#medical negligence and patient negligence kills

[cheemscakecat]

I can’t help but wonder if Fritz was angrily thinking about BLU’s negligence for a moment. He had to collect himself before responding to Scout. It makes enough sense, if Scout just had a respawn failure that caused seizures.

Clearly he’s not doing well, even this early in the movie. We don’t know how many Mercenaries had life altering, scarring respawn failures that left them unable to work, but it surely happened. Fritz is really struggling to talk about it, even with Scout being a friend and a patient who needs to know. You can tell he hates to dwell on it.

The silent personality makes sense as a natural progression of that. Being stuck living with the memories and burden of Mercenaries getting mutilated despite your best efforts, being stuck reporting to people who don’t care like you.

Why not go silent and stare at the useless men to make them uneasy? To make them stop badgering you with ceaseless questions, to give yourself relief from having to revisit the trauma. Trauma that they didn’t care about or share, being the middlemen.

He was already fed up and angry, but not ready to lash out at the idiots “fixing” the respawn crisis.

He was capable of fighting well, but didn’t want to be violent. Not unless he had to be. So the injustice grew, and the anger and disgust simmered.

This was the only time Archibald and Ludwig were in the same room. He’s arguably the only merc on Blue who would have known Jules in real life, considering the respawn crisis. Soldier and Spy may have gotten their perception of Jules from what little they knew about the respawn crisis through their Medic’s words. Fritz looked at him with revulsion.

Soldier imagined Archibald as a calculating, greedy monster who let good people die, using them as pawns. Conspiring under the mask of being a good person, using that to fill his pockets with blood money. Conspiring with Redmond and Blutarch, the old fools.

Spy imagined Archibald as a simpering coward who made other people get their hands bloody while refusing to lift a finger. Someone who doesn’t care if his own men put themselves on the line, lying to them indiscriminately. Someone with cruel, evil men in his employ and those that were innocently getting used.

Fritz might not even believe that Jules is dead, considering the fact that Spy was talking/acting crazy and lying about how Scout died. That, and his quiet personality is the one who heard the funeral speech, not him. So that could mean that his natural response to a living, breathing Archibald is revulsion.

Can’t say I blame him. Jules Archibald was an awful man, and the Administrator probably had him killed like the director when he stopped making himself useful.

That still left the injustice of being used, and the rage that comes along with it. Whether Fritz preferred to be peaceful or not, those lingering emotions needed an outlet. And as RED mercenaries continued to target the healer with childish mockery and attacks; and Admin continued to be indifferent and cruel, that outlet emerged.

The personality that doesn’t hold back when it comes to a fight. The skill was there before, and so was the anger. But Fritz didn’t have a personality that was ready and willing to lash out at Users and Abusers. The vengeful one.

I think I know exactly what name he’d go by.

[felucians]

white doctors, I am begging you to take your patients who are women of color seriously.

[spookyboywhump]

Shout out to doctors and nurses on tiktok for proving why people distrust medical professionals

[snarltoothed]

i should probably be trying to identify which foods make my intestines unhappy but i’m gonna be honest i don’t think cutting out dairy and bread and added sugar will help with the anhedonia like am i happy when i’m bloated and my ass hurts? no! but i’m also not happy when my brain refuses to produce dopamine and i’m working with no “official” ADHD diagnosis and therefore no treatment so i’m stuck with an extremely dulled dopamine response and am therefore drawn to foods like cheese and bread and sweets because food and music are the only legal options for dopamine acquistion… well and weed but the weed is mostly to help me cope with the chronic digestive discomfort, joint pain, myalgia, TMJ tension headaches, and anxiety >.> and even IF i did get an “official” ADHD diagnosis (why is it even listed in my MEDICAL RECORDS if it doesn’t COUNT?) there is exactly 1 drug used (in the US, maybe somewhere else has other drugs similar to modafinil idk) to treat ADHD that doesn’t significantly increase serotonin or norepinephrine levels but it actually isn’t an ADHD drug it’s a narcolepsy drug and due to medical misogyny it likely isn’t an option for me because despite being CELIBATE i have female reproductive issues and the only treatment for THOSE is fucking oral contraceptives which modafinil conveniently counteracts and the norepinephrine from other stimulants wouldn’t matter that much even with the excess norepinephrine i was producing on account of having POTS… IF SOME DUMBASS DOCTOR DIDN’T TELL ME SNRIS WERE PERFECTLY SAFE FOR PEOPLE WITH POTS AND LESS LIKELY TO CAUSE ANXIETY AND OTHER NEGATIVE SIDE EFFECTS THAN ADHD MEDICATION… DESPITE SNRIS NOT BEING RECOMMENDED FOR POTS PATIENTS IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCE BECAUSE SHOCKINGLY, THEY INCREASE NOREPINEPHRINE LEVELS MORE THAN ADHD MEDS DO! BECAUSE ADHD MEDS DO NOT INHIBIT NOREPINEPHRINE REUPTAKE!NOR DO THEY INHIBIT SEROTONIN REUPTAKE, WHICH INCREASES SEROTONIN LEVELS! WHICH IN TURN INCREASES NOREPINEPHRINE LEVELS EVEN MORE!!!

[thebibliosphere]

Whenever I talk about the medical neglect and ableism I've encountered as a victim of the healthcare system, there's always some cockwaffle who feels entitled to come into my inbox and make the argument of "not all doctors" while talking about how "people like them" (because it's always someone in a field of medicine who does this) are doing their best and it's really hard because so many people fake being ill to get on welfare (Yikes), but like, yeah, obviously #not all doctors, because if all doctors were negligent, bullying scum bags, I'd be dead.

But here's the thing: while I truly believe that the majority of doctors are doing their best in a system stacked against them and their patients, their presence does not negate the mass harm caused by the bad ones. And there are far more bad ones than you realize.

Fuck, John Oliver literally did a segment on this last week:

Yes, the truly bad, malicious doctors are in the minority. Most are just horrifically burned out and fighting a losing battle against a system, killing both them and their patients through a lack of funding and resources and profound overwork.

But the malicious ones do exist, and they will go out of their way to harm patients who don't kowtow to them.

I almost lost my life because when I was in my early twenties, I told a doctor I didn't think she was listening to me, and I disagreed with her assessment of my mental health (she was not a mental health doctor, and I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain). She retaliated by putting "non-compliant" in my file.

There was also a fun little "doesn't show respect" note too that lives rent-free in my head because I know I wasn't rude. I was polite. I just didn't agree with her, and my refusal to accept her off-handed comment that "you probably have bipolar or BPD" (again, I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain) meant I was "refusing care."

I wasn't. I just refused to be slapped with a mood/personality disorder when I was there because I kept fucking fainting when I stood up.

(Spoiler alert: it was dysautonomia)

That "non-compliant" marker followed me around for years. It followed me across an ocean and effectively ensured that any doctor I saw was going to treat me like absolute dogshit because no one wants to help Difficult Patients. It wasn't until I was so undeniably ill, literally on the brink of death, that anyone helped me.

I'm alive because of a good doctor. And all the good ones that came after him because of him.

So, I know they exist. You don't have to tell me that.

But I really fucking need you to acknowledge the bad ones and that you're part of a system with a long, long history of abusing minorities and vulnerable people. I need you to acknowledge that because it's the only way we're going to survive this godforsaken nightmare and make things better.

So yeah, #notalldoctors, but if you feel the need to say that because someone talking about being literally left to die by the medical system hurts your feelings, I'm going to have to ask you to take a step back and ask yourself if you're going into medicine for the right reasons.

Namely: do you want to help people, even the "difficult" ones?

Even the ones who might disagree with you?

Even if they're on welfare?

Even if they'll never get "better" in a way that means "cured"?

Just a thought. But hey, what do I know. I'm just someone who experienced hemolytic anemia because doctors kept telling me I was anxious and needed to exercise more 🤷‍♀️.

[transmutationisms]

what's your opinion on medications that require pregnancy testing? like accutane, I think they end your prescription if you get a positive pregnancy test, due to birth defects. i personally refused accutane for several reasons but the mandatory pregnancy testing was a big one

wow i literally just mentioned this to someone the other night lol. yeah it's pretty paternalistic. obviously fetal health complications should be taken seriously but it's very noticeable to me that the medical presumption here is that the automatic course of correct action is to prevent people access to their prescriptions, rather than, yknow, discussing options like abortion.

i know dorothy roberts ('killing the black body') and i think also jacqueline wolf ('cesarean section') have discussed the development of the concept of a 'maternal-fetal conflict'—ie, the notion that there's a conflict between the interests of a fetus and those of the actual pregnant person—and argued that american medicine's current tendency to prioritise the fetus has its roots in plantation medicine. the idea was that enslaved women were negligent, at best, or even outright infanticidal (as in, because they were trying to spare their children from being enslaved) and therefore white doctors and enslavers needed to treat the fetus as the patient, presuming its interests were of more economic relevance and overrode the actual human person. and this framing has been echoed since abolition, such as during the so-called 'crack epidemic' w/ state and medical discourses about black women specifically being unfit mothers who therefore needed to be legally regulated, separated from their children, &c. anyway i would guess that there are probably some echoes of this history in the decision to so tightly regulate pregnancy testing wrt accutane as well, plus ofc the legacy of the thalidomide scandal.

also, like, although risks obviously vary with different meds, it's not like isotretinoin is the only drug that can harm a fetus; many benzos and antibiotics do as well, for instance, and probably lots of other things that people are not routinely required to be pregnancy-tested for. so that also does make me wonder if part of what's going on is that accutane/isotretinoin is considered to be a 'cosmetic' (read: frivolous) intervention and therefore medical authorities have been more comfortable deciding to just yank people off it in case of pregnancy rather than, yknow, providing full information and advocating for patients to have full reproductive choice and such. this is rly just speculation though lol.

[delulu4dean]

“Withdrawals”

Warnings: suicide, depression, anxiety

Pairings: Dean Winchester x sister!reader, Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Prompt: withdrawal from Cymbalta. Based on my own experience

Word Count: 3,624

You are all packed up to go with your older brothers. They were going all the way to the Redwood Forest, and you didn’t want to be in the bunker all alone.

You aren’t a hunter like them, not yet at least. You’ve studied the lore, and you’ve trained a bit, because after all, you are a Winchester. And the name alone is like wearing a giant “kick me” sign if it said “kill me” instead. No, you’re a student, getting your associates online in the exploratory major because you have no idea what you would want to do other than hunt with your brothers.

Sam and Dean promised John they’ll never let you into the life. Your mom died shortly after you were born. Your dad met your mom on a hunt nineteen years ago. She was a nurse in a hospital. There was one patient who was wrongfully treated, and died due to medical negligence. And boy does a vengeful spirit do a lot of damage. John saved your mom’s life, and they celebrated that night. She got pregnant, and she kept John’s number so nine months later, he picks up the phone to find out he’s got a daughter. Dean overheard the conversation and when John said he wouldn’t go, Dean said he has to. It resulted in a huge argument. John eventually gave in, and they went to the hospital to see you, and Dean knew right there and then he’d do anything to protect his little sister.

Your mom killed herself after she brought you home. Family history of mental illness was bad enough, but the postpartum depression pushed her over the edge.

It was not easy showing up at Stanford trying to explain to Sam that he had a baby sister, and that also your dad was missing. It was especially not easy looking for your dad while they had to take care of a baby. Dean often got babysitters to watch you in the motels they stayed in.

And now here you are, nineteen years old, aimlessly walking through life. You’re getting an associates in nothing specific just to get some general education done. And that history of mental illness in your family is hitting you hard. You’re on antidepressants, a specific one that treats your depression and anxiety.

Dean parks at the motel, and goes to get keys for a room. You don’t mind sleeping on the couch, out of the three of you it only makes sense, you got tall and taller with you, and it just doesn’t seem fair to make them sleep on the couch when you fit so well on it.

Sam and Dean throw on their FBI getup and go start asking questions while you connect your laptop to the motel wifi. Yay statistics, said no one ever. You’re only doing this to make your brothers happy, you don’t see a reason to get a degree. They say it’s useful to get some sort of decent job, or to one day get a further education when you decide what you want to do. But you already know what you want to do, you want to hunt with them.

You don’t know how you ended up on the couch. One moment you were doing homework and… yeah, that’s enough to make you snooze. You look at the time and it’s 8am the next day. You look into your bag and your eyes wide as you realize you left your antidepressants in the bunker.

“Shit!”

Your sudden outburst awakens your brothers as they both shoot up to see what’s wrong with you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asks as they both run to your side.

“I forgot my meds at home,” you pout.

“Your meds?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“My antidepressants,” you clarify.

Dean makes an “O” shape with his mouth in response.

“Have you ever missed a day before?” Sam asks you.

“No, and this is going to be longer than a day. How am I going to manage without it?”

“Managing your existing problems is the least of your worries kiddo. You’re going to go through withdrawals,” Dean takes a seat next to you. “One of us can stay with you.”

“I’ll be fine, let’s get breakfast, you guys do your research and then I get back and work on more homework, I’ll keep myself occupied,” you assure your brother. They give each other a worried look, not feeling too sure, but you insist you’ll be fine.

The three of you head to a diner, and you check out the menu while Dean checks out the waitress.

“Perv,” you mumble under your breath.

“Good morning, what can I get for you?”

Dean orders the greasiest breakfast on the menu, with bacon of course. Sam orders some omelette made with just egg whites.

“And for you, hun?” the waitress looks at you with a smile.

“I’d like a plate of eggs, over easy, and sausages. And an order of chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream if that’s possible. And a cup of coffee if that isn’t too much trouble,” you order.

“Coming right up!”

After a couple of minutes the coffee is ready and she serves you and your brothers your coffee. You add a couple of vanilla creamers. You take your first sip, and immediately regret not blowing on it first. The hot liquid burns your tongue. You set your cup down as your stomach growls, begging to be fed.

On a normal day, you could be patient, wait for your food. But today isn’t a normal day, and even though it’s probably a five minute wait, ten at most, you need the food now. Your leg bounces up and down, as your fingers tap on the table.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” Dean asks you.

“Mmhm. Just hungry.”

“The food will be out any minute,” Sam assures you. You nod but it doesn’t make the time pass by any quicker for you.

You watch as the waitress walks over to your table with your food and you sit up. The moment she places your place in front of you, you dig in. Your brothers watch as you focus on your meal. They’ve never seen you eat like this. Normally you try to stay neat and clean while you eat. You talk to them. But right now, your brothers know better than to comment on you eating.

It’s not Dean doesn’t go crazy about food either. It’s just out of the ordinary for you, and you’re off your meds for the next few days, so they’re worried. Eventually they start getting to their research.

After breakfast, your brothers drop you off at the motel, and get on with the case. You open your laptop, log into your student portal, and look at your assignments. This is going to be a long day.

✰✰✰✰✰

You’re sat on the chair in front of your laptop, as you have been all day. It’s been hard to concentrate, you kept checking your phone, playing games. Every time your brothers texted to check in on you, you used it as an excuse to be on your phone again. And then when you finally started concentrating, you didn’t understand it.

You’re sat on your chair, tears streaming down your face. Hugging your knees, you just stare at the screen as the numbers blur together. Math was frustrating. It’s not like you’re bad at it, you’re actually great at it. But your mind is cloudy, and even reading over everything again and again, you’re not processing anything.

You barely made it through your other assignments, and this is all you have left for the day. You’ve been going at it since breakfast, you even skipped lunch to make up for the distractions.

The motel door clicks and creaks open, and footsteps enter the room. You don’t look up from your screen, you just hope they don’t notice your damp face.

“We got dinner,” Dean says, placing the bag on the table in front of you.

“ ‘M-not hungry,” you mumble.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry, what did you have for lunch?” Dean sits at the table, and Sam joins.

You still don’t look up as your brothers take out their food from the take out bag. Dean places your food in front of you as you push it away.

“I’ve been doing homework all day, no time to eat,” you attempt to speak but it all came out in a raspy whisper.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam scoots closed to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“I’m stupid, that’s what’s wrong,” you break down into sobs. “I can’t do simple math equations.”

“You’re great at math,” Dean tries to assure you, but it doesn’t help.

“But I can’t do it today.”

“Hey, hey. You're off your meds. You’re not stupid, you're just not in the right state right now,” Sam tells you, and you nod. “Eat up, and after dinner, I’ll help you with your math, and anything else you need help with.”

Your sobs become small whimpers until you stop crying altogether. You sniffle before grabbing the dinner your brothers got for your. Sam sits next to you and reads over your math homework and explains things. Just reading it didn’t process, but hearing it out loud, from your brother, that helped process what you were actually looking at. Not long after, you finish your homework.

“Thank you, Sammy,” you hug your brother, tightly, and he hugs you back.

“Of course, (Y/N/N),” he keeps you close.

✰✰✰✰✰

You toss and turn, unable to sleep. You’re really starting to miss your antidepressants. Huffing, you get up from the couch, throw on your slip on vans, and take one of the motel key cards. Maybe a walk with some therapeutic music will help you feel better. It really sucks how just after 24 hours, the withdrawal kicks in. You throw in your earbuds and start walking around the block.

Your skin feels all tingly and a burning sensation travels up your leg but you ignore your body screaming. Maybe the walk is what you need. You've been sitting all day, no wonder you can’t sleep.

You put your hands in your pocket as you sing along to the next song under your breath.

“Running low, on serotonin. Chemical imbalance got me twisting things. Stabilize with medicine, there’s no depth to these feelings. Dig deep, can’t hide from the corners of my mind. I’m terrified of what’s inside.”

You take in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs.

“Please don’t let me go crazy. Put me if a field with daisies, might not work but I’ll take a maybe.”

As the song ends, you reach the motel door, but before you can use your key card, the door opens. You look up to see Dean frantically walking out until he sees you.

“Y/N! Where were you?” He whisper-shouts.

“I just went on a walk,” you explain. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought it would tire me out.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks you, putting his hand on your back, bringing you inside.

“Honestly my legs hurt, my skin feels all tingly, and my head is starting to hurt.”

“Come on, you’re sleeping in my bed tonight. We can tell each other ghost stories until we fall asleep.”

You smile softly, remembering that’s what Dean would do to get you to bed growing up. You lay down underneath the cover and look at the ceiling.

“Instead of a ghost story, you can catch me up on what you and Sammy have figured out about the case,” you suggest.

And so Dean goes into detail about his day, and how he things by tomorrow night things should be done. Dean is thinking it’s a siren, since these victims were last seen talking about seeing a pretty woman.

“But what were the victims doing before they got killed?” you pose a question.

“One was smoking, another littered, the third being really disruptive,” your eldest brother answers you.

“Hm. Could be a dryad,” you tell Dean.

“A what?”

“A dryad, forest nymph, not a fairy or a goddess but sort of in between. Magical, gorgeous women. There are different nymphs, like water nymphs for example.”

“How do you kill a nymph?” Dean asks you.

“She’s just protecting the forest,” you pout.

“She’s killing people.”

“Talk to her.”

“How do you kill her?” Dean presses.

“You don’t,” you finally give in. “Not without killing nature. Do you want to burn down a tree, Dean?”

“… no.”

“Thought so.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Technically if you can find the one tree she’s attached to, you can kill her. But you shouldn’t.”

“I’ll try talking to her, for you.”

“Thanks Dean.”

✰✰✰✰✰

The next morning you and Dean are both awaken by Sam, who brings you breakfast burritos.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Mmm morning,” you yawn.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Sam asks.

“No, I just couldn’t sleep. So Dean caught me up on your case.”

Sam nods. After breakfast and some research, Sam and Dean get what they need to summon her.

“Since it’s not that dangerous, maybe I can come along,” you offer.

“Homework for the week all done?” Sam asks.

You nod.

“Legs feeling better?” Dean asks.

You nod again.

“You’re lying,” he squints his eyes at you.

“How would you know?”

“The second nod was slower and less confident.”

You groan.

“If you need one of us to stay with you, we can arrange that. If what you said is true, it will be easy enough for just one of us,” Sam suggests.

“I’m fine,” you lie. You’re not fine. Your body is aching, and the anxiety and depression are starting to really sink in.

“Sam, you’re better at talking things out than I am. I’ll drop you off, then head back here. You can call me if you need backup,” Dean says.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam nods.

The two of them leave the room and you sigh, laying down. You can’t just stay sitting in this room the whole time. You’re at a bear themed motel close to the redwood forest. You need to experience the nature. You’re feeling trapped and panicked. Your breathing accelerates and you sit up. Pacing back and forth for the next forty minutes, you wait for Dean to get back.

The door opens and he walks in with a bag in hand.

“You’re five minutes late!” you yell at him.

“I just stopped to get some pie,” he sets down the bag. “I got you powdered donuts.”

You nod.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just feeling really trapped in here. Think we can go for a walk, or a drive at least?”

“A drive sounds good,” Dean nods. “But eat the donuts before. No powder on Baby.” He points a finger at you.

“Yes sir,” you grab your donuts and eat, while dean digs into his pie.

After dessert, you two get into Baby. You look out the window as he pulls out of the motel parking lot.

“You want to play some music?” Dean asks you.

“What happened to driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole?”

“This is a one time opportunity, Y/N. You don’t wanna miss it,” he nudges you.

You use a cassette adapter to connect your phone. You continue the playlist you were playing last night.

“You wanna listen to sad music?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“I am sad. I don’t have my happy pills,” you mumble.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Honestly? I just want to cry. For absolutely no reason. Well there is a reason, withdrawals.”

Tears well up, and you take a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry kid. I’ll make sure we get home as soon as possible.”

You just nod. The medication doesn’t stop the bad thoughts from happening, but they stop them from hurting as much. The problem was the medication isn’t as effective anymore either. You’ve built a tolerance, so right now the only difference is instead of mild depression, you want to kill yourself. You hate how you look, I mean both of your brothers are considered attractive and you feel like you look… dorky. School is stressful especially when you’re working towards a degree you don’t want.

And then you think of your brothers, who swooped in to take care of you. John wasn’t a terrible father to you, but you know he was too tough on Sam and Dean especially when it came to you. And then when John died, Dean became basically like your dad. He already raised Sam during his youth and then he had to take care of you. You couldn’t help but think that Sam and Dean would have it so much easier without you.

You try to hide your cries, looking out the window, letting tears stream down your face.

“Y/N/N? Talk to me,” Dean coaxes you. “What are you thinking about.”

Your silent cries become wails and sobs. And the crying triggers a headache and you feel nauseous and everything is just awful.

“Dean, why do you keep me around?” You take a deep breath trying to calm yourself but it doesn’t work. “I’m a burden. You don’t need to be taking care of me, especially when I’m an adult. I’m just dragging you down,” you cry out. “If I were dead, or never born, you’d be so much happier!”

“Woah woah!” Dean pulls over, then looks over at you. “I would not be happier without you. We don’t keep you around to take care of you. You’re grown, independent. We love you. And we’re happy you like being around us too. You’re our family.”

You look up at him, and you can almost see his heart breaks as he looks at your face. He wipes your tears and pulls you in for a hug.

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself? Are the suicidal thoughts back?”

You nod, crying into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh. You have nothing to be sorry about, baby, these thoughts aren’t your fault.”

You feel something going on in your throat, and you pull away quickly, opening the door, emptying the contents from your stomach. Dean quickly gets out from the drivers side and runs over to you.

“Ew,” you cry. “God that’s gross. I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders continue to shake as you resume crying. Your older brother crouches down (avoiding where you threw up) and pushes your hair back behind your ears.

“You don’t need to say sorry.”

“I might have gotten some on Baby,” you say, looking around to make sure.

“I can clean it. It’s just a car. You’re my baby sister.”

You sniffle as a smile creeps on your face.

“You do really love me. You’d never say she’s just a car unless it was that serious.”

“Of course it’s that serious. You’re having withdrawals. Now lets get something in that tummy,” he pokes your stomach. “Something light and comforting. You can wash up in the bathroom. And then we can get Sam and get you home.”

You nod and the drive resumes. You head back to the diner you had breakfast at yesterday. For lunch you get a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Dean gets a burger, obviously. As you wait for the food, you head into the bathroom and wash up.

After lunch, Sam gives Dean a call, saying it’s all over, and to also check up on you. You guys go on your way to pick up Sam. Dean hands the key over to Sam and Sam looks at Dean confused.

“Long drive from California to Kansas. Don’t want to leave her alone. After dinner we can switch off and you can sit in the back if you want,” Dean explains.

“It’s fine, it looks like you got control of the situation.” Sam looks over to you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like absolute shit. But better than before.”

“When we get home, you take your meds, get your sleep, then we can do a movie night,” Sam suggests.

“That sounds great Sammy,” you smile. You kiss his cheek before going into the back seat with Dean.

“Thanks for being here for me Dean,” you say, kissing his cheek as well.

“Of course. I’ve been here since day one,” he ruffles your hair.

✰✰✰✰✰

The next 21 hours end up being hell. Dean said the wrong thing while trying to comfort you, sending you spiraling. That’s when Sam sat in the back while Dean sat up front beating himself up over it as he drives the rest of the way home. You apologized for being a difficult kid and Dean didn’t deny you were difficult, he just said easy is boring.

Now Dean pulls into the bunker garage, and you run to your room to get your medicine and take it. Dean follows you, wanting to apologize.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You aren’t a difficult kid. You were a great kid. Fun, and a great listener.”

“It’s okay Dean, I’m over it. Really.”

He nods.

“Can you stay with me until I sleep though? You and Sam? I want to hear about the dryad!”

“Sure thing. Sammy!”

Sam runs up to you guys.

“She wants you to tell us about the dryad.”

“Was she pretty?” you ask.

“Yes, she was very pretty.”

You lay in bed as your brothers sit on each side of you. Sam talks about how your plan to talk to her actually worked, and how the conversation went down. You smile as you listen. Your eyelids get heavy and soon you’re out.

[hellyeahsickaf]

If you want to get mad about how fucking awful some doctors are, here you go

With my post about medical discrimination against addicts and disabled people gaining traction again I got a few people asking about how I'm doing after my kidney infection and what happened in the ER. I'm better, could've been much worse but when I was seen they gave me antibiotics before anything else- it was the one thing they did right

I knew I had a kidney infection, I told them that I had a UTI and checked off all of the boxes for a kidney infection which is potentially deadly and leads to sepsis in as little as 12-48 hours if untreated. Pro tip because I'm an idiot- always see a doctor for UTIs, you can't just self treat them even if it seems to be going away as was the case for me. That's how it reaches your kidneys. Whoops 🥴

I waited a few hours which is expected but I got progressively worse. I also reported my pain as an 8/10 (9 by the time I was seen), migraine, fever, chills, weakness, dizziness, fatigue, nausea, probably some other things. I was shaking, crying, curled up, truly some of the worst pain I've ever felt next to gallstones. Maybe others handle this kind of thing better. Or maybe most grown ass men they see in this condition either have serious injuries or are addicts putting on a show. In which case they'd still be truly suffering. It shouldn't matter if they're an addict if they're in the ER desperate for relief in that moment. But yeah, I was ignored for most of the night aside from being given antibiotics and Tylenol. I just reread my clinical notes from that night actually and got mad again lol

I saw the doctor for under 5 minutes that night. He asked why I was there and how I was doing. I told him how awful I felt and he didn't carry out any examinations, it was the first time I'd gone to the ER and wasn't even asked to wear a gown. Either way he was extremely neglectful. Had the nerve to report exams for ENT, eyes, cardio, abdominal, skin, etc that never happened. He didn't lay a finger on me. Reported answers to questions I was never asked like whether I've had past surgeries (he put no when I have). And at the end of his clinical notes he states the following:

"..While I considered a CT abdomen/pelvis, I do not currently feel it is necessary based on the patient's physical exam and clinical history and review of any labs that were ordered. Patient is otherwise well appearing; feel it is reasonable to discharge the patient home at this time with close outpatient follow up."

So he claims he considered a CT scan but based on the results of exams he never performed and clinical history he never asked for and the fact that I was "well appearing" (felt like I was dying), he felt it was "not necessary" to order a CT scan. Only at the end of my visit- 6 hours later was I given an effective painkiller. This negligence genuinely could have killed me and I didn't want it to happen to someone else so I reported him for malpractice. They carried out an investigation and concluded there was no wrongdoing on his part. The woman that was in charge of being in contact with me during the investigation was really nice and also pissed off on my behalf and rightfully so. Also some days after my visit I got a lab report indicating that the strain of infection I had was fairly uncommon and pretty fuckin dangerous with some strains being immune to antibiotics

Maybe I should have advocated for myself better but the condition I was in, I could hardly talk at all. I just hate that he just gets to keep practicing medicine and jeopardizing the health of his patients to make his job easier despite the fact that it could kill someone. It's fucked up how easy it is for doctors to get away with this shit really.

[tieflingkisser]

21 March 2024: Israel continues attack on al-Shifa Hospital with systemic violence

Israeli forces have continued their siege and attacks on al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City for the fourth consecutive day. On Thursday, the Israeli army detonated and completely destroyed the specialized surgery building, which it had already bombed and set on fire on Monday.

Since Monday, Israeli soldiers have killed at least 140 Palestinians at al-Shifa, including more than 50 between Wednesday and Thursday, according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). During the ongoing raid, the Israeli army prevented doctors and medical staff from treating their patients, resulting in more than a dozen deaths. The Government Media Office in Gaza stated that “doctors and nurses were arrested and removed from the departments and forced to strip off their clothes, and prevented from reaching the patient rooms to attempt to save them.” Israel’s army, the media office added, is “systematically and deliberately committing the crime [of] genocide with premeditated intention, and is committing horrendous and clear crimes against humanity by using the weapon of starving the sick and wounded, and practicing deliberate medical negligence against them, the rest of the medical and nursing staff, and the displaced people inside the compound.”

The Geneva-based Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor says it has documented eyewitness accounts of Israeli soldiers arresting and then executing Palestinians inside the hospital, “reflecting a pattern of systemic violence.”

“Israeli soldiers repeatedly took prisoners into the hospital’s morgue area, that gunshots were then heard, and that the soldiers left without the prisoners,” the group reported, citing a survivor of the raid, on Wednesday. According to one eyewitness, who was detained, handcuffed, stripped naked and left for more than nine hours in the hospital courtyard, Israeli soldiers led small groups of detained Palestinians into hospital buildings, including the morgue. “Gunshots were heard, with the soldiers then leaving the area to bring another group there,” the witness said. “These civilians were likely subjected to unlawful killings and executions, as all the information obtained by Euro-Med Monitor’s field team suggests that since Al-Shifa Medical Complex was restored on Sunday/Monday night, 100 Palestinians were killed by Israeli gunfire in and outside of it,” the group reported.

[keep reading]

[pinkglin]

Transphobia to increase its dominion over UK Parliament

I have written the following to my future MP regarding today's news from the Labour Party. This is one of the few potentially sympathetic candidates, so if you can, I urge you to chime in at me@heidialexander.org.uk

Dear Heidi,

You have a good history of queer solidarity. I am a 30 year old trans person living in your almost-certain-to-be constituency.

I've mentioned my worries about Labour before. Now, Wes Streeting has promised to implement the recommendations of the Cass review - despite its foundational bias - it threw out every study that disagreed with it, which was the vast majority of studies.

This was based on GRADE which was never intended for use on anything involved in medical intervention because the data-standard is simply never available with medicine-based data collection.

The Cass review is transphobic, it is misogynistic. It claims boys and girls are biologically disposed to different toys - trucks and dolls!

All this nonsense modern feminism has tried to throw off.

This will result in deaths. It means no-one under 25 can access appropriate gender-based care. Children and adults alike will kill themselves. It has happened every time a state has deprived us of the treatment we plead for.

The Tories murdered my father through their horrifying negligence during the COVID crisis. And yet, it is now Labour I am afraid of.

I mean this with all sincerity. I am terrified of the fact you will win, because your government-in-waiting has sworn to attack me.

I am telling every friend I have, all my family, everyone I can reach that this is the reality trans people face.

I urge you, personally, to stand against the atrocious transphobia now endemic to your party. You should treat this with the same seriousness as Labour's issues with antisemitism.

If you can't, you will have blood on your hands. And we remember. Edit: A friend and cis ally has surmised the Cass report as such:

Cherry picking of evidence

Ignoring prior studies that don't fit the narrative

Rise in referrals due to rise in awareness and understanding. See autism, see ADHD, see cancer. It's always been there, now we can just diagnose and treat it better.

"Caution" in treating patients under 18 should not mean aversion.

Fear is due to lack of training; fear of the unknown.

Failure to provide hormone treatments until age 25, plus up to a 10 year waiting list in some areas will undeniably cost lives. Can you imagine spending half your life in the wrong body?

[i-eat-worlds]

Visceral Comfort

this is a continuation of this piece by @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

cw: medical whump, past medical abuse, slavery, comfort

The doctor examined their patient’s surgical scars, mulling over what had caused them. There were many, in various stages of healing and infection. It was clear that the patient's previous owners had been sloppy with their patch jobs, and that they hadn't received the proper care afterwards. It was outrageous to call yourself a doctor yet do such a poor job cleaning up after such a major procedure. Because of their past owners’ negligence, the chances were quite high that they’d be dead by morning.

They’d done their best to fix what damage they could, removing the sponges that had been left inside and putting some things back where they belonged. It was like a bloody, visceral puzzle, the way that everything had been displaced. Their wounds had been cleaned and dressed in a vain eort to keep infection at bay, but they’d been open and festering for so long that it was unlikely to save them.

The patient was weak, both from the brutality of multiple surgeries and the sickness resulting afterwards. They hadn’t asked for food or water, nor had they made any ther requests. Not for pain management, which was odd, considering what agony they must’ve been in. When they asked what would happen next, the doctor had been honest with them.

“You’ll probably die. I’ll make it comfortable for you.”

So, it was a pleasant surprise when they came in today and found their patient still alive.

It was clear that they had actually slept, the bags under their eyes reduced slightly, and a small amount of life returned to their face. They were still miles away from being healthy, but it was good to see an improvement.

Perhaps they would make it another week.

Then, the patient spoke. No pleasantries were exchanged. Their throat probably still hurt to much for that.

“Is there going to be another surgery today?” The patient’s eyes nervously scanned the doctor's gown, gloves, and mask.

“No.” As interesting as it would’ve been to further investigate the damage, another surgery would likely kill them. The reason for the surgical attire was simply cleanliness. The risk for infection was very high and if the patient was to survive, then it would need to be minimized. “I’m going to look at your wounds.”

The doctor commenced with the exam, inspecting the incisions from the most recent surgery before moving on to the older ones. They were healing nicely, or nicer than they had been. It took a while, since their thorax and abdomen were littered with surgical sites, all in various stages of healing. Remarkably, they remained still the whole time, slowly breathing in a manner that told the doctor their chest was still very sore.

They pulled their hands away, moving to grab the supplies needed for a bed bath. When their back was turned, the patient piped up. “How much longer do I have?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” They wet the sponge in the tub of water. “Your body has experienced quite a lot of trauma. I’ll do my best to keep you comfortable until then, regardless of how long it takes.”

They could feel the patient relax as they carefully scrubbed at their skin. Nearly twenty years of grime had built up, and while they’d been able to get at most of it yesterday, some spots still needed work.

“Thank you.” Their tone was genuine, painfully so.

“You're welcome,” they said, shifting uncomfortably as they rang out the sponge.

They lapsed back into silence. The patient's throat still hurt, and the doctor was meditating on the state of the world.

When had something as simple comfort for the dying become such a rare thing that it deserved a heartfelt thank you?

[killed-by-choice]

Alesha Thomas, 15 (UK 11 July 2007)

The abortion corporation Marie Stopes is very similar to Planned Parenthood. It was founded by a eugenicist and has killed far too many women — and young girls like 15-year-old Alesha— under the “safe and legal” lie.

Alesha Thomas was just over 15 weeks pregnant when her mother brought her in for an abortion at a Marie Stopes facility. Alesha’s mother reports that her daughter was healthy and fit before the legal abortion that took her life.

Marie Stopes was negligent with Alesha and failed to administer antibiotics. After Alesha’s painful death, an inquest revealed that negligent practices at the facility made it “not uncommon” for patients to leave without being given their prescribed medication.

The lethal negligence of Marie Stopes didn’t stop there. Three days after the operation, Alesha's concerned mother called the facility's helpline, a call centre based in Manchester, and told a nurse that her daughter was suffering abdominal pain and heavy bleeding. The nurse only advised she give her daughter Ibuprofen and did not address the blood loss.

Alesha’s mother spoke to a nurse at the facility again, who said her daughter's tests for the sexually transmitted disease chlamydia had come back positive. The nurse advised her to ring her GP for antibiotics. It does not appear that any of the nurses ever referred to Alesha's online notes, which would have highlighted the earlier failure to give Alesha her prescribed antibiotics.

Five days after the abortion and two days after the advice to just take an ibuprofen, Alesha could not move her legs, had glazed eyes and was unresponsive. Her mother tried to drive her to the hospital, but Alesha had a heart attack on the way. The coroner revealed that the heart attack was caused by Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS) from Alesha’s abortion.

An inquest at the abortion facility revealed that the lack of care given to poor Alesha was far from an isolated incident. The Marie Stopes facility was found to regularly send clients home without critical antibiotics or other prescribed medications. The call center had neglected to address the root of the problem and had not addressed Alesha’s heavy bleeding or checked her online records to find the lack of antibiotics.

Alesha’s death was a preventable injustice. After the inquest, the coroner (Roger Whittaker) was so disgusted with the level of malpractice and negligence that he told the court he would be writing to Marie Stopes International to urge that they fix the practices endangering their clients.

[thorne1435]

pssst the study you’re keeping in your back pocket for trans rights is incredibly flawed. it was not a blind trial and therapy was not provided as an alternative option, so the study being “transition or nothing else to offer this person suffering from dysphoria” does not an accurate study make

Bro?? You seem to have missed the point entirely, and I suspect it's because (you've tipped your hand too far) you're not trans, dear anon. You're transphobic. Possibly a TERF. Maybe just a garden-variety. Or, at the very least, you have very bad reading comprehension.

But I can be patient with you. Because I love you. So, I can explain what's going on if you'll listen. It won't be too long, I promise.

Y'see, the point of this study is not to see if gender affirming care is better than doing absolutely nothing. The point of this study is about whether giving people gender affirming care immediately is more effective at treating their dysphoria-related symptoms (such as depression and suicidality).

This is an "ongoing debate" (but not really) about trans healthcare: is the informed consent model (which is, need I remind you, just going in to a clinic, asking for hormone replacement therapy, and getting a prescription same-day) genuinely the best standard, or should there be a waiting period?

Trans people and the more compassionate of physicians are of the mind that waiting periods are killing trans people and that it's a form of negligence at the hands of an ignorant medical system. Transphobes and, uh, let's call them..."Trans Skeptics" are of the mind that some people may transition thinking that it's a cool thing to do or perhaps erroneously that it's the root cause of a different issue they're experiencing, and so they might rush in before they know for certain whether it's the right call.

This study has proven that the trans people and our allies are right.

The people who were expected to wait an additional 3 months before they could be given the testosterone treatments they requested were more dysphoric and more suicidal than the ones who were given their HRT right away.

The alternative finding that this study could've given us is that as people continue with their transition over the course of the three months, the ones on the waitlist might show a similar decrease in suicidality, to the ones who received their testosterone immediately. If that had been the case, it would've meant that the expedience of receiving gender affirming care isn't as important as we had assumed.

But! That isn't what happened! Instead, we have documented evidence that putting trans people on a waiting list for 3 months (which, btw, is bullshit: most trans people wait many years) is not at all a good idea compared to giving them care immediately, as encouraged by literally every expert who has ever had an opinion on the matter.

[lenbryant]

O Alabama!

(LATimes) Column: Alabama’s highest court declared frozen embryos people. The U.S. Supreme Court is to blame

Tom Parker, now Alabama’s chief justice, announcing his campaign for the position.

(Jamie Martin / Associated Press)

The Alabama Supreme Court’s breathtakingly arrogant, slapdash and pernicious opinion conferring personhood on newly formed embryos vividly illustrates the consequences of another reckless decision: the U.S. Supreme Court’s reversal of Roe vs. Wade.

The Alabama court held last week that fertilized ova cryogenically preserved for couples having difficulty conceiving are legally and morally equivalent to newborn babies and, for that matter, 20-year-old adults. According to the court, all are human beings protected under Alabama law to precisely the same extent.

The decision clears the way for wrongful death lawsuits brought by couples whose embryos were destroyed by a patient who wandered into an in vitro fertilization clinic through an unsecured entrance, picked up several frozen fertilized eggs and, shocked by their cryogenic temperature, immediately dropped them on the floor. Reversing the trial court, the Alabama Supreme Court held that this conduct could be subject to a wrongful death claim, rendering it indistinguishable from, say, the death of a 2-year-old negligently left in a sweltering car.

Astonishingly, the sole focus of the court’s analysis was whether Alabama’s wrongful death law encompasses “extrauterine children — that is, unborn children who are located outside of a biological uterus at the time they are killed.” The court did not even attempt to wrestle with the distinction between a just-fertilized egg — what biologists call a blastocyst, a ball of up to a few hundred cells measuring a fraction of a millimeter in diameter — and a fully formed child born at term.

It’s customary to note the parade of horribles that could be occasioned by such an extreme decision. But here the parade has already begun.

Alabama’s largest hospital announced Wednesday that it would no longer offer would-be parents in vitro fertilization procedures due to the substantial threat of criminal liability for mishandling fertilized eggs. Other providers followed suitThursday. Medical personnel who try to help couples conceive have been suddenly recast by the courts as potential murderers.

The immediate consequences don’t end there. Women who use intrauterine devices or morning-after pills, which can affect fertilized eggs, are in the eyes of Alabama law rank baby killers.

The court’s supposed legal opinion in fact rests on the tenet that life begins at conception, a matter of religious faith to which only a small minority of the country subscribes.

Chief Justice Tom Parker’s concurring opinion employs quotations and teachings from Scripture as if they had the legal force of the Bill of Rights. Passages from Genesis and Exodus, various theological tracts, Thomas Aquinas, John Calvin and Jonathan Edwards take their place alongside the writings of U.S. Supreme Court Justices Antonin Scalia and Neil M. Gorsuch. All are marshaled in support of the view that “God made every person in his image… and human life cannot be wrongfully destroyed without incurring the wrath of a holy God, who views the destruction of His image as an affront to Himself.”

But apart from the wrath of God, there is no attempt to rationalize the legal equation of a frozen, formless collection of cells with a living person. The court simply assumes it away with the syllogistic reasoning that Alabama’s statutory law specifies that human life includes “unborn” life.

Such ham-handedness undermines the entire opinion. The critical question for the state is not whether an embryo of any particular age can be said to be, in some sense, alive; it’s whether it is a human being deserving of the rights and protections accorded to all of us, which is a far broader and more complicated designation.

A stadium full of theologians, philosophers, ethicists and politicians couldn’t come up with an authoritative answer to that question. And in the absence of such an answer, how can the state impinge so deeply on the liberty of women and aspiring parents?

It’s in that sense that the Alabama Supreme Court’s opinion can be traced directly to the U.S. Supreme Court’s 2022 decision in Dobbs vs. Jackson Women’s Health Organization. The idea of shoving this tendentious religious tract down Americans’ throats would have been a nonstarter under Roe vs. Wade, which asserted the constitutional liberty interests of women against an overreaching, moralistic state.

Post-Dobbs, those rights are featherweight. The outrage belongs with the U.S. Supreme Court’s ill reasoning and grotesque overreach.

Nor is Alabama the only state purporting to enshrine the fundamentally religious position that human life begins at conception in law. Arkansas, Kentucky, Missouri and Oklahoma issued similar proclamations in the wake of Dobbs.

The Alabama Supreme Court takes this malign presumption to its logical end, stripping every American in its jurisdiction of the right to make their own decisions on a matter of the highest moral and practical import. That’s the antithesis of liberty.

Harry Litman is the host of the “Talking Feds” podcast. @harrylitman

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

--

--

[THREAD]

The most perfect (and almost unbelievable) metaphor for affirmative action: The lives of Allan Bakke (a white guy who challenged racial quotas at UC Davis) and Patrick Chavis (a black guy admitted to UC Davis under affirmative action the year Bakke was rejected). 

After Bakke won his SCOTUS case in 1978 (which ended the use of *overt* racial quotas in university admissions), he finally was accepted at UC Davis medical school. He graduated and eventually began practicing medicine. He kept a low profile, and didn't give interviews. 

Years later, the NY Times, still stinging from Bakke's victory, published a long and glowing account of a “thriving” black UC Davis medical school graduate named Patrick Chavis, noting how he had benefited from the school's old affirmative action quota system. 

Dr. Chavis' story was also featured on TV programs, and senator Ted Kennedy called him a “perfect example” of affirmative action. It was even suggested that Dr. Chavis had achieved more than Dr. Bakke, who graduated a few years after Chavis at UC-Davis. 

State Senator Tom (“Mr. Jane Fonda”) Hayden asked his fellow Californians: “Who made the most of his medical school education? From whom did California taxpayers benefit more?"

Here's Dr. Chavis. He seems nice, doesn't he?

But Dr. Chavis wasn't nice — he was a terrible and spectacularly incompetent doctor, and perhaps, if this is possible, an even worse human being. If the fawning reporter for the Times had done his job and just asked around a little, he would have gotten an earful. 

At the very least, the reporter might have at least been bothered to go down to the court house and dig up records that showed that Dr. Chavis had been sued for malpractice twenty-one times, and had paid settlements on some of those suits. 

But when the NYT has a thesis as important as this one, it usually doesn't want to be hobbled by contradicting evidence or cognitive dissonance. 

Highlights from Dr. Chavis' storied medical career included botched operations at his clinic which killed patients and left others in permanent pain, and — this is rather striking — hiding a patient in his home for two days after she nearly bled to death at his clinic. 

Dr. Chavis' incompetence and disregard for human life finally caught up with him in 1997 when a patient bled to death after he performed a “fly-by-night liposuction” on her and then “disappeared.”

Patients later said they were afraid to report him because of his celebrity. 

With an obviously dead patient and a conspicuously missing doctor on their hands, the California Medical Board California finally acted. Later, that same year, they revoked Dr. Chavis' license. 

In their decision, it cited the doctor's "inability to perform some of the most basic duties required of a physician" and his "poor impulse control and insensitivity to patients' pain."

Special weight was given to that last item. 

A tape recording surfaced of Dr. Chavis chanting "liar, liar, pants on fire” at his patients while they screamed in agony — an extremely idiosyncratic way, to say the least, of soothing them and expressing disbelief at their claims of excruciating pain. 

All told, the California Medical Board brought 90 counts of misconduct and “gross negligence” — probably fair to say a bludgeoning of the Hippocratic Oath — against “the perfect example” of affirmative action. 

If you're finding any of this a little hard to believe, well, I can't say I blame you — it *does*strain credulity.

But wait, it actually gets weirder — PREDICTABLY weirder.

Because, you know, racism. 

That's right, the truly lousy doctor and even lousier human being, now-just-plain-Mr. Patrick Chavis, reached into his back pocket and pulled out the race card, blaming his bad fortune on a particularly virulent strain of structural oppression — “white envy.” 

That sounds interesting. Maybe something the NY Times might want to investigate?

You'd think so, but no — this time the suspiciously silent Times didn't feel it necessary to send a reporter to Cali to capture the thoughts and feelings of its former cover boy. 

So whatever happened to Allan Bakke? Dr. Bakke is retired, finishing his career the way he started it, quietly and with integrity — as an anaesthesiologist at the world-renowned Mayo Clinic. 

Postscript: Patrick Chavis was murdered by carjackers on the streets of Hawthorne, California in 2002, at the age of fifty. He had gone out for an ice cream cone. 

Bakke decision legacy: Very little changed in the UC system. It continues to quietly practice (and quietly celebrate) institutional racism against whites and (especially) Asians.

Just ask the Korean kid who got a 1530 SAT and didn't get in, and the Hispanic with a 960, who did. 

An excellent article (which mentions the above example of the rejected Korean-American applicant) about the persistence of racial preferences in admissions at universities in the UC system .

[lazicepie]

Got bored. Is now thinking about... Uhh... Flesh and narrative medical malpractice.

note. I am not a doctor of any kind. I'm not even interested in the medical field, I just like to see characters in misery and wacky mindsets. + ignore the half a dozen salmon reblogs before this. +slightly long post

Like what would it mean narratively when medical malpractice? Well, legally, it is usually defined by a mistake on the practicing doctor's part whether due to NEGLIGENCE or MALICIOUS INTENT, resulting in HARM TO THE PATIENT.

This would usually mean like, shit happening to the patient that wouldn't usually happen to a well treated one. Some more unnoticeable ones can be like, the doctor using too much dosage of a fucking medical thing, and something something, surgery scar that doesn't heal right because of that. Or like, not getting followup checks because the doctor's too busy, which can result in more other things going unchecked. (tbh we just love ??? things happening to the character and the flailing)

Also more severe ones. Medical equipments got left IN THE FLESH and overtime the flesh began to grow around it (beeps when going through airport security! (perhaps that's how they found out)) (can also be things like gauze). And like getting infections to the surgerical site, which, well, sucks for the blorbo if they have like no antibiotics, because the pain, like, eh! You get what I mean.

-MALICIOUS INTENT -

This one is also like, fun. Because most of what I think of what thinking of this is like, regular capitalism except with less humanity.

MEDICAL FRAUD: It's the intentional deceiving of a something in order to get benefits out of it. In this case, medical swag. The evil ones I'm thinking, is when a doctor purposefully treats a patient in a way that is (technically also medical malpractice(double whammy!)) keeping the patient in the sick state so that they will continue to busily keep seeking out that medical treatment, thus, more billing and stuff. > This one's read with examples such as where someone was kept on braces for five years. And like, that's a little long.

MEDICAL. fuck. Gets personal??? Hey so fun fact, uhhh that's a whole human working on your organs. What if they get a little evil. Yeah what if they do stuff with them hmm? Like write their signature on your heart muscles just to piss you(or someone else) off later? Because like, when you're at the stage where you're operating on a sleeping patient, the option to kill is already like far out the window. Just killing is like, wimp levels of evilness. Do something more silly like eat their flesh and put a curse on their most inconvenient spot to reach and uncurse.

Give a private doctor humanity and watch the human handle their subjects with more care than their actual self. I am talking about computer scientists, I am talking about robotic engineers, I am talking about Dr Frankenstein and the archeologists.

THATS RIGHT. I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU THERE!!! ✔✔✔

Also please don't actually commit medical malpractice, it makes me sad when my pals are hurt. ;v;