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screambirdscreaming · 7 months ago

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This is very well articulated and true to many people's experiences, BUT with the diagnostic landscape as it stands, I think its really dangerous to assume that children who *do* get diagnosed are treated any more kindly.

Many kids who are diagnosed are not actually given words to explain their experiences. Their needs are simply dismissed as "symptoms" they have to "work on" and "get past".

Some kids are actually diagnosed with "Oppositional Defiant Disorder" - whereupon ANY need they express - even those which would be treated as reasonable from undiagnosed or neurotypical children! - is pathologized as "defiance". And yes, this diagnosis is highly racialized.

Honestly, knowing that ODD exists as a diagnosis really forces a person to challenge their perspective on what diagnosis is and means. Yes, diagnosis *can* be a tool of understanding, a way of banding together around shared struggles and generating shared language, tools, and resources. But it can also be a tool of opression and social control. And it *is*, currently for many people, a tool which is used to opress them. Even if it is also currently, in other people's experience, a tool of solidarity and support.

I think people who have experienced adult diagnosis as a relief, a breakthrough, a finding of community and tools of understanding - are sometimes prone to projecting this experience onto an imagined experience of childhood diagnosis, without looking into what childhood diagnosis actually entails.

It shouldn't be surprising, given the way children are dismissed, corralled, managed, and expected to conform to adult expectations at all times - that childhood diagnosis lacks the experience of autonomy, self-realization, and support found by those seeking diagnosis on their own terms as adults.

And it's understandable for people to say, "I wish I'd had this experience [of finding a diagnosis as an adult] as a child." But you can't just say, "I wish I'd been diagnosed as a child", and expect it to mean that - without MAKING childhood diagnosis mean something completely different than it currently does.

And I do absolutely think that it's crucial to change childhood diagnosis to mean eduction *of parents and caregivers* about the diagnosis, to mean kids are given tools and resources to express their needs and to process their experiences, to mean kids are given access to the same sort of supportive community that adults find through diagnosis.

But I actually don't think that's the first step. I think the first step is to create a cultural shift where we LISTEN TO CHILDREN WHEN THEY EXPRESS THEIR NEEDS, IN THEIR OWN WAYS, ON THEIR OWN TERMS. In general. For all children.

Where adults take seriously kids who are upset over problems adults find absurd. Where adults are willing to make accommodations that kids request even if they don't understand why it matters. Where kids aren't ridiculed or shut down for asking for things that don't make sense. Where kids who say they're in pain are treated as if they're in pain, not as if they're trying to get out of something. Where kids who say they need to sit something out are allowed to sit something out. Where adults make an effort to understand what kids are trying to communicate, even if they cant "use their words".

It turns out that having been dismissed by adults over something that really mattered to you as a kid is a near universal experience. And I'm not saying it's not *worse* for neurodivergent kids. I'm just saying that it's treated as bizarrely normalized in childcare that kids won't come to adults with really serious issues, like abuse. That they'll try to hide it. Why? Because they've learned that adults don't really understand them, and won't try to understand them. That adults don't really listen.

And it's hard, actually - as an adult working with kids, they'll come to you with a concern that seems absolutely ridiculous. Like, their classmate was bragging about how he's going to borrow his uncle's helicopter and fly to the north pole to meet santa. And THEY know santa isn't real and that the north pole is very dangerous - but they think it's absolutely credible that the kid could steal the helicopter, and they're terrified he's gonna get hurt. And you can't laugh! Not even a tiny little bit! You have to treat absolutely seriously their concern, and work it through with them. Because to them it's not ridiculous. They don't have the perspective you do, about what's real and possible and plausible and what isn't. All they'll see is that you've dismissed their real fear - and after that, why would they come to you with anything else they're scared of?

So you have to meet them where they are. You have to treat their experiences and perspectives as genuine, even when they don't make sense to you. You have to work towards understanding their reality, and what they're trying to convey to you, and what they want you to do for them in response. Even if they don't know what they want you to do! They're coming to you as an adult who will fix a problem for them, but if you fix the problem your way and it turns out that's not actually what they wanted, they *still* learn that adults don't understand them and can't help them. You have to learn to unpack all your concepts of what goes on in kids heads, and really meet them where they are. As complex individuals whose ways of thinking and being are probably totally different from your own, regardless of whether they - or you - are neurodivergent.

And this unpacking goes beyond kids. Not only do we need to take kids seriously, we need to take each other seriously. We need to build a world where people are able to understand and respect that other people are different from them without having to know Why and How. Where you don't NEED a diagnosis to be allowed to exist in a way that is different from other people.

anyway I don't mean to detract from the conversation about how alienating and destructive it is to your ability to relate to yourself, to grow up neurodivergent and having your own experiences constantly denied to you. I just think that while we're at it, we may as well address the problem at the root.

#god DAMN this got away from me.#sorry for this absurdly long reblog.#I was just going to point out that childhood diagnosis isn't actually a fix for this as it stands #Based on many and various horror stories I've heard about what childhood diagnosis is actually like #But then I kinda wanted to get into what actually worked really well for Me as a weird little kid #Which was being listened to on my own terms without diagnosis ever even coming into it #Which is actually much more robust and flexible as a principle than just unfucking diagnosis #Although that is also worth doing. Because sometimes it does help to have words to put around it #And other people to back you up and say they experience the same things you do #And they can explain it more thoroughly in better words to people who are stubborn about getting it #That's also good and important!#But the more I wrote this the more the line about diagnosis being the only way forward Bugged Me #what if we all learned to respect each other without needing to understand each other?#What if we unpacked the idea of neurotypicality so completely that no one could smugly stand by their way being the only way?#what then??#long post #antipsychiatry adjacent #<- look up “antipsychiatry” or “mad pride” if you don't get that tag #Childhood pedagogy #You thought this was a psychology post? think again. it's a pedagogy post #Everything is a pedagogy post #with thanks/apologies to the person I cribbed the santa helicopter story from. I've yet to find anything that illustrates better #the split between what's high stakes to a kid and absurd to an adult #or the way kids process what's real or not and how it can lead them to world understandings an adult would Not predict

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thatdude-noah · 10 months ago

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it's weird because. everything about my mental state is getting worse except my depression. and i don't know what to do about that!!! my intrusive thoughts are worse, my paranoia is worse, my feeling unreal is worse, but i am not sad. i emotionally feel fine. but everything in my brain is worse. i don't know what that means.

#like yeah i get sad but im not. struggling with my depression right now.#i am deeply paranoid and convinced i am going to be killed tonight!#my intrusive thoughts have made me not want to go outside because i'm scared of myself!#i keep having to look around my room and remind myself i'm real and text my girlfriend and touch things because i. do not feel real #and yet i'm. not depressed. idk.#i need a diagnosis.

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alittlebitofrainbyyourside · 1 year ago

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#the worst part of this diagnosis is this weird thing floating around in my head #that maybe I am incapable of personal growth #Or that the personal growth I do experience means nothing because the person who did the other things might still live in my head #After all- I'm sure every therapist I've ever had would agree that stopping the trauma thing was Growth.#Look! I wasn't cutting myself open to save other people anymore!#and yet the old man who lives on the mountain still lives in my head #looking back I know it makes logical sense that me at 30 is softer than me as a teen #I was living in a high trauma situation with the threat of violence all around me #and even when things weren't openly violent- it was bubbling.#I think rereading that fic even though it wasn't *about* that- not that part- just sort of reminded me of that #that I spent most of my teen years feeling like I was always one snap decision away from becoming a monster #Or maybe not becoming- maybe I always had been- maybe I always would be #I've been trying to make sense of this diagnosis- I've been trying to think of how to explain it to other people.#Especially since my experience doesn't match the One In The Media #and it's like... I was too traumatized from the ages of 0-6 to ever form a Real Person.#Now all I am is a series of Masks we understand Masks now #we understand how masking works- most people understand that they behave differently at school than home than work #But for most of you- there's a main You under the mask and for me... it didn't get to be made #I'm sure I tried #I'm sure there might be something under there so small and tiny and fragile #I was a child- I was a child- I was a child... children aren't supposed to go through that #and my little brain couldn't handle it #so it didn't. It focused on survival and survival meant Masking #I want to say- I'm not so different than you- the people who mask for other reasons #My Masks they just... yours cover half your face and mine come with a costume.#There seem to be largely two kinds of Masks. The one who my brain needed to form to be functional #Those are the masks that most of you know- the versions of me that most of you know #even if you clock the minute differences between them- their purpose was always largely the same. To Fit Into To Society #To do the Things I needed to do at the time- be it Scouts or Admin work of Childcare.#and then there are Masks that their entire purpose was to take the hit- to survive the pain- to hold the memories of all the pain.

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pesky--dust · 1 year ago

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the "diagnosis" Chilton gave Will during his trial was the one closest to the truth ("Will Graham has never been diagnosed. He won't allow anyone to test him. He has carefully constructed a persona to hide his real nature from the world. He wears it so well, even Jack Crawford couldn't see past it. (...) There is not yet a name for whatever Will Graham is.")

unlike Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, he saw what a manipulator Will was and that in front of them he played a poor, confused, wounded bird ("(...) A particularly-manipulative one at that. Poor, confused, wounded bird for Agent Crawford and Doctors Lecter and Bloom. And for me, well, I get the psychopath's triumvirate: charm, focus and ruthlessness. The charm, of course, being debateable.")

he believed Will that Hannibal may be the Chesapeake Ripper and said Jack Crawford: "Hannibal once served me tongue and made a joke about eating mine. It's hard not to at least consider it.". Jack ignored him. (I think Jack was already planning some large-scale action against Hannibal, but that's a topic for another post)

he called Dr Lecter "Hannibal the Cannibal"

he understood that Will Graham was alive because Hannibal Lecter liked him that way

criticized Jack for letting Will and Hannibal get closer to each other and then leaving Will alone ("You dangle Will Graham and now you cut bait. You are letting Hannibal have him hook, line and sinker.")

when Jack expressed hope that the relationship between Hannibal and Will was one of those friendships that ends after the disemboweling, Chilton told him: "I would argue, with these two, that's tantamount to flirtation. Will is going to lead you right to him." and let's be real, he was right.

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nuzipilled · 1 month ago

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THE GANGS ALL HERE 🗣️🔥‼️ information below the cut, “B” cast ( Doll, Lizzy, Thad) have not been included yet as they dont have a role in the main story yet. feel free to ask any questions, me and @kylelily123abc4 will do our best to answer them (:

UZI

Uzi is a 21 year old woman with an undergraduate in medical engineering, which she was coaxed into by her parents (Namely Khan). She is incredibly adept and smart and prefers the technicalities of weapons engineering, and majors in art on the side. She would like to do it full time, however her parents insist it’s not a “real job.” She volunteers at the local hospital N, V and J are relocated to from overseas so they can continue inpatient care until they are stable enough to be discharged and resume physio / psychotherapy as outpatients. She meets N during his time there and immediately clicks with him, and eventually begins to visit him on her off hours, and continues to visit him even after her contract ends. They end up establishing a relationship together and, after finding it is much less expensive commuting to school, moves in with N, V, J, Cyn and Tessa in their apartment for the semester.

She spent most of her childhood moving around and being bullied—the most significant moment having been when her first kiss was stolen by someone who only dated her because he was dared to.

Uzi is a big fan of all things anime, edgy humor, hot topic, and nightcore. she’s got the soul of an unabashed 2000s emo girl stuck in the modern day.

Private first class Nate (all his friends call him N) Is a 23 year old man who was fostered from a family in Utah alongside his sister Cyn under Tessa, another childhood friend, and the Elliot family in Melbourne Australia from the ages of 8-18. When of applicable age, he went back to the United States to enlist in the marines and live with Cyn, a former child prodigy who was scouted and given multiple scholarships due to record breaking academics and reflexes on simulator games.

He was severely traumatized during his first deployment overseas along with his other childhood friends, V, and J, after their humvee hit an IED during a routine supply run. All three were critically injured and the sole survivors of their team of 6. He, along with J and V spent a total of 12 hours alone in the desert before they were airlifted to an emergency hospital in germany, then, once stabilized, returned to the states to resume inpatient care in Salem, Oregon.

Despite his honorable discharge and severe ptsd diagnosis, N does his best to remain upbeat and positive, almost to a fault, oftentimes repressing “bad” thoughts or feelings.

He ends up meeting Uzi in the hospital and they form a relationship together, her eventually moving in and living with V, J, Him, Tessa, and Cyn in their flat after they’re discharged from the hospital.

Sergeant Jane (Only preferring J when around close friends) is a 26 year old trans woman who was fostered from an immigrant afghan family under Tessa, another childhood friend, and the Elliot family in Melbourne Australia from the ages of 4-18, having realized she was a woman very early in life. She began socially transitioning at 12, and began HRT as soon as she aged out of the system. She was the first to be involved with the Elliots and was pushed to enlist in the australian military, quickly moving up the ranks to sergeant and was eventually posted in the united states to assist in training other cadets. She was severely traumatized during her second deployment overseas along with her other childhood friends, V, and N after their humvee hit an IED during a routine supply run. All three were critically injured and the sole survivors of their team of 6. she, along with J and V spent a total of 12 hours alone in the desert before they were airlifted to an emergency hospital in germany, then, once stabilized, returned to the states to resume inpatient care in Salem, Oregon.

Having been their squad leader, J often blames herself for the incident, even if she doesn’t talk about it or say anything out loud. J is an ass kisser. She will do anything and everything to succeed and has a Holier Than Thou personality, often very uptight and not about any bullshit. Her relationship with N specifically is horrible, and she harbours lots of jealousy and resentment from their time growing up due to favoritism.

She has a long standing, massive crush on Tessa Elliot, her longtime confidant and friend, though it went unrequited for their entire childhood and into their early adult life, J often being subject to Tessa’s dating endeavours and crushes in the meantime.

Lance Corporal Victoria, (Who prefers to go by V present day) 4-18 who was fostered from a family in Vermont under Tessa, another childhood friend, and the Elliot family in Melbourne Australia from the ages of 8-18. She enlisted in the military alongside J and eventually N, and was transferred to the states to assist in training procedures for new cadets with J.

She was decommissioned during her second deployment overseas along with N and J after their humvee hit an IED during a routine supply run. All three were critically injured and the sole survivors of their team of 6. She took the brunt of the blast, sustaining the most severe wounds and was airlifted to an emergency hospital in germany, then, once stabilized, returned to the states to resume inpatient care in Salem, Oregon.

The doctors operating on her told her she would never walk again--V proved that wrong by walking the next week. It was a miracle—however V simply states it was due to “having that dog in her.”

She is very resilient, but is often grumpy with a dry sense of tone and humor. She used to have feelings for N when they were kids, but it's since faded as they grew and disappeared during their time in active duty. Though despite this, she still cares for him as a friend, even if she rarely shows it.

She is the first to be discharged, having been set up in an apartment downtown by Tessa, who lives with her and eventually is joined by N, J, Cyn, and eventually Uzi. She is a gym rat with a heavy workout regimen that she will make everyone else's problem if its interrupted.

CYN

Cynthia (Who ONLY goes by Cyn present day) is N's little sister. She is still in active duty in the military air-force. She was a child savant who graduated highschool at 14 and college at 18, moving on to become one of the best UAV operators in history, with successful missions reaching into the hundreds. Cyn is autistic and physically disabled, having been born with cerebral palsy, and uses forearm crutches as mobility aids--but make no mistake, she is incredibly intuitive and adept. often knock-kneed and walks with an awkward gate, and speaks with very ‘robotic’ mannerisms. She sometimes struggles to show empathy in a ‘socially normal way’ or have a conversational filter. She has a very dark sense of humor as well, that for those not used to her may find jarring or off putting. Cyn hates being referred to as a child or incompetent because of her appearance or her disability, she will even go to an extent to prove the point that she does not need assistance. Tends to be protective of N, to a lesser but still protective of V and J and much later down the line Uzi becomes a close friend of hers.

In her off time she enjoys painting warhammer figurines, collecting cards and playing video games. She has a very kitsch, macabre sense of interest, often owning eclectic, odd knick knacks and memorabilia, namely a taxidermied wombat she’s affectionately named “Suzie.”

TESSA

Dr Tessa James Elliot is a very talented surgeon working out of a public hospital in Brisbane, Australia, descending from a very rich family. She is N, V and J’s childhood friend and frequently travels to different parts of the world to assist in surgeries or specialist care. Tessa paused all of her work when she learned of their incident overseas, flying to America to personally attend to their care–with some bribery and finagling due to HIPPA not allowing biased treatment. She just cares too much to not do anything. Tessa is a joyful, social butterfly. Excellent bedside manner and a good sense of humor but sometimes comes off as socially awkward. She is J’s lifelong crush despite not being aware of it, having spent some time dating around but nobody ever seems to be the right fit. She often complains about her recent dating endeavors to J much to her chagrin.

Tessa is, for the lack of a better word, weird. Think Cyn with a little more charisma, often not having a conversational filter or saying things out of the blue. She is not disturbed by otherwise off putting things like death, bodily fluids, nudity, gore etc, and has a bit of a dark sense of humor that she portrays very upbeat and positively. She is incredibly smart and adept bookwise, however socially she comes up a bit short.

there is an alternative version of these guys however it is 18+ for nudity. you can see it on bluesky here and twitter here

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #serial designation v #serial designation j #md cyn #tessa md #tessa james elliot #murder drones doll #md doll #md lizzy #md thad #murder drones fanart #nuzi #human au #md fanfic #my stuff

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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The Bucket List || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: Life changes in the blink of an eye with a diagnosis and you are forced to face your mortality with the help of Charles Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, implied smut, grief, implied character death.

WC: 5.8k

Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

The winter break was meant to be a time for Charles to relax but one simple act had put an end to those plans. It had been a little joke between lovers while you were getting dressed. Charles had seen an opportunity and taken it, cradling the swell of your breast in his palm and giving it a quick squeeze.

“Honk, honk!”

You gasped at the sudden pain that flared and rubbed at the aching area. Charles was immediately sorry, apologising profusely as he brushed your hand aside and massaged it gently for you.

“It’s ok, Cha, this one’s been a bit tender lately.”

“What do you mean?” His concern was palpable and his hand flattened so the palm was pressing into your flesh. You couldn’t hide the wince at the spot he touched and he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

“What?!” You stepped away and grabbed your breast, almost immediately feeling what he felt as your heart began to hammer hard in your chest. “It’s probably nothing, boobs are lumpy all the time.”

“Yeah…” he murmured distractedly. “We should probably check just to be sure. Right?”

You tried to nod casually but it was too hurried. “I mean, just to be sure.”

Everything moved quickly after that. The exhaustion was no longer jet lag. The low red blood count was no longer anaemia. The lump was no longer just fatty tissue.

“What happens now?”

You looked at your boyfriend, but his eyes were fixed on the doctor who had been explaining the test results. Charles had done all of the talking while you sat in a state of shock. You didn’t even feel like you were inside your own body but floating somewhere in the room and watching from outside.

“We could take a biopsy to be certain but the tests so far are quite conclusive and I wouldn’t recommend waiting. We could fit you in to remove the tumour in the next couple of days and have you home for Christmas.”

You knew this already. He had spoken about removing the lump. You couldn’t bring yourself to call it a tumour because, benign or malignant, it made it too real. Removing the lump was the extreme simplification of what he really meant. Mastectomy. Double to be precise. The risk was too great to leave the other breast untreated, apparently.

“We’ll take the surgery as soon as possible.”

You blinked at Charles, waiting to see if he would even look in your direction before making such a decision but his chin was resting on the tip of his steepled fingers. He leaned forwards, digging his elbows into his knees as he always did when he was deep in thought.

“No,” you rasped. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Charles replied without even looking at you. He had hardly looked your way since the first appointment a week ago.

“I’ll give you two some time to talk,” Doctor Hall said softly as he rose from his chair and left the room, the click of the door closing too loud in the heavy silence.

“It’s my body, Charles,” you whispered, your throat too hoarse to manage anything louder.

“I know that, but this is your life we are talking about.”

“We don’t even know for certain that it’s…that it’s…”

“It’s cancer,” he said with a sigh, “not saying it doesn’t change the test results.”

Your eyes burned, your tear ducts working overtime all week. The harsh lines on Charles’ face softened as he saw them well on your waterline before spilling over. Pulling you into his lap, he cradled your head to his chest as you ruined yet another one of his shirts with your makeup and tears.

“Mon amour, we will get through this but we have to trust the doctors.”

“I won’t have boobs,” you whispered as your voice broke.

Charles curled his finger under your chin and tipped it back as he searched your eyes for the answer. He found what he was looking for and dropped his forehead to yours with a shake of his head. “You will still be the most beautiful woman in the world. And I need you in the world, mon amour, do you understand that? I need you to fight this.”

A few days turned out to be just one after the oncology department received a large, anonymous donation. The private room in the hospital was filled with bouquets from friends and family, their floral scents were almost able to erase the tart smell of bleach. You still felt numb to the entire experience and Charles watched on with concern as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

Your reflection was the same, yet it wasn’t. Permanent marker pen lined the skin that would soon be permanently marred. The outlines accentuated what would be taken from you and you turned to your side profile, trying to imagine waking up without the pieces of your body Charles had loved.

“The surgeon said there are options, if it’s really that important to you,” Charles said as he pushed off the doorway he had leaned against and walked into the room. “But you don’t have to think about that now.”

You let him drape the surgical gown over your arms and they fell limp at your side while he tied the bows to keep your modesty. “Come and lay down with me,” he murmured as he took your hand and led you to the bed. You hadn’t been sleeping well, neither of you had.

It was narrow but Charles made space for you to lay in his arms with his chest pressed to your back. Monaco was alive outside the window you faced but the sounds didn’t reach you. Instead of watching the cars on their journeys you turned your eyes up to the cloudless sky and spotted the gulls that danced in the salt air.

“I lo-.”

Charles’ chest shuddered with the breath he took before he kissed your temple and whispered, “Don’t.”

“I need to tell you.”

“We promised, not until you wake up.”

“But what if I-”

“Don’t,” Charles begged, a wet drop falling into your hair. “Please.”

A knock sounded at the door but you kept your eyes firmly only the white feathers of the bird that landed on your windowsill outside. Charles pressed his lips to your temple once more before releasing you from his hold and climbing off the bed.

“I’ll be right there when you wake up, mon amour.”

“I…I’ll see you soon.”

He smiled sadly as you caught yourself from saying what you wanted to say, that sad smile remaining while your bed was wheeled away. You craned your neck as you were taken further down the hall, wanting to memorise the way he looked in case it was the last time you had the chance.

As promised, you woke up bleary eyed and groggy to those gold and green eyes, his hands holding yours tenderly as he sat beside your bed.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted as his smile brightened your day. It was a true smile, one you hadn’t seen for over a week, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed the dimples in his cheeks. “I love you.”

You felt drunk as the anaesthesia still circulated your body and you were sure you slurred the words you had been banned from telling him before. “I love you.”

You dozed in and out of consciousness until the pain relief began to wear off and breathing itself hurt. The bandages across your chest irritated your skin and the stitches pulled with every little movement. Charles noticed it all.

“I’ll see if they can give you anything for the pain.”

You caught his hand before he could leave and winced as the IV line in your hand tugged uncomfortably. “I’m hungry.”

Charles chuckled, knowing you would be after eating nothing before the surgery, and cradled your cheek gently. “Maman’s on her way with your favourites. I’ll be right back, baby.”

Charles arrived back with a large bag of hot dishes from your favourite restaurants around the city and the promise that the nurse would bring some medicine around soon.

“We’ll have someone come and move you up to the ward shortly,” the kind nurse said after she had given you another dose of pain relief. “You’ll be able to see your visitors there.”

You thanked her since you knew your parents would have been waiting with Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo too. Charles had been keeping them updated since you woke up and his phone was constantly going off with notifications from your friends.

“How are you feeling?”

You placed your fork down into the empty bowl and Charles whisked it off your lap and tidied up the rubbish with the need to keep himself busy. “I don’t know,” you admitted as your head began to clear from the anaesthesia. “Two weeks ago we were partying in Baku and now we’re here. I still don’t know how this even happened. What if they made a mistake? This was all done so quickly.”

Charles carefully tucked the sheet back around your body after helping you to lie back down. “Mon amour, this is one of the best hospitals, they wouldn’t have done this unless it was the right decision for your health.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t know how to feel anything right now, except confusion.” You took his hand as he sat back into the chair beside your bed and kissed his knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Me?” His brows pinched together as if he hadn’t been thinking for himself, and he really hadn’t. All of his thoughts and feelings had been focused on you. “I’m relieved, I suppose. You are here, I get to kiss you and hold your hand. That is good.”

You smiled at the hope in his voice. “I don’t remember a kiss.”

“Ah,” he hummed with a nod as he leaned closer until his lips were so close you could feel the heat of them as he whispered, “This one.”

You were warned that day two would be the hardest. The hard drugs had worn off and what you were supplied with took away the dull throbbing ache when you were stationary but did nothing to prevent the sharp pain of moving.

Charles had just lifted you back into bed after helping you go to the bathroom when the surgeon arrived with a forlorn look on his face. Immediately you felt the air leave the room.

Doctor Hall started with the good news, that the surgery went as planned with minimal bleeding from the tissue removal, but then there was a pause. Your fingers tightened around Charles hand as the doctor flipped the piece of paper on his clipboard over and clicked the end of his pen.

“When we began the removal of the tumour we found that the shape wasn’t exactly as we expected from the ultrasound.” He drew an oval shape on the paper before adding webs spindling off in all directions and pointing to them. “We removed as many of the tentacles as we could find but they are invasive and so we would like to start chemotherapy as soon as you have recovered from the operation.”

Charles' knee shook the bed as it bounced nervously. “Chemo?”

“Does this mean it is definitely c-cancer?” you stumbled over the word as you said it aloud for the first time.

The doctor nodded. “We were quite sure before but pathology confirmed it with the sample we sent.”

“What about Christmas?” you asked. “Can I still go home for Christmas?”

The doctor nodded again and you exhaled in relief. Christmas had been organised to be held at your house for months and it would give you a chance to do something normal after your life had been thrown off the rails. You needed this Christmas.

“We will schedule you in for after New Years, but you wouldn’t want to delay it much further than that.”

“Thank you,” Charles choked out for the both of you as you fell silent and he left. “What are you thinking so hard about, beautiful?”

“The menu. It needs to be special. And I want to invite everyone.”

“What, slow down, what are you talking about?”

“Christmas, Cha, I need to start planning now.”

Charles knew you were deflecting, pouring yourself into a future task so you didn’t have to think about the present. You had already gone through enough, so he bit his tongue and took a second to clear the thoughts he wanted to voice. Instead, he asked, “who, exactly, is everyone?”

“Slow down, you’re meant to be relaxing,” Charles warned as you rushed around the house for a last minute tidy up. “Don’t hurt yourself, baby, let me help.”

“I love you, but please leave this to me. I know where everything is.”

“I do too,” he exclaimed, falling silent when you picked up a remote that had stopped working. You had asked him to get the batteries for it the night before, but he hadn’t been able to find them.

“Second drawer in the kitchen,” you said as you tossed it to him and folded the blanket you snuggled under with him every night. “But you knew that right.”

He sent you a charming smile as he backed out of the room. “Of course, honey.”

You chuckled at his retreating figure. “Thought so.”

You had just finished lighting the scented candles around the house when the front door opened and Arthur breezed into the living room.

“Merry Christmas, ma chére. Shouldn’t you have your feet up?” he tutted as he kissed your cheeks, careful not to hug you since your chest still hurt.

“Merry Christmas, Tuthur.” His smile lifted at the old nickname and it only grew as you said, “You know how well your brother cooks. Be glad I don’t have my feet up.”

Everyone arrived steadily after Arthur and as the night grew colder every seat in the living room was taken by your guests. You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas as you sat on Charles lap and listened to Joris recount how he had spent the winter break so far.

You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas, but it wasn’t.

You were self-conscious in a way you never were before. The dresses you had loved so much were now something you couldn’t bear to wear as it accentuated the changes in your body. You had taken one shopping trip with Pascale so you could buy some presents but by the time you had got home there was a photo circulating the F1 WAG pages. The comments had nearly made you sick as they compared your flat chest to that of a young boy, or joked that the championship wasn’t the only thing that was lost at the end of the season.

You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out but you doubted they would feel any remorse, anyone who could say such things through a keyboard didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel guilt.

When midnight came and went, so too did the guests. Tipsy and jolly, they said their goodbyes and well wishes until the house fell quiet except for the music playing softly from the speakers. Charles pulled you into his arms and gently rocked you side to side as you laid your head on his chest. “Merry Christmas, mon amour. I didn’t know what to get you this year, so I was absolutely selfish and got this.”

Charles stepped out of your embrace as he dropped to one knee and held a ring out. Similarly designed to his mother’s, the ring was timeless and elegant with a large princess cut diamond. “Will you make me the happiest man and marry me?”

You had waited years for the question but the answer that fell from your lips went against every fibre of your being. Your hands covered your mouth but there was no silencing the words as they hung in the air. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Confusion slapped Charles’ pink cheeks and he swallowed twice before his voice could work again. “Why not?”

“You know why,” you whispered.

“No, I don’t.”

“Because I’m sick, and I don’t want to make plans if I’m not going to be there to…I just don’t think now is the right time.” You took the ring from his fingers and sighed with longing. “It’s beautiful, Char.”

“Hold on to it for me,” he said as he stood up and closed your hand around it. “When you beat this, I’ll be waiting, mon amour, however long it takes. I’ll wait for you.”

You held the ring tight as you closed the distance and put all the words and emotion you couldn’t articulate into a kiss, deepening it until you were breathless and needy. “Come to bed,” you breathed against his lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He looked pained by the very idea, or maybe it was the weeks of celibacy after your surgery.

Lacing your fingers together, you took a step towards the stairs and gently tugged him to follow. “You could never hurt me.”

The moment had been weeks in the making as the chemotherapy took its toll on you. For days after the treatment you had been ill and Charles had been at your side with a bowl ready for when you emptied the contents of your stomach. Then your muscles ached and you could barely hold your own weight up to walk. Just when you thought the worst had come to pass you felt the first strands come loose.

“Hello, my dear,” Pascale answered your call, only to be met with a hiccup. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“M-my hair,” you stammered as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Charles had been out shopping but you saw his face appear behind you as you turned to show him what filled your gripped fist. “It’s my hair.”

“I’ll be over shortly, just let me lock up the shop,” Pascale soothed before ending the call.

“I just brushed it,” you hiccuped as you touched your hair again, more of it floating to the tile floor. “It won’t stop.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured as he took your hand and brushed the hair from your palm. “Maman will know what to do. We’ll get through this like we have everything else, together.”

Pascale promised she could have a wig made for you if you wanted one but it was already late in the evening and you knew she was exhausted from working all day. You did however accept her offer to shave the rest of your head so at least the patches of missing hair didn’t stand out as much. Charles had sat with you in the bathroom and held your hand the entire time before asking his mother to shave his next.

“No, I love your hair,” you argued as he pulled his shirt over his head to save it from getting covered in the short dark strands.

“I told you we are doing this together,” he replied as he kissed your knuckles and nodded to his mum to proceed.

It took a while to get used to the smooth feel of skin on your head but you came to prefer it to the wig that Pascale crafted, somehow finding hair that was almost the exact same shade and texture to your natural hair. The moment you got home from any outing you would pull the wig off with a grateful moan just as you used to do with your bra.

“Are you going to be alright? Maman said she can come and stay with you.” Charles sat on his suitcase so he could zip it closed before looking up to where you sat in bed with a book on your lap. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “It’s only for two nights.”

His team had let him get away with having one extra night at home before going to Bahrain for the 2024 pre-season testing, but it was still too long away from you in his eyes. You would have been with him but you were due some follow up tests.

“You’ll be so busy you won’t even have time to miss me,” you teased, spurring him to climb onto the bed and cage you beneath him.

“I miss you every second we are apart.”

You recognised the number calling your cell phone because you still had nightmares from the last time they rang. A pit of dread was already opening in your gut as you hovered your finger over the green button. You debated not answering the call but if you didn’t answer it then he would try Charles’ number next - and he needed to focus on driving.

You wished you never answered the call.

You had been quiet the entire drive from the airport to the hotel Charles was staying at. He wasn’t one to push you to talk before you were ready but he was certainly worried when he reached across the gearbox and placed his hand on your lap. He spared a glance to you as he gently squeezed your thigh but still you didn’t react, or take his hand, or even blink.

You didn’t remember the walk from the car to the hotel room. You were busy thinking about how you were going to break Charles’ heart, something you had never imagined you would have a hand in. You never wanted to hurt him, you loved him more than life itself, a life that was going to be shorter than you had once thought.

Charles stood quietly in the doorway to the bedroom, your suitcase still in his hand. He watched as you pulled your wig off for the first time since leaving Monaco and listened as you sighed heavily. His feet only carried him closer when you pulled a piece of paper from your pocket and held it out silently.

“What’s this?” Charles asked as he unfolded the note you had written on the plane. You had almost 10 hours to think of everything you wanted to do while you could and his eyes scanned over the list. “Baby, what is this?”

“It’s my bucket list.”

“A bucket list?”

“It’s a list of what I want to do before I die.”

“I know what a bucket list is!” He took a breath and ran his hand over the fuzz that had grown back on his scalp before lowering his voice as he shook the paper. “Why am I holding yours?”

His green eyes blurred with tears as you bit your lip and looked at your feet. He was already shaking his head in denial, wet droplets soaking into the list.

“My results came back…”

“Non, non, baby, non…”

“I’m sorry, Charles,” you choked as he fell to his knees and let the paper fall to the floor. His arms encircled your hips and you cradled the back of his head to your stomach as he cried against you. You finally let your own tears fall, the tears you had held back since you received the news. “I’m so sorry.”

Charles missed testing the next morning as he held you in his arms. The tears had long run out but the sadness still remained. He had laid with you all night as close as your bodies would allow and together you had seen the sunrise over the desert. He had listened to you quietly recount the doctor’s words but most of it made no sense to him.

Metastasized. Stage four. Terminal. The information ruined him.

“How long?” he finally asked. He looked at the paper that was still on the bedroom floor before clearing his throat and trying again. “How long do we have?”

You didn’t know if answering him would help or not but he was waiting for an answer as you rolled over to face him. The last three months had taken a toll on him and dark circles rimmed his eyes and they no longer held the same brightness. They were only going to dim more at the news. “Six months, maybe a year.”

He was silent, but you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Emotions warred behind his eyes before he climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

You hated the silence but the screaming was worse. The painful wail echoed around the room and you felt it shatter something deep in your chest, before something shattered in the bathroom.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you held yourself together while Charles fell apart.

You weren’t sure how long he screamed at the universe, how many times he asked it why, what he had done to deserve to lose someone else he loved. You weren’t sure how long it took him to clean the blood from his fist and wash his face of the tears before he unlocked the door and slipped back into the bed.

“Whatever you want, mon amour,” he promised as he unclenched your hands and curled his body around yours. “Anything you want to do, we’ll do it. We’ll do it all together.”

You stood at the edge of the lookout and smiled at Charles as he took the photo, another one for the memory box you were making together. Charles kept his promise, taking you everywhere around the world with him to tick off the items on your bucket list.

You had watched him win his home race for the first time and gone to a couples cooking class.

You visited all the Disneyland Theme Parks you hadn’t been to before: the Tokyo one when he raced in Suzuka, the Chinese one when he raced in Shanghai and the Floridian one when he raced in Miami.

Charles had taken you to Iceland to camp under the northern lights and to Pamukkale in Turkey where the blue waters were meant to work miracles. It hadn’t cured the illness that ravaged your body but each activity you crossed off cured some of the sadness in your soul.

“It’s bigger than I imagined,” Charles commented as he looked up at Christ the Redeemer. “What size shoes do you think he wears?”

“Well you know what they say about big feet.”

Charles’ head fell back with a laugh. “You cannot say that about Jesus.”

You fluttered your eyelashes innocently as he stepped closer to take a photo of you together. “I was going to say he wears big socks, get your head out of the gutter.”

“Of course you were, mon amour.” Charles’ lips curled up in amusement and you relished the way his eyes crinkled before you rose onto your toes so you could kiss him before the smile faded.

The flash of his camera captured the moment and you reluctantly pulled away as the sun began to set on another day spent living. The days were getting tiresome, your energy flagging as the medication changed from treating the illness to managing the pain. You had read enough to know that time was running out.

“We should get going, don’t want to miss our flight to Vegas.”

“About that…” he trailed off as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it in your hand. “I made a list of my own.”

Marry the woman of my dreams.

“I can only do it with you by my side.”

—

Pascale had created a beautiful headpiece for your wedding but when it came time to leave you hadn’t been able to place it on your head. A year ago you had only dreamt of the day you married Charles and in all those imagined scenes you had your hair styled up like she had crafted on the wig with pearl pins and a delicate tiara. But a lot had changed in a year, you had changed.

“Oh, sweetheart, you look beautiful,” she said as she wiped her eyes. Your own mother was speechless as she pulled you into her arms and held you tight.

“I’m going to ruin my makeup if you two don’t stop crying.”

“Honey, let her go,” your dad said softly as he placed a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

Your throat felt as if it were closing and for a second you held on tighter before you both opened your arms. “I love you,” you said to them all as you looked at the proud but sad smiles on their faces. “Thank you for making this possible, for both of us.”

Your father grabbed the wheelchair you had been using, the exhaustion sometimes too much for you to handle, but you shook your head. “I’m going to marry him on my own two feet.”

You knew Charles had a lot of help organising the wedding because there was no way he could have done it on his own. The entire paddock had come to a standstill at the end of Media Day and you found yourself walking down a makeshift aisle on the grid to the starting lights.

Hundreds of friends joined your families on the track and you had no doubt that Charles had flown them all there at his own expense.

“When you said married in Vegas, I thought you meant the White Chapel,” you whispered with a giggle.

Charles' smile grew at the sound and he took your hands in his. “That’s something tacky Pierre would do.”

“Hey,” the groomsman objected beside Charles. “Elvis isn’t tacky. Focus on your own wedding, mate.”

You laughed at the exchange before Lorenzo cleared his throat and your eyes widened as you realised he was the celebrant. “Is this legal?”

“The online certificate I got says so,” he said with a wink. “But if you’ve changed your mind I can skip the legal bits.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “No way, I’m not going to miss having you as a brother-in-law.”

“And I thought we were here because you wanted to marry me,” Charles joked. He had waited so long to marry you but now that the moment was here he was in no rush for it to end. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, where you were lighthearted and smiling. Where you weren’t lost in thought but present in the moment, with him.

“I do,” you said with a grin before peeking back at his older brother. “Does that count, can I kiss him now?”

Lorenzo wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not quite, shall we get started?”

Charles could hardly keep still with his excitement. “Ready, baby?”

You reached into a hidden pocket in the dress and pulled out the engagement ring he proposed at Christmas with. Slipping it into your finger, you gave him a serious nod. “Now I am.”

—

“Good morning, Mrs Leclerc.”

You smiled as Charles kissed your shoulder blade and rolled you over to face him. He had already showered and dressed for the day before climbing back into bed with you and you peeked at the clock to see he would almost be late.

“You should be at the track already,” you hummed between the sweet kisses he peppered across your skin.

“Wasn’t going to miss watching you wake up as my beautiful wife for the first time.” His smile wavered as he kissed your forehead before pressing the back of his hand to it. “How are you feeling?”

“A little tired, but last night was worth the lack of sleep.”

He smirked and traced your lips longingly with his eyes. “Definitely worth it. But you don’t feel hot or cold?”

“Focus on FP1, Cha,” you said with a little push for him to get out of bed. “You’re going to be late.”

He playfully nipped your collarbone before getting off the bed and blowing you a kiss. “Rest up, mon amour, I’ll come back between the practices.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, more than the moon and the stars.”

“Hopeless romantic.”

“Love of my life. Fire in my loins. The apple of my-“

“Go away!” You tossed a pillow at him before falling back into the warm blankets with a laugh that turned to a yawn. “Profess your love to someone else and let me sleep.”

“Never,” he chuckled quietly as he watched your chest rise and fall into a steady rhythm. “It will only be you.”

Your health deteriorated rapidly after Vegas and your doctor urged you to return to Monaco, but you weren’t ready to leave just yet. There was only one thing left on your bucket list and it was within your grasp. Charles and Max were neck and neck in the championship but you had faith your husband would triumph in the end. So instead of heading home you remained by his side in Qatar and Abu Dhabi, letting him hire a medical team as a trade off for ignoring your doctor's advice.

It wasn’t just the season coming to an end and you could both feel it as Charles prepared for the final race. You didn’t have the strength to go to the track and see him start from pole, the prime position for the championship deciding race. You barely had the strength to stay awake for the whole race but you fought against the heaviness in your body and scanned the screens that had been brought into your room.

Pride made you heart light as you watched the world through Charles’ eyes. The onboard camera was clear ahead, all his competitors in his rear view, and as the laps passed by his lead grew wider. Charles was flying and he was taking you with him.

Charles took a seat on the centre podium as confetti rained down and fireworks exploded overhead. He wiped the sweat and champagne from his face before reaching into his race suit and grabbing the pen and paper he had tucked away.

Putting a strike through the last line he held it up triumphantly to the camera. “We did it, mon amour, we did it.”

You smiled as if he would see it and closed your eyes as you lost the battle. “I’m ready to go home now.”

The Bucket List:

Sleep under the northern lights

Swim with sharks

Skinny dip (not with sharks)

See Christ the Redeemer

Bowl a strike

Go to every Disneyland once

Ride an elephant

Go to India for the colour festival

Win an escape room

Learn to whistle

Have a mud bath

Teach Charles to cook

Watch the Grand National horse race

Get a tattoo

Learn to use chopsticks

Throw beads at Mardi Gras

Have my palm read

Try absinthe

Ride a luge

Go to a rage room

Join the mile high club

Catch a fish

Make a will

Bathe in healing waters

Charles Leclerc - World Champion

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