#medical equipment for seniors

[maximmedicalsuppliesstore]

Dallas’ Medical Equipments and Supplies Store | Maxim Medical Supplies

[gillespiehireandsales]

Gillespie's Hire and Sales Service is a trusted medical equipment supplier in Sydney. We have been catering to the diverse needs of aged care, rehabilitation, surgical and sports injury patients with a wide range of products and extraordinary services since 1963.

[sayruq]

The US military has completed its 500th flight airlifting over 50,000 tons of weapons and equipment to the Israeli army for its over ten-month onslaught against Palestinians in Gaza, the Israeli Defense Ministry announced on 26 August. In addition to the weapons and equipment airlifted to Israel since 7 October, Washington has sent Tel Aviv 107 shipments of military supplies by sea. A Defense Ministry statement said the shipments include “armored vehicles, munitions, ammunition, personal protection gear, and medical equipment, which are crucial for sustaining the IDF’s operational capabilities during the ongoing war.” The weapons shipments – that have enabled Israel to kill over 40,000 Palestinians, mostly women and children, and render Gaza uninhabitable – come as White House officials claim that US presidential candidate and current Vice President Kamala Harris has been “working tirelessly” for a ceasefire agreement. Muhammad Shehada of EuroMed Human Rights reported on 25 August that, according to multiple senior officials in Doha who were directly involved in the Israel–Gaza ceasefire talks, “There are currently no negotiations, only a sham theatre play.”

[ms-demeanor]

I've been following what's been going on with Belphie the kitten and his person, Greer Stothers, has just mentioned pet insurance in a tag on a post and I wanted to give an example from my life backing up why pet insurance can be a good idea and why I think it is worthwhile.

Two years ago my sister's dog had bloat while she was on vacation. The kennel he was staying at recognized symptoms and called my sister to clear them to take him to the emergency vet. My sister is very financially secure and this dog is an enormous part of her life, so she said yes with barely a moment of hesitation. That ended up being about twelve thousand dollars of emergency surgery.

Large Bastard and I got pet insurance for Tiny Bastard the same week because we realized that if someone had presented that option to us, we would have had no choice but to have Tiny Bastard put down, and we didn't want to be put in that position.

I did a lot of research about different kinds of pet insurance and different levels of coverage and annual maximums and deductibles and so on and so forth. Tiny Bastard is a senior dog, so this was going to be expensive no matter what options we went with, so I chose a moderately priced plan with a $500 annual deductible, unlimited annual coverage, that pays 80% of the bills incurred annually below the maximum. What that means is that we pay the first $500 of care totally out of pocket, after which point we are reimbursed 80% of any vet bills for care covered by the plan.

The first year we had this plan I was kind of iffy about it. It's a noticeable monthly expense and we didn't even spend the deductible in vet bills the first year. Except that a month before the policy was set to renew, Tiny Bastard got diagnosed with diabetes. We now have monthly insulin costs and syringe costs; there are tests she has to have regularly to monitor her overall condition and we need to do more frequent vet visits to track symptoms.

Suddenly the insulin alone means that the insurance is break-even within six months and the additional visits and tests are something we can afford instead of something we'd have to put on credit.

Our plan (through ManyPets) covers medication, surgery, diagnostics, medical equipment, and euthanasia and cremation. It doesn't cover pre-existing conditions, joint conditions for dogs who were signed up over a certain age, dental care, spay/neuter, vaccinations, or prescription food but honestly all of that makes me just kind of wish we'd signed her up earlier - her knee problems *would* be covered if we'd had her signed up as a puppy, and the monthly cost would have been lower if we'd signed her up then. And there are at least a few emergency vet bills that I wouldn't still be paying off on my credit card. Hell, I've probably paid more in interest on some bruising she got in a fight three years ago than I have for this policy as a whole.

I am glad that Greer is able to take care of Belphie. I am glad that my sister was able to take care of her dog. But I'm also really, really glad that for a relatively low cost, I would be able to take care of Tiny Bastard if she were catastrophically injured, or if she needed emergency surgery. I'm glad that I'm able to take care of her now with her medications and her additional vet visits.

There are a lot of people who say that pet insurance isn't worth it, especially not for young animals. But if your young animal gets very sick, or gets badly injured, or eats a hairband and needs an emergency endoscopy, then it will probably be VERY worth it. It's a risk/reward question. You feel like you're wasting money if you're paying for a policy that you never use, but honestly that just means you're lucky to have a healthy pet.

I'm lucky that Tiny Bastard was relatively healthy before I got the insurance; I'm also lucky that she was insured when she was diagnosed with a chronic illness that will need lifelong care. This enables me to provide care for her that would otherwise be financially unmanageable, and that makes the insurance *extremely worth it* from my perspective.

And Belphie is a good example of why it's a good idea to get coverage even for very young pets. Greer is recommending it because this kitten has required a tremendous amount of care during a period in his life when it's generally taken for granted that a cat will be healthy. (And Greer is not stupid for forgoing pet insurance - pet insurance is still a relatively new concept and there are lots of people who are leery of it for a number of good reasons)

So I'd say that if you've got a pet or are getting a pet it is very worthwhile to find a pet insurance plan that fits in your budget. There are a variety of plans out there and some are very inexpensive. Check coverage levels (you can even get some with wellness plans that include dental care and vaccinations) and see if there's something that works for you.

I personally don't think I'm ever going to own another pet without having pet insurance. It's ridiculous how much easier it is for me to say yes to diagnostic tests or different treatments than it was before because I know I'm going to be able to fit Tiny Bastard's care into our budget.

[naamahdarling]

Maybe it isn't that I actually hate medical professionals? They just suck and are weird sometimes, and a lot of them shouldn't be practicing, but I don't hate them as a group, like, personally.

What I hate is their ability to make my life harder in ways that are often completely opaque to me, and a lot of the crap things they do are not really possible to challenge. And I hate the fact that holding them responsible fort dogshit behavior in any way that will actually benefit me is almost always impossible.

And I also hate the fact that they have to do stupid things sometimes because that's how the system is set up, and those things sometimes mean patients actually get harmed. They aren't fond of that part either! They don't want the system to be the way it is! But they don't have a choice, so sometimes people like me get forced by bureaucracy into doing things that are re-traumatizing. And I can't imagine that feels good for them at all, knowing that their patients are sometimes only "consenting" because that bureaucracy will not let them be helped in any other way. Which isn't consent at all. I imagine that must be pretty traumatizing for them, too, sometimes.

If it were easier to actually access medical care without tremendous delays in this country right now I would have much less trouble finding providers who are good at what they do and are not horrible people, and who have clinic staff who can do their fucking job.

Oh and I also don't appreciate how evasive and unwilling to commit they are out of fear of being held to an answer that turns out to be inaccurate, but I can't make an informed decision about my own care unless they give me at least some information about probabilities and trajectories and typicalities. Genuinely, how the fuck am I supposed to navigate that shit. I get that some patients are really fucking difficult, but I should be able to get a special stamp on my file or something that says I understand that sometimes medicine isn't an exact science and the best answers that my doctors can give may not always prove to be accurate in the long term. I know they don't like being in that situation either.

A lot of medical professionals are fucking assholes, and unfortunately the ones who are not are still hamstrung by a system set up to actively prevent people from getting care.

I miss my old doctor. He gave no shits about anything that wasn't the patient. He prescribed scheduled meds based on what the patient needed and not based on fear of consequences potentially being imposed on him by the punitive patient-hostile drugs-are-bad moral panic machine developed to force suffering people into buying more dangerous drugs off the street in order to prevent far fewer people from maybe getting high off of drugs that at least weren't laced with lethal substances. (The purpose of a system is what it does.) Did he get sanctioned and become locally unhireable? Unfortunately yes he did. Does he now provide concierge care to rich people? Yes he does. He found a way to make it work, God bless him.

Everything about the medical system in this country is fucked. Hospitals, doctors, nurses, pharmacies, pharmacists, pharmacy techs, phlebotomists, clinic administrative staff, insurance companies, medical schools and schooling, licensing boards, drug advertising to both providers and patients, pharmaceutical reps, researchers, research, publishing, medical trials, pharmaceutical companies, manufacturers and distributors, medical equipment, charting software, billing and billing codes, diagnostic criteria, charity and low income services, accessible transportation, home care, the lack of independent individual patient advocates, dietitians and nutritionists, access to physical and occupational therapy and physical and occupational therapists, the massive bigotry of every kind rampant in every corner of the medical field, social work, senior care and assisted living, deprioritization of informed consent and harm reduction, disability applications, inaccessibility of medical records, especially psychiatric notes which are specifically allowed to be withheld from patients, lack of continuity of care for disadvantaged people, care that is equitably accessible to disabled people, telemedicine, patient portals, phone systems, clinic hours, every single aspect of inpatient and outpatient psychiatry, facility security, all sorts of things going on with therapists who are nevertheless probably the least malicious group of people in this entire charade, aaaaaand patients themselves.

Also hospital toilets that are too tall and make it literally physically impossible for me to poop while I'm there waiting for somebody to come out of surgery. I just needed to take a crap, guys. You didn't need to make the toilets so tall that my feet didn't even touch the floor. It is very clean but there is no shitting for short people at St Francis.

[peppermintquartz]

☑️ I voted early!!

Crash

Even though they joke about a lot of things, neither of them ever joked about Tommy crashing. It is an unspoken rule between them that sprang up organically: Tommy needs to put all thoughts of potential accidents out of his mind so he won't be distracted by "what-ifs" while flying, and Buck is terrified of it actually happening, because he won't know how he'll respond.

Today he learns how he responds to a helicopter crash which has Tommy on board:

He obeys Bobby's injunction to stay back

He runs as fast as he can delivering tools and equipment

He fights the fire engulfing the chopper

He does not speak

He does not look at Eddie, Hen and Chimney extricating the crash victims from the broken bushes and tree branches

He does not feel his extremities

He grips Bobby's hands when the three medics call out that they've lost the pulse

He falls to his knees when they get the pulse back

Tommy was senior pilot and a new member to the 217 A Shift was flying the craft. They both survive the crash, because she was able to bring it down low enough for them to jump out of it once it was clear something had gone wrong with the rotors.

But Tommy is the one who ends up with a stick the diameter of his thumb impaling right through his abdomen, along with two broken legs and a bad concussion. The doctors are worried about swelling in the brain.

Buck finds himself alternating between anxiety over Tommy's condition and fury at the chopper manufacturers LAFD bought the bird from. He outsources the fury to Tommy's captain and to Bobby, who both go digging through a network of contacts with the higher-ups. The anxiety he keeps for himself, not leaving Tommy's bedside other than when he needs the restroom.

Not that his and Tommy's friends don't keep him company when they can. Not that Maddie doesn't make him have at least one hot meal a day and that he goes home every two days to shower and shave and maybe take a nap on a proper bed.

They shave part of Tommy's head to drain fluids. They tell Buck that Tommy will be okay. Somehow Tommy's dad finds out and he even comes to the hospital, and the screaming match he gets into with Buck requires six male nurses to intervene. Buck is listed as emergency contact and he also has power of attorney. He tells the hospital in no uncertain terms that Charles Kinard is not allowed anywhere near Tommy Kinard.

It takes twenty four days since he's brought in for Tommy's fingers to twitch in Buck's hand, and those twitches become a weak grip, and eyes that have been closed flutter open briefly. It takes six cycles of this before Tommy says his first word since the crash, which is (to no one's surprise) "Ev'n."

Hearing Tommy's voice, Buck cries for the first time in twenty-four days. Then he kisses Tommy's forehead and says, "Welcome home."

--

Vote & prompt

[munson-blurbs]

Chapter 1: Got the News Today, Doctor Said I Had to Stay

Collaboration with the fabulous @corroded-hellfire

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: When you're stuck in the hospital after the Hawkins "earthquake," you're surprised to find comfort in your new roommate, Eddie Munson. But when you find out that your injuries may compromise your dreams, the cheery façade threatens to come crashing down.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, controlled use of pain medication

WC: 3.9k

A/N: There will be six chapters to this series, one for each Jonas Brothers album. Try to spot the Easter eggs we've planted throughout!

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“I said, get this murderer out of my room!” A shrill voice from across the hall startles you from your sleep. The digital clock on the bedside table reads 7:05, but you can’t be sure if it’s morning or evening. The bright lights of Hawkins General Hospital have your internal clock all jumbled, and the constant barrage of nurses checking on you certainly doesn’t help. 

“He should be locked up in prison or rotting on death row, not using precious resources that could be used on law-abiding citizens!” the shrieking woman continues, and you grimace as your head throbs. It seems like the pain never ceases; it only travels around your body. You’ve been here for two days, and you have more questions than answers. 

There’s quiet for a few moments before the door to your room swings open and a second bed is being wheeled in, more IV lines hooked up to the poor patient than you’ve got going on. A nurse pulls the curtain separating the two sides of the room before you can get a look at whoever is lying in the bed. 

“Well, that was a record,” a male voice says from the other side of the curtain. “How long before that one freaked out? Six minutes?”

No one answers the man, but you can hear nurses and orderlies setting up any equipment the patient would need. 

“Don’t blame them,” a woman eventually mumbles, moving a machine over. “Kid killed a cheerleader and then fled the scene. I wouldn’t wanna bunk with him, either.”

A new pair of footsteps joins the crowded room, but this time it’s just your nurse, Mandy, coming in to check on you. She’s a pretty blonde woman, and though she’s usually smiling, her lips are puckered into a pout. 

“I know this is far from ideal,” she says softly, checking your vitals and marking notes on her chart, “but we’ll have people in here making sure nothing happens, okay?”

“I think she’s pretty harmless, just loud,” you lightly joke, assuming that Mandy’s referring to the banshee across the hall. “Worst thing she’ll do is trigger a migraine.”

She shakes her head. “No, hon. I’m talking about your, uh, new roommate. Edward Munson.”

Well, that explains the whole murderer outburst. Still, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Eddie? I went to school with him. Guy couldn’t even be bothered to turn in his part of a group project; I highly doubt he could pull off a murder.” You’d think he would have had something done, considering it was his second time taking O’Donnell’s senior English class, but he’d shown up empty-handed, leaving his poor partner scrambling at the last minute. 

Mandy nods, looking a little relieved herself. Maybe the thought of her having to be his nurse had been eating at her. 

“Is he awake?” you ask. You can only assume he’s not, because the Eddie Munson you remembered would never have been quiet for this long. 

“Sleeping,” Mandy says. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Um.” You wrinkle up your nose as you think, a sharp pain taking that moment to shoot down your leg. “When can I get some more pain medication? And food?” 

Going through the papers in your chart, Mandy’s eyes scan lines of writing until she comes to the answer she needs. “You’ve got about forty-five minutes until I can give you your next dose. Luckily, dinner should be here quicker than that.” 

“Okay,” you say with a sigh, sinking back against your pillows. 

After another round of pain meds, you’re able to drift off into a light sleep. You don’t have dreams on the medication; you’re simply floating in a haze of pinks and purples. Perhaps the dreamlessness is a good thing, considering the memories buried deep inside your unconscious mind. Your roommate is not so fortunate. 

“No! Stop!” Eddie whimpers from the bed next to you, startling you from your sleep. You can see through the translucent curtain that he’s trying to thrash, but his injuries limit his movements. “Henderson, help me! Get me out of here!” 

“Hey,” you whisper, but when he cries out again, you raise your voice slightly. “Eddie, wake up!” 

“I won’t run away, didn’t run away, gotta save Chrissy,” he mumbles, still trapped in his nightmare. “Don’t let me die. Don’t wan’ die.” The urgency in his tone falters, and you realize that he’s crying. 

“Eddie, you’re alive!” you call out to him, wishing you had the strength to walk to him and shake him awake. “You survived the earthquake, okay? But you gotta wake up!”

You watch as he jolts up involuntarily, groaning loudly as pain blooms throughout his torso. “Fuck,” he moans, clutching his ribs with one arm. “Wha—where am I? Oh, shit.” He lays back down as the realization sets in. He tries to choke back a sob, inadvertently sending himself into a coughing fit. 

“Here,” you call out to him, grabbing the cup of water on your bedside table. “Can you open the curtain and reach?”

Eddie’s able to yank back the cloth fabric, but neither of you can move close enough for him to grasp onto the cup. The two of you are confined to hospital beds, arms outstretched pathetically just to pass a glass of water. The scene is so absurd that you have to laugh. 

“You think—cough—this is—cough—funny?” Eddie asks, but his grin indicates that he also finds it amusing. “I survived the Up—earthquake, and—cough—now I’m gonna die from—cough—lack of water?”

“‘M sorry,” you manage between peals of laughter. “I’m just imagining how ridiculous we’d look to someone passing by.”

Eddie uses his last bit of strength to lunge, finally securing the cup and guzzling down the water. “Thanks, um…” He cranes his neck to see your name written on the whiteboard above your bed. “Oh, shit! Did we go to high school together?”

You nod. “We did. I graduated last year. We had Mrs. O’Donnell’s English class together.”

He wrinkles his nose at the mention of his least favorite teacher. “Ugh, yeah. I mean, not ugh that we had a class together; ugh at O’Donnell,” he blabbers. “And an extra ugh for me having to take that class again this year.”

“I thought a certain metalhead was missing from graduation,” you tease. 

“Aw, you noticed?” Eddie’s smirk makes you laugh, the pain meds probably adding to your bubbly mood. 

“Well, no one caused a commotion or flipped off old man Higgins, so yeah,” you say. “And there was a distinct lack of Black Sabbath blaring through the parking lot.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Gotta stay inspired, y’know? I don’t want to be one of those musicians who has someone write their shit for them. It makes it less real, or whatever.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “You write all of Corroded Coffin’s music?” you ask incredulously.

Eddie nods. “Well, me and the rest of the guys—wait,” he pauses, eyes narrowing with suspicion, “you know the name of my band?”

“Mhm,” you pick at the itchy wool blanket draped over your legs. “You played at the middle school talent show. I was in seventh grade, so you must’ve been in eighth.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit; he just studies your face until a huge grin forms from cheek to cheek. “You’re the dancer!” he exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You did that routine with the, um, the fancy shoes…” 

“Pointe shoes,” you giggle. “Yeah, people weren’t too impressed. Apparently a twelve-year-old flailing on stage to Swan Lake was not the hit I’d thought it’s be.” 

“Flailing?” Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, you were amazing. Don’t tell my friends, but I, uh, secretly wanted you to win.”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you.” He matches your surprised tone, making you laugh again. “I thought it was totally badass, getting up there and doing ballet when all the other girls were jumping around to Blondie.”

“Don’t knock Debbie Harry,” you warn him teasingly, poking your forefinger in his direction. “She is an icon, and you will show her some respect.”

Eddie brings a hand to his heart. “My deepest apologies, to both you and Ms. Harry.” He flashes another sweet smile that could melt an iceberg. “But I really did want you to win. I’ve always rooted for the underdog.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” And you do. It’s nice to know that someone besides your parents believed in you. 

“You, uh, you still dance?” Eddie asks abruptly. 

“Yup,” you tell him, sitting up a bit straighter. “It’s actually what I go to school for.”

“Good,” Eddie muses, averting his gaze from your side of the room. “You were too talented to give that up.”

You’re about to respond when there’s a knock on the door and you see an orderly walk in with a food tray. You drop your head back on your pillow, humming your happiness. The orderly sets your table within your reach before placing your tray on it. Before the man can even step out the door to grab Eddie’s food, you’re inhaling the soup you’ve been given. You’re distantly aware as Eddie gets his food, but you’re busy trying to figure out what type of soup it is. Is that potato in it? 

A groan from the other side of the curtain has you looking in Eddie’s direction as you swallow a mouthful of soup.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” Eddie says, clearly lying.

“If we’re going to be roommates, we’re going to have to learn to be honest with one another.”

He huffs a laugh as he clangs his silverware together. “S’just that it’s gonna sound ridiculously stupid after what everyone has been through.”

“Humor me,” you say before ladling another spoonful of soup in your mouth.

“Fine,” Eddie says with a sigh. “I got green Jell-O. I hate that shit.” 

Your eyes lock on your own Jell-O, bright red where it sits next to your piece of bread and cup of water. “How do you feel about red?”

“Much better,” Eddie says, tearing off a piece of his own bread and shoving it into his mouth.

“Wanna trade?” you offer.

“Y’don’t have to do that,” he says through his full mouth.

“Nah, come on,” you say. “Besides, green’s my favorite color.” 

Eddie looks over at you, a skeptical look on his face as he chews. But you pick up your sealed cup of Jell-O and toss it over to him. Smiling, he throws the green in return, which you manage to catch.

“Thanks,” he says. You hum in acknowledgment as you tear off the foil lid. 

There’s a beat of silence as you both eat what Hawkins General considers dessert. “I don’t know how you like the green one,” Eddie pipes up. 

You shrug. “Jell-O is Jell-O,” you say nonchalantly, taking a big spoonful to emphasize your point. 

“Nuh uh,” Eddie shakes his head, wincing at the twinge of pain it causes. “Cherry is the superior flavor, and everyone knows it.” He slurps it obnoxiously, making you roll your eyes. 

“Geez, how does Chrissy put up with you?” Your tone is light and joking, so you’re taken aback by the darkness that takes over his face. “What?”

“How do you know about Chrissy?” he asks, voice barely audible. 

Your face heats up; you’d forgotten that he didn’t know you’d heard him talking in his sleep. “Um, you said something about saving her when you were having that nightmare,” you admit, softening when you realize how vulnerable he is. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No, she isn’t—wasn’t,” he amends. “She was the girl who died in my trailer. But I…I didn’t kill her, I swear.” Eddie looks over at you with misty eyes. “I can’t tell you what happened, but you have to believe me.”

You hold his gaze. “I believe you,” you murmur, quiet but assured. 

The two of you go back to your food, plastic utensils scraping styrofoam bowls, until Eddie speaks up again. “You…you said I talked about Chrissy in my sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“What else did I say?” He looks ambivalent, like he’s unsure if he wants to know what his subconscious mind churned up. 

You think back for a moment. “You asked someone for help, and then you said you didn’t want to, um…you didn’t want to die.” Your eyes flit over to his side of the room, but he’s practically boring a hole in his Jell-O cup with how intently he’s staring at it. 

“Did you tell me to wake up? That I survived?” He finally allows himself to make eye contact with you, a trace of a smile dancing on his lips. 

“Yeah—I can never remember if you’re supposed to let the nightmare end naturally, but you seemed really upset.” You gnaw on your lower lip anxiously. 

Eddie rests his head on the pillow. “God, this is gonna sound corny as hell,” he starts, chuckling to himself, “but when you did that, it was like…I saw brightness, y’know? Not like, Eddie, come into the light,” he drops his voice an octave and wiggles his fingers, making you giggle, “but like the sun was coming out from behind the clouds. Does that make sense?”

You nod, watching him exhale in relief. 

“Guess you’re my sunshine then, huh?” He gives you a shy smile that you easily return, trying to push down the spark of electricity that seems to flow between you. 

“Hey, how about this?” Eddie asks as he lands on a channel. Your eyes feel like they’re going to roll back in your head when you see a NASCAR race on tiny television.

“Absolutely not,” you answer. 

“Aw, come on,” Eddie says, shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s an American pastime.”

“It’s one big left turn, is what it is,” you shout. “Toss me the remote?” Eddie chuckles and goes to throw it your way before you wince and add, “Watch the leg!”

He’s careful to avoid the area as he sends it your way, but his eyes drift down the blanket at the mention of your limb. “Is that why you’re in here?”

“No, I’ve always wanted to vacation here,” you reply, maintaining a deadpan expression. 

“I hear the eleventh floor is just wonderful this time of year,” Eddie throws back, feigning a posh British accent. Terribly, you might add. “How bad is it?” he presses, motioning towards your leg. 

“Dunno yet,” you answer honestly. “They took some x-rays and did a bunch of scans; now I’m just waiting for the doctor. They’re probably just overwhelmed.”

Eddie nods. “Nothing like a good, old-fashioned earthquake to shake things up.” He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to react to his pun. Nothing. “Oh, c’mon! That was a good one!”

“You’re a comedic genius, Eddie Munson,” you joke, and he flips you off, nearly snagging the IV tube pinching his skin. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll probably be in a cast for six weeks, maybe have to do some physical therapy. This isn’t my first broken bone.” 

“How do you do that?” Eddie muses. 

“Do what?” 

“Be so…positive,” he explains sheepishly. “I mean, you could be all bitter or anxious, but you’re calm, cool, and collected.” He fiddles with his fingers, frowning as though something is missing. “You really are a ray of sunshine, huh?”

“That’s me.” Truthfully, you’re worried that this could be more than just a run-of-the-mill break, but you don’t let that fear seep through. Instead, you aim the remote at the tiny TV in the corner of the room, settling on a soap opera rerun. It’s not what you’d usually watch, but you’re determined to get your revenge for his NASCAR escapades earlier. 

To your chagrin, Eddie’s enthralled with the on-screen drama. “Oh, shit!” He rubs his hands together. “Is this the one where Shelby sleeps with Theo and his identical twin brother, Mark?” He chuckles at the bemused look on your face. “I got hooked on this show when I was home with the flu last year,” he confesses, though he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed. 

“Eddie Munson, secret soap opera aficionado?” You waggle your eyebrows. “Scandalous. What will your fans think?”

“I am what I am, Sunshine.” He sits up a little straighter as a woman with big hair and even bigger breasts shoves ultrasound photos at an impossibly handsome man. “No fuckin’ way!” Eddie gasps. “She’s knocked up!”

“How did you not see that coming? It’s like the oldest trick in the book!” you ask incredulously. “Now she has to figure out which brother is the dad.”

Eddie’s beautiful brown eyes widen in shock. “But they’re identical! How’s she gonna do that?”

“Guess you’ll just have to watch and find out!” you chirp, giggling as he lets out an impatient sigh. 

“Mr. Munson?” a nurse calls from the doorway, pushing an empty wheelchair. “We’re ready to run your tests. Just have to transfer you to the chair.” She pats the back of it, trying to keep some level of professionalism, but you can tell that she’s nervous being around an alleged murderer. She holds out her hand to help Eddie out of bed, and he shoots you a tight grin. 

“I’m goin’ commando under here, Sunshine,” he warns you. “Look away. This show ain’t free.”

You cover your eyes dramatically as he plops into the chair, grunting and groaning the whole way down. “Is it safe?”

“You’re good,” Eddie reassures you as the nurse starts to wheel him out of the room. “Hey, let me know who the father is when I get back. My money’s on Theo.”

You narrow your eyes. “How much money?”

“Hmm,” Eddie taps his chin with his forefinger, pretending to be deep in thought. “It won’t be as much as usual, since I already bought a beach house and a Jaguar this year…$3,000 sound good?”

You give him a little salute, turning your attention back to the show. Settling in against the pillows, you get immersed in the show yourself, rooting for some characters, and wanting some to get stabbed in the backs like they deserve. Just as it comes back to Shelby’s storyline, your doctor walks in, a tight smile on his lips. 

“What’s the news, Dr. Sanoj?”

“Well,” he says, looking down at the chart in his hands. “Like we suspected, it’s your femur. It was crushed pretty badly. It’s going to need a few pins in it, which will require some surgery.” 

Letting a deep sigh fall from your lips, you nod your head. “Okay. Was kind of expecting that.” 

“Now, we won’t know for sure until we get in there and take a look at things, but there’s a chance you’ll need a mobility aid to help you get around.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brows pinching in confusion. “Like crutches?”

“Crutches are one type of aid, yes. But they range in variety. It’s things like wheelchairs, walkers, canes. But this will be a better discussion for once we see how the surgery turns out,” Dr. Sanoj says.

“Would I need to use one forever?” The sympathetic look that softens your doctor’s face lets you know he heard the trepidation in your voice. “Will I be able to dance again?”

“Like I said,” Dr. Sanoj says, “this discussion is best for once the surgery is done.”

You nod your head, knowing you probably won’t be able to get any further information on the subject out of him. “When will I have the surgery?”

“Scheduling is going to work that out and they should let you know by the end of the day. You can expect to be here the days following the surgery, but you shouldn’t be cooped up in these hospital walls for too much longer. You’ll get there, you’ll see. One day at a time.” 

“Thank you, Doctor.” 

A funk has taken over you once Dr. Sanoj leaves the room. A mobility aid? Could you dance with one of those? Surgery and recovery you planned on, but the goal was always to get you back in the dance studio, and needing a device to help you simply get around was not what you had been expecting. 

Allowing yourself to stew in your own self pity for a few moments, you realize you’ve missed the big reveal on which brother is the father of Shelby’s baby. You’ll have to tell Eddie that. Explain the doctor came in and you were talking to him. But, you think to yourself, Eddie doesn’t need to know just what rough shape your leg is in. He calls you his sunshine, doesn’t he? That would just bring some gray clouds that he did not need in his life. He’s got a lot going on and is going to need to keep his spirits up. That’ll be easier for you to do if you pretend like everything is rainbows and lollipops. 

The door opens and Eddie is wheeled back inside, groaning in pain as he holds a hand over his ribs. 

“Right here with the pain medicine,” Nurse Mandy says, stepping in behind him. 

“Oh, please be mine,” Eddie says, watching the bundle in Mandy’s hands like a hawk. “Sorry roomie, I think I need it more than you do right now.”

“S’all yours,” you tell him.

Mandy sets a bag of IV fluid up as the transporter helps Eddie get back in bed. His face is pale, and you’ve learned that comes when agonizing pain is ripping through you. 

“Okay, Mr. Munson. Should start hitting you at any minute now,” Mandy says. 

“Thanks,” Eddie says, letting his eyes drift closed. He stays that way after both the nurse and the transporter leave the room. You think he’s fallen asleep until he speaks again. “So, which brother was it?”

“Ah, sorry, Eddie,” you say. “Doc came in and I was talking with him, so I think I missed it.”

“Good news?” Eddie’s opened his eyes and turns his head to look at you, genuine concern written across his face. 

For a moment, you contemplate spilling everything: the surgery, the mobility aid, the possibility of never dancing again. But you shove it deep down, determined to keep your cheery disposition that he so desperately needs. “Y-Yeah, everything’s looking ship-shape.” Ship-shape? You’re a terrible liar, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Thas’ good shit.” From the dreamy quality his voice is taking in, you can tell the pain meds are starting to take effect. 

“How’re you feeling?” you ask.

“Sore as hell from how they had to maneuver me for x-rays. But I feel the medicine kicking in.” A smile comes to his face and you can tell the giddiness of the high is hitting him. “Time for me to fly.”

You giggle and turn your attention back to the television. A game show is on now, so you snuggle in to play along. The contestant is getting an obvious puzzle wrong and it makes you roll your eyes. You’re about to say something to Eddie about it, but then his soft snores reach your ears. Turning your head to look at him, you notice how peaceful he looks. All you can do is pray he stays that way and isn’t plagued by any other nightmares. 

Sunshine, he calls you. It’s the nicest nickname you’ve ever been given. You’re hoping you can keep that bright and optimistic attitude up enough to help him out when the clouds come rolling in. It’s not a one-way street, though. Eddie is going to be your light, your breath of fresh air, your optimism. You just don’t know it yet.

--

[theangrycomet-art]

TFA: Inferno, the firetruck that totally has nothing bad happen to him. ^u^

Probably....

say hi to antagony everybody

Random Notes:

Great War Vet (search & rescue, partnered with Red Alert and Novastar)

the only bot rumored to have made the medic full out laugh

despite his status as a noncombatant, he managed to regularly get into “scuffles” when retrieving soldiers from behind enemy lines

forged from the same protoform mold as OP, though he is slightly taller. (Inferno had a servo extension to better equip his S&R and Fire Fighting equipment in his Alt Mode)

Status Report: MIA. Last recorded activity was Inferno reporting receiving a distress beacon during a training mission with two new recruits, Tagger and QuickStrike. Despite being sent back to Cybertron while the senior bot investigated, reports indicate they disobeyed orders and followed him anyways. All three bot’s whereabouts are unknown and their signatures have yet to be detected in any known quadrants.

he needs an accent color to contrast the oranges but I love this design over all

COMMISSIONS OPEN

Rough Sketches and Ramblings Below

I gotta figure out how to draw the more monstrous bots/predacons

I'm gonna be honest, I prefer G1 Inferno over BeastWars Inferno overall, so I'm probably not gonna go with it-

But there is a large pile of enticing angst with predacon!Inferno path with how everyone’s relationship dynamics play out in my head.

Eh- I'll figure out a way to have my cake and eat it too.

[in1-nutshell]

Hi!

Can I please request for a platonic buddy that is always following lost light Ratchet around trying to become an apprentice so he get annoyed asking buddy to stop but then one day after a battle Ratched doesn't see buddy until he finds them injured in a storage room.

Buddy just trying their best to show Ratchet their skills.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy trying to be Ratchet's apprentice

SFW, Platonic, Mention of injury, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Ratchet had gotten used being viewed as a mentor figure or father figure throughout his lifetime.

It seemed to happen every couple of years or so.

But no bot had gotten such a… strong reaction.

Buddy was one of the newest additions to the crew after making a stop on Cybertron.

They were fresh from passing their nursing exam and ready to work.

It wasn’t Buddy’s seemingly unlimited optimism that bothered him.

They were realistic on the grimmer situations of life but tried to view the brighter side of things.

Buddy trying to get Tailgate to sit still: “C’mon Tailgate! One more checkup and your good to go!” Tailgate: “But is this one really necessary? I feel fine.” Buddy: “But that would mean you’d have to tell Cyclonus. Wouldn’t you like to give the news to Cyclonus that you are 100% healthy yourself? I think he’d really like that.” Tailgate sits on the med slab: “Do it.”

Ratchet could respect that.

It wasn’t their habit of trying to get everything organized in the med bay.

That was not only crucial, but a habit even he tended to lose every now and then.

Ratchet and First Aid walking into the med bay. They turn on the lights to see Buddy in the corner with several tools in their servos. Ratchet flinches a bit while First Aid jumps a bit. Ratchet: “Kid? What are you doing here in the dark?” Buddy: “Germs produce faster in light. I’m making sure these tools are properly sterilized.” First Aid: “We have a machine for that…” Buddy: “I know.” First Aid: “… Are you going to use it?” Buddy: “Nope. Now, if you don’t mind turning off the lights?” Ratchet: “… Our personal tools are clean and ready to use at a moment’s notice?” Buddy smiles and points to the tools neatly arranged in their place. Buddy: “Even alphabetized them.”

No. it wasn’t that.

It was their increased chattering that rivaled Swerve’s own chattering.

It was a bit endearing at first since most of it reminded him of the younger days when some bots used to shadow him and ask him questions.

One of the more common questions they asked was how he felt about them becoming his apprentice.

Ratchet never gave an answer to that question.

But after a couple of days the chatter began to become more and more annoying.

It was one particular day that Ratchet had gotten into a nasty spat with Drift, he snapped as soon as Buddy got on his nerve.

He nearly tore them a new one if it weren’t for First Aid, Ambulon and Velocity trying to calm him down and let Buddy slip out of the med bay.

It took a couple of hours before he calmed down and started feeling a bit bad for tearing a new one in Buddy.

But he felt like in a way it was a bit necessary, so he didn’t apologize.

Buddy on the other hand felt awful.

They had no idea Ratchet hated them talking so much.

They felt like they needed to make it up to Ratchet in some way.

They knew that the talking so much wasn’t going to go in one day.

That was unrealistic and they liked talking.

No matter how much they looked up to the senior medic, they weren’t going to give that up for him or anyone.

Instead, they thought about getting him something.

An apology gift and to stop mentioning the apprenticeship.

It was the least they could do.

The day of the incident the Lost Light had welcomed the Scavengers.

The rag tag group had decided to visit the ship again.

Spinister spots Buddy and walks up to them. Spinister: “You’re Buddy, right?” Buddy looks at the bot and smiles: “That’s me!” Spinister: “Our ship ran out of some medical equipment. Do you mind sparing—” Buddy: “You don’t need to explain, follow me!” Buddy grabs Spinister’s servo. The mech nearly grabs his blaster with the other but refrains. Spinister: “You’re a perky one, aren’t you?” Buddy just flashes him a smile as they continue to walk down the hall. CCCRRREEEAAAKKKKK!!!!!! GGGRRROOOOAAANNNNN!!!! The ship suddenly stopped and lurched forward, sending both bots into one of the storage units. The doors lock from the outside, not even bugging with Spinister ramming his shoulder into it or blasting it. Spinister hears blaster exchange outside the door. Spinister: “Blasted door! I—” Buddy: “Spinister…?” Spinister turns to see Buddy pinned by one of the columns in the room. The column covered half of their frame. They looked scared once the sight of a familiar pink hue began spreading. Spinster: “…Scrap. Why does the storage unit even have columns?!” Buddy: “I don’t know! I think someone bought them last planetary visit!

As it turned out the ship had been attacked by space pirates again.

It was a whole team effort to get the pirates off the ship.

Once the battle was done, was when the Scavenger’s noticed that Spinister was missing.

Soon enough the crew noticed they were also a medic short.

Ratchet was in the search party with some of the Scavengers when they heard the yelling.

After finally unlocking the door, the group wasn’t ready for Spinister to kick down the unlocked door.

He began yelling at them to get them both to the med bay before Buddy ran out of anymore energon.

Spinister and Buddy were treated for their wounds.

Ratchet gives a quiet apolody to Buddy, who immediately accepts and makes their apology.

It’s after a few more days of them being at their 100% that they suddenly get an opening for an apprenticeship with Ratchet.

They pounce at the opportunity immediately.

Ratchet doesn’t regret giving them the chance.

The only thing he regretted later on, was them bringing the Scavengers with them to Swerve’s during game night.

No one knows what exactly happened to Buddy and Spinister from their time in the storage room, but now they make an unstoppable team in Earth board games.

[panimoonchild]

Life goes on for the world, but for Ukrainians, it never will be the same

On this day in 1987, Taras Brus, a soldier of the Ministry of Internal Affairs battalion "Dnipro-1", was born. He was killed on 29.08.2014 during the exit from Ilovaisk. Posthumously, Taras was awarded the Order "For Courage of the III degree" and the "People's Hero of Ukraine". The parents and brother are left.

He was a participant of Euromaidan, then a volunteer in the East, then a volunteer in the Dnipro-1 battalion. Wounded, he fought back to the last.

Before his death, he saved nine comrades from death, including Volodymyr Parasyuk, while trying to escape from the encirclement.

The Ilovaisk tragedy was the main reason why my mom chose no time to hesitate to leave occupied Donetsk. Russian words cost nothing. Every document, every russian word is a lie.

Russians killed 41-year-old police major Andriy Ladyka. He was driving with his partner to evacuate people from Vovchansk when the car was hit by a drone on May 22.

He is survived by two children, his wife and mother.

Andrii's colleague, Senior Lieutenant Dmytro Mozharovskyi, was seriously wounded.

Photo: Kharkiv regional police

Different times, different places, different generations of Ukrainians but the same bloodthirsty enemy.

I made bad decision to read comments...

The main reason why I hate twitter.

Fuck Musk.

Ukrainian genocide is fake, you can see it in the eyes of our rescuers.

Don't be indifferent. Make Russia pay. Please hear our cry out to the world, keep spreading our voices, and donate to our army and combat medics (savelife.in.ua, prytulafoundation.org, Serhii Sternenko, hospitallers.life, ptahy.vidchui.org, and u24.gov.ua).

Also, you can help the Kharkiv region by supporting this fundraiser for electronic warfare equipment for the electronic warfare unit that protects Kharkiv and the region.

How comment section is look like?

You can see that Russian culture is homophobia and transphobia. Meanwhile, Ukrainian supporters only leave nice words🤷🏳️‍🌈

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi 🤎

I would love to read the long version of all those fake fics if I'm being honest! But: 🦮 for Campfire please dear and lovely Terra 🤎

Campfire Rating: Mature Fandom: Attack on Titan Relationship: Levi Ackerman / Hange Zoe Additional tags: #OG levi squad  #canon universe   #friendships  #friends to lovers  #field trip  #camping  #campfires  #fluff  #romantic feelings  #romantic gestures  #romantic… dreams?  #sleep talking  #no  #smutty sleep talking ;)  #secret relationship  #but not for long #oops  #relationship reveal  #accidental public love confession  #Levi Ackerman is a mess #severe second hand embarrassment Word count: 860 words The clearing was ringed by trees, their great limbs reaching skywards. Spindly branches grew to sharpened points like gnarled fingers, each clutching a thin fabric of leaves which wove into a threadbare canopy overhead. Pale light filtered between them; early evening sky turned grey by the rising smoke from the campfire. Bird calls pierced the quiet rustle of wind. Then, in the distance, a chorus of chirps echoed in response. Amongst the murmurings and stirrings of nature, the flames crackled. 

Two squadrons of Survey Corps soldiers sat upon the fallen logs and leaf-strewn forest floor. The assembly had broken out into smaller groups, conversing intently as they suspended corn cobs over the flickering flames. The air was filled with the smell of roasted vegetables. Hange was terrifying Moblit with a report of Sawney’s cavities, following a dental examination they had personally carried out on the titan. Meanwhile, Oluo was outlining squad formations at painstaking length. Levi nodded as his squad member continued on and on and on… At first glance, it appeared as though the Captain was deep in thought. His eyes narrowed as though he was concentrating on visualising Oluo’s detailed descriptions.

...of course, it’s just my opinion that the Standby Squad should ride ahead of the Transport Squad,” Oluo drawled, “they are in the most protected position after all. Besides which, the Transport Squad carries our spare food, medical equipment, ODM gear…”

Levi’s eyelids fell shut as Oluo began to list off each item on his fingers. The Captain nodded again, his head falling to the side. Petra gasped as she felt his chin brush against her shoulder.

“Captain! Not here! I’m not read-”

It took her a moment to realise that he had not been consciously leaning towards her, but rather unconsciously. The young recruit froze, her shoulder bearing Levi’s head. Oluo stared at them before he gave a bitter sigh, dropping his hand upon his lap in disappointment.

“Well, that’s not what you want.” 

“Oh my god…” Mutterings broke out around the circle amidst the nudging of elbows. Petra sat upright, her shoulders stiffened, not wanting to budge an inch lest she disturb Levi. 

“Come on…” she tried in a placating tone, “we’ve had a long ride here. Let’s just let him sleep. I’ll be fine… as long as someone passes me some corn?” Petra was attempting to sound mildly amused - inconvenienced even - by the fact she was trapped, sitting on her heels and unable to turn her head. However, her face glowed in pleasure as her eyes continually drifted down to Levi’s face, resting so close to her own.

The conversation around the circle continued. Petra lifted her chin, her demeanour inflated as she sat eating and speaking with Eld. All the whilst she affected a casual lightness as though her senior officer was not huddled close to her, open and vulnerable in his slumber. Then, suddenly, Levi interrupted with a murmur.

Petra and Eld lapsed into silence, uncertain as to whether or not the Captain was stirring. He spoke again, only louder this time.

“Ah, Hange… take em off, baby… I don’t care if they’re small… wanna bury my face in them…..”

Petra’s corn on the cob rolled along the forest floor. All eyes were trained on Hange. The titan scientist feigned a perplexed expression as their eyes roved the tree tops.

“Did you guys hear something? Was that a lark? A great tit maybe…?”

“Sounds like Levi would know,” Eld cracked dryly, causing a ripple of laughter to break out amongst the recruits. The sound was followed swiftly by a nervous shushing as Levi raised his head, his eyes opening.

“… the hell are you all looking at?” he muttered. His glare immediately sought out Oluo. In his semi-conscious state, Levi tried to piece together the fragments of their earlier conversation. He remembered it had been something about squads and supplies…

“Well?” Levi growled.

“Sir… I… I was just suggesting an amendment to the riding formation,” Oluo answered anxiously, “not to say you don’t know breast - best!”

The swell of laughter bubbled up around the circle again. Hange fell to wiping their glasses on their yellow shirt, a deep flush creeping up the skin of their neck. Scowling, Levi climbed to his feet.

“If you’ve all got time to sit there snickering, then you’ve got time to help rebuild this fire.” 

He scrutinised the dying embers. Most of the Survey Corps members had eaten by now. All that remained of the fire was a large charred stump, still smouldering in the centre. All of the smaller branches had collapsed to ash inside the middle of the pile. Levi looked up and caught Hange’s eye.

“Oi, Hange. Wanna give me a hand?”

Nervous titters broke out amongst the younger recruits. A few shoulders were shaking. Eld was grinning down at his lap. Oluo’s jaw was set. Gunther had crammed his fist into his mouth, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes.

“With what?” Hange asked, astonished.

Levi regarded her severely.

“Getting wood.”

The whole group burst out into a chorus of whoops and raucous laughter, Oluo hiccoughing loudly as he bit his tongue. @youre-ackermine

[otmaaromanovas]

Vera Ignatievna Gedroits - the openly lesbian, first woman professor of surgery in Russia, who worked alongside the Romanovs

Princess Vera Ignatievna Gedroits was a doctor, surgeon, poet, and pioneer of medicine. Vera worked alongside Tsarina Alexandra and Grand Duchesses Olga and Tatiana Nikolaevna, working with the Red Cross to treat injured soldiers during the First World War. 

** content warning for mention of suicide **

Born as a Princess of royal Lithuanian descent in 1870 in Kyiv, Vera is thought to have developed an interest in medicine following the passing of her little brother Sergei during childhood. Vera later wrote under the pen name ‘Sergei Gedroits’ in honour of him. 

In 1892, Vera was arrested for participating in the Populist movement. Freed and undeterred, Vera was adamant to continue her medical studies. An open lesbian, Vera entered into a marriage of convenience with friend Nikolai Belozerov, permitting the obtaining of a new passport to travel, allowing her to pursue her dream of a medical career without the restriction of borders and her previous name being on police records. Despite their marriage being one of convenience, rather that romantic love, Vera and Nikolai were close friends, and stayed in contact through letters.

In 1903, Vera obtained the title of ‘female doctor’, but later that year attempted suicide. Vera’s mental health had declined due to an overwhelming personal family life, the death of her sister, exhausting workload, and breakup of a relationship with a lady in Switzerland. The following year, Vera had recovered, and the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese war led to her working in horse-drawn mobile hospitals. 

Working with wounded patients, Vera took detailed notes which allowed the making of the connection between injuries and the weapon used to inflict them. Interestingly, Vera did not shy away from abdominal operations, which was irregular due to previous thoughts that such injuries were ‘inoperable’. Often, patients with such injuries were refused surgery and were sadly left to pass away.

Following the War, Vera worked provincially, attending to 125,363 patients. This pioneering work was recognised by Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna in 1909, who invited Vera to take the position of Senior Court Physician. Vera was the first woman to serve as a physician in the Imperial Palace. Vera wrote ‘Conversations on Surgery for Sisters and Doctors’ to help the Palace understand the profession. Vera would eventually write 58 scientific papers. Vera earned a Doctorate of Surgery on May 11 1912, the first woman in the history of the University of Moscow to do so. 

Following the outbreak of the First World War, Vera helped to install physiotherapy equipment and X-ray machines in hospitals to aid recovery. Vera taught Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna and her daughters, Grand Duchesses Olga and Tatiana, medical work, and they assisted with operations. Vera worked alongside Imperial Physician Dr. Evgeny Botkin to help connect infirmaries to railways and supplies. Vera occasionally travelled to the front lines to help provide surgery directly at the scene, and in one case performed over 30 operations over a three day period. 

Vera is recorded as having little patience for the infamous Grigori Rasputin, with one source recording the shoving of Rasputin ‘into a corridor when he refused to get out’ of the way.

There are no records that suggest that the patients or the Romanovs objected to Vera's sexuality, though there was disapproval of her continuing to remain in Tsarskoe Selo to continue military surgery after the Revolution. If anything, she was renowned as one of the most capable and intelligent women of the era. Vera wore a surgeon's cap rather than the head coverings that nurses and Sisters of Mercy wore.

During the First World War, Vera met fellow nurse Countess Maria Dmitrievna Nirod-Mukhanova, a widowed maid-of-honour at the palace. The pair fell in love and started a relationship, which would last for the rest of Vera’s life. Maria had three children: Dmitri Feodorovich, Marina Feodorovna, and Feodor Feodorovich. The children knew about their mother's relationship with Vera, as they lived as a married couple whilst caring for and raising them. Some sources suggest that Vera and Maria had a marriage ceremony.

By the late 1920s, Vera was living with Maria, who worked as a surgeon, in Kyiv after the couple and Maria’s children escaped Revolution, taking refuge with monks. They spent eighteen years together. The pair lived as a married couple. In 1932, Vera passed away aged 61 after a diagnosis of uterine cancer. Maria continued Vera’s work by operating a pharmacy that provided free medicine to the poor. Maria passed away in 1965 aged 86. The above image is the only photo that has been attributed to her.

Vera defied all the social norms, becoming a pioneer of medicine and challenging traditions within the profession, saving thousands of lives in the process. Vera’s legacy lives on today.

SOURCES:

Hands that bring back to life. Vera Ignatievna Gedroits - surgeon and poet by V.G. Khokhlov

Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library

Wartime albums of Olga Nikolaevna and Tatiana Nikolaevna, Last Romanovs on Flickr

The Princess who Transformed War Medicine - BBC

Princess Vera Gedroits: military surgeon, poet, and author by J.D.C. Bennet

The Diary of Olga Romanov : Royal Witness to the Russian Revolution by Helen Azar

Tatiana Romanov, Daughter of the Last Tsar : Diaries and Letters, 1913-1918 by Helen Azar and Nicholas B.A. Nicholson

[girlactionfigure]

🚨 G7 WARNED OF IMMINENT IRANIAN ATTACK ON ISRAEL WITHIN 24 HOURS 🚨

‼️The G7 countries have informed that Iran could mount a full-scale attack on Israel within 24 hours.

‼️General Michael Kurilla, Commander of U.S. Central Command, is expected to arrive in Israel on Monday to review plans and coordinate forces in the Middle East.

‼️U.S. President Joe Biden will convene his national security team in the situation room on Monday at 2:15 PM ET (9:15 PM Israel time) to discuss developments in the region.

‼️In a special report by Army Radio, Efi Triger noted that the IDF has recently deployed several units from the Home Front Command and the Jordan Lions Battalion to reinforce the defense of the Seam Line communities in the Sharon area. This action follows an urgent warning after recent targeted killings, indicating plans to carry out infiltration attacks on these communities, orchestrated by Iran and Hamas.

The Shin Bet received intelligence that terrorists from the Tulkarm area intended to infiltrate settlements in the Sharon Seam Line area. Consequently, soldiers have been stationed within these settlements to provide an immediate response to any incidents, given the proximity to Palestinian territories.

These units are tasked with serving as the last line of defense within the settlements, should all other security measures fail, learning from the events of October 7th. It became evident on the night between Friday and Saturday that there were genuine threats, as a terrorist cell from Tulkarm, eliminated on Saturday morning, was planning an infiltration attack in Israel.

Security officials told Army Radio that Iran and Hamas are attempting to divert Israeli attention to Judea and Samaria to provoke an intifada, hoping this will prevent an Israeli attack in Lebanon. Judea and Samaria risk becoming the main theater of war once again.

🔅EMERGENCY PREP - THE BASICS

via ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting the World to Israel in Realtime

Things are scary, “well what am I supposed to do?”

Basic preparation IN ISRAEL:

.. Drinking water.  Buy some bottled water, 9 liters per adult (less for children).

.. Washing / flushing water.  Have a few buckets or fill a bunch of used water bottles, to wash or flush with - fill buckets when emergency starts, BUT not if you have small children who can drown in an open bucket.

.. Medicine.  If you take chronic medicine (every day), get the 3 month supply from your Kupah.

.. Money.  Have cash on hand in case ATM’s and credit cards aren’t working.

.. Food.  Canned, dry, etc, supplies on hand for a week per person.  Baby food? Formula? Special nutrition? Pet food?

.. Light.  Flash lights, candles. 

.. Communications.  Have a power-bank or two for your cell phone.  And maybe a radio (buy at hardware stores).

.. Shelter.  Make sure it is ready.

More here -> Supplies and Equipment for Emergencies.  https://www.oref.org.il/12490-15903-en/pakar.aspx

❗️EMERGENCY PLANNING

Links work in Israel.

.. Preparing your home for an emergency.  https://www.oref.org.il/12490-15902-en/Pakar.aspx

.. Help Prep your Neighborhood and Family Elderly.  https://www.oref.org.il/12550-20999-en/pakar.aspx

.. Know the Emergency numbers:

Police 100 emergency, 110 non-urgent situation

Ambulance 101

Medics 1221

Fire 102

Electric Company 103

Home Front Command 104

City Hotline 106

Senior Citizen Hotline *8840

Social Services Hotline 118

Cyber (hack) Hotline 119

🔸 MENTAL HEALTH HOTLINES, in case you are freaking out:

.. in English : Tikva Helpline by KeepOlim, call if you are struggling!  074-775-1433.

.. in Hebrew : Eran Emotional Support Line - 1201 or chat via eran.org.il

...

[jacquesthepigeon]

I’m so glad I didn’t join my family in watching this one medical drama bc at some point they were reacting to a scene so I asked what was up bc I may not be invested but I am nosy and anyway there was a scene where a patient suddenly passed out and this one doctor immediately started giving her CPR and kept going for over 20 minutes despite being told to stop already by others but the patient finally gets her pulse back so the doc’s all happy that he saved a life but then a more senior doctor steps in and tells him that it was pointless bc “her brain was without oxygen during the 20+ minutes and now she’s brain dead” and I

I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days

How do you take up the responsibility of writing a medical drama when you don’t even understand the basic concept of CPR and what it does

A single google search would’ve let you know that people have survived up to 96 minutes of CPR without experiencing major health consequences

Literally the whole thing with CPR is oxygenating the vital organs including the fucking brain until independent cardiac rhythm can be restored

What you’re achieving through chest compressions is manually forcing the heart to pump blood through the system, oxygenating the blood at the lungs, and moving the oxygenated blood to the organs and then returning the deoxygenated blood to repeat the cycle. The purpose of respirations is to provide fresh oxygen for the blood to carry.

There is no fucking universe in which properly administered CPR immediately after an incident begins at a well-equipped hospital with access to additional treatment tools would “obviously” result in brain death due to lack of oxygen

Its been days and I’m still mad about it lol

[slippinmickeys]

POL Prompt for you: would love to know more about Mulder’s experiences embedded with the army, and I bet Scully would too…

No beta. Just vibes. Thanks for the ask!

He presses his lips to the tight drum of her stomach, breathes in through his nose. The air is thick with the sour smell of human bodies in a warm, enclosed space, under which hovers the smell of sex and somehow, the linen and eucalyptus scent of Scully herself.  

He’d like to make love to her again, but they’re both lightheaded with hunger, so he rolls over instead, leaning his forehead and nose against the arching slats of her ribs. He reaches down and puts his hand around her knee. Her body hair has grown out, and while the copper hair on her legs is wiry and stiff, the growth on her knee is wispy and blonde. He strokes it, like he’s calming a skittish filly.

Outside the hotel they can hear bullets ripping through air nearby. The fighting is close and the sounds unnerving. 

“Tell me about your embed,” Scully says in a rough voice. He flicks his eyes to hers; they’re round and wet, blue as the Sargasso. 

“Which one?” 

“Any of them,” she says with a shaky breath. “Can you talk to me? I want to listen to you and not the sounds outside.”

“I hate to tell you this, but my embeds involved scenes pretty similar to what’s happening outside.” 

“Talk to me, Mulder,” she says. “I just want to hear your voice. Please.”

He runs his nose up the soft skin of her side, pulls her in close to his body.

“We were in the mountains,” he mumbles into her. “And it was cold.” 

Under his lips, her skin pebbles in sympathy. 

***

He’d had to leap out of a Black Hawk hovering above a rugged mountainside, hugging his camera bag to his chest in an effort to protect his camera and equipment. It had seemed to work, to the detriment of his left shoulder. The ground under the chopper was a chaotic mess of disheveled humans and gear, the rotor wash whipping dust and debris into everyone’s eyes. 

Mulder was the photographer half of a two-man team, working an article for the Times, but in the chaos and roar of their ingress, he couldn’t see Gary, the journalist who’d be doing the writing. He only hoped he’d fallen successfully, a metric applied in the loosest sense of the word – Gary was over forty and overweight – so long as he didn’t need a medic immediately and was on the ground, Captain Franklin would be happy.

The moment the last trooper hit the earth, the Black Hawk tipped backward and roared away into the night. The soldiers around him were up and on their feet immediately, Franklin barking quiet orders to hustle the men along – the chopper had given away their location. 

Operation Saber Tooth was a battalion-wide mission to root out senior rebel fighters that were hiding in and around the mountains. Franklin would hang back from the fighting with what was called the overwatch team, but First and Second Platoons would be on the front line, entering villages and searching homes, going on the offensive if attacked. 

Franklin had given Mulder and Gary the option of staying back with him and the overwatch team– who would position themselves behind the platoons’ fighting in order to monitor and command the operation–or accompanying one of the two Platoons. Mulder thought they’d get a better story and certainly better pictures if they went with the fighting forces, but it would also mean walking through the mountains at night carrying all of their gear; food, water, clothing, work equipment and sleeping bags. Each patrol would be gone for a week, patrolling, camping and trekking in the mountains. Mulder wanted to go with First Platoon, but one look at Gary’s face and he told Franklin they’d hang back with overwatch. 

Mulder had no idea what they were supposed to do next, so he followed the line of troops up a ridge and onto a small flat crest of rock thousands of feet up that abutted the mountain on one side and had a clear view of the valley on the other. The area would serve as the Tactical Operation Center for the mission. There were no tents, walls or roofs – just bare patches of rock and a few gnarled trees. As Mulder watched, the overwatch team unpacked cumbersome machines that looked like they had been airlifted from Vietnam. 

Gary came shuffling over the ridge and to Mulder’s side, breathing hard. 

“We should get some sleep,” Mulder said, unrolling his sleeping bag while Franklin and the JTACs communicated with airpower. 

A small group of rebel fighters had been spotted by the retreating Black Hawks moving towards their position, and Mulder and Gary fumbled with their equipment and tried to stay out of the way while an air attack wiped out the small force. 

When Mulder woke in the morning, First and Second Platoons were gone, but the overwatch team were still working, hunched over a speaker that was spitting out insurgent chatter from a radio intercept. 

“Bring the Dushka,” the interpreter said, repeating what he was hearing in a language no one else understood. “We can see them on the mountainside.”

The overwatch team was tense. The nearby rebels knew where they were, but not the location of either First or Second Platoon. A Dushka, Franklin explained, was a giant Russian machine gun that spit out .50 caliber bullets that could effortlessly slice through a brick wall. If the two platoons didn’t find the rebels before the rebels got the gun into position, Mulder and the men around him would be rendered to pulp and Operation Saber Tooth would be over before it began.

“Didn’t Franklin say overwatch would be the safer option?” Gary said, hunched up in his sleeping bag and looking miserable.

Mulder reached into the brown plastic of the MRE one of the soldiers had handed him and pulled out a small pack of M&Ms. 

“I think he just said there’d be less walking,” Mulder replied, popping a handful of candy into his mouth and pulling the black knit cap he was wearing lower over his ears. 

Gary began taking notes and speaking with some of the overwatch soldiers, getting down interviews, but Mulder could do nothing but take a few photos of the team against the backdrop of rock and dirt; mostly guys blowing hot air into their fists and hunching around the radio speaker.  

As dawn gave way to full daylight, Mulder’s attention strayed from the chatter of the TOC detailing the progress of the First and Second Platoons to the increasingly pressing needs of his own body; he really had to pee. 

Most of the soldiers had been relieving themselves at a rocky outcropping at the edge of the ridge upon which their small camp sat, but a gusty wind had picked up from along the valley and was now blowing up the crest of the hillside. If he peed off the side as the other soldiers had done, he would probably end up covered in his own piss courtesy of the wind. 

He decided to amble a little further off, down a short slope upon which laid the remains of a fallen tree. The area was probably too far from what Franklin had said were the boundaries of where he felt comfortable letting them go, but it was sheltered from the wind and it would only take Mulder 30 seconds to relieve himself. 

He was just zipping up when he caught a flash of movement from 40 yards away across the small valley between the mountain they were perched on and the next. When he looked up he connected eyes with a man peeking out behind a boulder, Kalashnikovs bristling up around the rock like needles in a pincushion. A group of rebel fighters. And they had seen him. 

He dove behind the single fallen tree on the slippery bit of scree behind him as the rebels opened fire. Bullets whizzed past the tree and thunked into it, spraying the air around him with bits of desiccated wood, and he could hear the shouting from the TOC and the garbled sound of the rebels yelling at each other and into their own radios. It took only moments for the Americans to begin returning fire and Mulder was absolutely pinned down, unable to do so much as move his arms up to protect his face, so close were the bullets in the air above him. And he had left his flak jacket and helmet next to his sleeping bag. 

He laid prone, eyes squeezed close as the guttural sound of combat erupted from everywhere  around him. An AC-130 circled overhead and he could hear the roar of a fighter jet scream low over the mountain. But the air support would not be able to help them, he knew; the rebels were too close to their own position and an attack on them would likely be deadly to Mulder and the rest of the overwatch team. 

Suddenly, the sounds of gunfire from the TOC position went into overdrive, and a moment later two soldiers slid onto the ground on either side of him, their comrades above laying down cover fire. 

“Let’s go, bud!” said a soldier named Martinez, who plunked a too-large army helmet onto Mulder’s head and grabbed him by the arm. 

On his other side, a private named Smyth said “We’re running in three-two-GO GO GO!” And the two soldiers hauled him up and all three of them ran all out, scrambling back up and over the ridge to the meager protection of the TOC. 

***

“Not three minutes later,” Mulder mumbles, “the rock above our heads started exploding.” 

Her fingers brush through the hair growing long down his neck. “The Dushka?” she asks.

He nods. “The Dushka. Luckily Second Platoon was almost on top of them by the time they were in position to fire and took them out before any person or any equipment was hurt. Five minutes later it was dead silence and we spent the rest of the afternoon using baby wipes to get the dust off our skin and equipment. My Canon Mark IV was never the same.”

On the street outside the hotel, the gunfire similarly halts. 

Scully inhales expansively and turns so she’s facing him. “How was Gary?” she asks. 

“A true professional,” he says, leaning forward to kiss the skin above her breast. “He grabbed my camera and took some damn fine pictures.”

“I’d like to see them someday.” Her voice is fading, sleepy. “If we ever get out of here.”

Mulder pulls the tatty sheet up and over them both. 

“You will,” he says. He’s gotten out of worse.