your feet, unless you’re next to the water line and the dampness has made it firmer. So a cane isn’t very useful to me at the beach. Not to mention that sand isn’t something you want inside your cane joints if you want the cane to last. Sand will erode and damage the joints, regardless of if they’re metal or plastic. If I were to take my cane to the beach, it would make the softest crunching-swishy noise of sand sliding over sand, similar to what your footsteps sound like on sand, but possibly even quieter because canes are lighter.

Side Note: My mother sarcastically asked about rolling your cane through dog poop or gum left on the floor. Can’t say I’ve ever rolled through it, so couldn’t tell you. Use your imagination I guess, Mum

The Invention of Tactile Paving

These are amazing! Tactile Paving are those yellow (or sometimes grey) bumpy squares you see on ramps leading into parking lots or when crossing the street. In 1965, Japanese engineer Seiichi Miyake used his own money to develop a tactile brick that you could feel even when walking over it with shoes, and he designed this because a friend of his was losing their vision and he wanted to help. These are amazing, and accessible to everyone, even the blind who don’t have a cane or guide dog. These are literal life savers. Before I got my cane, if I felt those bumps under my shoes I knew to immediately stop because I was about to walk into the road. Because less than 10% of the blind community uses canes or guide dogs, this is the most accessible form of blind aide available.

[Image Description: a yellow rectangle of tactile paving in front of a ramp leading into a parking lot. End Image Description]

Note: similar detail, most doors in commercial buildings (in my localized experience) have a metal plate on the threshold to hold the door in place so there are no cracks underneath. The metal scraping sound when you roll or tap your cane on it is distinct but temporary and non-repeating, so it’s a good indication that you’ve reached and passed the threshold.

Blind-isms

I have a section in this guide about blind-isms, but these ones are focused specifically on cane use.

-Do. Not. Touch. My. Cane. Don’t. Just fucking don’t.

-The above ism comes from the fact that our cane is our safety net, an extension of our body, our eyes, the one thing that makes sure we’ll get somewhere safely. For that reason, blind people hate having their canes (or their on duty guide dogs) touched by strangers, acquaintances, friends we’re not very close to, some family members.

Important Note: That is a universal thing for disabled people. Don’t. Touch. Their. Mobility Aides. It’s assault. Touching someone’s wheelchair or pushing them around without their expressed permission is assault. Moving their wheelchair while the user is currently standing is assault. (Most wheelchair users are not paralyzed, but they still need the wheelchair because of their medical condition, which is not your business to know). It doesn’t matter if the wheelchair is in the way, the disabled person needs it right there, do not touch it. Touching or grabbing someone’s support cane or their long cane is assault. Touching or moving someone’s walker is assault. Touching, poking at, or tampering with someone’s hearing aids is assault. Touching their oxygen tank or cannula is assault.

Back on topic-

-Idle motions with your cane while waiting in line. I often rest my chin on my cane or lean on it

-twirl my cane like a staff when I’m alone and no one can see. I would not ever do this in front of anyone because I don’t want anyone thinking it’s a toy or they can just touch or grab it. I’m just a little childish and bored sometimes and idle motions are a common thing for people with ADHD.

-When carrying my folded cane inside (like say a store) I hang it from my wrist by the strap.

-Keeping my cane within arms reach at all times, even in situations where I don’t need it currently. Example: if we’re doing a classroom assignment where I need to leave my desk, I know the classroom well enough to not use my cane, but I won’t leave it at my desk, ever. (This does not apply at home. And in the homes of a very few, very trusted friends I will leave it somewhere I deem safe.)

-Having a set, specific place in my home (living with my immediate family, who almost never have guests) for my cane. In my case, it’s the top of an antique dresser in the living room, across from the door. It has a little bowl for my sunglasses as well. If I move out and have roommates, my cane will be in my room.

-Love me a bag or backpack that has enough space to discretely store your cane, but most of my bags cannot do that.

-People with folding canes develop a muscle memory for folding and unfolding their cane, so they can do it without really thinking about it.

-Unfolding my cane: I hold the black handle between my thumb and palm with my other fingers folded over the remaining three sections, cane tip pointing up. I slide the elastic over the tip, loosen my four fingers and roll my wrist to the side. The red colored section unfolds first and snaps into place with its neighboring section. I roll my wrist in the opposite direction so the next white section can unfold and snap into place with it’s neighboring section. Roll it back in the first direction and the third section snaps into place with the handle. My four section cane is now unfolded and straight.

-Sometimes I just grab the black handle and let the sections fall and unfold as they will, but this is less controlled and risks your cane bumping into something or someone.

-Folding my cane: I start with the black handle, lifting it up so the joints unlock. I fold it down, grab both sections in my hand and lift the second section away from the third and fold it over. Wrap my hand over all three sections and unlock it from the red section.

-Because I have a four section folding cane, the cane tip and the handle are on the same side while the metal joints are on the opposite side. Those metal joints are what my elastic slips over.

-A three or five folding cane will have the head of the handle (and its elastic) on the opposite side of the cane tip, and you will be folding the elastic over the cane joints and tip.

-A six section cane has the tip and handle facing the same direction like the four section cane.

-People with non-folding canes like leaning their canes up against walls and other objects when not in use. Corners are popular, the corner of a desk up against a wall too.

-But oh god the frustration when the cane randomly rolls out of place and hits the floor, it’s a combination of “Not again” and “did that really just happen” and “you had one job. one job.”

-Sitting with our cane tucked between our legs. Picture a bit of man spreading, the cane tip leaned against the side of our foot to keep it stable and the cane leaning against our shoulder or opposite knee, possibly also held securely with our fingers too.

-The no-manspreading alternative of that is with the cane leaning against our shoulder, cane tip resting on the toe of our shoe or the outside of it, held securely with our fingers or our arm wrapped around it, elbow hooking it.

(Okay, a while back I was looking for photos of someone using a cane to use as a reference for drawing Ulric. I only found three, and two of them were Daredevil promo photos. Which, no offense to Charlie Cox, but he is not blind and he does not use a cane in his daily life, he does not have that relationship a blind person has with a cane and the concept of a fifth limb, and it shows. So the photos were stiff and unusable, so I had to like use several photo references of different poses and Frankenstein them together to get what I wanted.

And I still haven’t finished the painting... fuck)

-In a car with a non-folding cane:

-Right passenger seat- The cane tip goes all the way into the corner of the foot well to the right of my feet, with the handle resting over my right shoulder or on the seatbelt. It pokes a bit past my headrest. The longer the cane, the harder it is to tuck into a car.

-The U.K. / Austrailian / New Zealand / Japan version of this (because they drive on the left side of the road with their drivers seats on the right side of the car) it’s like this: Cane tip in the foot well to the left of my feet, handle on my left shoulder or on the seatbelt.

Backseat: the absolute worst. There’s less foot well room, and if you’re in a sedan there is almost no room behind your shoulder for the handle. I position my cane diagonally with the handle on the shoulder closest to the door and the tip next to the foot closest to the middle.

-For this reason, no one with a non-folding cane will want to be sitting in the backseat.

About Guide Dogs

While my knowledge of guide dogs is limited only to what I can research and not personal, I will give you some basic facts and practical knowledge from said research.

Guiding Eyes for the Blind estimates that there are 10,000 guide dog teams out there in the world. That makes up 2% of the blind and visually impaired community.

Guide Dog Training

Becoming a guide dog is the most difficult form of dog training there is. The majority of dogs who enter guide dog training wash out and either become family dogs or go into a different type of service dog training, like medical response or PTSD/anxiety response, or possibly become therapy dogs, which is a career altogether different from being a service dog.

Guide dogs go through two or three years of training, which includes puppy training, basic socialization, proper behavior when on duty and actual guide training. Most service dogs only go through a year to a year and a half of training before they are partnered with a disabled handler.

Between the cost of training, the cost of housing and feeding the dog and the cost of vet bills from birth until being partnered with a blind handler, the overall cost of a guide dog is something like 30k to 40k. While most service dog training organizations require handlers to fundraise and pay for the cost of training (usually something like 15-30k), guide dog organizations give their dogs to qualified blind clients for free. These organizations pay for the dog costs through their own fundraising and charities. Fortunately for these organizations, guide dogs are a highly respected field and have a lot more charity directed their way, while other service dog types have less public interest when it comes to charity.

Guide Dog organizations have an application process, requirements, and a wait-list before you can be partnered with a guide dog.

Requirements to get a guide dog are (usually) as follows:

Must be legally blind (as in not visually impaired, but legally blind) and have had at least six months of O&M with a cane and demonstrate enough O&M stills to navigate by oneself. They also require you to be responsible enough to independently care for a dog, able to keep up with training and retraining of the dog, as well as financially able to handle food and vet bills (which are at least a few thousand dollars every year).

The reason for cane training before getting a guide dog is because the dog cannot do everything for you. You, the dog handler, are responsible for knowing where you are and how to get where you need to be.

The dog can’t read stop signs or tell when a light is green or red, nor do they have GPS to find a brand new location nor can they learn that route on the first try, nor will they know exactly where you want to go when you say “Starbucks” or “library” or “school” or “mom’s house” and guide you all by themselves. That falls on you, the dog handler, having enough orientation and mobility skills to know when a street is safe to cross and knowing how to learn new routes and how to keep on route and make sure you make the correct turns. A guide dog can’t communicate with bus drivers for you either, they don’t know which number bus to use or what stop to choose. That falls on the blind person’s own skill.

Other Guide Dog Resources

Molly Burke is a guide dog user and has made several videos about what kind of work guide dogs do, her personal experience being a guide dog user for over ten years, how she got a guide dog, specific commands, unique experiences with things like travel, etc. She has a playlist all about guide dogs, but here are some of my favorite videos.

How Guide Dogs Guide A Blind Person

Guide Dog User Answers the Most Googled Questions about Guide Dogs

How I Met My First Guide Dog

Final Thoughts:

There is a lot more to be said about Orientation and Mobility, such as:

How do you safely cross the street with a cane?

How do you learn new routes?

How does getting a cane significantly change your life?

How do family, friends, and strangers react to you “suddenly” having a cane?

I could also write a ton on other tools the blind community relies on so strongly, such as screen readers, magnifiers, etc. In fact, I originally promised to include those in my master post when Part Four was titled Part Four: What Your Blind Character Needs to Survive and Not Die. However, this guide is ages long and it feels better to focus on this specific topic for here.

Did you like this guide?

Consider checking out my other guides, links of which can be found on the master post here.

Follow my blog, I write and curate writing advice guides outside of blindness, I reblog writing memes with image descriptions, reblog soothing aesthetic photos with image descriptions, talk about disability, lgbtqa+ issues, ableism, and mental health.

If you want to further support me, this is the link to my ko-fi (however there is no such requirement nor pressure to do so, and please don’t worry about it, especially if you are in a financial situation that can’t afford it)

#writing advice #writeblr #writing community #writing tips #blind character #character crafting

1K notes · View notes

stevenbasic · 3 years ago

Text

“Knock-knock!” I heard at the door of my office, startling me. I was nearly - jesus - an hour into this video call with the Study Coordinator from Evolution, and had obviously lost track of time. “Where’s my favorite patient?!?’ called the voice. It was Vida, my Nurse Practitioner, entering with a broad smile, a procedure tray and someone else and causing me to look up from my computer screen. “Time for your mediciiine…” In place of her usual white clinic jacket, she was wearing a tailored black jacket over a black, figure-hugging, dress, cut low.

Immediately I said my abrupt goodbyes to Gianna, over chat, and shut down the window right as she was, good lord, blowing me a kiss. At the same time I looked up and gave my wan smile of greeting to Vida and the generously curvy blond woman who’d entered with her…

“This is Morgan, if you two haven’t met yet,” Vida said, as she briskly approached my desk, high heels clacking. Trailing behind her a few steps was a woman in a white blouse and tan leggings - a big woman - broad of shoulder, wide of hip, huge of chest, standing taller than Vida by five or six inches...and myself even more, “She’s a Nurse Practitioner too, from Evolution until just yesterday, when she joined us.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Dr. J…” Morgan purred, in a voice deeper, richer than Vida’s. There was a queer smile on her face and a hint of a vaguely Eastern European accent in her words, one that she was obviously trying to hide. For now she was hanging back, taking her cues from Vida as the younger but more senior woman began to prepare her tray behind my desk to my left. “Nurse Vida is training me today how to take the care of you.”

“H-hi, uh, Morgan,” I replied, immediately sensing that that was not this woman’s given name, and remembering it was time again for my booster shot. The thought, for some reason, brought me a little thrill, remembering how it made me feel last week…but was it also responsible for the 8 pounds I’d lost since then? “But, um, what do you m-”

Interrupting my concerns, Vida chuckled. “Oh, don’t get worried, doc. I just figured that the more of us that know how to do this for you, the better,” she explained, opening the strange black box in which the vitamin B12/D/K booster vial was packaged. I noticed the familiar, strange blue tint of the liquid as Vida removed it along with the pre-packaged syringe. “And Morgan here has lots of experience.” At that, Vida nodded up at Morgan; the larger woman took that as a cue to move around the other side of my desk, to my right, and come to stand alongside me there. I was flanked.

“I-is that right, Morgan?” I asked, hearing the nerves starting to quiver in my voice. I hated needles, I hated them. But this single, combination shot was much better than three separate ones. “Wh-what did you do at Evolution?” I asked, not able to recall her resume as I looked up at her; she was gazing down at me, over the shelf of her formidable bosom. I was hoping that, if she had started seeing patients today, that she had been more buttoned up during the workday. The cleavage she was showing at this moment, over the neckline of her overmatched white blouse, was vast.

“At the Evolution Pharmaceuticals?” she replied, the accent in her voice unable to camouflage itself through the words, “There, I was with research team, taking care of study subjects. But before, I was in pediatrics ward, with preemies, the NICU.” She looked down on me with a crooked smile, and seemed to be resisting reaching out her hand to me. Instead, she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blond hair. “I love holding little bodies.”

“Haha well, that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it, Dr. J?” Vida added, explaining to Morgan and pursing her full, plump, latin lips, “This young man has lost a few inches recently and we need to make sure he gets his vitamins.” With that, Vida beamed down at me and released her thick mane of dark hair from the conservative bun she’d been wearing for the workday. A wave of the now-ubiquitous perfume in this place flowed over me, and I felt a stirring between my legs. I had been intermittently hard during my video call with Gianna - her tits were unbelievable - and I was afraid now that I might swell to some obvious, inappropriate monster of a boner with these women so close. “Lucky for him he has his girls to take care of him,” Vida concluded. The vial and syringe, for the moment, laid inert on the tray.

I tried to focus. ”I, heh heh, don’t know if I need someone to ‘take care of me’...” I spoke, trying to sound relaxed as Morgan’s left hand finally did come to rest on my right shoulder. I’d honestly just met this woman, but she was being very…familiar. Vida as well; she was generally a bit more aloof than she seemed today. It was like there was something weird in the air, something bringing them closer.

“That's silly,” Vida responded, “Even doctors need someone to look after them.” At that, she began to remove her black jacket, and laid it on my desk, as if preparing herself for her task. Underneath she wore a clingy black tube dress that hugged her hourglass figure and revealed her trim shoulders and the upper swells of her full chest; she watched as I struggled not to look at her body. “Who do you see for a PCP?”

“uh…” I began, trying to recall my last visit to a doctor’s office outside of this one, “…no one?”

“You mean…” Vida asked with exaggerated concern, as she herself put a hand on my other shoulder, leaning in to me and twirling a lock of thick, raven hair, “you don’t have a Primary??”

“N-no I, uh-“

”Well, that’s no good,” Vida concluded, standing straight and looking across me at her fellow nurse, “Don't you agree, Morgan?”

”Oh yes,” Morgan concurred, her dimpled smile betraying her amusement, stepping a touch closer, “You need the primary...care...provider.”

“That settles it,” Vida decided, removing her right hand from me to place both it and her left one on her broad hips, in determination, “I’m going to be your PCP from now on.” Her action had drawn my eyes to her remarkably tiny waist and shit this girl had some curves. “I’ll contact our insurance company, do all the paperwork. How does that sound?”

The big woman to my right was giggling, and her hand had begun to idly caress my shoulder.

“Uh, th-that’s fine…” I agreed.

“So,” Vida finally asked, with a wry smile, “does my patient have any questions before we get started?”

Ugh, right…the injection. “Well, um, honestly…” I began, knowing I should at least address the concerns I had over this combo B12/D/K formulation, “I’m not sure it’s working. I think I’ve lost weight since last week, and even maybe almost an inch…”

“That’s ridiculous. You must have measured wrong last time, used a bad scale,” Vida replied, trying to reassure me, “But…do you think you need to go out and get checked..?”

At that, Vida herself moved in closer, and I saw Morgan, to my right, turn her thick body more towards me. Both women looked down at me.

“Or do you want to let us take care of you..?” Vida finished. It felt like a challenge, and I sensed something, an inner struggle inside myself. The logical, intelligent practitioner who cared for his health wanted to answer one way, bring a halt to something that was dangerous, possibly ruining my life. But another part of me, the one that was feeling the cock growing once again down my right thigh in tribute to the ever-more enveloping warmth of these women, just wanted to say-

“n-no…I think I’m alright,” I answered, “let’s go ahead with the shot. I’ll be fine.”

If I had known then what I know now, that my mental capacity for rational thought in the face of arousal had been already crippled by foreign agents? If I had known that I was being purposefully enslaved, drowned more and more every day in the sea of pheromones and womanly curves in which I swam? WelI, I would have run screaming. Or, then again...would I?.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Vida assured me. Her voice had dropped low, almost hypnotic, “You don’t need to go out and see any other specialists. We’ve got everything you need right here…” She was beginning to prepare the injection, now, drawing the blue liquid from the vial up into the syringe.

“Yes, everything,” Morgan agreed, looming over me now so close to my right, her hips and belly blocking out the world behind her. Her scent was warm, earthy. Between it and Vida’s reassuring tone, I felt powerless to do anything but trust these women.

“But,” Vida began again, inspecting the now-filled glass syringe, “if you are still shrinking, lots of guys would be jealous. Don’t you think, Morgan? Here, take this-” She handed a band-aid across me to her fellow nurse.

wh-what?

“Oh, yes,” Morgan concurred, her voice husky, unwrapping the band-aid, preparing it, “very jealous.”

”What…what do you mean?” I asked, confused, looking from one woman to the next, up at them. Without even being told, I had begun rolling up my sleeve.

Vida chuckled. “Oh, you know, the whole ‘vulni-chic’ thing,” she answered, holding the prepared injection now in her right hand, “you’d get very popular if you lost another-“

“One meter?” Morgan said, giggling in her deeper, richer tone, “Two?”

“haha I’d disappear…” I joked, feeling a wave of warmth coming from Morgan’s body to my right, “just like, haha…”

“It’s not a joke, Dr. J,” Vida said, her voice plain, suddenly, clinical, “it’s a thing. Here, get ready-“

“Ouch!!!”

She’d jabbed me, in the left shoulder, with the shot.

Vida spoke as she pressed the plunger, pushing the blue liquid into my deltoid. “It’s not just a fad for women, guys these days are admitting it, too…” she said as she drew the needle out of my arm. Immediately I’d felt it entering my body, like a milky warmth. “Good boy,” she praised, “Band aid?”

“Thanks,” I replied without thinking, watching as Morgan leaned her big torso across me as I turned in my chair towards her, presenting my left shoulder. She was nearly smothering me with her big breasts as she applied the bandage, and I did everything I could not to goggle at the wobbling flesh of her full, tan cleavage. My roving eyes made me realize that this generously endowed woman was wearing a very thin bra, or possibly none at all. Somehow, though, she was still so firm, with a natural buoyancy that kept her tits high and proud on her chest. My gaze could not get enough. But then eyes fluttered as I was assaulted by both an overwhelming breath of her perfume and the first rush of pleasure from the shot. I began to lower my sleeve, rubbing my arm as I looked up at her, smiling down at me as she finally stood up and away.

“I mean it, with the shrinking,” Vida started again, watching me with an appraising eye as I recovered from my shot, buttoned my sleeve, “have you seen Melissa’s new Instagram post?”

With the butterflies? I didn’t want to admit anything.

“The guys that follow her, the simps,” she continued, “they talk about wanting to be like bugs, crawling into her breasts.” She was replacing the syringe, carefully putting it and the vial back into the box. “It’s all over the place, everywhere, though no ones really talking about it yet,” she said, as she closed the black container, “guys wanting to be smaller, weaker than us. Wanting to become inferior, more passive, more submissive.”

She looked down at me and smiled, watching as the effects of the injection began to take hold. Even more strongly than last time, I was being gripped by a pleasant wave of lethargy, relaxation.

“Guys want to be small, these days,” Vida said, “and we’d like it that way too, wouldn’t we, Morgan?””

To my right I heard Morgan purr, a little grunt. “Yes, Nurse Vida,” she said, her voice low and struggling with arousal, “we would like it very much.” I had the feeling she was holding back her true feelings, in restrained understatement.

Vida laughed, casually. “It’s weird, all these changes in gender dynamics,” she continued, brushing a lock of my hair behind my left ear, “the new thing is bigger women, smaller men. Here, look at Morgan, perfect example…”

I turned, looked up at the smiling behemoth of a woman.

“She’s probably bigger than you ever were,” Vida continued, “taller, heavier, thicker everywhere.”

“Yes,” Morgan agreed, seeming to rise up, grow bigger, heavier, right in front of my eyes, “I weigh much, much more than the you.”

“And, you have to admit…” Vida asked, watching me look up at the huge, busty blond woman, who was now absolutely dwarfing me in my seat and could probably lift me like a child, “that’s kinda sexy, right?”

“I, uh….” I began, not knowing what to say. My erection was getting painful, now, contorted as it was in my pants, trying to stretch down my right thigh.

Vida spoke again, now holding my head in place by my cheek and jaw, so all I saw was Morgan. “So, even if you are getting smaller...lots of us would like that.”

I sat there, in the building afterglow of my injection, and looked at this woman’s body. It was, in all ways, so much bigger than my own. Thicker thighs, wider hips. Her arms were stronger than mine, her shoulders broader. Standing aside her, I would look puny. Even Vida - though she stood roughly my height, maybe an inch or two more - her hourglass figure and womanly hips made her body just that much more than mine.

”Dr. J,” Vida said, pulling me from my reverie, but not releasing my face from her hand’s gentle embrace, “You look like you need to go lay down. We’d take you up to bed ourselves but we have an important girl meeting to get to, don’t we Morgan?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied, though never taking her eyes or dimpled smile from me, “Very important.” I watched as she looked down on me, regarded me, considered me. “But I promise. Next time you can go to the sleep in my lap,” she said, “I have a very nice lap.” With that, Morgan bent at the waist a bit, to gently slap her prodigious thighs. My eyes watched them jiggle, and then her hands come up to the collar of her blouse, hoisting her breasts. “Or, if not on lap, we find somewhere else…”

“Haha okay,” Vida laughed, finally releasing my head but smiling as I didn’t turn away from the cleavage into which I was now dumbly gazing, in my vitamin-fueled haze imagining myself sinking into it like a caterpillar, cocooned in womanly warmth. “I’ll get a couple of the MA’s to get you upstairs…”

=========================================

more Vida & Morgan imagery, more posts, more more more at my Patreon.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

#growing into the job

90 notes · View notes

rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

Note

“You’re such a dork.” for the emotional writing prompts! I don't know anything about critical role, really, so for TMA :)

I spy, with my little eye, Bryce’s attempts to shove her own interests into her fics. Anyways, I am an American in college so I was basing this on my own experiences oops. Enjoy!

Date night was Wednesday evenings. Jon and Martin both found it preferable for a variety of reasons; it was the most likely nights for happy hours at the pubs in town, guaranteeing a cheap drink, and keeping to a weekday night minimized the chance of Jon seeing one of his students out. He hated seeing his students. Not that he hated them of course, he really rather liked them…not that they would ever know that. Being a professor, of parapsychology of all things, was rather rewarding. He knew the content inside and out (it felt good, using the mark of The Eye to actively work against it, to pass along information instead of consuming). And they didn’t seem to mind him either.

That was the thing about university students. They really didn’t care about who he was or where he came from. The fact that he was a scrawny, scarred Englishman in a lecture hall in Scotland didn’t matter to them. In the classroom, all they cared was whether he taught the material well (he did) and was kind to those with late assignments (he was. He had been a university student once too; he remembered the anxiety and depression that took him and his mates in waves). He was a good professor; Jon knew that objectively in the marks his students received. But in the subjective? His student had decided they liked him.

This had dawned on him at the end of his first semester; when he was inundated with emails of sincere thank-you for a great semester, for being such a helpful teacher, for taking the time to help review, et cetera. Martin had grinned at him, poking a tongue out his mouth and making some remark about teacher’s pets coming full circle (Jon was never a teacher’s pet though. He had always asked too many questions. He welcomed those questions with open arms now, to be the teacher he hadn’t had.)

The next semester it had been more obvious that students liked him now that he knew where to look. It was in the open “good-mornings” and questions about his weekend plans, and in the fact that he had the best attendance records of his department. It was in the way they asked genuine questions about his material and the waitlists miles long to get into his sections. Later on, it was in the gentle ribbings about his looking tired and the grey hairs even as they celebrated his fortieth birthday with him, bringing in cupcakes and sneaking in between lectures to decorate his office and the sincere questions over his scars, his life, his relationship with Martin (his introductory lecture always featured Martin and Her Regency, their thick orange tabby). To make eight wonderful semesters short, he was familiar with his students, and they weren’t afraid to be familiar back. Which was wonderful in the classroom and all, but not when he was trying have a relaxing evening with his husband.

Which brings them back to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days least likely to have students out in town, he had learned from Dr. Kerrigan, the positive psych professor, because Thirsty Thursdays started off the weekend’s partying and drinking for the undergraduates. Wednesday was the day students, in theory, buckled down to finish homework and give themselves a free weekend.

So here they were, Martin in a collared shirt, printed with tiny flowers, and jeans, hair bleached white from the Lonely and curling softly at his temples; Jon in a slouchy ribbed turtleneck and high-waisted pants, his own thick curls half-piled atop his head. Jon was listening intently as Martin spoke animatedly, talking about his own day as a guidance counselor at the local primary school.

“…and I swear Jon, if it wasn’t bad enough that Kimmy has decided never to speak to Lawrence again, now Lawrence has confided in me that he is positively in love with her.”

“Did he say that verbatim? In love, I mean.”

“I mean, no, but he said he was willing to give her all his Squishmallows for a playdate. Squishmallows. That’s real eight-year-old commitment, right there.”

Jon barked out a laugh and put on a puppy-eyed expression, grinning all the while. “Martin Blackwood, do you hereby take Jonathan Sim’s stuffed animals, to have and to ho-”

A gentle swat to the knee with Martin’s shoe cut Jon off. “Oi! Respect my children. They may be fools but its not their faults their brains aren’t developed yet. And yes, I know, ‘they’re not developed ‘til twenty-five and you can argue that your students’ brains aren’t developed either.’ But it’s different. They’re babies.”

“And I’m the All-Knowing One,” Jon mused thoughtfully around a forkful of food, earning him another love-filled kick.

“Speaking of,” Martin pointed to Jon with his glass, eyeing him deliberately. “Midterms next week, yeah? How do you think it’ll go?”

Jon shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright, I hope. First exam went well but could’ve been better. I’m worried about Avonni, honestly, he’s nodded off a few times in class and I’m not confident he has someone to get the material from.”

“He has you.” A pointed, snow-white eyebrow.

“Right, but sometimes students don’t want to ask for notes because they think I’ll say no. Maybe I should email him. Speaking of email! Did I tell you what Suzanne sent out?”

“Oh no, what?”

They carried on like this through their meal and into dessert, and not for the first time Jon was struck by the sheer normalcy of it all. His greatest concerns were Suzanne’s passive-aggressive emails and his students, not the inevitable destruction of reality as they knew it to be. They were scarred, inside and out, everyone who had escaped The Magnus Institute was, but they were safe and free and happy. In defiance of everything that had happened to and because of them.

“Dr. Sims!”

Uh oh. Spoke too soon.

Bite of lava cake halfway to his mouth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his eyes back in his head and willing there to be another professor with the surname Sims in the restaurant. When he opened his eyes, Martin was valiantly trying to suppress a smile as he eyed something, someone, over his head. Jon twisted awkwardly in his seat to see—

“Parker. What a surprise.” His voice was warm but carefully measured, and the dark-skinned boy waved, shit-eating grin on his face. “I have told you that you can call me Jon.”

“Yeah, I know, but you earned that doctorate! And “Doctor Jon” sounds awful, like you should have your own show or something.”

He hadn’t earned that doctorate, actually, but Martin’s expertise in lying and the disastrous apocalypse that had left everyone disoriented meant it had been easy to exaggerate some of Jon’s CV and manufacture a fake diploma.

“I do have my own show. Monday and Wednesday mornings, where I teach a bunch of caffeinated undergrads parapsychology,” Jon replied easily. “You’re welcome to tune in.” He liked Parker; he was a bit of a class clown, liked to ask off-topic questions or pretend to sneak a look at Jon’s answer sheets, but he was sharp and knew his stuff. Jon respected that. He reminded Jon of someone he dearly missed.

But Parker had already turned his attention to Martin, who was watching the interaction with mirth in his eyes. “Hello sir! I’m Parker McMichael, Jon’s favorite student.” Martin shook the extended hand and nodded in mock seriousness.

“Of course. Pleasure to finally meet you. Are you the one with the essay on ESP or the one on psychokinesis?”

“Neither,” Parker shook his head proudly, short dreads swaying gently with the movement. “The Validity and Continuity of Near-Death Experiences,” he made a mock marquee with his hands, arching curved fingers to indicate the title hanging in the air. “Researching any consistencies in near-death experiences stories, whether they’re legitimate, and what they mean if they are. But-” Parker shook his head and turned his attention back to Jon. “That’s not why I’m interrupting.” He took his phone out of pocket idly as he spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve come to settle a dispute among the 11 a.m. section.”

Oh no.

The Ceaseless Watcher whispered to him, unbidden, the dispute in question. Jon generally knew how to suppress the powers, and they were weaker than they had been, once upon a time, but when he’s caught off guard with the desire to know, to Know, it could still overtake him.

“This you?” A blurry screenshot of a Youtube video is shoved under his nose, a part of a text chain titled Sim’s Spoopy Spirits, captioned by many text bubbles expressing disbelief and objections and a variety of emojis. Jon took the phone and examined it, the truth already sure in his chest. Yes, that was him, dressed in his Jonny d’Ville costume, eyeliner streaked and eyes closed, mid-ballad. God, he wished he could be rid of those Youtube videos.

Jon’s gaping silence must have been enough of an answer for Parker because he whooped a little too loudly for the restaurant they were in and pumped his fist to his chest before typing very quickly on his phone. “I knew it! Take that Sabina,” he was mumbling to himself, lost in his texts for a moment.

Martin took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Sorry, uh, no one’s asked so I will. How did you know to look for him-us-here?” Jon frowned, He hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh, a couple of my mates work here and mentioned seeing Dr. Sims and his husband here a lot on Wednesdays and I dunno about you so much, but Dr. Sims is pretty habitual. Figured it was as good a guess as any. Some things can’t wait til Monday.”

“..an email. Parker. You could’ve sent me an email.” Fingers ran over scarred face, as if he could wipe the irritation (and Martin’s poorly-hidden laugh) from existence.

“But then I couldn’t do this.” His phone was back up again, level with his own face and he twisted so both his own and Jon’s faces were in the shot. “I’m here at 7:02 pm on Wednesday the 26, here to make a very important announcement,” Parker spoke to the camera with confidence. “Dr. Sims just confirmed to me that he is the one, the only, Jonny d’Ville.” Parker held the camera to Jon’s voice. “Anything to say to your adoring fans?”

Jon sighed and tugged on an errant curl. “Don’t forget, reading due Monday.” He wasn’t genuinely upset with Parker, just filled with fond embarrassment.

Parker sent the video off and clapped the back of Jon’s chair. “Well, Dr. D’Ville, its been a pleasure. Everyone’s really excited to get a confirmation on your status of coolest teacher. Any plans for the evening?”

Jon sighed through his lower lip, stray curls framing his scalp flying upward in the sudden burst of wind. “Watching a documentary and trying to forget—wait. What?”

“Oh yeah no, everyone thinks it’s badass. You’ve got a super nice voice and the stories you told were really interesting, if a little buckwild.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and Martin grinned slyly at him from across the table. “Y-Yes. I guess we were rather good.”

Parker gave his farewells and Jon’s shoulders sagged (he had immediately righted his posture on seeing Parker, his grandmother’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners), turning his full attention back to his husband. Martin had maintained that grin and was eyeing him intensely, like he expected Jon to say something.

“What, Martin?”

“God, you’re such a dork.” The words were soft, expression fond, and Jon could feel the radiation of unadulterated love Martin gave off in his smile, the one only ever used for Jon. “You really love your students, don’t you? You know how much they love you, right?”

Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t quite sweep the smile off his face either as their waiter made his way over with their check.

“No comment. But we are switching to Tuesday date nights.”

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #prompts #date night #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fanfic to a tea

76 notes · View notes

the-end-of-art · 4 years ago

Text

So why are we getting bullied into opening?

“I’m sorry, but it’s a fantasy” by Jeff Gregorich, Arizona school superintendent at The Washington Post

This is my choice, but I’m starting to wish that it wasn’t. I don’t feel qualified. I’ve been a superintendent for 20 years, so I guess I should be used to making decisions, but I keep getting lost in my head. I’ll be in my office looking at a blank computer screen, and then all of the sudden I realize a whole hour’s gone by. I’m worried. I’m worried about everything. Each possibility I come up with is a bad one.

The governor has told us we have to open our schools to students on August 17th, or else we miss out on five percent of our funding. I run a high-needs district in middle-of-nowhere Arizona. We’re 90 percent Hispanic and more than 90 percent free-and-reduced lunch. These kids need every dollar we can get. But covid is spreading all over this area and hitting my staff, and now it feels like there’s a gun to my head. I already lost one teacher to this virus. Do I risk opening back up even if it’s going to cost us more lives? Or do we run school remotely and end up depriving these kids?

This is your classic one-horse town. Picture John Wayne riding through cactuses and all that. I’m superintendent, high school principal and sometimes the basketball referee during recess. This is a skeleton staff, and we pay an average salary of about 40,000 a year. I’ve got nothing to cut. We’re buying new programs for virtual learning and trying to get hotspots and iPads for all our kids. Five percent of our budget is hundreds of thousands of dollars. Where’s that going to come from? I might lose teaching positions or basic curriculum unless we somehow get up and running.

I’ve been in the building every day, sanitizing doors and measuring out space in classrooms. We still haven’t received our order of Plexiglas barriers, so we’re cutting up shower curtains and trying to make do with that. It’s one obstacle after the next. Just last week I found out we had another staff member who tested positive, so I went through the guidance from OSHA and the CDC and tried to figure out the protocols. I’m not an expert at any of this, but I did my best with the contact tracing. I called 10 people on staff and told them they’d had a possible exposure. I arranged separate cars and got us all to the testing site. Some of my staff members were crying. They’ve seen what can happen, and they’re coming to me with questions I can’t always answer. “Does my whole family need to get tested?” “How long do I have to quarantine?” “What if this virus hits me like it did Mrs. Byrd?”

We got back two of those tests already — both positive. We’re still waiting on eight more. That makes 11 percent of my staff that’s gotten covid, and we haven’t had a single student in our buildings since March. Part of our facility is closed down for decontamination, but we don’t have anyone left to decontaminate it unless I want to put on my hazmat suit and go in there. We’ve seen the impacts of this virus on our maintenance department, on transportation, on food service, on faculty. It’s like this district is shutting down case by case. I don’t understand how anyone could expect us to reopen the building this month in a way that feels safe. It’s like they’re telling us: “Okay. Summer’s over. It’s been long enough. Time to get back to normal.” But since when has this virus operated on our schedule?

I dream about going back to normal. I’d love to be open. These kids are hurting right now. I don’t need a politician to tell me that. We only have 300 students in this district, and they’re like family. My wife is a teacher here, and we had four kids go through these schools. I know whose parents are laid off from the copper mine and who doesn’t have enough to eat. We delivered breakfast and lunches this summer, and we gave out more meals each day than we have students. I get phone calls from families dealing with poverty issues, depression, loneliness, boredom. Some of these kids are out in the wilderness right now, and school is the best place for them. We all agree on that. But every time I start to play out what that looks like on August 17th, I get sick to my stomach. More than a quarter of our students live with grandparents. These kids could very easily catch this virus, spread it and bring it back home. It’s not safe. There’s no way it can be safe.

If you think anything else, I’m sorry, but it’s a fantasy. Kids will get sick, or worse. Family members will die. Teachers will die.

Jeff Gregorich, superintendent of schools at Hayden Winkelman Unified School District in Arizona, shows results of a district survey. (Photos by Caitlin O’Hara for The Washington Post)

Mrs. Byrd did everything right. She followed all the protocols. If there’s such a thing as a safe, controlled environment inside a classroom during a pandemic, that was it. We had three teachers sharing a room so they could teach a virtual summer school. They were so careful. This was back in June, when cases here were starting to spike. The kids were at home, but the teachers wanted to be together in the classroom so they could team up on the new technology. I thought that was a good idea. It’s a big room. They could watch and learn from each other. Mrs. Byrd was a master teacher. She’d been here since 1982, and she was always coming up with creative ideas. They delivered care packages to the elementary students so they could sprout beans for something hands-on at home, and then the teachers all took turns in front of the camera. All three of them wore masks. They checked their temperatures. They taught on their own devices and didn’t share anything, not even a pencil.

At first she thought it was a sinus infection. That’s what the doctor told her, but it kept getting worse. I got a call that she’d been rushed to the hospital. Her oxygen was low, and they put her on a ventilator pretty much right away. The other two teachers started feeling sick the same weekend, so they went to get tested. They both had it bad for the next month. Mrs. Byrd’s husband got it and was hospitalized. Her brother got it and passed away. Mrs. Byrd fought for a few weeks until she couldn’t anymore.

I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times. What precautions did we miss? What more could I have done? I don’t have an answer. These were three responsible adults in an otherwise empty classroom, and they worked hard to protect each other. We still couldn’t control it. That’s what scares me.

We got the whole staff together for grief counseling. We did it virtually, over Zoom. There’s sadness, and it’s also so much fear. My wife is one of our teachers in the primary grade, and she has asthma. She was explaining to me how every kid who sees her automatically gives her a hug. They arrive in the morning — hug. Leave for recess — hug. Lunch — hug. Locker — hug. That’s all day. Even if we do everything perfectly, germs are going to spread inside a school. We share the same space. We share the same air.

A bunch of our teachers have told me they will put in for retirement if we open up this month. They’re saying: “Please don’t make us go back. This is crazy. We’re putting the whole community at risk.”

They’re right. I agree with them 100 percent. Teachers don’t feel safe. Most parents said in a survey that they’re “very concerned” about sending their kids back to school. So why are we getting bullied into opening? This district isn’t ready to open. I can’t have more people getting sick. Why are they threatening our funding? I keep waiting for someone higher up to take this decision out of my hands and come to their senses. I’m waiting for real leadership, but maybe it’s not going to happen.

It’s me. It’s the biggest decision of my career, and the one part I’m certain about is it’s going to hurt either way.

(https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2020/08/01/schools-reopening-coronavirus-arizona-superintendent/?arc404=true&campaign_id=9&emc=edit_nn_20200803&instance_id=20930&nl=the-morning®i_id=72340436&segment_id=35086&te=1&user_id=e60ae3c4dd2d7adddb2ce123ccc9fad4)

#Jeff Gregorich #school #education #covid #covid-19 #coronavirus #teaching

99 notes · View notes

idkwhatimdoingbutitscool · 5 years ago

Text

Please Don’t Leave Me

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Y/N (female reader)

zombie apocolypse!au, high school!au, enemies to lovers!au

genre: angst and smut (smut in future chapters)

warnings in this chapter: cursing, mentions of death, a bus crash

part 01/?

It all happened so suddenly. Your last bus ride home became the theme of your nightmares. How could this happen? What made everything go downhill so fast? The last thing you remember from your life before the epidemic is grabbing the arm of the douchiest guy in school, Hwang Hyunjin, as the bus swerved and flipped over. You hated him. You hated the surprised look on his face when you grabbed him. You hated how fast he grabbed onto a pole with one hand and gripped you tighter with the other. You felt the bus flip and then it all went black. Bits and pieces flashed by. Hyunjin lying twisted on the roof of the bus, dead or unconscious you couldn’t tell, “H-Hyunjin?” The taste of blood seeped into your mouth as you spoke. Black. “She’s alive!” “Help me carry them out!” “Hurry!” Darkness. Lying in the back of a truck. Hyunjin’s hand on yours. Nothing. Stitches. Blood. Emptiness.

After coming to in a tent a nurse greeted you, “Hi, Y/N! I’m Nancy, your primary nurse. Do you know where you are or what happend?” Your eyes widened as you continued to stare at her, “You were in an accident three weeks ago. Do you remember?” You could only nod and she continued, “Only you and another boy survived. Do you know why the bus swerved?” No. You thought, not managing to get it out and shaking your head instead. “Okay,” She gulped, “The bus driver was startled by the appearance of a man in the street. The thing about the man is that he was dead.” You cocked your eyebrow. She laid her hand on yours, “He was a zombie. The majority of the world’s population has been infected with a virus.” Your breathing became heavy and sped up. Nancy squeezed your hand, “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

It hurt. Your entire body felt numb. Regaining your speech went by faster than the doctors expected, but physical therapy was exhausting. You didn’t want to get out of bed, let alone have to learn to walk again. You laid in bed facing away from the tent opening, not moving when you heard footsteps approaching, “Y/N, you have a visitor.” Your nurse walked away, leaving you alone with an unknown person. You pleaded with the universe hoping it was your family coming to take you home, “Hi,” a voice whispered breaking your heart. It was Hyunjin. Of course it wasn’t your fucking family. Shit!

“Hi. I’m Y/N. What’s your name?” you turned your head to your first science partner freshman year. “Hi,” the boy whispered, “Hyunjin.” He scoffed, almost offended that you did not already know who he was. After receiving the instructions for your first lab experiment you spoke, “Do you want to get the beakers and measuring struff and I can get the ingredients or...” Your voice trailed off as he walked to another table. In between laughing with his friends and flirting with girls he would whisper to some other asshole fuckboy types and then they would look over at you.

He walked towards you and sat down next to your bed. You heard him trying not to breathe, “I don’t know if you remember the accident, but I was there too. God, I was so scared. I was only out for a couple of days. Fuck, I can’t even imagine having to learn to walk and shit-” “Leave,” You interupted his self obsessive monologe, “Go!” you repeated not hearing him leave. “I was trying to be nice. God. I wasn’t the one you grabbed you,” his voice trailed off as he left you alone. How fucking self involved, you thought, He didn’t even ask if I was okay! Your thoughts drifted off as you started on your third depression nap of the day.

Weeks had passed and your doctor decided it was time for you to walk around camp. “No!” you protested as four nurses carried you off the bed and onto the floor. The nurses kept trying to tempt you, “Yes.” “It’ll be fine.” “You’ll get to see your room assignment.” “Don’t you want to eat with everybody?” You frankly did not care about your “room” and did definitely not want to see anybody let alone eat with them. Though after seeing the trouble you put the ladies through you decided to just get up. You instantly regretted it as one of the nurses spoke, “See? That wasn’t so hard now was it?” You rolled your eyes and took your old lady walker and started shuffling out of the tent.

As soon as you walked out of the tent you were shocked to see Hwang Hyunjin seemingly waiting for you. “This is Hyunjin. The boy from your same accident. We thought it best that he’d be the one showing you around,” Nancy said, anticipating your reaction. You rolled your eyes, “Seriously? Why him?” Hyunjin laughed as Nancy patted you on the shoulder before walking back into the tent. He lightly punched your arm, “Come on. You know you’re happy to see me.” “Can we just get this over with,” you asked, “I want to go back to bed.”

The hospital consisted of four tents for long term patients and one for quicker visits. As we left the hospital area you saw hundreds of people building a tall fence stretching for miles. “As you can probably tell by the barn, this used to be a farm. We’ve all taken to different jobs to help out. Those guys are building a fence to keep out zombies, there are some famers, tailors, and a whole bunch of other people doing random stuff. What do you think you’ll do once you get better,” Hyunjin asked. You shrugged, slowing down your pace trying to soak everything in. He stopped, “I know it’s a lot to get used to, but you will. I know that we never got along before, but it might be nice seeing a familiar face.” You kept walking, “Sure.”

You weren’t listening to a thing Hyunjin said, there was too much to think about. Were your friends okay? Where is your family? You sighed just thinking about having to get a job. You thought that at least during an apocalypse you would not have to do anything, but you were wrong. What were you even going to do? You were not good at anything. Hyunjin interrupted your thoughts as you entered the giant red barn, “So in here we do a bunch of stuff. It’s mainly used for town meetings, but sometimes the CATC puts on plays and performances, hold dances and talent shows, and just hang out here for people to come and be entertained.” You sat down on a haybale, “What?” “Oh right, sorry. The CATC is the Community Arts and Theater Center. I founded it a couple months back. It really helped boost morale,” he smiled looking to you for approval. “Cool,” you hesitated, “I didn’t think you were into that stuff.” He laughed, “No one really knew about it, but I’ve danced and shit since I was little.” You nodded.

Everything besides the barn was just there as a necessity. The river that ran through each side of the fence, all of the tents, the hospital, nothing was there for fun. You respected Hyunjin for creating something for everybody to let loose and have a good time. You thought about how he was in school, cocky and popular. He loved the fact that everyone knew who he was and either wanted to be him or be around him. You hated it. You hated the way he looked at his friends when he had to sit next to you in class or the way he scoffed when you answered a question wrong in class. You hated him and everything he stood for, but now it feels different. Something has changed. “Hyunjin,” you whispered. His head turned, “Yeah.” You looked at your feet as soon as his eyes met yours, “Can you show me where I’m staying?” “Of course,” he said before carrying you down from the hay.

After walking for what seemed like an eternity you guys reached a small green tent. Hyunjin ran next to the tent, “Ta-da! This is your place. Very cool,” he ran over to a navy blue tent across from yours, “This is my tent.” Your guys’ tent seemed almost secluded from everybody else’s. “Why are we a little bit away from the other tents?” you asked. He walked closer to you and lowered his voice, “Do you not have the dreams?” You shook your head, “No, what dreams.” His eyes stopped sparkling, emptiness absorbing him, “About the crash.” You were confused, “Okay, but why would we need to be apart from everyone because we have dreams?” Hyunjin sighed, “Can I take you back to the hospital now?” You nodded and started to walk.

When you got back to the ward you said goodbye to Hyunjin who had not said a word since talking to you about his dreams. He waved and walked away dragging his feet in the grass. You watched him as he walked away, a sense of longing building in your chest with every step he took. “Y/N,” Nancy ripped you out of thought. You turn around to face her, “Oh sorry. I didn’t know you were here. What’s wrong.” “Nothing. I was just here to check up on you after your walk. How was it?” Nancy started fluffing your pillow, antsy. You could tell she wanted to say something.

“Yeah it was good. I ever walked a little without my walker,” you sat on the bed next to Nancy. She put the pillow down, “Listen, dear. We need this part of the ward open for new patients so we’re going to have to discharge you within the next two days.” You nodded, “Can I take the walker?” She laughed, “Yes you can. Just come back with it in two months. We’ll do a check-up then too. Keep doing your physical therapy and you should not have a problem walking within a month or so.” She walked out of the tent leaving you alone with your thoughts.

#stray kids #skz #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin skz #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin au #stray kids au #skz au #stray kids angst #skz angst #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin

141 notes · View notes

gothic-safari-clown · 4 years ago

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 21: The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Word count: 1522

Ooh, the chapter title is the same as the fic title

Elianna could not have been more proud of her mask. She had spent every second of her free time measuring and adjusting and sewing and sending Jonathan to the store to get what she needed: something he found tedious, she was sure.

Either way, she had gotten it finished with one day to spare, and she was positively giddy. Even Jonathan had seemed impressed, and from what she could tell by what he had said, Scarecrow was thrilled with her dedication to the fear project. When she had finished, Jonathan had surprised her with a fear gas sleeve rig like his, and she was aching for the chance to use both of her new toys.

It was getting dark out when Jonathan came into her office, looking annoyed.

"Rachel Dawes is on her way here," he monotoned, making her frown. She had yet to meet Dawes, but she had been causing trouble for them from the start.

"Why?"

"Apparently," he began with a sigh, removing the doorstopper to let it swing closed, "she disagrees with the fact that Falcone got moved here. She finds his mental break suspicious."

"She's really up on her white horse, huh?" Jonathan scoffed in response.

"Either way, she might back off if she thinks I have a second opinion on this case. Are you up for a little acting?"

"Absolutely. What's the plan for if she doesn't buy it?"

"You have your mask on you?" El nodded, fondly remembering Jonathan talking her through making the false bottom of her briefcase.

"We match now!"

"Yes, we do. Just make sure it closes all the way when you're done with it."

"Good, she'll be here in a little under an hour. And we're the only ones here besides the orderlies, so I just got Falcone's men downstairs to supervise. Hopefully, everything will be able to go smoothly tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will just focus on the task at hand."

El had been surprised when Jonathan told her that he had managed to pay off some of Falcone's thugs to be loyal to them, and more than a little suspicious. But after meeting them and working with them for a few days, she was actually very grateful that she and Jonathan had people to delegate to for the last few days of work.

.xXx.

Dawes ended up arriving much earlier than projected, which only served to irritate Jonathan further. The entire walk to Falcone's cell was spent with him practically fuming and El becoming more and more curious about just how annoying one person could actually be.

"Miss Dawes, this is most irregular," Jonathan spoke as they approached, not giving the woman a chance to get the first word in. El caught on to the energy and jumped in before the other woman could get a word out.

"I'm Doctor Montgomery, I've been consulting on this case, and I speak for both of us when I say that we have nothing further to add to the report we filed with the judge."

"I have some questions about your report."

"Such as?" Jonathan challenged while El arranged her face into what she hoped was something patient and expectant. God, she really is tiresome.

"Isn't it convenient for a fifty-two-year-old man who had no history of mental illness to suddenly have a complete psychotic breakdown just when he's about to be indicted?" She had a fair point, but El made sure to keep her face impassive.

"Well, as you can see for yourself, there's nothing convenient about his symptoms." Oh dear, he's getting pissed. The woman didn't have a response planned for that, so she turned her attention stubbornly back to the man behind the glass, who was muttering to himself.

"What's 'scarecrow?'" The brunette fired off. El took it upon herself to reply so that Jonathan wouldn't snap.

"Patients suffering from delusional episodes often focus their paranoia on an external tormentor," she explained, doing her best to keep her voice pleasant and collegial. "Usually one conforming to Jungian archetypes. In this case," she gestured to the glass, "a scarecrow."

"And he's drugged?" This question seemed to amuse Jonathan.

"Psychopharmacology is my primary field. I'm a strong advocate." The thought of Jonathan being an 'advocate' for anything nearly made El laugh. "Outside, he was a giant. In here, only the mind can grant you power." Dawes shifted her eyes between the pair through narrowed eyes.

"You two enjoy the reversal." Jonathan allowed himself a mildly amused smile if only for a second.

"Doctor Montgomery and I respect the mind's power over the body." El nodded in agreement.

"It's why we do what we do," she smiled, keeping up her friendly persona. She was hoping that if she did her part properly, maybe it would lessen the suspicion on Jonathan, but it didn't seem to work. In fact, Dawes sent a scowl in her direction.

"I do what I do to keep thugs like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy." With that, she breezed past them toward the elevator. Jonathan and El shared a look, knowing what had to happen next. She was still talking as they turned to catch up with her. "I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone, including bloodwork. Find out exactly what you two put him on." El rolled her eyes, thankful that the Dawes's back was still turned to her.

"First thing tomorrow then," Jonathan sighed as they flanked her at the elevator doors, knowing what had to come next.

"Tonight," she charged into the elevator ahead of them, and El suddenly understood very well why Jonathan and Scarecrow seemed to hate the brunette so much. She herself was struggling not to choke her out right there in the elevator. "I've already paged Doctor Lehmann at County General" as if they were supposed to know who that was. Maybe Jonathan did, but judging by his lack of reaction, probably not.

Jonathan inserting his key to take them to the basement didn't go unnoticed by the redhead, but Dawes didn't seem to catch it. "As you wish," he forced out through gritted teeth as the door closed behind them.

Dawes gave Elianna a questioning look when the doors opened to reveal the basement, to which El replied with a reassuring smile.

"This way, please," Jonathan directed, leading them into the hallway. "There's something I think you should see."

The one thing that El didn't understand was how they would get her through the secret panel in the closet. She was going over different scenarios in her head when Jonathan passed the door and instead approached a larger one at the end of the hallway where it turned and pushed the double doors open dramatically.

They all came forward to stand on a balcony overlooking the workroom that El had grown familiar with, one level above where the secret panel led out. She understood now why they took the other way: the stairs going from the level they were standing on to the next level down had been taken out.

The redhead watched the dawning horror on the attorney's face as she took in what was happening as Jonathan spoke again.

"This is where we make the medicine." No, not Jonathan. It was subtle, but once she heard it, it was unmistakable. That was Scarecrow mimicking Jonathan's voice. Dawes was too shocked to notice the slight change in cadence, and her gaze was affixed to an inmate pouring a drum of the toxin directly into a busted open water pipe.

Not just any inmate either. Zsasz. Feeling someone watching him, he looked up in curiosity; when he saw El standing there, he shuddered and quickly turned back to what he was doing, his breath coming in broken gasps as he remembered something he would rather not. Elianna grinned when she saw Rachel make the connection and snap her head to look at her. "You-!" she managed to gasp out.

"Me," El confirmed with a wink. A low chuckle drew their attention back to the bespectacled man beside them.

"Perhaps you should have some, Miss Dawes. Clear your head." The brunette woman bolted for the elevator, and the two leftover partners in crime shared a look. Scarecrow smiled at El, a full smile; something she had never seen from Jonathan. It was sort of nice to see, and she smiled back as Scarecrow produced his face fluidly from their briefcase.

Rachel had reached the elevator. Luckily for the scheming pair, it wouldn't budge without the basement key. All Rachel managed to see when the elevator doors opened again were two masks, one burlap and one that seemed to be lined on the outside with faux leather, fashioned into a long, sleek beak.

Then, a cloud of gas—fired at the same time that she gasped in fear—and she coughed as the gas entered her lungs. When she looked back up, the masks had been distorted and twisted, oozing from the holes and crawling with...god, something. It didn't matter because they each seized an arm and dragged her back out of the elevator before her thoughts dissolved completely.

#The Mind’s Power Over the Body #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #batman begins #Nolanverse #Elianna Montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #multi chapter fic #slight au #Attraction To The Insane #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 21

5 notes · View notes

anerdinallherglory · 5 years ago

Text

Approaching Sun (26)

Author’s Note: Happy New Years! I realize that it has been a LONG time since I have updated this story. The school year has been an absolute killer. Not to mention that I am also working on my master’s degree and taking a ton of classes this summer.

In regards to this chapter, I ended up running out of time and decided to cut it in half due to the coherency of the story and the length. I wanted to give Satou and Isao a bit of a wrap up that does the story justice. However, the good news is that the second half will take less time to be posted. I will definitely be trying to work on this story because I have a LOT planned for it and it’s only just getting to the good parts (one coming up next chapter.) For my patient readers, this will be good news to you. For those who aren’t patient, hoping you’ll stick around to read J

Also, next to Naruto, reading and writing are my passions and my New Year’s resolution is to encourage more people to read. I created an Instagram account called read_with_rich where I will be posting about high-interest books in order to encourage non-readers to read by using the social media platform that can introduce people to books without them going to libraries or book stores (which they won’t if they don’t already read.) Give me a follow if you are interested!

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25

Chapter 26: Monsters

There was a sharp mix of pungent smells permeating the air around them as Sasuke looked over Sakura’s shoulder at a particular herbalist book. His friend was sitting at a table in the center of the greenhouse, flipping through the Sunagakure plant log, scratching down a list of all the ingredients she would need to create the military ration pills.

When Sasuke commented on the smell, Sakura replied with “You get used to it.” And then she went into a detailed explanation of why plants even created all sorts of different smells--why many flowers had sweet aromas, but other plants had fouler scents. Sakura elaborated that it all had something to do with procreation. Something about bugs being attracted to them in order to spread pollination. She even went into the genetic purposes of tastes in plants. Sasuke listened with genuine interest at the wide variety of facts that she possessed.

Sasuke turned and leaned against the table as she spoke, tucking in his chin to his chest and closing his eyes. When he was sure she was distracted, Sasuke peeked at her between the lashes of his right eye. He noticed that her brow was furrowed as she searched for the plant she had written down. After a few minutes of this, she began to tap the end of the pen against her bottom lip, a subconscious behavior many people did while thinking. Sasuke couldn’t help but realize that he hadn’t paid much attention to anyone’s small habitual behaviors in the past few years except for in battle scenarios. To watch the cogs spinning in Sakura’s mind, had Sasuke feeling like he had missed out on much in the last several years.

After another few seconds, Sakura explained her concern: “I’m going to have to find a substitute plant for the medicinal aspects of the pills. Sunagakure doesn’t grow Tikasia in abundance here. The amount that I would need would deplete their entire reserve.”

Sasuke considered her word for a few seconds before his eyes narrowed a fraction when the door of the greenhouse opened. A white-coated man with sandy colored hair beamed hugely and raised his hand in greeting as he entered. “There you are, Sakura-san. I’ve been looking for you!”

Sakura broke from her deep concentration and turned from the table as she picked up on the calling. Sasuke raised his eyebrows slightly at the familiar tone the young man used. This must be a staff member from the hospital, a colleague that was working closely with Sakura while she was here. His presumption was confirmed when Sakura returned both the smile and call.

“Sorry Mako! Hope you haven’t been looking for too long.”

Mako?What-- are they on a first name basis or something? Sasuke pondered with a frown of disapproval.Sakura barely knew him, or at least, that’s what Sasuke thought. At least Makohad the decency to add the proper honorific to her name. Not that Sasuke could be the one to lecture on the topic.

The young physician made his way over to them and immediately offered a respectful bow to the both of them. Sasuke was never very good at returning these customs of respect, but after a minute of awkward staring, the Uchiha nodded his acknowledgement in a very uncaring sort of way. After bowing, the medic immediately turned to Sakura and glanced at her work on the table.

“Are you creating another medicine?” Mako asked, crossing his hands behind him in consideration, boldly reading the list she had compiled next to the herbal catalog.

Seeing her co-medic’s interest, Sakura picked it up and handed it to him while simultaneously pushing the book in his direction, an invitation for his opinion.

“You’re just the person I need right now actually.” She explained to Mako how she was creating a batch of military ration pills, a notion at which the male medic’s facial expression turned to one of surprise. Sasuke understood his disbelief; not many people knew how to make such a desired sustenance that tipped the scale in favor of those who consumed it in battle. When bringing up the topic of the ingredients she needed, he raised his thumb and forefinger to his chin, pinching it in contemplation.

Sasuke stiffened slightly when the young man pulled up a seat to sit beside her, pulling the book closer so they could both look at it together. “What about Ashuwa?” he offered, flipping to a plant towards the front of the book. Sasuke peeked over towards the illustration and noticed a shrubby little plant with bright yellow flowers.

“Ashuwa?” Sakura questioned, frowning down at the picture. “That belongs to the nightshade family, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he informed, “but it’s not fatal like many of its other relatives. It’s actually quite safe to consume unless the patient has some sort of allergic reaction to it.”

“That’s interesting. I’m not very familiar with it. What are its properties?”

“It’s a little stronger than Tikasia but more acclimated to our desert climate, so we have plenty of it here. Its primary effect is a boost in brain function. However, we have observed an increase in energy and muscle mass along with it. Some ninja even claim that after consuming it, it relieves them of stress.”

“All that?” Sakura pondered, dropping her jaw.

Sasuke raised an inquisitive brow as well. With benefits like that, it was a wonder they didn’t add it to every meal here. There had to be missing information obviously…

Sakura must have been thinking the same thing Sasuke had, because she immediately responded with. “What are the negative effects?”

Mako smiled at her insight. “Just like Tikasia, you crash and suffer chakra depletion as a result. You have to take far less of it than Tikasia. Like I said earlier, many people have severe allergic reactions to the plant which is why we don’t use it often.”

Sasuke couldn’t help but frown at the pair of doctors who discussed plants so casually with one another. Mako had a sort of charisma about him, and Sasuke could tell why Sakura would rely on him while she was here. The young man’s temperament sort of reminded Sasuke of their old schoolteacher, Iruka-sensei. However, Mako’s knowledge was so thorough that he almost reminded Sasuke of Kabuto; Sasuke had witnessed many in-depth medical conversations between Orochimaru and he.

Still leaning against the table, Sasuke closed his eyes, adopting an uninterested guise to go with the frown. Seeing them together, discussing their common interests, reminded Sasuke of something despite his epiphany last night. Watching her familiarity with this person reminded Sasuke that just because he had finally admitted to himself that loved her, didn’t mean that he should do anything about it. Sakura had told him firmly that she would only ever choose him and to not assume that if he left her alone, she would fall in love with someone else. Sasuke truly believed his female teammate about this. But seeing her cheerfully interact with Mako made Sasuke want to believe otherwise. Even though it stung him to think about Sakura loving someone else and another man being a part of her daily life, waking up beside her and hearing a confession from her lips, Sasuke knew it was what she deserved. He could never be that sort of man for her, especially not in the near future.

But now that Sasuke was certain of his feelings, would he be able to only ever be a close friend to her? Would he be able to watch someone else come into her life and become the person Sakura swooned over and built a family with? He would, Sasuke told himself. He hadto. Sasuke had already chosen in his heart to be the Itachi of this time and make the sacrifice for the greater good so that his loved ones like Sakura even had a future. He had to keep reminding himself of this.

Without meaning to, he let a low exhale of self-defeat escape his mouth. Realizing he had done so, Sasuke quickly glanced to his right to make sure no one noticed. Sakura, who Sasuke now noticed had stopped what she was doing, was now watching him despite the fact that Mako was still flipping through the book and explaining something to her.

His kunoichi teammate locked gazes with him, furrowed her eyebrows, and tilted her head in silent question. Sasuke broke their eye-contact immediately and Sakura returned her attention to Mako. It’s for the best, he thought to her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mako lead Sakura across the greenhouse to the white-labeled bushel of Ashu that he had spoken to her about. She measured out the amount she would need and began cutting it carefully with his assistance. Sakura had been surprised at this substitute that Mako had offered with certainty at its effectiveness. She pinched a sizable piece of it and placed it on her tongue and began to chew. With it being a nightshade after all, she wanted to be certain that it wasn’t toxic. Nightshades were highly cultivated by humans and most were safe to consume like Mako said, but since she had never heard of this plant and it was unfamiliar to her, she wanted to double-check Mako’s claim. Besides, he said it could cause allergic reactions.

Just so Mako’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt by her taste-testing, Sakura simply announced, “This actually tastes quite yummy. Much better than the bitter Tikasia.” Then she called out loud enough for Sasuke—who had been casually leaning against the table since their arrival—to hear, “You’re in luck, Sasuke. Maybe these pills won’t taste like ‘mudballs’ this time like Sai famously calls them.”

Sasuke peeked open his right eye at her, clearly not grasping a word of what she was referencing. Mako, on the other hand, laughed at her statement.

“Tikasia israther bitter. Is Sai a friend back home? Your friend really called them ‘mudballs’ to your face?” Mako laughed.

Sakura chuckled to herself a bit, returning her full attention to Mako. “Sai is a sort of special friend. He’s brutally honest; always has been.”

“Sometimes we need friends like that,” Mako said reassuringly, helping her pluck the stems and flowers of the plant and wrapping it up in paper.

Sakura nodded in agreement and instantly recalled many of her friends back home and a sort of homesickness radiated in her chest at the thought of them. She wondered how all of them were doing. She also thought of the hospital and Lady Tsunade in that moment too, and made a mental note to write a letter to check in on them.

She glanced up at Sasuke for the twentieth time that day, and her homesickness disappeared. When he was absent, she was always sick with longing for him. It suddenly surprised Sakura that she had never felt more at home than when she was with this man. She had confessed this to him before, but when he was gone, it felt as if she was alone. Sakura would fall asleep with thoughts of him and miss him just as much the following morning. That feeling had disappeared on her journey and this was the first time the kunoichi had missed someone else since she had picked up her bag and followed Sasuke down the cobbled street that night a few weeks ago.

Mako’s statement returned her to the present moment from her thoughts. “Isao slept well last night. After you left with Gaara, he was distraught and restless after what happened. We ended up giving him your dosage of the sleeping medicine and he didn’t experience any sleep terrors.”

“That’s terrific!” she exclaimed, almost jumping for joy in her excitement. This was exciting news. If they could eliminate the terrors, then Isao would be okay. Maybe he could stop taking the medicine once his body adjusted.

“Satou, his father, however,” Mako began as they made their way back towards the center table towards Sasuke. “Well—he’s a bit hysterical in the hospital. The man definitely needs to be there, but we are not quite sure what to do for him. He’s actually the reason I came looking for you. I figure you might be the only one able to talk to him.”

Sakura nodded as they came to a stop and she set her items down. “I see.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sasuke had been thoroughly pissed when Sakura had announced to him her plans and handed him the bundle of paper-wrapped yellow flowers. “Will you grind these up for me while I quickly check-in on a patient? They should be dry enough on their own. We need to mix this in with the rest of our batch as soon as possible.”

The Uchiha nodded with a “hm” but had half a mind to shove the flowers and grinder toward Mako since he was inclined to be so damn helpful.

Apparently, she was duty-bound to go see some hospital patient with an attitude problem and Sasuke had guessed easily who it was. After seeing the bruises on her chest last night, it was hard not to think about this patient of hers. It settled like a knife between Sasuke’s shoulder blades as he began to pulverize the flowers in the mortar with the stone pestle. He glowered after the two medics as the door to the greenhouse swung to a shut behind them.

Sasuke knew that Sakura was aware of his eagerness to get the pills so he could return to his mission. And because she predicted this, Sasuke knew without a doubt that Sakura had played him. She had given him this little job to keep him occupied for a few minutes because he couldn’t put the task off. But what shedidn’t know was that it certainly wouldn’t take him as long as she hoped. Sasuke removed another heap of flowers from the paper and began to smash them forcefully.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sakura had managed to come up with a small plan in the few seconds after Mako had informed her about Satou, Isao’s hysterical father, whom Sakura and Gaara had placed under the care of the hospital yesterday. The first and most necessary part of her plan was to keep Sasuke busy and away from her patient. After seeing her teammate’s reaction to the small bruises on her chest last night, she didn’t want the two ninja to have the least bit of interaction.

The second part was to ensure that Isao was kept far, faraway from his father. If the child was showing any progress at all after having distance from him, then Sakura would be damned if Satou meant to screw that up. Trailing closely behind her, Mako confirmed her hope that Isao remained at the mental health children’s clinic and was being strictly supervised.

Finally, the last rocky bit of her plan was to try her best to remain calm and civil with Satou despite what she predicted his treatment of her would be. Sakura anticipated every bit of an angry temper and possibly aggression.

Having Mako with her made Sakura feel more reassured. In the back of Sakura’s mind, she knew she didn’t have anything to worry about because she could rely on her abilities as a ninja, not his, but it was still a comfort to have him with her as a steady, supportive presence.

When they finally reached Satou’s hospital room and they entered, Sakura gasped. Apparently, Satou had considered this place a prison cell rather than a patient room. The bed was tipped, and the curtain torn from the rod above the windows. The massive punched out crevices in the walls around them were threatening portraits of warning. Sakura heard Mako echo her surprise. Sensing their presence, Satou turned from the window and glowered at them.

“Glad to see my warden has finally come to see me,” the man spat viciously.

While Mako’s expression was one of disbelief, Sakura erased the emotion from her own, slipping on a blank pretense. Forget step three of her plan, then. It was obvious what kind of man Satou was. He had no respect or care in the world for anyone and her kindness would be seen as a weakness to bully her for. Pretending to be civil would be an entire waste of her time because Sakura recognized the hate in Satou’s eyes, glassy pools that reflected the darkness in his heart. How bitter it made Sakura—to see Sasuke’s formal self in one of her patients; how hopeless this conversation would be even though he was the one person who needed it the most.

Sakura believed this man deserved her gentlest persona, but Sakura had tried playing this game before and failed miserably with Sasuke. If Sakura—a former teammate and close friend—couldn’t have reached into the depth of Sasuke’s darkness and rip him from it, then how could she expect to be successful with an absolute stranger? She thought of Naruto and Gaara and how they might approach this. Adopting Naruto’s methods before, Sakurahad fought Sasuke to knock some sense into him, but Sakura couldn’t just go starting fights with her patients.

Confidence then. Sakura crossed her arms behind her back and raised her chin. “I’m not your warden; just someone who is trying to help you and your son.”

He began to laugh—that psychotic pitch that set Sakura’s heart racing. It frightened her to see that this man was more lost than she had thought. This wasn’t just a man who had taken his anger out on his son. “That’s what pisses me off the most about you leaf village filth. You think you have the right to march in and do as you please.”

Mako responded before Sakura could silence him, “Be careful what you say. Haruno-san is an honored guest of the Lord Kazekage and he asked for her assistance at the hospital.”

Well half true. I did invite myself here I suppose. Sakura didn’t correct Mako; Satou was completely prejudiced toward Konoha and its citizens. She reminded herself to steer clear of the political past between their two villages. Satou’s next comment brought an immediate halt to Sakura’a analytical approach to reasoning with him.

“You’d think the Kazekage wouldn’t give his whores a false sense of entitlement in village they don’t belong in.”

It was hard to contain her inner voice at that moment, who happened to be screaming loudly. WHO THE HELL DOES THIS BASTARD THINK HE IS?

Sakura let out a calming breath and put hand on Mako’s arm who was surprisingly doing a good enough job for the both of them at giving this terrifying ninja a piece of his mind despite the aptitude gap.

Before she could respond, the door opened and someone stepped in. Seeing Sasuke momentarily took her aback because that powder job should have taken him at least 45 minutes to complete, yet here he was a mere 10 minutes after being assigned the task. He must have a question.

And then Sakura saw his face. A red and purple combination flashed towards Satou and Sakura’s stomach dropped to her feet. Had he just heard what Satou called her?

When Sakura reached him and placed a hand on his arm, his gaze snapped from Satou and landed on her. “Did you need something?” she asked kindly, assessing the situation and deciding to act casually. Maybe if she came off as unaffected by Satou’s comment, then Sasuke wouldn’t feel the need to react.

“Here,” he responded gruffly after recovering some composure, shoving the mortar she had given him earlier towards the space between them. “You said you needed this quickly didn’t you? Go on ahead and make the batch. I’ll talk to this guy.”

Sakura briefly savored the startled look on Satou’s face before turning her body towards Sasuke so she could whisper in private with her teammate. “Sasuke, I don’t think that’s—”

“It’s fine,” he softened his murmur to match her whisper. As he said this, his sharingan faded and his emotionless mask slipped back on. “Just a talk between ninja.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” came Mako’s eager voice behind her, “I’ll stay too. You go on ahead and make that batch before time runs out.”

Sakura snapped her head towards him, shaking her head with large eyes in silent begging, but Sasuke was the one who spoke. “I didn’t ask you to stay. You can leave too.”

“He stays,” Sakura volunteered, to which Sasuke glowered at her for. “A doctor must be present during an exam, after all.” This was most definitely not professional, but Sakura had used a “time” excuse to keep Sasuke busy earlier. Mako knew as well as she did that it didn’t matter what time the Ashuwa was added to the mixture, and he was using her lie against her. She didn’t know her friend of a medic could be manipulative like that. Mako knew she didn’t want to tell Sasuke that she had fibbed about it.

Grabbing the mortar, Sakura peered up into the Uchiha’s eyes, reconsidering her fear of the two ninja meeting. If Naruto or Gaara weren’t here, maybe Sasuke was the next best person to talk to him. Now that he had come back to the light, perhaps Sasuke could reach Satou in a way that Sakura wouldn’t be able to. Sometimes people who had experienced trauma would only listen to someone who had shared a similar pain. And it had been proven to her throughout the years that sometimes only monsters could understand monsters.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sasuke waited until Sakura’s footsteps receded far enough down the hall before his eyes locked onto Satou for the second time.

“Uchiha. Uchiha Sasuke isn’t it?” Satou inquired, daring to speak first. “I never would have guessed I’d ever see your face again after the war.”

“Good. You know me.” Sasuke announced, fully entering the space and leaning against the right-most wall, just fifteen feet away from Satou in this small room. “Then you’re aware of the terrible things that I have done to better men than you.” To be honest, Sasuke hated to play the reputation card—in fact, he wanted to get as far from his past as possible, but he needed this bastard to know just exactly what he could still do to someone that pushed him far enough.

He noticed Mako shift excitedly at the left of the entrance. Apparently Mako was hoping for a show. Good, Sasuke thought, he needed to hear this too if the male physician had future plans to stay next to his friend.

Sasuke got straight to it. “The truth is that you’re not going to listen to anyone, so this is going to be a waste of time and breath.” Sasuke knew because he had been in this exact same frame of mind before.

“So why bother staying?” the man spat, rage leaking from his mouth like saliva from a rabid beast. Sasuke was correct in his analogy. Like Sasuke himself had once been, Satou was nothing more than a creature that there was no hope left for, and it needed to be taken out of this world. That’s what Gaara had practically told Naruto to do—take Sasuke out and do the right thing as his friend. It’s what Sakura had tried to do and failed.

But Naruto had done the impossible. With memories of his friend in his heart, Sasuke sighed and willed himself to put at least a little bit of effort into this for his friends’ benefit.

“For the sake of the woman you just called a whore. I care more about her and her goal than the few minutes I could be doing something more beneficial than talking to you.” Of course, he would never tell her that.

Sasuke felt like there was no point in beating around the bush. His voice would give out if he continued talking at this rate. He reminded himself that he didn’t owe any explanation, any psychological nonsense, just the cold truth that Satou needed to hear. Despite how hard he might try, Sasuke wouldn’t be able to pull this off like Naruto. Naruto would have marched up to him like a bull, grabbed his collar, proceed to threaten him for saying such a thing to Sakura, and then somehow miraculously convince this man to change.

Sasuke on the other hand, was less predictable. Depending on which part of his life you looked at, Sasuke could have had several reactions to Satou’s comment. The Sasuke before Orochimaru would have been angry but level-headed, at most offering the man an analytical glare. Sasuke immediately post-cursemark would have gutted him in the same mania he had broken that sound ninja’s arms in the Forest of Death. Vengeance-bent Sasuke would have completely not cared at all. But the Sasuke he was now? Even though he was on his path of redemption now, something in him had become honed again, sharpened along with the internal acknowledgement that he had feelings for Sakura. Despite his accepting of the truth, Sasuke hadn’t anticipated feeling this defensive and this is what scared Sasuke the most about himself—his unpredictability.

When Sasuke had tried to sever his bonds, it was to eliminate the feelings that came with them. He had seen it as a weakness. If his attachments were few, then Sasuke could remain loyal to a way of life he hoped for, one of peace. But having Sakura near again and feeling responsible for her had Sasuke fearing for the worst about his character. He had relayed this concern to Naruto before he left the village several weeks ago. “What will keep me from the darkness? From choosing the path of revenge?” “I will,” Naruto had responded. “I’ll stop you.” If men like this were regular in Sakura’s life, how could Naruto guarantee that Sasuke wouldn’t snap one day and kill every single person who threatened to do her harm? What if one of them succeeded? Could Naruto prevent everything? Stop, Sasuke told himself. Stop thinking like that.

Satou didn’t laugh again for the entire conversation. He remained standing by the window, narrowing his eyes at Sasuke in wary consideration since the Uchiha had arrived—not scared necessarily, but an enemy weighing his odds and deciding to avoid major triggers. Smart, Sasuke thought. Not completely brain dead then.

As Sasuke was consumed in silent thought, Mako stepped in for him. It was the first time all day Sasuke liked the medic. “We know that your wife died. Is that the reason you are abusing your son?”

Unlike with Sasuke, Satou revealed his temper, like a bomb going off without warning. “WHAT I DO WITH MY SON IS NOBODY’S DAMN BUSINESS BUT MY OWN.”

Unaffected by the sudden rise in volume, Sasuke surveyed the damaged room around them. Satou sure made it look like he was being held against his will, but the truth was, Sasuke realized, that if Satou had truly wanted to leave, he would have. There was nobody physically stopping him from leaving. The only thing really holding him here was Gaara’s command. Ah, so that was it. Badmouth the Kazekage all he wanted, Satou still respected one thing and that was power.

Sasuke tested the theory with, “The Kazekage believes it is his business.”

“Everything is apparently his damn business,” Satou growled in his direction.

Sasuke immediately noted that this was not a shouted response like he did when Mako spoke. Sasuke deduced that Satou held enough respect for the people he feared. That included himself. Damn. How annoying; Sasuke was going to have to do all the talking after all. To be honest, Sasuke had just wanted to remove Sakura from the situation and came up with the “talking” part to get Sakura to leave. Now, he supposed he would have to deliver.

Mako tried reasoning with him again: “Does the child remind you of your wife? Is that the reason you mistreat him?”

Satou’s eyes grew wide at Mako’s question. “HOW DARE YOU-“

Forget it. Talking like this was getting them nowhere. Sasuke’s visual prowess was nowhere near restored, but what Sasuke planned to do wouldn’t take up much chakra anyway. This wasn’t his typical style, but trying to talk with this man sure as hell wasn’t his style either. Sasuke revealed the black tomoes of his right Sharingan, instantly immobilizing the man where he stood.

“What are you doing?” Mako asked with concern, walking up beside him. “You’re not going to use a genjutsu?!”

“Just shut up and stay out of it,” Sasuke announced in annoyance. “I am getting the answers.”

Satou’s mind was a black, fiery wasteland that Sasuke stepped out on. The ninja’s memories appeared before him like colorless corpses rising from the grave. Sasuke walked forward toward the past surveying memories in order from most recent to oldest. The first memory that shaped in the air before him had Sasuke considering deactivating the jutsu. Whether he had subconsciously looking for this memory or not, Sasuke didn’t know, but he watched it play out before him. His pink-haired teammate was standing her ground, glaring up into the face of the man whose memories Sasuke violated. Sasuke frowned in hatred at the image of his fingers jabbing into her chest. Satou was looking down at her with a ferocity that he had yet to display towards anyone else. Why?

On cue, another memory emerged, connected to this one and providing Sasuke with the answer he wanted. It was during the war and Satou was immobilized on a cot, bandaged and regaining consciousness. Pink hair came into the ninja’s vision as he tried to roll to the side. “Miss,” he called toward the female ninja. “Where am I?”

“Stay still,” Sakura ordered him, pushing him back down on the cot. “Your leg is severely injured and needs to remain immobile.” She began giving orders to her assistants when a boom suddenly sounded somewhere nearby. Satou watched as she got to her feet and headed in that direction as someone began screaming her name.

“My wife,” he croaked, trying again to rise. This time, no one stopped him as he began to fumble towards the line of patients, some unconscious, others screaming. “Rina,” he sobbed, searching the faces of the incapacitated. “Where are you?”

He finally found her in the back row and he began limping faster toward her. “Rina!” he screamed, falling to his knees beside the woman who was bloody almost beyond recognition. Sasuke looked away from the memory as Satou began searching with hands for the wound on her body. Somehow the woman had reopened her injury and was now bleeding through the bandaging. When Satou found it, he began to moan. Satou clutched onto his broken wife and lifted her despite his leg. He was barely able to support her as he began limping back toward the medical professionals. “Haruno!” he tried to shout after the woman who had disappeared in the rising clouds of debris and dust. “Haruno!”

When a medic finally arrived to assist him, it wasn’t the one Satou had hoped for. “Please,” he begged them. “She’s dying—bleeding out!”

Sasuke saw the man’s world shatter on his face when the medic began to shake his head after checking the woman’s pulse. “I am sorry sir. She’s already gone.”

“No!” he began to scream, picking up his wife again and limping after the woman he believed could still save her. The memory ended after Satou disappeared into the rubble screaming after someone he clearly never found.

So that was it, Sasuke realized, stepping toward a new memory that materialized in the swirling darkness. He blamed Sakura for his wife’s death.

The next memory Sasuke played was Satou returning from the war and staring into the face of the child he and his wife had left behind. Sasuke was shocked at the resemblance the child held of Rina; Sasuke witnessed Satou experience the blow of pain that came at seeing the same likeness. When the child reached for him with tears in his eyes, Satou turned away from him, covering his anguished face and stepping past the threshold. Isao’s current caretaker reached for him to relieve his father’s neglect.

Sasuke felt like he had ashes in his mouth. He was more familiar with grief than anyone, but grief affected people in different ways. Sasuke both understood and didn’t understand. He didn’t dare go further; Sasuke knew what happened next concerning the child and didn’t want to see it for himself.

Deactivating his Sharingan, Sasuke withdrew from the black backdrop of Satou’s mind.

“What did you just do?” Satou asked, sinking to the floor on his knees and holding his head, an aftereffect that had Mako looking between the two ninja in fearful concern.

Sasuke saw no point in explaining to either of them. Satou was more than aware of what just happened. “I could erase a couple of those memories,” Sasuke explained to the whimpering man on the floor who gazed up at him in anger. “Is that what you want?”

Satou hesitated before saying, “You could really do that?”

“Is that what you really want?” Sasuke asked bitterly, “for someone to reach into your mind and take away all memory of your wife or child? To dishonor the both of them?”

“No,” Satou declared at that. “Not if it will remove them from my memory. The pain— just take that away.”

“Pain is a part of life and not something I can tamper with,” Sasuke deadpanned. “If you let it, your pain will turn into darkness, consume you, and taint every aspect of your life. Your son is the only thing you have left of your wife. You should value that and cling to that as your light.”

Sasuke understood what Sakura meant earlier when she told Sasuke her conversation with Gaara about the past generation affecting the next with their toxicity. Satou didn’t repond and Sasuke didn’t say anything else. He had said what he needed to although it left the Uchiha feeling like a hypocrite.

Turning to Mako, Sasuke declared, “Send the son to the Leaf’s mental health clinic; get him as far away as you can. The child needs to be in a different environment, or he will turn out like father. It’ll give Satou some time to reconsider what’s important to him.”

Opening the door, Sasuke thought twice before exiting. “Also,” he remarked to the man who began to sob on the ground. “The next time you lay your hands on my friend, you’ll have me to deal with, not the Kazekage.”

Satou began to scream in anger, throwing things against the walls again. The door swung shut behind Sasuke and Mako, closing the prisoner in his self-made cell.

#approachingsun #approaching sun #sasuke and sakura #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #sasusakufanfiction #naruto #Naruto Shippuden #naruto fanfiction #Sakura Haruno #Sasuke Uchiha #sakura #sasuke #sakura hiden #sasuke shinden #sakura uchiha #sasusakutravel #sasusakupostwar

104 notes · View notes

theculturedmarxist · 4 years ago

Link

Yves here. Reader IM Doc, an internal medicine practitioner of 30 years, trained and worked in one of the top teaching hospitals in the US for most of his career before moving to a rural hospital in an affluent pocket of Flyover. He has been giving commentary from the front lines of the pandemic. Along with current and former colleagues, he is troubled by the PR-flier-level information presented to the public about the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines, at least prior to the release of an article in the New England Journal of Medicine on the Pfizer vaccine: Safety and Efficacy of the BNT162b2 mRNA Covid-19 Vaccine. However, he did not find the study to be reassuring. He has taken the trouble of writing up his reservations after discussing the article with his group of nine physicians that meets regularly to sanity check concerns and discuss the impact that articles will have on their practices.

By IM Doc, a internal medicine doctor working in a rural hospital in the heartlands

Right off the bat – I am as weary and concerned about this pandemic as anyone. What my little rural area has been through in the past three weeks or so has been nothing short of harrowing. This virus has the ability to render patients about as sick as I have ever seen in my life, while leaving more than half the population with minimal if any symptoms. The patients who are sick are often very sick. And instead of slow and steady improvement like we normally experience, most of these patients are assigned to a long and hard slog. Multiple complications arise. This leads to very diminished throughput in the hospital. The patients literally stack up and we have nowhere to put the new ones coming in who themselves will be there for days or weeks. On top of that are the constant donning and doffing of PPE and intense emotional experiences for the staff, who are themselves becoming patients or in this small town have grandma or Aunt Gertrude as a patient.

To put it bluntly, I want this pandemic over. And now. But I do not want an equal or even worse problem added onto the tragedy. And that is my greatest fear right now. And medical history has demonstrated conclusively over and over again: brash, poorly-thought-out, emotion-laden decisions regarding interventions in a time of crisis can exponentially increase the scale of pain and lead to even worse disasters.

I am not an anti-vaxxer. I have given tens of thousands of safe and tested vaccines over my lifetime. I am very familiar with side effects and safety problems associated with all of them. That is why I can administer them with confidence. I am also an optimist, so all of the cautions I discuss below are the result of experience and the information made public about the Pfizer vaccine, not a temperamental predisposition to see the glass as half empty.

I know this piece is long, but I wanted to completely dissect the landmark New England Journal of Medicine (from now on NEJM) publication of the first Pfizer vaccine paper. I am replicating the method of my mentor in Internal Medicine, a tall figure in 20th Century medicine. He was an internationally recognized authority and his name is on one of the foundational textbooks in his specialty. He was a master and he taught me very well, including the fundamentals of scientific inquiry and philosophy, telltale signs of sloppy or dishonest work, the order in which you should dissect someone’s work, and the statistics involved.

When I have a new medical student doing rotations with me, I give them a collection of reading. At the very top is Drug Companies & Doctors: A Story of Corruption from the New York Review of Books in 2009 by Marcia Angell, MD. She was the editor-in-chief of the NEJM, the very journal that published this Pfizer vaccine paper.

Dr. Angell’s article is the Cliffs Notes version of much longer discussions she had about corruption, corporatism, managerialism, profiteering, greed, and deception in in the medical profession. Patient care and patient concerns and indeed patient lives in her mind have been absolutely overcome by all of these other things. It is a landmark paper, and should be read by anyone who is going to interact with the medical community, because alas, this is the way it is now. I view this paper the exact same way I view Eisenhower’s speech about the military industrial complex. What she said is exactly true, and has only become orders of magnitude worse since 2009.

And now the paper.

Unfortunately, this study from Pfizer in the latest NEJM, and indeed this whole vaccine rollout, are case studies in the pathology Agnell described. There are more red flags in this paper and related events than present on any May Day in downtown Beijing. Yet all anyone hears from our media, our medical elites, and our politicians are loud hosannas and complete unquestioning acceptance of this new technique. And lately, ridicule and spite for anyone who dares to raise questions.

I have learned over thirty years as a primary care provider that Big Pharma deserves nothing from me but complete and total skepticism and the assumption that anything they put forth is pure deception until proven otherwise. Why so harsh? Well, to put it bluntly, Big Pharma has covered my psyche with 30 years of scars:

• As a very young doctor, I treated an extraordinary middle-aged woman who had contracted polio as a toddler from a poorly tested polio vaccine rolled out in an “emergency.” Tens of thousands of American kids shared her fate1 • The eight patients I took care of until they died from congestive heart failure that had been induced by a diabetes drug called Actos. The drug company knew full well heart failure was a risk during their trials. When it became obvious after the rollout, they did everything they could to obfuscate. Actos now carries a black box warning about increased risk of heart failure • The three women who I took care of who had been made widows as their husbands died of completely unexpected heart attacks while on Vioxx. I have no proof the Vioxx did this. But when Vioxx was finally removed from the market, the mortality rate in the US fell that year by a measurable amount, inconsistent with recent trends and forecasts. Merck knew from their trials that Vioxx had a significant risk of cardiovascular events and stroke, and did absolutely nothing to relay that danger in any way. Worse, they did everything they could to muddle information and evade responsibility once the truth started to come out • The dozens upon dozens of twenty and thirty-something patients who have been rendered emotional and spiritual zombies by the SSRIs, antipsychotics and amphetamines they have been taking since childhood. Their brain never learned what emotions were, much less how to process them and we are left with empty husks where people never developed. The SSRIs and antipsychotics were NEVER approved for anyone under 18. EVER. While there are some validated uses for stimulants in children, they are obviously overprescribed, as confirmed by long-standing media reports of their routine use as a study/performance aid. It is all about the lucre. • The hundreds and hundreds of 40-60 year olds who have been hollowed out from the legal prescribing of opioids. All the while the docs were resisting this assault, the drug companies and the paid-off academics and medical elites were changing the rules to make physicians who did not treat any pain at all with opiates into evil Satan-worshippers. And they paid for media appearances to drive across the point: OPIATES ARE GOOD. WE HAVE MADE THEM SO YOU CANNOT GET ADDICTED. And here we are now with entire states taking more opioids than in the waning days of the Chinese Empire, and we all know how that story ended. All this misery so a family of billionaires can laugh its way to the bank.

I carry all these people and more with me daily. I would not be doing a service to their memory if I allowed myself to be duped into writing another blind prescription that was going to add yet another scar.

I will dissect the important parts of this paper exactly as my mentor described above taught me. He performed years of seminal research. He was a nationally-known expert in his field.

In medicine, especially in top-tier journals like NEJM, landmark papers are always accompanied by an editorial. These editorials are written by a national expert who almost always has “peer-reviewed” the source material as well. This is how the reader knows that an expert in the field has looked over the source material and that it supports the conclusions in the paper. My mentor did this all the time. The binders all over his office were the actual underlying data that he scrutinized to confirm the findings. There is no way on earth to print and publish the voluminous source material. Editorial review was one sure way all to assure that someone independent, with appropriate experience, confirmed the findings. This was onerous work, but he and thousands of others did it because this is the very essence of science. He was scrupulous in his editorials about findings, problems, and conclusions. It was after all his reputation as well.

My first lesson from him: READ THE EDITORIAL FIRST. It gets the problems in your head before you read the statistics and methods, etc. in the actual paper. It gives you the context of the study in history. It often includes a vigorous discussion of why the study is important.

Admittedly, over the past generation, as the corporatism and dollar-counting has taken over my profession and its ethics, this function of editorial authoring has become at times increasingly bizarre and too-obviously predisposed to conclude with glad tidings of joy, especially if pharmaceuticals are involved.

So I read the editorial first. You can find it on the NEJM webpage, in the top right corner.

And, amazingly, it is basically a recitation of the same whiz-bang Pfizer puffery that we have all been reading for the past few weeks. There really is not much new. Furthermore, it is filled with words like “triumph” and “dramatic success”. Those accolades have yet to be earned. This vaccine has not yet even been released. Surely, “triumph” is a bit premature. Those words would NEVER have been used by my mentor or similar researchers in his generation. They would have been focused on the good, the bad and the ugly. A generation ago, editorial reviewers saw their job as informing the reader and making certain the clinicians that were reading knew of any limitations or problems.

In quite frankly unprecedented fashion, two different events that were carefully reported occurred almost simultaneously with the release of both the paper and the editorial. Both of these events contradict and contravene data and conclusions reported in both the paper and the editorial and I believe they deserve immediate attention. They both belie the assertions of the editorial writers that [emphasis mine] “the (safety) pattern appears to be similar to that of other viral vaccines and does not arouse specific concern”.

First, a critical issue for any clinician is “exclusion criteria”. This refers in general to groups of subjects that were not allowed into the trial prima facie. Common examples would include over 70, patients on chemotherapy and other immunosuppressed patients, children, diabetics, etc.. This issue is important because I do not want to give my patient this vaccine (available apparently next week) to any patient that is in an excluded group. Those patients really ought to wait until more information is available – FOR THEIR OWN SAFETY. And not to mention, exclusion criteria exist because the subjects in them are usually considered more vulnerable to mayhem than average subjects. From my reading of this paper, and the accompanying editorial, one would assume there were no exclusion criteria. They certainly are never mentioned.

I reiterate, the paper is silent on this question of exclusion criteria, as is the editorial. Had my mentor seen something like “exclusion criteria” in the source material, and realized that it was not in the final paper, he would have absolutely included a notice in his editorial. This would have been after calling the principal investigator and directly questioning why there was no mention in the original paper. Patient safety should be foremost on everyone’s mind at all times in clinical research and its presentation to practitioners.

And now we know there were exclusion criteria, not because of anything Pfizer, the investigators, or the NEJM did but because of stunning news out of the UK. UPDATE: I will address this at greater length, but an alert reader did find the study protocol, which were not referenced in any way that any of the nine members in my review group could find, nor were they mentioned in the text of paper or editorial, as one would expect for a medication intended for the public at large. I apologize for the oversight, but this information was not easy to find from the article, not mentioned or linked to from the text of the article, the text of the editorial, in the “Figures/Media,” or in a supplemental document.

In the UK on day 1 of the rollout, two nurses with severe allergies experienced anaphylaxis, a life-threatening reaction to this vaccine. Only after world-wide coverage did Pfizer admit that there was an exclusion criterion for severe allergies in their study.

Ummm, Pfizer, since we are now getting ready to give this to possibly millions of people in the next few weeks – ARE THERE ANY OTHER EXCLUSION CRITERIA? Should I, as a physician, specifically not be giving this to patients with conditions that you have excluded?

Furthermore, NEJM, since you published this trial, have you bothered to at least put a correction on this trial on your website that it should NOT be given to people with severe allergies? I certainly see nothing like this.

Should someone from the NEJM or the FDA be all over Pfizer to ascertain the existence of other exclusion groups so we do not accidentally harm or kill someone over the next two weeks?

Unfortunately, Americans, you have your answer from the FDA about severe allergic reactions right from a press conference in which Dr. Peter Marks, the director of FDA’s Center for Biologics Evaluation and Research is quoted as saying:

Even people who’ve had a severe allergic reaction to food or to something in the environment in the past should be OK to get the shot….1.6% of the population has had a severe allergic reaction to a food or something in the environment. We would really not like to have that many people not be able to receive the vaccine.

Are you serious? Dr. Marks, have you ever seen an anaphylactic reaction? I live in a very rural area. Many patients live 30 minutes or more from the hospital. What if one of them had an anaphylactic reaction to this vaccine hours after administration, had no epi-pen and had to travel a half hour to get to the nearest hospital? There is a very high likelihood that a good outcome would not occur. Sometimes, as a physician, I simply cannot believe what I am hearing out of the mouths of our so-called medical leaders.

To the writers of the editorial accompanying this research:

Did you actually look at the source material? The existence of at least one exclusion criterion for severe allergic reactions had to be in there somewhere. If you did look at the source material, are there others that the physicians of America need to know about? If they were not in the source material, after the events in the UK, has anyone bothered to follow up with Pfizer about this omission?

Does anyone at NEJM or Pfizer or FDA plan to fully inform the physicians of America? Does ANYONE at NEJM or Pfizer or FDA care about patient safety?

Now for the second story that got my attention this week, an article from JAMA Internal Medicine, a subsidiary of JAMA, The Journal of the American Medical Association.

JAMA, like NEJM, is one of America’s landmark medical journals. I will assure you that JAMA is not the National Enquirer. This piece was written by a nursing researcher. It is very likely she is well-versed in all aspects of American medical research.

In her story, she details her recruitment and her experience in the Pfizer COVID trial, the same one we are dissecting here. She describes in detail her experience with the vaccine and the fact that she is concerned that many patients are likely going to feel very sick after the injection. She wrote up her own reactions, and included a very troubling one. About 15 hours after her second injection, she developed a fever of 104.9. She explained that she called her reaction to the Research Nurse promptly the next morning. The recounted the response of the Research Nurse to her information as “A lot of people have reactions after the second injection. Keep monitoring your symptoms and call us if anything changes.”

Thankfully, it appears this nurse has completely recovered. From the best I can tell, this encounter occurred in late August and early September, putting it well within the trial’s recruitment of arms as detailed in the paper.

This JAMA article impinges directly on Figure 2 on page 7 of the paper, a graphic that that lays out all the major side effects during in the trial.

It is very important to note that based on the trial’s own data, conveniently laid out on the very top of the figure in green, blue, orange and red, a temperature of 104.9F or 40.5 C is described as a Grade 4 event. The definition of a Grade 4 event is anything that is life-threatening or disabling. A fever of 104.9 can have grave consequences for any adult and is absolutely a Grade 4 event.

By law, a grade 4 event must immediately be reported to the FDA, and to the Institutional Review Board (the entity charged with overseeing the safety of the subjects) and to the original investigators. THERE IS NO EXCEPTION. One would think that would also be reported in the research paper to at least alert clinicians to be on the lookout.

I could not find any mention of this event in the text of the paper. NOT ONE. Let’s take a closer look at Figure 2 on page 7 where adverse events are reported in a table form. Please note: this is a very busy image, and in the browser version, with very low resolution graphics that are profoundly difficult to read (they are a bit clearer if you download the PDF). This is a time-tested pharmaceutical company tactic to obscure findings that they do not want you to see. My mentor warned me about ruses like these years ago, and finding one raises the possibility that deception is in play.

The area for the reporting of this Grade 4 reaction would be on the 2nd row down at the left of the set called B, titled systemic events and use of medication. The area of concern would be where the graph is marked with the number 16. Do you see a red line there? It would be at the very top. I have blown this up 4 times on my computer and see no red there. I am left to assume that this Grade 4 “Life Threatening or Disabling” event that was clearly within the time parameters of this trial was not reported in this study.

To those who say that I am making way too much out of one patient with a severe fever, let’s do a little math. There are 37,706 participants in the “Main Safety Population” (from Table 1), of which 18.860 received the vaccine.2 Let us assume that this individual was the only one that had a GRADE 4 reaction. Let us also assume that the end goal is to vaccinate every American a total of 330,000,000 people. So if we extrapolate this 1 out of 18,860 into all 330,000,000 of us, it suggest that roughly 17,500 could have this kind of fever. Now assume a 70% vaccination rate, and you get that would be approximately 12,250. I hope you now understand that in clinical medicine related to trials like this – a whole lot of nothing can turn into a whole lot of something quickly when you extrapolate to the entire targeted group. Does anyone not think that the clinicians of America should be prepared for anything like this that may be coming?

A couple more questions for NEJM and the editorial writers:

Were you ever made aware that this Grade 4 reaction occurred? Now that we have a reliable report that it occurred, has there been any attempt to investigate?

Did the Research Nurse actually report this event? If not, was she just simply not trained or was there deliberate efforts to conceal such reactions? How many more reactions were reported anywhere this trial was conducted and that did not make it to the FDA, the IRB or possibly the investigators? Is that not a cause for concern?

As if this is not enough, there is so much more wrong with this editorial. Now we are going to talk about corruption.

I want to reiterate my concern that over the past generation, as my profession has lost its way, its medical journals have turned into cheering sections for Big Pharma rather than referees and safety monitors. We all should relish the great things medical science is doing, but we should be doing EVERYTHING we can to minimize injury and death. Too often our journals have become enablers of Big Pharma deceiving our physicians and the public. Unfortunately, this paper and its editorial look troublingly like a case study of this development.

To provide context, I looked over the last month of the NEJM, the issues from November 12, 19 and 26th and December 3rd. Based on having read the NEJM over the years, I believe these four weeks are representative.

During this period, there were 15 original articles published in the fields of Oncology, General Surgery, Infectious Disease, Endocrinology, Renal, Cardiology, Pulmonary and Ear Nose & Throat. Of these 15 articles, the editors thought that eight were important enough to have an editorial from an acknowledged expert. I have read every one of these studies and the editorials as I do every week. All eight in the past month were indeed by leading experts in the field of the underlying studies. They included a COVID vaccine overview reviewed by an leading figure in vaccinology, and two COVID papers about Plaquenil and other approaches discussed by top infectious disease experts.

It was unlikely that those papers were going to get national media attention. All medical stuff.

But here we have our Pfizer vaccine paper. We have 300,000 fatalities in the USA alone and millions of cases. We have whacked our economy, we are in the depths of a national emergency. And we have a paper, the first, that may offer a glimpse of hope. Certainly this would be a landmark paper, and certainly it was treated in that manner? Right?

One would think that the doctors of America would have this study explained to them by a world-known vaccinologist? NOPE…..Maybe a virologist? NOPE….. Maybe a leading government official? Dr. Fauci? Dr. Birx? Dr. Osterholm? NOPE…..Maybe an expert in coronaviruses? NOPE…

We get the Pfizer ad glossy editorial treatment from Eric Rubin MD, the editor-in-chief of the NEJM. And Dr, Longo, an associate editor. Dr. Longo is an oncologist. Dr. Rubin is at least a recognized infectious disease doctor, but his specialty based on my Google search is mycobacterium, not virology. Again, one would normally anticipate for a paper of this importance, the editorial would be from someone with directly on point expertise.

Why would this fact been important to my mentor? (and I had the privilege of hearing him trash a paper in an open forum about a very similar issue, a paper introducing a drug to the world that later was the disaster of the decade, Vioxx) Why is this important to me and all the other physicians in my review group here in flyover country yesterday?

Because the choice of authorship of the editorial leads you to one of only several conclusions:

• Pfizer would not release the source data because of proprietary corporate concerns and no self-respecting expert would review without it • Pfizer knew there are problems and did not want anyone with expertise to find out and publicize them • The editors could not find a real expert willing to put their name on a discussion • Drs. Rubin and Longo are on some kind of journey to Vanity Fair and wanted their names on an “article for the ages” • This is a rush job, and no one had time to do anything properly, and so we just threw it all together in a flash

Readers, pick your poison. If anyone can think of a sound reason, please let me know. I am all ears.

But let’s open up the can of worms a bit more. Pfizer supports NEJM. Just a brief swipe through of recent editions yielded several Pfizer ads. A Pfizer ad appeared on my NEJM website this AM. I do not know how much they pay in advertising but appears to be quite a bit.

Americans, have we devolved so far in our grift that it is now appropriate for the EDITOR-IN-CHIEF of our landmark medical journal to be personally authoring “rah rah” editorials about a product of a client that supports his journal with ad dollars? And he has the gall to not present this conflict on his disclosure form? Really? Am I the only one worried about this type of thing?

Now we travel from the can of worms to the sewer. And this impacts every single one of us. I want you to Google the names of the people on the FDA committee that voted 17-4-1 two days ago to proceed with the Emergency Use Declaration. Go ahead – Google it. On that list, you will find the name Eric Rubin, MD. Why yes indeed, that is the very same Eric Rubin MD who wrote this editorial. Who is the Editor-in-Chief of the NEJM. A publication that certainly takes ad dollars from Pfizer. And he was one of the 17 to vote for the Pfizer product to be immediately used in an emergency fashion. Oh yes, oh yes he was.

Am I the only one who can recognize that Pfizer and other pharma companies may have some influence on Dr. Rubin thanks continued support of his employer, the NEJM? Am I the only one concerned that Dr. Rubin’s “rah rah” editorial may have been influenced by Pfizer? Is anyone else troubled that the Editor-in-Chief of the NEJM, supported by Big Pharma advertising dollars, is sitting on an FDA board to decide the fate of any pharmaceutical product? Is this not the very definition of corruption? Or at least a severe conflict of interest? I strongly suspect that a thorough evaluation of members of that committee will reveal other problems. As my grandmother always used to say, “There is never just one roach under a refrigerator.”

I looked in vain all day today for media discussions of conflicts of interest with Dr. Rubin or anyone else in a position of authority. I found nothing.

What I did find was the Boston NPR affiliate WBUR discussing Dr. Rubin’s Yes vote. You can listen yourself:

This interview left me much more concerned about Dr. Rubin’s role and what exactly he read in the raw data from Pfizer. In this interview, he admits that he as an FDA advisory member has seen no data from the Moderna trial coming up for a vote this week:

These two vaccines are fairly similar to one another, so I am hoping the data will look good, but we haven’t seen the data yet, so I reserve judgement.

Excuse me, but should not the members already have the data and be mulling over it to ask intelligent questions?

These statements left me more worried about the issues I have already brought up with the Pfizer vaccine:

We don’t know if there are particular groups that should or should not get the vaccine…We do not know what will happen to safety over the longer term.

When finally asked specifically about the UK allergic reactions and if they came up in the FDA meeting (emphasis mine):

It did come up and this was a bit of a surprise because in the trial, that trial was limited to specific kinds of participants, there were apparently no incidents like that, nevertheless this suggests it is something we are going to have to look out for.

There is absolutely not a word in the published data to suggest there was a limit to SPECIFIC PARTICIPANTS – what on earth is he talking about? Are there limited specific kinds of patients that we as physicians should be looking to vaccinate?

In a fine finish, toward the end of the interview Dr. Rubin states he is a bit relieved that low risk patients will be getting the vaccine later after we know more about the side effects with the first patients. I am really not trying to be a jerk – but are you kidding me? I thought this vaccine was a triumph with minimal side effects.

Dr. Rubin, kind sir, I really feel that you owe a clarification about your statements in the WBUR interview to the patients and caregivers of America. We are the ones with lives on the line.

First, I have the privilege of sitting on an Institutional Review Board (an independent entity that protects patient safety) and I know something about Grade 4 side effects. Just for 1 Grade 4 side effect in one subject, the accompanying documentation would often be a half a ream of paper. Because I agreed to do that job, it was my obligation to look through that documentation. That half a ream was for one side effect in one trial. Yet, you state unequivocally in this interview, that you, as a sitting member of the FDA committee that oversees the safety of the nation in this affair, have not seen any of the Moderna documentation for that upcoming meeting this week.

For readers to fully understand what I am saying, this Moderna documentation is going to be reams and reams of documents that need to be evaluated carefully to ask the right questions. And you have not yet studied this? For a meeting in just a few days? I find this deeply troubling. Your statements create the appearance the committee you are sitting on is nothing more than a rubber stamp for a decision that has already been made. This would be an absolute tragedy.

Second, Dr. Rubin, you in your position as the Editor-in-Chief of the NEJM and the editorial writer for this research, may be one of the few people on earth that have seen the original Pfizer research. Despite calling this a triumph, you state in the interview that you are relieved that younger people less likely to get the vaccine early so you will have time to wait to see if complications develop in the first patients. You have stated, despite your assertion in the editorial that the side effects were consistent with other vaccines, that “we don’t know if there are particular groups that should or should not get the vaccine”. Have you seen something in that “triumph” research that is concerning enough to you to make such statements? As a physician, I would really like a clarification on this statement, given that the shots are already rolling out today.

Now that we are past the editorial, a few words about the nuts and bolts of the paper.

I look for very specific red flags – usually making the data difficult to interpret. This study did not disappoint.

On page 5, in Table 1, the Demographic Description of the participants, go down to the AGE GROUP area. Note it is divided into only two cohorts 16-55 and >55. This is a real problem. My mentor said an honest paper should never deploy such a tactic.

You see, more than half of my patients are over 70. Why is this kind of obfuscation a real problem for my ability to trust the vaccine? Well, the intro papers to many pharmaceuticals that have gone down the drain in recent years have used this very same device. It is their way of hiding the fact that they did not put many older patients in the trial, certainly not representative of the population, and certainly not representative of who is seemingly going to get this vaccine in the first round. Do I know that 90% of the >55 group is actually between 55-58? I don’t. How hard would it be for them to do a breakdown in decades? 16-25 26-35 36-45 46-55 56-65 66-75 76-85? We have lots of computers in this country and the population breakdown is done this way on studies I read all the time. Why not do provide this information on a study that is this critically important, particularly one where elderly patients will be near the head of the line?

What are they trying to do here? Unfortunately, too often drugmakers resort to this practice to hide their failure to test their drug on the elderly to an appropriate or safe degree, knowing there would likely be lots of problems. Because of their past behavior, I ALWAYS assume this is true until proven otherwise and act accordingly with my elderly patients.

That is the world these companies have made for themselves.

Now for the tables on pages 6 and 7 about immediate side effects.

Just a brief look shows that local soreness and tenderness is very common, up to 75% with this vaccine. That is a bit high, but not that far out of range from my experience with other vaccines.

The tables on page 7 are the whoppers.

Headaches, fatigue, chills, muscle pain and joint pain appear to be very common, way more common than other vaccines I am used to, as in an order of magnitude higher. It is very clear from this table that about half the patients, especially the younger ones, are going to feel bad after this vaccine. That is extraordinary.

We are told nothing about how long these symptoms last or the amount of time at work lost. The “minimal side effects comparable with other viral vaccines” in the editorial and press releases is just not consistent at all with my experience of 30 years as a primary care physician. There was universal agreement with this assessment among my MD colleagues. They had great concern about this as a matter of fact: great concern that it will cause bad publicity and decrease administration and great concern that given this already high side effect profile, it may be much worse when it gets out to the public.

Given the fact that this virus is largely asymptomatic in more than half the people infected, what exactly are we doing here?

Furthermore, unlike other pharmaceutical papers that try to explain variances in symptoms like this, there is not a word offered about possible underlying causes of these outcomes.

The numbers of COVID cases in the placebo group vs the vaccine group have been widely publicized, from 162 cases in the placebo group down to 8 in the vaccine group, giving a relative reduction of 95%. It seemed to all of us in our review group that we do not have nearly enough patients to really make assessments. That is not a criticism. The researchers have done admirably in my opinion to get this many patients this quickly. That is still the problem: they are going to be using the first million patients or so in the general public to get a real gauge on numbers and side effects.

Another issue of grave concern to us all on Friday was the asymptomatic cases. The only subjects counted in the 162 and the 8 numbers above were patients with symptoms. Who knows how many in each cohort were asymptomatic.

This to me leads to the most important question of all, and it was again completely untouched….. How many asymptomatic patients are there? And how many who were vaccinated are still able to spread the virus? Not even an attempt to answer that question. This is critical, and is one of the ways a vaccine can backfire. If a vaccine does not provide sterilizing immunity, ie stop transmission, it is of limited use for disease control. It is great for the individual, but if they can remain without symptoms and still spread it all around it does not help from a public health standpoint.

I have described my concerns and red flags about this study. I would like to add one more thing. Pharmaceuticals that go bad rarely do so in the first few weeks or months. Rather, the adverse effects take months or years. It is a known unknown of not just vaccines but any kind of drug. Our pharma companies have become notorious for having inklings or indeed full knowledge that there is a problem early on, and saying nothing until many are maimed or killed. I will assume that this is the case in this class of drugs until proven otherwise. They are such deceivers I have no choice.

Due to sense of urgency my colleagues and Ifeel about this vaccine rollout, we had an ad hoc meeting of our Journal Club to discuss the NEJM article. Of the nine physicians at the meeting, three have already had very mild cases of COVID. Of the nine, only one is enthusiastic about these vaccines. I have a wait and see stance. I will not be taking it myself. I have too many scars, too many staring at me from the grave to take any other approach.

My patients’ feeeback on the COVID vaccine has been very different than the polls finding that 60% are ready to take it. About half my patients are in the professional/managerial classes and feature a higher level of the 0.1% than the US overall. They tend to be more blue. Most prefer to wait and thankful that health care workers were getting it first. The other half who are working class, more red, and they feel the whole thing is a hoax. They will not be getting the vaccine – likely ever.

The only enthusiasts I would call elderly Rachel Maddow fans. That really makes no sense to me at all since Operation Warp Speed was a Trump project and even Kamala Harris said she would not take a vaccine that Trump recommended.

I would say AT BEST 25% of my patients will be getting this vaccine shortly after being available. There is widespread skepticism that is not being acknowledged by our media. The pharmaceutical industry has worked tirelessly to earn every bit of that disrespect.

Please look at Dr. Angell’s seminal article from 2009. She predicted in her works, all of this and more. My profession has been captured by a cabal of corporatist MBA clones, rapacious and unethical pharmaceutical entities, and an academic elite addicted to credentialism and cronyism. They have over the years bought off and infiltrated all of our government health care regulating agencies and our public health system. And they are completely incestuous. I believe where we are now to be worse than Dr. Angell could have ever dreamed. Even more depressing, I see no way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 As a special homage to the polio patient described above, a truly exceptional woman, let me underscore that the disastrous rollout of the this polio vaccine came at a time similar to ours. Panic and malaise were in the air. The children of America and the world were being stricken with polio at an alarming rate. Dr. Alton Ochsner, a leading figure in medicine of the day, vaccinated both of his grandchildren in public in an attempt to bolster confidence in the vaccines. Within 8 days his grandson was dead of bulbar polio. All the celebrities and politicians lining up to take this vaccine on national TV should remember this tragedy. “Stupid human tricks” like this have no place in this kind of situation, and can backfire in unexpected ways. Unlike that era’s polio vaccine, there is no way on earth this vaccine can transmit COVID. However, there are those of us in the medical profession who treat the plan to make population-wide use of messenger RNA, which before these trials had been repeatedly investigated but never reached the human trial stage save in a small scale Zika vaccine study. This is no time for machismo. This is also no time for anything less than complete transparency on the part of everyone involved in the quest for safe and effective vaccines. To behave in any other way is an affront to patients like mine who have suffered and died in the past.

2 If you read the paper, you might well have wondered about that 18,860 number and even checked Table 1 to make sure it’s accurate (it is), since the third paragraph of the Abstract, under the headline “Results,” has very different figures:

A total of 43,548 participants underwent randomization, of whom 43,448 received injections: 21,720 with BNT162b2 and 21,728 with placebo.

So how did the researchers get from 21,720 injected with the vaccine to the 18,860 in the “Main Safety Population”? This sort of thing confirms the impression that this is a very incomplete or sloppy study. It is really not clear where the difference between the 37,706 and the 43,548, or for that matter, the 36,520 total subjects in the Tables 2 and 3 (Efficacy) come from. I used the 37,706 and hence the 18,860 that went with it from Table because it gave slightly smaller numbers than using the Table 2 and 3 figures, but they would be close to each other.

My concern here is the 6000ish discrepancy between the figures in the main text compared to the tables. Were they excluded? If so, why? I could not make heads or tails out of this, and accordingly kept it out of the body of this post. This kind of inconsistency really needs to be hashed out with the actual source data in hand, and should have been explained in the article, even if just in footnotes.

#covid19 #covid #the rona #la rona #covid-19 #covid vaccine #fuck covid #coronavirus #medecine #health #medical pharmaceuticals #pharmaceutical industry #big pharma #pfizer #vaccine rollout #operation warp speed

3 notes · View notes

lindwur-fr · 4 years ago

Text

First Impressions chapter 2

In which our newcomer Nocturne is introduced, and finds herself in the care of a strange, yet kind, doctor

The Nocturne known as Mallorie stirred, every aching muscle in her body protesting at the slight movement. Her wings felt heavy and numbed, and her vision pulsed and swam as she lifted her head. Her neck, thankfully, didn’t hurt. She was sure after a drop like what she endured, she would be worse off.

The Fae dragon that had inserted himself into the fight with the Gaoler was writing, but his fins twitched to attention when Mallorie moved.

“It’s been a while,” The Fae said without introduction. “I was beginning to worry.”

Mallorie did her best to keep her voice emotive and distinctly non-Fae, as not to come off as mocking when she replied to him.

“Just… Took a bit of a fall,” Mallorie managed a dry laugh. “I’m fine,” She braced her legs against the floor of the dome the two dragons were in and tried to push her bruised and broken body up.

The Fae turned his dark, sanguine eyes to her. “I’d not do that,” he advised flatly, “Your Plague mindset doesn’t work on me. I’m helping you, and you can’t tell me no.”

Mallorie had to admit, she would be a bit more stung by the “Your Plague mindset” remark if it weren’t for the follow up. She barked a genuine laugh, and was punished by a jolting pain running through her belly.

“Ah- Hff. Okay, fine- you seem to be doom-driven. I won’t tell you no,” She lowered herself back down to the ground gingerly, becoming rapidly aware of more injuries as she moved. The Fae dragon left his book open on the floor and stepped over it, moving towards her. He fanned his wings out wide, and Mallorie was confused by the gesture for a moment. It almost seemed aggressive- was he going to threaten her into being a good patient? Mallorie’s shoulders twitched in reflex as if to spread her wings, but the limbs laid uselessly at her side.

Just as she was about to rumble a snarl at the Fae, there was a faint ‘plick’ sound. She recoiled slightly as bright red, ruby-like eyes popped open all over the Fae’s large wings. They blinked to clear their sight, and traced over Mallorie’s body, scanning for more injuries.

“Wow,” Was all that Mallorie could manage at the sight of such mutated, strange wings. She had seen dragons with eyes running down their bodies, but this was entirely new. She had never seen such a mutation on wings before.

“That’s a rather measured reaction.” The Fae observed as he arched his wings high over his head to get a vantage point to continue his examination. “I usually get a dry heave, or a scream.”

It took Mallorie a beat to realize that the Fae was telling a joke, and she chuffed a bit. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” she rolled her wrist a bit. “Is it a Plagueborn mutation?”

The Fae nodded. “My wings were torn apart by my own magic, when I was young. When the holes healed, they filled in with these… Some sort of lenses that act like eyes.” He gestured above his head with a fin, to indicate one of the larger eyes. “They’re not true eyes. I’ve studied them for a long time. They’re more like flat spectacle-like lenses with pseudo pupils. But they are sighted and I can use them to see.”

“What does it look like?” Mallorie asked curiously, tilting her head as she peered at the strange mutated wings of the generous Fae.

“No different than what a Multi-gaze dragon would see, I’d assume,” The Fae mused, “My vision is longer, wider, cohesive. When I close my true eyes, I see less colour, but more details.”

He demonstrated by squeezing his eyes shut, allowing the eyes on his wings to take over his primary vision. “And what I see,” he added, “Is that you have very peculiar armour. Where did you get this?”

Mallorie would have frowned, but her mask hid her expression. If there was anything under there anymore, anyway. “It’s a long story.” She said a bit tersely.

“Then I won’t ask too many questions.” The Fae replied. “I just need you to take it off, so I can get a better look at the wounds on your sides.”

“I can’t take all of it off.” Mallorie shook her head slightly. “Sorry,”

Thankfully, the Fae didn’t seem to plussed by this strange remark. “Then can you take off as much as you can to make my job easier?”

It was hard to tell if the Fae was impatient as he said that, but Mallorie found it was best to assume he was just being orderly. With some effort, she rose to a half-sitting position and gestured to her back with her tail. “I’ll need your help. There’s a clasp between my shoulders holding on my neck wrap, and another underneath that holding the rest of my covers on.”

The Fae fluttered over gracefully, his weight barely registering as he landed oh-so carefully on Mallorie’s back and began undoing the clasp that held her scarf on. It came loose, and the Fae quickly and neatly folded it up and placed it aside before moving to the next clasp and undoing that as well.

Mallorie steeled herself for the Fae’s reaction. As the Fae stepped back and finally got a decent look at Mallorie, her secrets laid open for him to see.

Where her neck met her head, her helmet that concealed her face melded into her flesh. Veins wound under her skin where scales had fallen away and not regrown. Her body was a mix of draconic flesh and scales, and tar-like armor that had melded itself into its host. Two narrow eyes on her underbelly squinted, and a mouth filled with sharp teeth pulled its lips back to reveal its gums.

The Fae showed a passing shadow of readable expression, his pupils pinning and fins trembling slightly at the sight. A dragon melted into her armor, and the armor filled in the missing places on her body like some sort of strange prosthetic.

“I… Can see why the Gaoler called you Shade,” the Fae began haltingly, “But I have seen this sort of armor before. But never… Never like this.” He gestured to her with a claw. “Usually it can be removed.”

“Not me.” Mallorie shook her head. “It’s too deeply ingrained in me, now. I put it on to hide my wounds after my first battle in the Plaguelands.” She looked down at herself, raising a tar-like claw to examine it. “And it’s become a part of me.”

The Fae’s fins relaxed slightly, and Mallorie could read a bit of sympathy in that gesture. “Does… Does it hurt? Are you uncomfortable?” He asked, his ears tilting forward to indicate he was listening.

“No, not at all.” Mallorie placed her claw on the ground again. “The mouth is a shallow dip without a throat. The eyes are flat and blind. They’re simply…” She trailed off in a sigh, “Cosmetic, I suppose.”

The Fae drew closer, spreading his wings to glance over the amalgamation of dragon and tar. “And you can function with this…?” He asked slowly. “You eat, surely?”

Mallorie nodded. “I do. I still have a mouth,” she tapped her helmet, “And I can still see. But I don’t know the state of my face. I just know it’s functional.”

The Fae nodded in understanding. “I see. That’s all one ultimately needs, isn’t it?” He drew back now, allowing Mallorie to lay down.

“I suppose,” Mallorie shrugged. “But I’ve never been injured with this on. Not this badly, anyway. I don’t know how this armour heals.”

The Fae approached Mallorie again, rising to his hind legs and arcing a wing over her back where the Galor’s teeth had sunk in.

“I see bite marks,” The Fae said as he shut his eyes to allow his wings to parse more detail from the wounds. “And I see clotting and healing. Your armor is working to heal itself.” He concluded. “It will take a while, however, for your wings to heal. Without this armour’s fast healing, I think you’ll be grounded for a while yet.”

Mallorie let out a huff. Part of her expected such a diagnosis, but the greater part of her hated the thought of being stuck on the ground for weeks. “During the Riot of Rot, even…” She grumbled to herself. It seemed almost childish, to survive such an attack and have the greatest worry be missing out on the festivities in the Wyrmwound.

“Considering what many Plagueborn consider “Fun”, I’d say you’ve had an eventful Riot of Rot.” The Fae made another joke, his fins perking up a bit as he anticipated Mallorie’s response.

Mallorie could feel herself smile at that. “Hah- I suppose that’s true. Fighting a Gaoler and surviving. With help,” she added swiftly, as to not discount the Fae’s part in her rescue. The Fae’s fins fanned and folded happily, and he returned to examining the various punctures on Mallorie’s armor.

“Forgive me- I’m unsure of a Nocturne’s dietary needs… But if we’re going to stay here until you’re better, I think I should be the one in charge of getting us food. You eat insects, correct?”

Mallorie took pause at that. “We?” She turned to look at the Fae without answering the question.

The Fae tilted his head. “Yes,” he said, “I will not leave you here. The Plaguelands are my home, but they are dangerous to be alone in. Especially if someone wants this dome all to themselves.”

Mallorie was silent for a beat or two, touched by the Fae’s enduring generosity. “You’re… You’re sure?” She asked slowly. “I don’t want to keep you from your Clan, or from the Riot, if that’s what your original reason for being here was…”

The Fae seemed to hesitate, but waved a claw to dismiss the notion. “No, no. The Riot happens every year. I will not be upset at missing one event if I can help you. So- your diet?”

Mallorie chuffed, shuffling her body so she faced the Fae a bit more easily. “Insects and meat.” She finally gave her reply. “We share insects, at least. You’re an insectivore, right?”

The Fae nodded. “Right,” he said, “So at least I can feed us both while you recover.” He sat down on his haunches, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“You’re doing a lot for me, you know. And you don’t even know my name.” Mallorie felt herself smile again as she spoke.

“Nor do you know mine,” The Fae countered, his fins fluttering good-naturedly.

“I’m Mallorie.” Mallorie spoke readily.

The Fae’s fins fanned in an analogue to a smile for the diminutive dragon.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mallorie. I’m Poe.”

#Flight Rising #fr #fr lore #Vagrilux lore #Clan Vagrilux

3 notes · View notes

autisticmob · 5 years ago

Text

HELLO everyone i am now ten days out from my tiddy surgery so i think while everything is still fresh-ish in my mind I should get a rough timeline of how things went for me, just so anyone having similar stuff done in the future can have it as reference??

so under the cut is how shit went down, warning we are gonna be tmi about it for Max Information Dissemination, i will be talking about IV placement, Needles, Bleeding, Bruising, Bathroom Stuff In General, etc. so like. Be Warned.

OKAY SO what did i have done and how did i get it:

- i got a bilateral breast reduction with a “T,” “keyhole,” or “anchor-shaped” incision. this procedure, unlike double-incision top surgery, does not detach your nipples at all, but it DOES leave a decent hunk of breast tissue behind to avoid the nip graft. this connecting tissue keeps your nip attached and supplied with enough blood to survive. that means with this one, theres basically a limit to how much they can take off, and it depends on how big you are to start off with.

- i went with the T-incisions because as a NB person, I wanted to sidestep the “gender-confirming surgery” route with my insurance. technically, I believe it would have been covered if i had gone through the process of talking to a therapist and getting a note that the surgery WOULD help confirm my gender, but i suspect it would have taken much longer, and I was afraid that my doctor and community resources would not have ended up approving me FOR the surgery since I don’t exactly fit the typical trans narrative. and luckily for me i had Massive, Spine-Bending G Cup Tiddies to contend with. so every doc that took a look at me said “yeah, you need those taken care of for medical reasons.” so i thought hey, let’s see how far this will get me!

- i talked to my primary care doc about my back pain and mentioned i’d like to look into a breast reduction, and she referred me to a local surgeon who could do the procedure. at the time i was still entertaining the idea of double-incision, but as it turned out, this surgeon just didnt do that. but i knew for certain my insurance would cover him, his results were good, and he was local, so i said yes to the T-incisions, which he said would likely get me down from a G to at least a C. it wasnt my ideal scenario admittedly, but frankly the back pain was getting to be too much, and i needed it to be addressed sooner rather than later.

- i had a consultation with the surgeon in early december, and they took pictures and measurements to send to my insurance so they could confirm the tits WERE in fact Too Bomb To Live. Doc said that it varies between insurance companies, but most will have a minimum amount of tissue that needs to be taken off, in grams, from each breast. he was like, “your insurance needs at least 1000g total removed, which’ll leave you on the small side, is that cool?” and i was like “My Man, take AS MUCH as you possibly can, im sick of these” and he was like “cool, makes my job easy then.”

- it took my insurance like 1.5 to 2 months to get back to me, but late january the surgery place called me and we set a date for february 5th, 2020!!

PRE-OP:

- before i went into surgery, the hospital made me go over my medical history with them over the phone, informed me of all the risks, and gave me a special scrub kit to shower with at home for the last 2 days before the surgery

- fun fact this soap will make your whole bathroom and body smell strongly and exactly like a hospital and it is gross as hell if you hate hospital smell

- i also had to go to my primary care doc to get the OK that i was healthy enough to go under general anesthesia, and also get some blood tests and a urinalysis done. i fucked up the urinalysis tho (which is a whole other story) so i had to redo that the morning of the surgery when i got to the hospital anyway.

- when i scheduled my surgery they also gave me a list of things i had to NOT DO before i went in. this included stuff like avoiding herbal medications and non-prescription supplements and not drinking any alcohol for like 2 weeks prior to surgery, and not eating anything after midnight the night before surgery.

- then it was SURGERY DAY!!!

- i went in with uhhh a LOT of anxiety about what everything would entail, ngl. i knew i had to do it because staring down the barrel of life with tiddies forever was way scarier than surgery, but yknow whenever you go under general anesthesia they legally do have to let you know that you could die and thats just a lot to consider, PLUS the whole thing involves just, really mangling your torso so like. its a lot! its okay to be scared!

- both my parents went with me for moral support which i appreciated a lot, but i didnt actually see them much since they had to spend a lot of it in the waiting room.

- when i went back with the doc they had me Wash The Tiddy Off with some antiseptic and change into a gown. i got some grippy socks out of the deal which is probably not a universal experience, but this hospital did it so shoutout to them for the socks i guess

- then they asked me all my medical history stuff again and checked me for any like, rashes or open sores or anything. i had some Tit Zits but they did not seem to be worried about that.

- then the surgeon came in and drew lines on me for the incisions. bro when i saw how high up my nips were gonna be i was losing my damn mind. this is one of the really exciting parts, because you finally get to really visualize what your end size is gonna be!!

- once he was satisfied with how everything looked, they started really Prepping Me For Surgery.

- they hooked me up to a blood pressure cuff, a heart monitor, and some compression leg thingies that would inflate and deflate intermittently around my calves to help me not get blood clots. this felt weird but tbh also like kind of a nice massage

- then the iv placement. bro im not lying when i tell you this is the worst part. the nurse numbed me with some lidocaine before placing the needle and let me tell you that shit HURTED. lidocaine Stings and Burns when it hits and this was arguably the most painful part. but the good news about that is it means nothing else after that is all that bad. and i got THREE lidocaine shots because these two nurses could NOT find my blood anywhere. they finally called in their ringer (an EMT named kirk, s/o to kirk) who got that sucker in my arm with NO numbing and NO pain in like, 2 fucking seconds. i pray you all have a kirk. kirk knows where your fucking blood is and hes not gonna fuck around getting to it because he JUST wrestled a drunk dude into an ambulance like an hour ago and compared to that this is nothing. kirk had sleeveless scrubs. im obsessed. anyway.

- then they put a plastic, inflatable, heated blanket over me? it was between two regular blankets so it wasnt as uncomfortable as you might imagine, but it was strange. warm tho so that was nice.

- THEN they wheeled my bed down to surgery. i was having so much anxiety at this point it was like... dreamlike. getting wheeled into the OR was just surreal. i was like, no thoughts head empty, just taking everything in.

- once i got there the surgical team was very cool about keeping me calm tho. they were playing their like, pump-up music and one of the guys was like “hey fyi about halfway thru the surgery we will be turning the lights off and having a rave, just in the interest of full disclosure. promise not to leave any glowsticks in there tho” and i was like what no i would LOVE glowstick tiddies

- i had to kinda roll from my bed onto the operating table, which was significantly harder and smaller. that kinda made things feel real, so i got a little more anxious at that point.

- to help me calm down they had me breathe in some straightup oxygen thru a mask while they hooked my iv to the fluids and such, and the guy was like “WHOA you got some lungs on you dude” and i was like yeah thanks im recovering from hyperventilating

- then they let the anesthesia into the iv, letting me know the whole time what was happening, talking to me until i was just OUT, which was not a lot of conversation time because i was out in like 5 seconds or less. they didnt make me count down or anything, but i promise you it was nigh instantaneous.

POST OP

- it really was instantaneous. i know everyone says that but it really is the truth, it feels like the whole thing takes seconds. like one moment youre laying there in the OR feeling the drugs Hit, and the next youre waking up in the little wake-up room feelin kinda groggy with a nurse talking to you, and youre still druggy so youre just rambling to her about how fucked your voice sounds right now and as soon as shes contented that youre basically lucid they start wheeling you to your room where youll ACTUALLY stay while you recover.

- THE THING I WAS THE LEAST PREPARED FOR WAS MY THROAT

- your throat will Hurt afterwards, but even more than that, you will be producing So Much Mucus. my surgery took about 2 hours and during that time, all my muscles were paralyzed by the anesthesia, including my lungs, so i was on a breathing tube. my throat, understandably, hated this, and started producing Gallons Of Fucking Mucus to protect itself. it then continued to do this for the next two days or so. the nurses were encouraging me to breathe deep and cough Hard to combat this, and avoid getting pneumonia, so i did. but THAT hurt the tiddies. it was really a vicious cycle. but its necessary because god if i had to have pneumonia on top of all the other recovery shit?? god. 0/10 wouldnt recommend. so it might hurt but dont worry your tiddies wont bust open or anything.

- i spent basically the rest of the day still hooked up to all the machines i listed earlier, PLUS a thing that would beep at me if my heart rate went too high, which it did a lot because i have anxiety, but luckily the nurses didnt seem too concerned. it really kept my breathing on track though because if i didnt breathe deep enough my heart would shoot up super fast and it’d beep and god that was just annoying and im pretty sure that was The Point. you kinda have to get used to breathing again, and the beeping trained me.

- they gave me like a bunch of crackers and a huge mug of water to work on at my leisure. i actually had lunch pretty quick after waking up? i know a lot of people have nausea issues from anesthesia but i didnt experience any of that. i DID move like a fucking sloth while i was eating tho. the pain meds and general grogginess of recovery slowed my whole body down sooooo much. my mom was actually like “are you okay??? like neurologically??????” and i was, totally, i was just. on slo-mo.

- anyway i didnt have to get catheterized for this procedure thankfully but they DID make me measure my pee every time i went to the bathroom. like i had to pee in a little bucket attached to the toilet and the nurse had to come check it every time and i felt really weird about that. so idk just be prepared for that i guess lmao

- also idk if it was the pain meds or the anesthesia itself but post-op, i couldnt shit for like a week. the constipation is real so get u some fucking laxatives asap when you get home, this is not a joke lmao

- they also had me put on a belt every time i got up so the nurse could hold onto me in case i decided to fucking biff it. they got me up a couple times throughout the day/night to walk up and down the hallway outside and get my body used to being upright again

- oh speaking of i never got to lie down completely flat, they had my bed locked at like a 30 degree angle minimum to help with... something. im not quite sure what, but im not gonna question it

- when i got up the next morning they had a couple nurses come in and help me un-bandage so i could shower and finally look at what the tiddies looked like for the first time!! and it was exciting but i didnt cry like i expected lmao i think i was too drained and too distracted by the bleeding

- the bleeding wasnt too bad actually, just little beads kinda coming out of parts of the incisions between the stitches. but once i got in the shower obviously stuff started getting diluted in the water and it looked like a lot more than there actually was, so dont be alarmed by that!

- SHOWERING: its a little complicated. youre not supposed to soak the incisions, and youre not supposed to apply direct water pressure or actually touch them at this point. so what i had to do was get a washcloth wet and soapy (with antibacterial soap, i think it was hand soap honestly. hand soap’s what ive been using at home so........) and then just kinda. squeeze it at your collarbone and let it drip down over everything kinda minimally. its kind of a process but it works fine. washing your hair and like, tbh literally everything else is gonna be hard. reaching over your head is hard and scary at this point. i will admit my hair care Suffered the first week.

- then i got bandaged back up and they got me back into my own clothes and ready to go home! they also put a bra on me over the bandages in my new size. i was only there for about 24 hours total, since i didnt really have any complications.

- on the ride home i had to make sure the cross-chest part of the seat belt was NOT touching me. if whoevers driving you hits a pothole, your soul WILL exit your body tits-first for a moment. im sorry if you live somewhere like here in nebraska where the roads are garbage but its not gonna be fun.

ONCE YOU’RE HOME!!

- i live at home with my mom and sister and if you live alone, id try to have a friend basically move in for the first week. you will need Help with things. basic things. you’ll mostly want to sleep because of the pain meds but those made me pretty dizzy so it was cool having my mom around in case i like. fell on the way to the bathroom and died or anything like that.

- changing bandages is really kind of a 2-person affair too, and youll have to do it at least once a day post-shower, so keep that in mind.

- the bleeding is like, not that bad after that first day honestly. i never had to change the bandages more than just the once per day.

- basically from here the procedure is just to take it easy, get up every few hours and walk around a little to keep the blood clots at bay, and enjoy yr new silhouette basically

- worst thing about recovery honestly? im a stomach/side sleeper, and i cant manage anything other than laying flat on my back with my arms at my sides right now, and thats just like.... idk i really cant sleep like that. its not comfy. ive had to set up kind of a pillow fort around me to keep me from rolling over in my sleep bc im afraid i might hurt myself accidentally like that, but idk how well-founded that fear is.

- i will say as someone who did have back problems before this, the difference is IMMEDIATE. i literally had better posture like Day 1. im still a little hunched over because the stitches create a bit of tension in your chest, but like literally it was instantaneous. god. once i got healed to a point that i could like, kinda relax and not be so fucking tense all the time? back pain has basically just been GONE.

- other fun things to notice: i had some pretty significant stretch marks before, and now they are running in a completely different direction. i crossed my arms over my chest the other day and they actually touched my torso for the first time in like, well over a decade. if i close my eyes and try to grab my tiddy from muscle memory, i stop like a full 3 inches from where my tit actually starts now. the size i am now, just like, freeballing it? this is how i looked when i wore a binder before. if i wore a binder now i imagine id be completely flat, and honestly if i layer up at this point you cant really tell that i have anything more than the average chubby dude’s moobs, which as a kinda chubby person is totally fine.

its a trip relearning what i look like and what im supposed to feel like but its just. such a fucking improvement over where i was. absolutely no regrets, regardless of how hard recovery has felt at times. anyway i hope this information is at least interesting and maybe helpful to anybody considering anything similar!!

#words #top surgery #breast reduction #info post #again yall lemme know if you have questions abt anything i didnt cover here i tried to hit all my bases but u never know #teat yeet

27 notes · View notes

kristallioness · 5 years ago

Text

Primary care

Summary: Aang acts as a primary caregiver to Katara while she's suffering from the flu.

Word count: 10,168

Author's note: This one-shot idea came from a scene in the "My Family" series (season 2 episode 5). Susan, the mother in the family, was sick with the flu and she lay in bed when her husband Ben came home. He tricked her into thinking that he was gonna kiss her, but then he did something else that surprised her. So I thought how this would be really cute if Aang did the same to Katara. Now it's 10k+ words of Aang nursing Katara back to health. So.. much.. FLUFF!!! Here's an "official" illustration, too. Thanks goes to @thecaroliner for providing me with some ideas! There's a continuation from an old fic of mine inspired by @katarapy's post (yes, I'm tagging you so you'd definitely see this and know that you can read it any time you want). Also, I went to my very first health check this November and I was a bit anxious, but the doctor was really sweet and the way she talked to me helped me relax. She did something that made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and, at the same time, soothed me. So, of course, I added a tidbit in the middle of a scene that I thought was already planned out here. It became cuter. Whoever guesses correctly gets a cookie from me. Plus, I translated some Estonian lyrics from a very beautiful song and wrote them into the dialogue. If any of you guys can figure out which sentence it is that Aang says to Katara, you've earned two cookies! *waiting with a tray of cookies*

----------x----------

Katara rolled onto her other side. She could hear someone coming up the stairs, faintly. To be honest, she wasn't sure whether she could rely on the precision of her ears right now. Given how heavy her entire noggin felt.

She opened her eyes and stared at the bedroom door as her husband returned from the kitchen. Aang had a mischievous smile on his face as he approached their bed.

"It'll be another 10 minutes before the soup's done."

Katara's stomach growled at the mere mention of food. She found it hard to keep anything down for the past day and a half. Sometimes she'd get sick from simply smelling something she couldn't stand thanks to her upset tummy.

"Mmm.. thanks," she mumbled, covering her mouth for a second to cough. Otherwise, she remained hidden under the blanket.

Aang began fluffing the pillows she was surrounded with while they waited for lunch. He and Yee-Li, one of the first members of the air acolytes, had been busy preparing a simple noodle soup just for her.

The airbender did most of the cooking, but the young nun was more than happy to help keep an eye on the boiling water and stir the ingredients while he went to check on his wife. She'd promised to bring the soup to their bedroom herself, even after Aang had insisted that it wasn't necessary.

Katara propped herself up on her elbows for a second so he could fluff the pillow under her head.

"I know what would make you feel better."

She quirked an eyebrow as she lay back down and her husband perched on the edge of the bed.

"Really? And what would that be?"

Aang nudged closer to her, running a hand over the corner of her mouth.

"How about a quick kiss?"

"Aang, no. You'll get sick, too."

As if to prove her point, another short coughing fit hit her. She turned her head the other way and held a hand in front of her mouth until it stopped tickling her throat.

"See what I mean?"

"Please? Just humor me," he begged.

Katara shrugged her shoulders, but played along. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips, slightly leaning forward to prepare herself for the kiss. She didn't expect a glass tube to intrude her mouth instead.

"It's okay!" Aang said when she clearly startled.

"I just wanted to take your temperature."

He caressed her cheek to calm her down. Katara stared at the thermometer between her lips, after which she giggled and sucked the tip further in so she could tuck it under her tongue.

"Well, that did cheer me up. Thank-sh!"

"You're welcome!"

He chuckled at the way she hissed her 'S'-s now. But he couldn't really blame her since she had that stick of glass protruding from her mouth.

Aang reached for the small piece of cloth on the nightstand. He dipped it into the bowl filled with cold water, then pressed the damp rag against her hot forehead. The cooling sensation helped ease her headache.

Katara shut her eyes and waited for the thermometer to do its work. She seemed so weak to him, ever since that fever broke out yesterday, along with the accompanying fatigue. Usually she was the one treating everyone else's ailments. But who'd be there to take care of the best healer in the world during her time of need?

She didn't even notice those five minutes go by when the airbender was already carefully pulling the thermometer out of her mouth to check the measurement. He barely got to fix where the silver line of mercury pointed to when she ducked over the edge of the bed and threw up into a wash basin.

Aang grabbed her loose hair so it wouldn't fall down in front of her mouth. Using a scrunchy to fasten most of it near the nape of her neck was a good call after the first time.

"There-there.. let it all out."

Those were leftovers from last night's dinner, which her stomach hadn't digested properly. He gently patted her back until she finished, or felt like there was nothing left to force back out. He rewarded her with a nice back rub instead while she remained dangling over the edge, waiting for more to come out.

Katara wiped at her mouth and climbed back up onto the bed, plopping down into the sea of pillows. Aang used some of the water from the bowl to waterbend the remnants of the vomit off the back of her hand. Then, he picked up a jug and poured some drinking water into a glass.

"Here, sweetie. Drink this."

While she was busy cleaning her mouth from the bitter taste, he managed to find out how high her fever was. 38.2 degrees, it was no wonder she felt so poorly. He didn't really notice how badly she was shivering until she'd sat up to drink.

"Are your chills getting worse?"

Katara raised one of her bare arms in front of his nose to show off her goosebumps.

"Uh-uh, I think so. My f-fever must be rising."

Great, stammering meant that it was about to get much worse for the next hour or two. Aang intended to stay by her side for as long as he could during this period. His fingertips rubbed the edge of their shared blanket.

"Isn't our blanket enough to keep you warm?"

"No. S-stupid thing's too thin.." she muttered under her breath and averted her gaze, annoyed that her body couldn't tell the difference between hot and cold.

The airbender scratched his beard for a few seconds before he flicked his fingers.

"I have an idea. How about if I helped keep you warm? Just until your fever starts coming down again."

Katara put her empty glass on the nightstand and gave him a slightly puzzled look.

"What do you have in mind?"

He stood up and pulled the blanket off the bed in one go, leaving her uncovered.

"Aang! Are you t-trying to make my fever worse!?" she exclaimed as she crossed her arms and pulled her knees up to her chest to keep warm somehow. Her anger dissipated when he wrapped his arms around her and the blanket fell down her back.

"No, I'm trying to make it more bearable for you."

Katara frowned and hung her head a bit while he made sure her shoulders, along with her sides, were covered. She grabbed the edges of the blanket to hold it tight around her upper body.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scream at you."

"Apology accepted."

Aang offered her a smile before he crawled onto the bed and sat down cross-legged right in front of her. He scooted closer and took a hold of her hands.

"Come here."

She inched forward until she got close enough for him to slip a hand under her thighs, the other one supporting her from her back. He helped her hop onto his lap, after which her body fell into place perfectly.

Her bottom fell into the empty space between his legs. She locked her legs around him, as if she was straddling him. At first, she wrapped her arms around his neck to embrace him. But when the blanket fell off, she instinctively snaked them around his chest instead. His red shawl fell down on her bare arms and he covered her bare feet with his long cape of the same colour.

"Oh, so this is what you had in mind," she remarked.

"Do you like it?"

Katara felt how he adjusted the blanket higher on her back and brought the edges over her shoulders again. Not only was she fully covered now, she was also being heated up by the warmth radiating from his body.

"Y-yes. Very much."

She nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes to take it all in. To take all the warmth in. But if she was taking it all in, she had to be giving something in return, right?

Shivers. Aang could feel her entire being tremble from every inch that touched his body. It was scary. He wished there was something he could do to make it stop. If only he had healing abilities like her...

That thought sparked another idea. He placed his hands on her back and began rubbing it in slow circles, similarly to how she'd do it with waterbending on a person's forehead to bring their fever down.

"Aang, c-cut it out," Katara interrupted him.

"What?"

"With the firebending. I'm afraid it'll make my f-fever worse."

"Oh, sorry!" he apologized and quickly took his hands off her back, as if he was close to breaking her spine or scared of hurting her if he held them there a second longer.

"Do you want me to cool you down with some airbending instead?" he offered, but he could sense her shake her head against his shoulder.

"No, just k-keep me warm."

"So, I should just.. hold you?"

"Yes. Hold me," she pleaded.

And he did. Aang hesitantly laid his hands on her back again to hold her close like she'd asked. He gently bumped his head against her own and let her be for a while.

Or he would've let her be if he hadn't heard a faint crackling noise behind his ears. That disturbing sound seemed eerily close by. It didn't take long for him to figure out the pattern he heard matched another one he could feel against his chest.

"Is.. is that your breathing?"

"Yeah-"

Katara couldn't even finish her answer before she had to cough and clear her throat of the phlegm. She glanced over her shoulder and spat it out into the basin, almost with the same accuracy as Toph would've done it.

"Do you want me to check if it's gotten worse?"

"No, not yet. Give me another 10 minutes.. P-please? This feels really nice."

She shuddered and hugged him tighter, her chin falling back on his shoulder. Aang chuckled and pulled her back into his embrace. She sensed how he planted a light kiss into her hair.

"Sure, anything you want."

Katara hummed at that. She enjoyed the silence and the feeling of his arms wrapped around her, keeping her safe. The only sound that accompanied them was her noisy breathing, and occasionally, her coughing.

Her breathing did sound terrible now that she was so close to him, chest to chest. More so that he was an airbender, and the way she was controlling her breathing didn't sound right to him.

Aang could tell she was burning up since she squeezed him harder once every minute or so. Besides that, her intense chills ran all over her body. He wasn't sure whether it was contagious or not, cause sometimes he couldn't distinguish her shivering from his own shaky movements.

"Don't be scared. I'm here. Doctor Aang will take good care of you, okay?"

His attempt at consoling her wasn't in vain. She mumbled something incoherent to him, then continued shivering. At least she'd heard what he'd said.

He wished there was a way for him to help her fight such a high fever. He settled for rubbing her back instead, without the firebending, to let her know that he's there and he could feel her suffering.

A couple of minutes later, the airbender looked over his shoulder when he heard someone coming upstairs and hurrying down the corridor. Yee-Li came to ask him if she should bring two bowls of soup, one for each of them. She slowed her pace and stopped behind the door, knocking three times against the wood before peeking inside.

"Avatar Aang, I'm sorry to disturb you-"

She was met with the sight of the airbender sitting in the middle of their bed, his wife cuddled in his arms and seemingly napping on his shoulder. Katara stirred a little after the disturbance, but her eyes remained closed. Yee-Li pointed a finger at the waterbender.

"Is she awake?" she whispered.

"Yeah, her fever's making her weary is all. Would you leave the soup on the stove for another 20 minutes or so and come back then? Katara wants to rest a little bit longer before she can eat."

"Of course! Take all the time you need. I'll be back in half an hour to check on you two, if that's okay."

"Yes, that suits us just fine. Thank you!"

The nun bowed to him before she left. Aang turned his attention back to Katara as she smacked her lips and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth into his collar. She really had dozed off for a couple of minutes.

"C'mon, it's time for your midday healing session," he declared and tried to get her to sit up straight, but to no avail.

"Noooo.. I don't wanna.." she whined and curled up like a baby koalaotter. Aang attempted to untangle her hands from his sides, but for someone who was sick with the flu and drowsy, she had a pretty strong grip on him.

"You're so warm."

"Thanks, but flattering won't work. You told me not to fall for it."

She'd also told him that she wanted him to examine her condition thrice a day - in the morning, at noon and in the evenings. That way she could keep mental progress of her recovery and teach him how to act in case her condition got worse. It was no secret that she took full advantage of the pampering.

"Just 5 more minutes, please?"

She'd already stopped stammering, so that was a good sign. And her chills weren't as frequent anymore either.

"How about until we hear the next bison growl?"

Katara pondered for a second, then agreed to his terms. She nestled herself against him and shut her eyes, trying to make the most of it. Barely a minute passed before they both heard one.

"Darn it."

Her husband stifled his laughter while she unwillingly pushed herself off of him and stretched her arms, releasing a long yawn. Aang supported her from her back while she did, then adjusted the blanket back on her shoulders after that.

"Feel better?"

"Thanks. A little bit."

Katara shuddered for a second, but continued to freshen up. She waterbended some of the water from the bowl onto her palms, then splashed her face with it. She patted herself dry with the corner of their blanket. Aang cupped her cheek once she'd dried up.

"Look at me," he coaxed. She blinked and stared into his eyes while he did the same. His thumb gently grazed her cheekbone, pulling her lower eyelid down a bit.

"Are they still red?"

He inched closer to her face to check her other eye. She looked around the room so he could see the sclera from all sides, but it didn't matter where she looked. Aang nodded.

"Yeah, they are. Do they still ache, too?"

"Mhmm," she hummed and nodded in return. He caressed her cheek with gentle strokes a couple of times.

"At least you're still a sight for sore eyes."

He earned a giggle from her with that punny compliment.

"Aww, I'm flattered. And since you think so.."

Katara searched for one end of her white waistband and slowly unwrapped it from her middle. She put it aside on the bed, then grabbed the collar of her tunic and, with tiny wiggling movements, slipped it off her upper half.

Another shiver ran down her spine now that she was only wearing her sarashi. Her long, loose hair provided some warmth on her back until she quickly pulled the blanket back around herself.

"It's okay, I'm in no hurry," Aang assured her. He rubbed her arms while she took a couple of calming breaths and the sound of her teeth chattering quietened down.

"Brrr!"

Katara shook the last of her chills out of her system. She took a hold of either side of the blanket and put it in his palms.

"Cover me."

Aang held it up high enough to hide her near-naked form from the surroundings. This was the smallest and narrowest changing room she'd ever used.

She stripped to the waist by pulling the sarashi over her head, throwing it next to her waistband. Next, she took a hold of either side of her tunic, slipped her arms through and pulled it back on, leaving her chest slightly exposed. Just enough room for his fingers to dance around on.

Katara adjusted the edge of the blanket over her shoulders again, after which she untangled the fabric from his fingers. Once she had a firm grip on it, she laid her hands on his shoulders, forming a makeshift drape around herself.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Aang grinned at her before summoning a stream of water, which he used to lift her stethoscope off the nightstand and bring it to him.

There was a lot of basic doctor stuff he could do, and he could do it well. At least, that's how Katara thought of him as a physician. Among other things, he'd learned how to tie a sling around a broken arm and bandage up wounds, simply by observing her. Her teachings of modern medicine compensated for his lack of healing abilities.

She watched him put the earpieces into his ears and warm up the metal by blowing on it and rubbing it against his palm. He pressed the chestpiece below the collarbone on her right side to listen to her heart.

As if on cue, she coughed a moment later. Aang did his best to hide it, but the crackling inside of her made him grimace.

"How bad is it?" she whispered, a tad breathless.

"Sounds like you've just finished running a hundred laps around the island."

"That's pretty much how I feel, too."

He chuckled and moved the chestpiece to her left, hovering over the second listening point. Of all the things missing from her usual, cheerful self, at least she hadn't lost her sense of humor.

"Your heart is beating nicely."

He didn't see it, but the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. She found it comforting when he told her what he could hear in a hushed tone. She guessed it was another manner he'd picked up from all the times she'd been his doctor. Or, healer, to be exact.

Katara slouched a bit once he began listening from the middle of her chest. But the movement unintentionally made him worry that something's wrong, or that she might need to throw up again.

"Are you okay?" Aang wondered. She didn't look up and simply nodded.

"Yes. It's just, when I bend over a little, my heart falls closer to my ribcage and then you can hear it better."

"Oh.. I didn't know that."

She smiled at him as she laid a hand on his own, the one that was pressing the stethoscope against her chest.

"Well, now you do."

Mission accomplished, she'd managed to teach him something new. Katara withdrew her hand when he moved a bit southward, but she didn't break eye contact with him. Aang noticed her still smiling from the corner of his eye and he couldn't help but laugh.

"What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Nothing.. I'm just admiring how focused you look like. And, looking into your eyes helps me calm down."

"Are you sure it doesn't have the opposite effect?" he teased, leaving her with a slightly dumbfounded look on her face.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I can tell you it isn't working. Your heart's still beating pretty fast."

She pouted and huffed out a breath, which provoked another coughing fit. Aang rubbed her right side with his free hand while she turned around a bit to spit the phlegm out into the basin.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"No, no-no.." she said with a wave of her hand, then coughed once to clear her throat so she could speak normally.

"I'm fine. You can finish examining me."

Katara rested both her hands on his shoulders to pull the drape back up. He took her word for it and continued by brushing her tunic aside.

She didn't look, but she inhaled a tad sharply when she felt him press the chestpiece gently under her left breast. He'd gone through the pattern in the correct order according to her teachings, finishing with the M-point, where her heart murmured the softest rhythm into his ears. Hence the letter 'M'.

Katara averted her gaze to her bare chest while Aang looked at her face. She'd been really pale before she threw up earlier, but now the blush on her cheeks began to return. Whether she was aroused or it was just her fever showing, it was a good sign that she was feeling better at the moment.

"Do you want me to check your breathing, too?"

"Mhmm," she practically pleaded. Katara let him snake his hand against her left side and spread his fingers over her ribs. She took a couple of deep breaths so he could hear how her lung sounded, and waited until he repeated the same on her right side.

Aang grinned at her proudly while removing the earpieces from his ears.

"Good girl. You were a very obedient patient."

He tucked her chest in by pulling her tunic closer together, then leaned forward and rewarded her with a kiss on the forehead. She released a short giggle and booped his nose with her finger.

"And you make an excellent doctor, sweetie."

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and blushed a little.

"Thanks!"

"So did you hear any murmurs? Wheezing? Anything out of the ordi-"

Katara covered her mouth and looked away until she finished coughing again. Aang gave her some time to catch her breath.

"..ordinary?"

"No, not that I heard of. Unless you wanna check for yourself."

He offered the medical instrument to her, but she laid her hands over his own and slowly pushed them back.

"No, I believe you. After all, you have bigger ears than I do."

She pinched one of his ears as Aang blushed even more furiously at that comment.

"True, but I don't have the knowledge that you do."

The short fuzzy hair of his beard grazed her fingers as her hand skimmed over it and she began stroking his flushed cheek to comfort him. There was a sparkle that glinted in her otherwise tired eyes.

"You'll learn. You've been a good pupil so far."

"So, I still have hope for becoming a healer?"

Katara pursed her lips and stared at him from top to bottom.

"Mmm.. maybe not a healer, since you don't have healing abilities.. yet. But you have all the qualities of a good doctor. You're very caring.."

She rested a hand above his heart, her fingers scratching over the red fabric of his shawl.

"You have gentle hands. You don't rush your patient, and you helped her feel cosy and relaxed during the exam."

His smile grew with each compliment, just as his pride swelled in his chest.

"Aww, shucks.. Thank you, sifu healer!"

"But there's one more thing a good doctor does before his visit ends."

The airbender quirked an eyebrow.

"And what's that?"

"He prescribes medicine, or a specific kind of treatment to help the patient get better."

Katara glanced behind her shoulder and nodded towards the bottle of cough syrup on their nightstand. Aang picked up on her hint. He dropped the stethoscope on the mattress and bended a stream of water to lift up the bottle, along with a spoon next to it.

"Let's see if we can cure that nasty cough of yours."

He uncorked it and poured some of that special golden, honey-tasted syrup onto the spoon. He hesitated for a second and decided to have a tiny taste with the tip of his tongue.

"Aang, that's not meant for you!"

"Sorry, I can't help it! It tastes so sweet.. Okay, I promise, this next one's for you."

He poured some more to fill the entire spoonful this time.

"Open wide.."

She obeyed and let him feed it to her, swallowing the medicine with a loud gulp once he'd pulled the spoon out of her mouth.

"Good girl," Aang praised by running his free hand through her hair. She chuckled and laid her hand on his own, bringing it onto her warm cheek. She shut her weary eyes and let him stroke her for a minute, a content hum escaping her vocal cords.

That's when they heard someone coming up the stairs. Katara swiftly pulled one edge of the blanket over the other to cover her chest and make herself more decent. She smiled when she saw Yee-Li appear from the hallway.

"I hope I didn't come too early, but it's been almost half an hour.."

The air acolyte was carrying a tray of food in her hands, approaching them slowly in order not to spill anything. Her face lit up once she lifted her gaze from the tray to the merry couple in bed.

"Oh, Katara! It's good to see you up and about."

"I don't know about that.. I still feel pretty weak."

She released another wet cough, as if to demonstrate how sick she was. Aang held onto her shoulders while she bent over the edge of the bed and spat the phlegm out. Yee-Li knitted her brows in concern.

"I see your point. It's a good thing your husband helped me prepare this hot soup for you to help clear your airways. Where do you want me to put it?"

"Just put it on the vanity over there. We'll start eating in a minute," Aang said, pointing to the empty table with one hand while he rubbed Katara's back with the other.

"Sure! Do you need me to bring you guys anything else?" Yee-Li wondered as she dropped the tray off. The airbender had a quick look around, noting the food and water on the table, his wife's medical instruments and drugs scattered around them.

"Nah, I think we're good for now. Thanks for all the help!"

"You're welcome, Avatar Aang!" she said with a bow to him. Before leaving, she stepped over to his wife and tenderly stroked her head.

"Feel better soon, Katara!"

The waterbender giggled, but had to cover her mouth with the blanket when she started coughing again. She offered the young nun a grateful smile once she'd caught her breath.

"Thank you!"

After Yee-Li had given them some privacy, the two untangled their legs so they could move freely. Aang hopped up from the bed to go have a look at lunch.

Yee-Li had brought them two separate bowls filled with noodle soup, as well as two spoons and cups of tea. There was a single banana next to the tea. He sniffed either cup and could tell which one belonged to Katara. Everything on the tray smelled delicious.

"Okay, let's get you more comfortable," he declared as he stepped behind her. He piled a couple of pillows against the headboard, then helped her scoot backwards and lie down against the heap.

Katara watched how he fetched her ginger tea. She sat up a bit before he handed her the cup.

"Thanks!"

While she breathed on the steamy liquid and took the first couple of sips, the airbender had also grabbed her bowl and dropped the spoon inside. He perched on the edge of the bed and shifted closer to her.

"Aren't you gonna eat yours?"

"No, I wanna get some of this soup into you first. Your tummy must be really empty after, err.. spewing up last night's dinner."

Katara laid her free hand above her stomach as it growled. She agreed with a nod, then allowed him to feed her. Aang stopped and lifted the spoon straight up before he could.

"One more thing. As your doctor, I'd like you to show me your throat before you can have some soup."

She playfully rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, blowing a short raspberry to that. Her husband laughed.

"Good one, sweetie. But that's just your tongue. Open wide!"

This time, she did as he asked and let him press her tongue down a bit with the spoon.

"Is it sore?" Aang wondered in a more concerned tone, withdrawing the makeshift tongue depressor from her mouth. She shook her head.

"Nope. I would've been begging for tea a long time ago if it was."

Katara was telling the truth. Besides the fact that it didn't look red, she couldn't have sat still for so long if she had a sore throat. If she did and she was too weak to move about, she would've asked him to boil more tea. During her worst days, she could gobble down more than 20 mugs of tea in a day. 20.. whole.. mugs...

But Aang was satisfied with her answer, hence he finally began catering to her nutritional needs. He breathed on each spoonful to cool down the broth before feeding it to her, so she wouldn't burn the inside of her mouth.

"By the way, how high was my fever?" she asked while he was busy lifting more noodles onto the spoon.

"38.2, but that was before you threw up and started to have chills. We can measure it again, if you want."

Katara chewed on the noodles a little bit and swallowed before answering.

"Yeah, I do."

She placed her small tea cup on the corner of the nightstand and he laid the half-empty soup bowl next to it. Having pushed the covers off and brushing her tunic off her right side, she raised her arm a little. She gave him a sly smile, her eyes half-lidded as she watched him tuck the thermometer under there.

Aang pulled her tunic back on her bare chest and wrapped the blanket around her for extra warmth. He did feel sorry for having to stop her subtle flirting, but her well-being came first.

"Cover up, sweetie. Don't want you catching pneumonia."

Katara let out a short giggle as he tucked her in, after which she let him feed her the rest of the soup while they waited. She reached out her hands when the bowl was practically empty.

"Gimme."

Aang obliged, watching while she pressed her lips against the round edge and slurped all of the remaining broth down. She wiped at her mouth and belched.

"Sounds like someone's full. At least I won't have to hear the sounds coming from your empty stomach for a while."

"What do you mean?" Katara asked as she handed the bowl to him and he put it aside.

"I could hear your tummy rumbling when I listened to your heart from here."

He pressed his index and middle finger on the lower half of her chest, right in the middle between her breasts. That made sense, he'd been close enough to hear what was going on in her stomach.

"It was practically begging for food. You really had me worried."

Her brows furrowed similarly to his as she let him rub small circles above her belly. She rested a hand on his own and joined in.

"I just hope I can keep the soup down long enough to digest most of it."

Her husband leaned over towards the tray to grab the banana. He offered it to her, but she crinkled her nose and shoved his hand away.

"No, please. I don't think I can stomach anything sweet right now, other than cough syrup."

"Okay, but let me know if there's anything else you'd like for dessert."

"No, not right now."

She licked her lips as she watched him take a bite out of the yellow fruit. If her stomach wasn't acting up, she would've gobbled it down in one go. She offered him an apologetic smile.

"But.. thanks, sweetie. I appreciate the offer."

Aang grazed her flushed cheek with the back of his free hand while he began eating his own lunch. Once he was done with the banana, he grabbed his bowl of noodle soup and slurped the still lukewarm broth.

Katara used the opportunity to check the measurement herself. After about five minutes had passed, she pulled the thermometer out from under her arm. The silvery line reflected back when she slowly tilted it in her hands.

"Well?"

"38.0."

"Not much of a change there," the airbender claimed with a shrug of his shoulders.

She swung the thermometer in the air a couple of times to get the measurement back to a normal 36.6 degrees, so they could use it again the next time. She wasn't too happy with that result.

"I could've sworn it went down a lot more than that."

Aang pressed a hand against her clammy forehead to check.

"Katara, you have the flu, not a cold."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Oh? And since when do you know the difference between a flu and a cold?"

"You told me yourself: 'High fever equals flu, low brings a cold to you.'"

Her expression melted into a proud smile. She tickled his chin with her finger for remembering the clever rhyme she'd made up.

"Like I said, you've learned well."

The airbender looked away shyly, his grey eyes fixing on the remaining broth in his bowl. He slurped the liquid down in her manner and then gathered the dirty dishes back onto the tray.

He also grabbed the stethoscope from the mattress and took the thermometer from his wife's hand, placing her medical instruments on the nightstand to clean up their surroundings a little bit.

Katara had curled up in the meantime. She wriggled her toes, the only part of her feet that stuck out from the blanket. She didn't flinch, but she blinked and looked up when her husband laid a hand on her temple once more. He smiled at her lovingly.

"Hey.. do you wanna go take a shower? You haven't changed clothes today. It'll help you feel a little better. That is, if you feel up for it."

She shut her weary eyes and nodded into his palm.

"Mmm.. A shower does sound nice."

Aang gave her another peck on her forehead, then squatted down in front of their vanity and opened the drawer containing her clothes. He picked out a light blue tunic with the same pattern as her current one, along with a clean pair of undergarments and a sarashi.

Katara had already managed to get herself up and sitting while he arranged her changing clothes next to her on the mattress. He offered her a hand, but she refused.

"Thanks, sweetie, but I can walk by myself."

That's what she claimed, but her actions spoke louder than words. She groaned the moment she had to push her achy body up on her feet, and she nearly collapsed after her first step. Aang quickly snaked an arm around her and held onto her hand to offer some support.

"Oh, I guess not."

"You're too weak. Please, let me carry you to the shower. It's the least I could do."

Katara thought for a second longer, then gave in before her muscles could. He scooped her up in his arms bridal style and started walking towards the bathroom.

She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck to steady his balance, but it didn't help much since they fell right back down in her lap.

"You must be really tired."

"What makes you say that?"

"You don't even have the strength to hold onto me."

She let out a quiet chuckle, which turned into a cough. Her heavy noggin fell against his chest and she closed her eyes to enjoy the ride. He'd left out the comment about her slight wheezing after the mild exercise of getting up from bed.

Once they reached the shower, Aang carefully lowered her bare feet to the ground. As she stood up, his hands remained on her sides, slightly tickling her while she attempted to move closer to the stall.

He wasn't fully aware of it, but Katara was a master at holding all of the discomfort in. Every single movement was making her body scream for her to stop and just go back under the blanket. Without his presence, she would've called it quits halfway down the corridor and plopped straight back into their bed. But right now, he was her pillar of strength, literally.

She turned the tap and found enough strength to stand on her own while he slipped her sweaty tunic off her shoulders. She pulled her undergarments off and threw them in the basket of dirty clothes.

She startled a little when her husband stood behind her and slid his hands up along her sides, all while the water was already running.

"Aang, what are you doing? You're gonna get wet."

"I think you forgot that I'm a waterbender, too."

He handed her a bar of soap, orange and peach-scented, after which his hand landed back underneath her armpit to support her. Katara began untangling his fingers one by one from her other side.

"I can wash myself," she protested.

"But you can't stand for yourself. Now it's my turn to beg. Please, Katara, let me hold you."

She ceased plucking his fingers off her ribs, seeing that he planted them right back onto their original gaps. She heaved a sigh in defeat.

"Alright."

Aang smiled, gratefully. He found the courage to take another step closer to her, even though his arms were now getting soaked with the running water. He didn't care. All he cared about was taking care of her.

And to be honest, Katara also felt grateful that he didn't leave her side. She loved the way his hands skidded along her skin as she bended forward to splash her legs with the water. It tickled when she stood back up and his fingertips softly squished into the slight fat on her belly.

He gave her more room when she squatted down a bit to wash her intimate area. While she was busy rubbing the soap under her arms, Aang combed his fingers through her wet hair and down her back. She gave him a sideways glance, along with a smile. He considered it as a silent 'thank you'.

Katara didn't take too long to finish. She didn't want her flu to get worse, hence she had no intention of staying under the water any longer than she needed to.

The airbender left her standing on her own for a couple of seconds while he fetched her towel from the peg. She used the opportunity to wring the majority of the water out of her hair, and waterbend herself drier.

The sudden lack of warmth that came from the running water made her shiver. Until her husband approached her from behind and wrapped her into the fuzzy indigo towel.

"Here you go," Aang murmured as he tucked one side over the other on her chest.

"Thanks."

Katara grabbed his hand and lifted it up to her mouth, leaving a tender kiss on the light blue arrow on the back. After he'd waterbended the soapy water out of his own robes, she let him escort her back to their bedroom.

"Let's get you back into bed. Doctor's orders."

He wasn't sure whether it was her giggling, or a wave of chills that ran down her spine and made her tremble as they walked down the hallway side by side. She could've sworn his hands barely left her sides the entire time she was up on her feet.

It wasn't until they made it to the bedside that he gave her some space to dry up. Having rubbed her back, Katara let the towel fall down, using one half to pat her chest and tummy. Aang took a hold of the other half and softly stroked her back with it, as well as her backside, just in case she missed a spot.

He hung the damp towel on the corner of the bed and watched as she started dressing up in her changing clothes. He inched closer once she was wearing her underwear, and carefully pulled the rest of her loose hair out from the binding straps of her sarashi.

Katara puffed her hair and stretched her arms as she saw him grab her clean tunic from the mattress. She let him slip her hands through the sleeves, tucking it together on the front, and waited for him to tie a white waistband around her middle.

"How are you feeling?" Aang wondered. She hummed in thought, letting him finish the knot on the small of her back to keep the tunic together.

"Refreshed, not so sweaty.. but still pretty tired."

Her answer made him chuckle.

"Then the shower was a good idea," he stated proudly.

Like an exemplary gentleman, he lifted the blanket and helped his wife climb into their bed. Once Katara had settled down, Aang reached for another drawer in their vanity.

"Do you want some peace and quiet after such a tiresome morning, or are you up for playing some cards?"

He pulled out a maroon deck of cards and began shuffling them, a sly smile decorating his lips.

"Because, I'm not sure whether boredom is a fatal illness.."

Katara snorted as she began laughing a little, but she had to cover her mouth once her giggles were replaced with coughs.

"N-no-oh.. it definitely isn't fatal."

The airbender dealt five cards for both of them.

"What was the score again? Four to two, your advantage?"

Katara had felt really awful last night, so in order to cheer her up a bit and get her mind off her upset stomach, they'd started playing cards. The catch being that, whoever lost had to do something pleasant for the other.

If Aang lost, she'd get to pick a chore or something else that he had to do for her to make her feel better. Given that the score was four-two, he'd already lost quite a few times.

The first thing she'd asked him to do was bring her the pair of yellow woollen socks she'd knit for him during their first winter together as a couple. Since Aang had lost twice in a row, the next logical thing she'd requested was a relaxing foot massage to stimulate the blood flow.

If Katara lost, she'd have to eat something healthy that would help her fight against that flu. The third time didn't turn out to be a charm for her. So she was half-forced to pluck a couple of grapes from the bunch he'd brought for her from the kitchen. And she unwillingly ate them all. Of course, he'd given her lots of praise afterwards.

Katara eyed the two fire cards tucked behind her thumb. A Queen of Fire and an 8 of Fire. The element of fire was chosen to be the trump card for this game. She had four cards remaining in her hands.

Aang defended her attack with another water card, then waited for her to add another one on the table. Or, on the blanket, to be precise.

"Don't have anything else to throw down?"

She hummed in thought for a moment before her fingertips grabbed the corner of the smaller fire card. Slowly tugging at it, she decided to put it on the table. The airbender groaned and picked up the entire pile.

"Ha-ha! You were asking for it."

"Yeah, I guess I was a bit of an eager lemur."

Katara released a short cough and, keeping in mind what he'd picked up, she chose that tiny air card for her next move. Aang defended her attack with ease and since she couldn't add any more, it was his turn again.

Now she only had two cards left. The Queen of Fire and a 5 of Water. Aang played a Jack of Earth on the sheets. She had to decide whether she'd take the risk and defend it with the fire card, or pick it up right away. She went for the risk.

Katara pressed a finger to her lips as she waited for his next move. But it never came. Aang looked at his hand a second time, then shook his head and let her throw those two into the pile of used cards.

"I win! You're the fool, again!" she cheered as she threw her final card onto the table. The airbender accepted his defeat with dignity and grace.

"Okay, okay.. so what do you want me to do for you this time?" he asked while tidying up the pile into a deck. The waterbender had a look around the room, humming in thought as her eyes eventually fixed on the floor.

"Hmm.. maybe you could wash the basin and refill it with some clean water? The smell is kind of making me sick," she claimed as she pinched her nose. She wasn't too fond of having to stare at her own vomit every time her gaze dropped to the bedside.

Aang agreed with her reasoning. He stood up and lifted the basin into his hands, already making his way towards the door when Katara tugged at his cloak to stop him for a second.

"Would you take the towel back to the bathroom while you're at it? Put it up on the peg to dry."

"Hey, no fair! That's two things at once."

"Please?" she begged, tilting her head a little. He started to feel sorry for her since she seemed so poorly. He couldn't say 'no' to her slightly reddish puppy eyes.

"Oh, alright, sweetie.."

The airbender dropped the basin and swiftly spun around. He cupped her cheek and leaned down to leave a soft peck on her temple. His thumb ran over the blush on her cheek.

"But next time you lose, you gotta eat two different things at once. Okay?"

"Okay," she murmured.

Aang ran his fingers through her hair before he went to pick up the towel. He threw the damp thing over his shoulder, picked up the basin and began heading towards the bathroom.

"And maybe you can take the tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen, too?"

"Katara-aa.." he groaned from the hallway. He could hear her quiet snickering.

"Alright-alright.. you can take the tray with you the next time you lose," she shouted in return, then plopped into the bed.

Speaking of dampness, the waterbender ran a hand over her forehead, wiping off a few beads of sweat. Something that injected more contentment into her sore limbs. Her fever was going down again, even if it was by a few tenths of a degree.

Katara pushed herself closer to the edge and reached for the small rag, dipping a corner into the bowl of cold water. She softly patted her face with the wet part to cool herself.

Once she was done, she carefully put it back on the edge of the vanity, among all their other piled up stuff. She pulled the top drawer open and wriggled her fingers through the narrow gap to grab her comb.

Her hair, especially the loose half below the scrunchy, was a bit of a mess after a restless night. She removed the scrunchy and pulled the hair loopies out of the bun, letting the entire mass of locks fall freely. In hindsight, it might not have been the best idea.

There were several nasty knots near the nape of her neck, where the bun had kept everything together and neat. As she began attempting to soothe them out, the long strands from the sides and the loose hair loopies started falling in front of her eyes. She snarled a couple of times as she tried to brush them aside with the back of her hand, but to no avail.

By the time Aang returned, she looked like someone had been playing around with the octopus form.. on her hair.

"Wow, you look worse than before. What happened?"

"I tried to comb my hair, but it just kept getting more tangled up," she admitted, almost on the verge of tears. She lowered her head in shame as the airbender put the basin of clean water down on the carpet, right next to the bedside. The wavy reflection of herself only made her feel worse.

Aang perched on the edge of the bed and attempted to comfort her by stroking her head. He gave her a warm smile.

"Well, let's see if we can fix that. First, let me find your pretty little face behind these strands."

His smile grew as he brushed the loose hairs aside and revealed her flushed face. In turn, her anger dissipated as her vision became clearer with each stroke. She smiled back at him, gratefully.

"There we go. That's what I like to see. My beautiful, sick, but happy waterbender."

Katara chuckled at that. She averted her gaze shyly, letting him graze her cheek with the back of his hand a couple of times. She felt how his other hand manoeuvred past her fingers and grabbed the comb from her palm.

"Here, let me help you with that. Why don't you shuffle the cards for the next round, hm?"

"Okay," she agreed in a much calmer tone. She sat up a bit so that Aang could inch closer to her side from behind.

While her husband was busy untangling the knots in her hair, she shuffled the pack and dealt five cards for both of them. The element of water happened to be the trump card.

"Shall we play? Or do you wanna finish up back there?"

"Hold on.. just give me a second to tie this up. And then we can play."

He didn't have enough time to redo her hair loopies, so Aang fastened all of her loose hair into a wolf tail by using the scrunchy. He fluffed the thick bundle a couple of times before he stood up to sit back down opposite to her.

To his surprise, he couldn't get his eyes off her as he slowly fell onto the mattress and faced her. Katara took notice.

"What?" she asked, leaving him speechless for a second.

"Oh! Nothing, it's just.. you look beautiful when you wear your hair like that."

She patted around her head and touched the scrunchy up on the back.

"Like what? Like a wolf tail?"

A rather thick and long wolf tail, he would say.

"Yeah. You should do it more often. It makes you look fierce, like the rest of the Southern Water Tribe warriors. Maybe you could ask Sokka to borrow his helmet and uniform some time? You'd look amazing in it with this style."

Katara blushed a little bit more. Now that he put that image into her head, she couldn't get rid of it anymore. And she liked it. She looked away, a loving smile on her lips.

"Thanks!"

Aang picked up his cards, after which she regained her composure and did the same. They began playing the second round of fool for that day. And this time, the odds were in the Avatar's favour for a change.

He played the King of Air and watched how Katara defended it with a 7 of Water. He laid another king next to that one. The waterbender bit her lip and remained in thought for a couple of seconds before she defended that one with a 10 of Water.

"You got anything more?"

"Hmm.." the airbender pondered, then pulled out a card from the middle of his hand and placed it on the blanket, in the same row as the other ones. It was another king, and she didn't have anything to defend it with. She had to pick up the whole pile.

"Sorry, sweetie, but.."

Aang only had two cards left. He threw the Ace of Water on the sheets first, forcing her to pick it up as well. After that, he revealed his last card, a 3 of Fire.

"I win!"

Katara feigned a groan as she dropped her huge, losing hand in her lap.

"Well played, sweetie. You win fair and square.." she said, gathering up the rest of the cards into a neat pile.

"So I guess it's my turn to boss you around for a change."

The waterbender lifted a hand to her mouth, like she was preparing for the food wanting to come out of her stomach the wrong way. She gulped.

"What are you gonna force-feed me this time?"

"Oh, I have a few things in mind.." Aang claimed, a cheeky grin on his face as he stood up and began creating an air ball to ride down to the kitchen. Katara tugged at his cape before he could jump on the sphere.

"But nothing too sweet, okay, sweetie?"

He smiled back at her, laying a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

"I'll see what I can find."

And with that, he hopped on the air scooter and hurried downstairs.

Katara shuffled the cards around for a while, to get her mind off the fear of choking up everything she'd managed to keep down so far. She put the deck of cards away on the only empty corner of the nightstand.

The rumbling inside her stomach contradicted her thoughts. She was craving for all kinds of sweets right now. That darn organ just happened to be really picky when she was sick.

She was busy running circles above her tummy when her husband returned. He gracefully hopped off the air sphere and let it dissipate in the hallway. She eyed the medium-sized bowl and the jug in his hands.

"What's that?"

"Oatmeal with blueberries, and milk, if you want."

He perched on the edge of the bed and scooted closer to her, offering her the bowl and spoon.

"I thought that since you didn't have anything for dessert earlier, and everything that tastes too sweet makes you sick, then maybe this would be a delicious alternative."

She picked up the bowl from his hand and simply stared at its contents for a few seconds before she looked at him, begging for some encouragement.

"Just try it. I'll eat the rest if you don't wanna."

She gave him a faint smile, then lifted a small spoonful into her mouth. Both to his, and her own surprise, her face lit up.

"Mmmm!" she hummed before swallowing it.

"Do you like it?" Aang wondered, watching how she lifted a bigger spoonful this time and ate all of it. She nodded while munching on the oats.

"Mhmm! Thi-sh ish really good, sh-weetie!"

He laughed with joy and rubbed her cheek with the back of his hand.

"That's great! Now you can quit being on a dessert diet."

She giggled in return and lifted more spoonfuls to her mouth, taking the time to actually chew through the solid food and enjoy it for once.

"Now thi-sh ish the kind of dessert I can sh-tomach."

Aang felt proud. Proud that he'd managed to find something in the pantry and prepare it into a presentable and edible dish on such short notice. But more importantly, he was relieved that she was able to eat her meal without much reluctance. She really seemed to enjoy it, and he loved seeing her this way. Being happy.

He poured some milk on the oats when she asked for more, after which he put the jug away. Aang sat right next to her and urged her to scooch forward.

"Tell me if you start feeling sick, okay? I'll hold onto your hair so it won't fall in front of your mouth when you have to lean over the bedside."

She finished chewing and swallowed the mouthful to speak.

"I will. Thanks, Aang."

He carefully removed the scrunchy and let her hair fall freely again. Next, he began combing her hair into strands. Once the comb didn't get stuck in any bigger knots anymore, he could grab a thick bunch from the middle to roll it up into a bun.

Katara felt like she was being given a massage on her head. With each stroke of the teeth that ran along the right spots, a pleasurable shiver ran down her spine.

"Look this way," Aang coaxed her to tilt her head to the side. She blinked when his fingers came close to her left eye, but he styled her hair with utter care. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slip a blue bead through the thinner strand, fixing the tiny piece of jewellery up near her temple. He did the same on her right side, thus forming the two hair loopies, which he attached to the bun.

Before he could start braiding the rest of her loose hair, Katara used the opportunity to get up and put her empty bowl on the tray of dirty dishes from earlier.

"Do you need some help?"

"Nah, I'm good," she said, taking those couple of steps back to the bed. She did look stronger when she walked around, but the airbender still took her hand in his and supported her from her back as she climbed under the sheets. He joined her and welcomed her into his embrace.

"Aahh.." the waterbender sighed contentedly as she settled down between her husband's legs and rested herself against his chest. Her fever had fallen, she was wearing clean clothes, her tummy was full of yummy food. She could laze around the rest of the day for all she cared.

"Are you full?"

She answered with a loud belch.

"I take it that's a 'yes'," the airbender chuckled and rubbed her belly together with her. Katara released another hum.

"Mmm.. that dessert was so good. Thank you, sweetie."

She raised their entwined hands and brought them closer to her lips, leaving a soft peck on his tattoo. He lifted it higher to graze her flushed cheek.

"I feel as if I'm hugging a fireplace."

"What do you mean?" she mumbled while he ran his fingertips down the side of her face, tenderly stroking her temple a couple of times.

"You're so warm. I could be your thermometer."

"No offense, sweetie, but you wouldn't be the most accurate thermometer."

"I can be accurate enough. See?"

He touched her forehead to check her temperature.

"Diagnosis? Too hot."

Katara snorted and burst out in laughter, but it was soon replaced with another horrible coughing fit. She rolled onto her left side to spit the milky phlegm out into the basin.

"Feel better?"

Aang rubbed her back before she plopped back down against him. She hacked a little bit to regain her voice and get rid of the excess mucus that hadn't come out of her throat.

"Yeah. I'd feel even better if I had something to drink right about now."

The airbender obliged by waterbending some cold drinking water into her glass. Her cosy seat inched further away for a second when he had to reach for the glass, but she was rewarded with a refreshing beverage.

"Here you go."

"Thanks!"

Katara took a bigger sip and rinsed her mouth of the bad taste. She felt his cool palm land on her forehead one more time. She received a tender kiss behind her left ear after that.

"Can you sit up for a minute? I haven't finished your braid yet."

Some of her hair remained stuck between her back and his chest, but he needed more space to do the beginning of her braid.

So she finished her drink and let him put the empty glass away, then propped herself up. Aang looped his arms under hers when she groaned from the discomfort. Her legs might've been stronger, but her arms were still achy.

"Atta girl.." he praised, supporting her until she was sitting upright. The waterbender patiently sat there like that for another few minutes while he weaved the three strands over one another. He allowed her to rest against him once the braid started to take form.

She snuggled into his lap and pulled the blanket higher. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, to see how his hands fastened the scrunchy to the end of her braid. Maybe being sick occasionally wasn't so bad after all. Not if she had a doctor like Aang around to take care of her.

The newly built clock on his island chimed three times. She'd probably get to relax for another hour or two, before her fever would start plaguing her again. Or until the next time she'd feel the need to vomit again.

And then they would repeat the same routine in the evening. And the next morning, a couple of hours later around lunchtime, and again.. It sounded tedious, but she enjoyed every minute of it. To Katara, he was her best healer in the world.

#Kataangtag #Kataang #Aang #Katara #ATLA and TLOK #my fanfiction #mine #shards of Kristal

34 notes · View notes