#minimal incision

[diginerve]

Advances in Minimally Invasive Spine Surgery Techniques

Medical science has advanced in a few decades. Our researchers work day and night to help us attain optimal health.

We usually read and listen about the invention of a new drug to cure critical problems. For example, we recently heard that Russian scientists are close to developing a cancer drug, which would be great news if they were successful.

But today, we will not discuss the trends in drugs but the advances in minimally invasive spine surgery techniques.

So, let’s get started!

What is Minimally Invasive Spine Surgery?

We usually hear cases of people suffering from back injuries and conditions that cause them pain. Sometimes, these problems are minor, and people resolve them by taking drugs. However, people who suffer from severe back pain usually end up undergoing spine surgery.

The surgical process, traditionally, was quite painful. If we talk about traditional spine surgery, surgeons have to create long incisions to gain access to the anatomy and view the area to be operated on.

But the advancements in medical science have given birth to minimally invasive spine surgery. So, what can you expect from Minimally Invasive Spine Surgery?

Minimal incision

Little or no muscle-cutting

Less bleeding during surgery

Shorter hospital stays 

Smaller risk of infection

Less pain after surgery

Faster recovery

Less scarring                                                                                  

Conditions Treated Using MIS Procedures

Degenerative disc disease

Herniated disc

Lumbar spinal stenosis

Spinal instability, including spondylolisthesis

Vertebral compression fractures

Spinal tumors

Spinal deformities such as scoliosis

Spinal infections

After gaining the basic of minimally invasive spine surgery, let’s move further to see the recent Advances in Minimally Invasive Spine Surgery Techniques:

Robotic-Assisted Surgery: We see the use of robotics in almost every field to guide doctors to perform work with precision, and medical science is no less. 

We can understand this better by seeing the scenario where using Robotics and AI medical science has expanded the capabilities of surgeons, helping them to have fine motor control during intricate procedures. Additionally, robotic-assisted systems, guided by AI algorithms, allow surgeons to execute precision, which was not possible previously with traditional techniques; this affects not only surgeons but also patients. It is now easier for patients to recover postoperatively because they feel less surgical trauma.

Virtual reality (VR)/Augmented reality (AR) in Spine Surgery: Recent technological advancements have given spine surgeons the power to plan surgical operations in a virtual 3D environment, which helps them create a surgical blueprint for each patient by ensuring the precise placement of devices.

Endoscopy: In the past few times, great technological advancements have driven the minimally invasive revolution in spine surgery.

And spinal Endoscopy is the next enhancement that has gained enormous traction over the past decade.

Following elective spinal surgery with endoscopy, fewer permanent biomechanical alterations occur.

Additionally, endoscopy causes less collateral damage to the surrounding tissues of the spinal column. That generally means a less painful procedure and a shorter recovery period. Which means patients can return to activities more quickly.

Spine surgery is one of the most popular subjects among postgraduate students, and those who aspire to know every little detail of Minimally Invasive Spine Surgery must enroll in the Spine Surgery Course!

Why Should You Enroll For this Course?

This course is not like any random course available online. The course is a complete package for students because it has been created by a team of faculty members with extensive teaching experience.

The course consisted of a collection of spine surgery video lectures, which are helpful for students and even for orthopedic surgeons and neurosurgeons to learn new techniques and procedures in spine surgery. These video lectures contain more than 50 different spine operations, including spinal deformity and minimally invasive and neurosurgical procedures performed by eminent and experienced surgeons.

Not only that, you will also get the notes, which means you cannot miss any topic.

[ghostzzy]

got a good grade in top surgery, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve :^]

[drmayurdalvi]

Percutaneous Nephrolithotomy (PCNL)

 Percutaneous nephrolithotomy (PCNL) is a surgical procedure to remove kidney stones that are too large to pass naturally or by other non-invasive treatments. In this procedure, a small incision is made in the back to create a tunnel through the skin and tissue to access the kidney. Then an endoscope is inserted through the incision to find and remove kidney stones.

  PCNL is usually performed under general anesthesia and requires a short hospital stay of 1-3 days. This procedure has a high success rate and is considered safe and effective in treating large or complex kidney stones. This procedure is recommended for patients with kidney stones larger than 2 cm or located in areas of the kidney that are difficult to access with other non-invasive treatments. PCNL is also used in patients with other medical conditions that make other treatments less safe or effective.

 Prior to the procedure, the patient may need to have imaging tests, such as a CT scan or ultrasound, to locate kidney stones and determine the best method for their removal. Patients are also advised to stop taking blood thinners such as aspirin and warfarin before surgery to reduce the risk of bleeding.

 During surgery, the patient lies on their back and a small incision is made in their back.  A guidewire is then inserted into the kidney through the incision and tunneled with a series of dilators. A nephroscope,  a thin tubular instrument with a camera and light source, is inserted through a tunnel to locate and remove kidney stones. After the stone is removed, a tube called a nephrostomy tube is inserted into the kidney to drain any remaining fluid and debris. 

 After the procedure, patients may experience pain or discomfort in the back or abdomen and may be given pain relievers to manage these symptoms. Patients are also advised to drink plenty of fluids to wash away any remaining stone debris. In some cases, patients may need to undergo additional procedures to completely remove all kidney stones.

  Overall, PCNL is a safe and effective surgical procedure for treating large or complex kidney stones. Patients should discuss the risks and benefits of this procedure with their doctor to determine if this is the best treatment option for their individual needs.

For more information Visit: www.drmayurdalvi.com

[atreidesjr]

Sapphire FUE Hair Transplant: A High-Tech and Minimally Invasive Solution to Hair Loss

What is Sapphire FUE Hair Transplantation?

The Sapphire FUE (Follicular Unit Extraction) hair transplant technique is a minimally invasive procedure that involves extracting individual hair follicles from the donor area and implanting them into the recipient area using a specialized tool made of sapphire.

The sapphire FUE method uses a sapphire blade to create small incisions in the scalp, which allows for more precise and controlled implantation of hair follicles. The blade is made of sapphire, which is a high-quality material that is known for its durability and sharpness. This allows for a more efficient and accurate implantation of hair follicles, resulting in a higher success rate.

Advantages of Sapphire FUE Hair Transplantation

Minimal Scarring: The Sapphire FUE method is a minimally invasive procedure that does not require any incisions or stitches. This means that there is minimal scarring, and the recovery time is much faster compared to other hair transplant techniques.

High Success Rate: The sapphire FUE method has a high success rate, with most patients experiencing natural-looking results. The use of a sapphire blade allows for more precise and controlled placement of hair follicles, resulting in a seamless blend between the transplanted hair and the existing hair.

Faster Recovery: The Sapphire FUE method has a faster recovery time compared to other hair transplant techniques. Patients can usually return to their normal activities within a few days of the procedure.

Versatile: The Sapphire FUE method can be used on all hair types, including curly or wavy hair. It is also suitable for individuals with a limited donor area, as the sapphire blade can extract hair follicles from areas that may be difficult to access with other techniques.

Conclusion

The Sapphire FUE method is a high-tech and minimally invasive hair transplant technique that offers many benefits over other hair transplant procedures. It has a high success rate, minimal scarring, and faster recovery time. The use of a sapphire blade allows for more precise and controlled placement of hair follicles, resulting in natural-looking results. If you are considering a hair transplant, the Sapphire FUE method is definitely worth considering.

[shreenetralaya]

Micro-Incision Cataract Surgery (MICS): A Minimally Invasive Option for Treating Cataracts

                            Micro Incision Cataract (MICS)

Cataracts are a common condition among older adults, characterized by the clouding of the eye's natural lens. This clouding can lead to blurry vision, difficulty seeing in low light conditions, and eventually, vision loss. Cataracts can be treated through surgery, with one popular option being micro-incision cataract surgery (MICS).

MICS is a minimally invasive cataract surgery technique that involves creating a small incision (typically between 1.5 and 2.2mm) in the cornea, which is the clear outer layer of the eye. Through this tiny incision, the surgeon removes the cloudy lens and replaces it with an artificial intraocular lens (IOL).

There are several benefits to MICS over traditional cataract surgery techniques. Firstly, the small incision means less trauma to the eye, resulting in less inflammation, faster healing time, and reduced risk of complications. Additionally, because the incision is so small, there is less induced astigmatism, which can lead to better visual outcomes. Finally, MICS can often be performed without the need for stitches or sutures, further reducing the risk of complications.

MICS is typically performed under local anesthesia, with the patient awake but numb around the eye. The surgeon will make a small incision in the cornea and use specialized instruments to break up the cloudy lens and remove it from the eye. The artificial IOL is then inserted through the same small incision and positioned in the correct location. The entire procedure usually takes less than 30 minutes to complete.

After the surgery, patients will need to use prescription eye drops to prevent infection and reduce inflammation. It is also important to avoid rubbing or touching the eye and to avoid strenuous activities for several weeks. Most patients experience improved vision within a few days, with full recovery typically taking several weeks.

MICS is a safe and effective option for treating cataracts, with high success rates and low risk of complications. However, not all patients may be suitable candidates for the procedure. Your ophthalmologist will be able to advise you on whether MICS is the right choice for your individual case.

Summery

micro-incision cataract surgery (MICS) is a minimally invasive technique that can offer many benefits over traditional cataract surgery techniques. By creating a small incision in the cornea, MICS can reduce trauma to the eye, improve visual outcomes, and speed up recovery time. If you are experiencing cataracts, talk to your ophthalmologist to see if MICS is right for you.

For More information  please Visit: https://www.shrikrishnanetralaya.com/

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Wounds

Wound

Occurs when the integrity of any tissue is compromised (e.g. skin breaks, muscle tears, burns, or bone fractures).

May be caused by an act, such as a gunshot, fall, or surgical procedure; by an infectious disease; or by an underlying condition.

8 Categories of Acute Wounds

Generally used by emergency personnel & first aid workers.

Abrasions. Also called scrapes, they occur when the skin is rubbed away by friction against another rough surface (e.g. rope burns and skinned knees).

Avulsions. These occur when an entire structure or part of it is forcibly pulled away, such as the loss of a permanent tooth or an ear lobe. Explosions, gunshots, and animal bites may cause avulsions.

Contusions. Also called bruises, these are the result of a forceful trauma that injures an internal structure without breaking the skin. Blows to the chest, abdomen, or head with a blunt instrument (e.g., a football or a fist) can cause contusions.

Crush wounds. Occur when a heavy object falls onto a person, splitting the skin and shattering or tearing underlying structures.

Cuts. Slicing wounds made with a sharp instrument, leaving even edges. They may be as minimal as a paper cut or as significant as a surgical incision.

Lacerations. Also called tears, these are separating wounds that produce ragged edges. They are produced by a tremendous force against the body, either from an internal source as in childbirth, or from an external source like a punch.

Missile wounds. Also called velocity wounds, they are caused by an object entering the body at a high speed, typically a bullet.

Punctures. These are deep, narrow wounds produced by sharp objects such as nails, knives, and broken glass.

Symptoms of a Wound

Include localized pain and bleeding.

Specific symptoms:

 An abrasion usually appears as lines of scraped skin with tiny spots of bleeding.

 An avulsion has heavy, rapid bleeding and a noticeable absence of tissue.

 A contusion may appear as a bruise beneath the skin or may appear only on imaging tests. An internal wound may also generate symptoms such as weakness, perspiration, and pain.

A crush wound may have irregular margins like a laceration; however, the wound will be deeper and trauma to muscle and bone may be apparent.

A cut may have little or profuse bleeding depending on its depth and length; its even edges readily line up.

A laceration may have little or profuse bleeding. The tissue damage is generally greater and the wound’s ragged edges do not readily line up.

A missile entry wound may be accompanied by an exit wound, and bleeding may be profuse, depending on the nature of the injury.

A puncture wound will be greater in depth than in its length, therefore there is usually little bleeding around the outside of the wound and more bleeding inside, causing discoloration.

Some Terminology

Butterfly bandage—Narrow strip of adhesive with wider flaring ends (shaped like butterfly wings) used to hold the edges of a wound together as it heals.

Plasma—The straw-colored fluid component of blood, without blood cells.

Tourniquet—A device used to control bleeding, consisting of a constricting band applied tightly around a limb above the wound. It should only be used if the bleeding in life-threatening and cannot be controlled by other means.

Traumatic shock—A condition of depressed body functions as a reaction to injury with loss of body fluids or lack of oxygen. Signs of traumatic shock include weak and rapid pulse; shallow and rapid breathing; and pale, cool, clammy skin.

Whole blood—Blood that contains red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets in plasma.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs More: Writing Realistic Injuries ⚜ On Anatomy ⚜ Poison ⚜ Fight Scenes Part 1 2

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good and bad}, character death, CPR, hospitals/surgeries, ANGSTY AS HELL

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: I may or may not be sorry for this

Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar

Part 7: The Summer Filter {You Are Here}

Part 8: The Favor

It was the night of the dance. You were in your room sliding on sandals with thick black straps; they sparkle as you admire the inky polish on your toes. Standing in front of your long mirror, you inspect the outfit.

Still as starry and beautiful as you remember – little dazzling specks of light against a deep navy sky. The heart-shaped neckline gave your chest shape while revealing your battle scars. You didn’t feel the need to put concealer on the discoloration of them.

This was the real you.

Your hair was pinned up in an elegant bun with a few curled strands framing your face. It might’ve taken you fifteen minutes, but you were finally able to put eyeliner on the way you like. Other than that, your makeup was relatively minimal.

It was time to show your parents and wait for Scott to come pick you up.

Since he wasn’t telling parents that he was banned from the dance, he was free to escort you without suspicion. Once at the dance, you’d have to find other friends to mingle with.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your dad says at the bottom of the stairs, “You look amazing.” He looks proud as your mom appears with a camera.

She snaps a picture, “Ah, you are stunning!” she takes another picture of you laughing. “I love everything about the dress.”

Your mom pulls you aside for a posed picture next to the front door before she gives you a hug. One of her hands lingers on your shoulder, her thumb grazing the edge of your 3-inch incision scar.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers, “And so brave.”

“We’re proud of you, sweetheart,” Tom says next to his wife. “You’re right – a girl needs to go to at least one high school dance in her lifetime.”

You snicker, “Even if I am going with just friends.”

“Remember to take breaks if it feels too overwhelming,” Angela frets, “Get some water and sit down for a few minutes.”

“And you have friends and teachers there that can help you,” Tom adds, “Don’t be all stoic and pretend you’re fine.”

You wave them off as you hear a car pull into the driveway. “Don’t worry, everything will be great.”

You suddenly have an inkling of the fear Stiles must feel with his dad. Your parents don’t know about the target on your back from a bloodthirsty supernatural creature. They don’t know how in danger you actually are. And if anything were to happen, you would feel immense guilt at keeping them in the dark as they fret and worry.

Scott knocks on the door and you open it to reveal him holding three large daisy flowers. “Hello. Oh, wow…” he looks you over, “You look amazing.”

Your cheeks go pink, “Thank you, Scott. I’m loving you in a suit.” You give him a hug and he presents the flowers.

“At least one of these is from Stiles because he’s upset I didn’t give him a chance to contribute,” he laughs, “I know they’re not much, but…”

“I love them. They’re a wonderful surprise.” You take the flowers from him, and your dad takes them quietly while your mom takes a few pictures. “Mom!”

“Just a few pictures for the album,” she says, “I want you to make sure you get more with your friends tonight.”

Scott feels a little tense standing next to you, a gentle hand on your lower back as you smile. “I’ll have her back before two.”

“One,” Tom says, still holding the flowers.

“One,” Scott agrees, “We’ll send you pictures.”

Angela beams, “Perfect, have fun you two!”

The walk to the car was full of tense giggles. Scott holds the door open for you and he clambers into his seat a few moments later.

“Thank you for driving me,” you smile, “I know tonight is going to be a little stressful.”

“I’d rather drive you and make sure you’re safe than just appear on the roof somewhere,” he shrugs, his knuckles pale where they grip the steering wheel. “You are one of the main targets tonight.”

“Don’t remind me,” you say, “Stiles was still bummed when I said he couldn’t drive me.”

“He’ll get over it.”

You smile, “I’m sorry you couldn’t take Allison.”

He’s quiet for a second, “Me too. But she’s not alone either. And it would be harder for me to explain why I wanted to drive with them when I’m not allowed at the school dance.”

“Well, I’m grateful anyways,” you say, “I didn’t realize how nervous I would be.”

“About the Alpha?”

“About the dance,” you laugh, “Is that ridiculous? There’s a psycho werewolf terrorizing us and instead I’m nervous about who I’m going to dance with and how I’ll look compared to everyone else.”

Scott smiles, “Those are the things you should be worried about. And you really do look amazing – I don’t think you have to worry about that one.”

The drive there feels quick with nerves fluttering in your stomach. Your heart rate is elevated, but you focus to keep a handle on it.

Ironically, the front of the school is decorated with stars, just like your dress. Blue and white balloons stand like statues on either side of the front doors while projections and strands of light wind around railings and stairs. You’re dazzled as you watch hordes of students make their way inside.

Scott looks guilty as he says, “I can’t be seen on the grounds.”

“I know,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt, “I’ll walk the rest of the way. Good luck trying to get in,” you laugh.

Crossing the parking lot was like a never-ending runway. You feel many eyes on you, whispers being said about your scars or your outfit, you weren’t sure. You suddenly wish you brought a purse so at least there’d be something for your hands to hold. Right now they were clenching and unclenching at your sides.

Your heart was starting to beat a little faster as you near the entry table. All these eyes, dozens of people, loud music and strobing lights, and…

“(Y/N)!”

You whip around to see Stiles tripping over the sidewalk curb. He has on a crinkled suit with a black plaid tie. He looks rosy as he straightens himself in front of you, “I, uh… woah.” His eyes are stuck on you – your dress, your chest, your face. His mouth hangs open; he is completely speechless.

You pull him into a hug, “You look handsome in a suit.”

He giggles awkwardly, still choking on words as he looks you up and down. “I – I um… you look…” He looks into your eyes, very warm and sincere when he says, “You look beautiful.”

You try to hide your smile, “See, that’s why we don’t invite boys to go dress shopping. Their reactions are so much better at the dance.”

He shakes his head, acknowledging your rightness, and extending his elbow. “Might I escort you inside?”

“Sure,” you smile, holding onto the crook of his arm.

The inside of the gym was loud and boisterous. Hanging chandeliers and blankets of shimmery star fabric hang from the ceiling. Lights of pink and purple fly around the room, complimenting the live band in the back center.

Your hand tightens around Stiles’ arm, and he stops instantly.

“Too loud?”

You try to take a deep breath, “I just need a second to adjust.”

“Let’s sit down then,” he guides you to one of the round tables and pulls a chair out for you. “I’ll get you a drink,” he says as he tucks you in.

You smile your thanks, trying to relax enough to breathe steadily. You take the time to look for friends around the room. It didn’t take long to find Jackson huddled with Danny and other lacrosse players. He was pouring something clear from a glass bottle into the punch cups. You roll your eyes – well he was coping in his own unique way.

You continue to people watch, seeing your classmates and the dates they came with. Behind you is Scott hiding next to the bleachers. You pinpoint where Coach is and decide that there’s enough distance between the two.

Allison comes sulkily to your table, sitting down and groaning, “I told you I had a feeling Jackson would be a shit date.”

“He’s not in the mood, is he?” you grimace, watching him across the gym drinking straight from the glass bottle. “We could report him.”

“Let him be stupid,” she sighs, leaning back in the folding chair, “He’ll regret it enough in the morning.”

You grab her hand and squeeze, “Did you see that Scott is here?”

Her eyes light up, “I saw him sneaking in through the roof.”

“A flair for the dramatic,” you huff, “I bet you anything he’ll try to dance with you even with Finstock watching.”

“If not, we can just dance together,” she laughs, “As long as I get to lead.”

You hold up your hands, “Whatever you say.” You nod your head across the gym, “Did you see Lydia and Ben?”

Lydia was aggressively dancing with Ben Manley, the pair of them treating the school dance like a nightclub. Allison shakes her head, “She’s trying to get over Jackson.”

“She can’t hide that she’s hurt forever,” you say, “Jackson isn’t going to care that she’s grinding on some other guy at a dance.”

“We’ll be there for her when she needs it.”

Stiles reappears with two cups of punch, “Oh, hi Allison. You look nice.” He hands you a cup.

“Are you sure these aren’t spiked?” you say comically, “Jackson has been passing around the bottle.”

“Of course he has,” Stiles grumbles, “You okay, Allison?”

“We’re waiting for Scott to make his move,” she says. But a loud commotion in the crowd has caught your attention, “Or maybe he is right now?”

You hear Coach yelling a few things in the center of the crowd that you can’t make out. The audience and band go quiet for a second as he yells for everyone to keep dancing. The band picks up with a soft slow dance song and Scott appears a little out of breath but smiling from ear to ear.

“How did you manage that?” you ask.

He only has eyes for Allison as she says, “Yes, I would love to dance with you.”

Scott looks like a lovestruck puppy as Allison drags him onto the dance floor. You smile after them, happy that they’re reconciling. You don’t even notice how long Stiles has been looking at you until he asks:

“How’s your heart?”

“Still a little elevated,” you sigh, “But nothing I can’t handle.”

He nods, looking afraid and hopeful when he asks, “Do you wanna dance?”

You turn to him with warm eyes. You are completely endeared by him again. “Sure.”

His smile comes on quick and fast, standing and letting his chair topple to the ground. You accept his outstretched hand, laughing, and follow him to the dance floor. It was full of couples slowly dancing with their arms wrapped around each other.

The quieter music and lack of raving students was easier on your nerves. Stiles was timid in how he puts his hands on your waist, waiting for you to make the deciding move.

When you wrap your arms around his shoulders and force him to stoop so you can reach, he finally sinks into you. His head rests beside yours, pulling you close by the waist and swaying to match the rhythm.

You have to tilt your head up so you weren’t smothered into his shoulder. “This is better.”

His fingers twitch on your sides, “Slow dancing?”

“It’s less chaotic,” you agree, “It feels… safer. For my heart.”

He leans his head into yours, “I’m glad you still came, (Y/N).”

“Me too.” You put a hand up his neck, grazing the edge of his hairline, “Let’s just forget all the werewolf business tonight.”

“We can until something happens,” he agrees, “I just… I like holding you like this.”

Your brow puckers, face shadowed by pink and purple light. Something warm enters your chest and dribbles to your stomach. “What else?”

Stiles grips your sides, “I like… being this close to you. And smelling that wonderful fruity stuff on you.”

Nervous butterflies were fluttering in your stomach, teasing your lungs with their wingbeats. “You’ve said that before.”

He smiles, “I like you in this dress. I like that your scars are out. I like the fact you came without a date because I get to dance with you like this. And I like knowing you’re smiling right now without me needing to look because I can feel it against my cheek.” He pulls away to see proof of that smile. “I like you, (Y/N). Like a lot.” You giggle and it eggs him on, “Like a lot a lot.”

You smile and shake your head, “I think I’m a little late to the game. Everyone seems to know that but me.”

His expression starts to dip. He wants to hear a similar confession from you. But you don’t have a real answer yet. “You’re not surprised?”

“I think I’ve been in denial,” you say, still swaying to the music but getting lost in the motion. It was making you feel dizzy. The decorations on the gym walls were blurring behind Stiles’ head. “I think I…”

Stiles looks like he’s on the edge of desperation. His cheeks are flushed with oncoming embarrassment, and you can see the hurt behind his eyes. You move a hand to his cheek, feeling the heat there, “I think I feel… faint.” And your head falls to his chest, still conscious but on the verge of passing out.

Stiles holds you tightly to him, still swaying despite your limp legs, “I’ve got you.” He holds you up by the waist, a hand going for your neck to check your pulse. “I got you – I won’t let you fall.”

You dance like this for the remainder of the song, you breathing in his sweet woodsy smell and grounding yourself in his hold. He carries you gently, running his free hand in soft patterns along your back and arms. It was incredibly soothing and if your head wasn’t pounding like you were about to faint, you would’ve fallen asleep.

The song ends and you’re still swaying with Stiles. It takes everything in him not to force a word out of you. It was killing him waiting for you to speak.

You were in the throes of dissecting your feelings. How did you feel about Stiles? You remember the sleepover. The blue handprints on the car battery. The fries in the hospital cafeteria. The mac and cheese with the Sheriff. The suit jacket searching the woods. The garden trellis and rocks thrown on the tulips. The peachy light of your room and Ollie asleep between you two. The way he bandaged your shoulder. The panic in his voice from the video store call. The hugs when you cried. The truth about his mother. The gas station candy in the parking lot. The lessons in kissing.

You feel warm all over, blood still trickling to your legs and leaving your head heavy with cotton. You finally push him away, “I need to sit down.”

He’s compliant, “Okay,” guiding you by the hand and waist to the round tables. “Um… I’ll get you something to drink. Do you want to find a place to lie down?”

You put a hand to your temples, shading your eyes, “Let’s try the drink first.”

He swallows hard. His question about if you reciprocate any feelings for him left in the air. It’s eating him alive. But he leaves to navigate the boisterous dancing crowd to find the punch bowl and maybe something for you to snack on.

You’re left in your sticky feelings about Stiles. You had promised yourself no serious relationships. It would hurt less when you inevitably had to leave them. Therefore, there had to be no serious feelings.

But what you felt around Stiles. It was safe and warm and natural. And after the kissing in the jeep? Puzzle pieces were falling into place everywhere.

It was going to be dangerous liking him back. You would have to be honest with him about your prognosis. You would have to tell him why it wouldn’t work. It would cause him more grief than joy.

You pinch the bridge of your nose – would you allow yourself to like Stiles back?

Your phone in your dress pocket dings with a message from Lydia.

“I can’t find Jackson.”

You whip your head around to find Ben Manley sulking on the bleachers. Of course Lydia couldn’t let Jackson go. She still cares about him.

“He was crazy drunk last I saw him,” you reply, “He might’ve left to blow off some steam.”

“I’ll check the lacrosse field,” she says.

You feel a tinge of panic, “No, you shouldn’t go out there alone. Come back and we’ll think of something together.”

Lydia doesn’t reply and you feel that panic grow. She was on her way to being the most vulnerable pack member tonight. You stand up and will the shakiness from your drained limbs. Scott and Allison are still dancing, Jackson is missing, and Stiles is swarmed with thirsty students at the refreshments.

You were wasting time trying to get backup. If Lydia had at least one more person with her, she’d be safer.

You are quick to leave the gym and find a path to the lacrosse field. All the stadium lights are on and call to you like lighthouse beacons. You decide sending a text to both Scott and Stiles was the safe course of action.

“Lydia ran off to the field. No time. I’m going to get her.”

The grass was damp and uneven. You were grateful for wearing sandals beneath the long dress. Even more grateful when you notice a limp figure on the ground and another towering over her.

“Lydia?!” you cry, running for the pair in the center of the field.

There was blood painting her pale skin, a horrible contrast in the stadium light. Peter Hale was crouched over her, a trickle of blood running from his lips.

“Ah, (Y/N),” he says with his sinister smile, “I was wondering who would show up. Turns out it was the masterpiece coming to the rescue.” He stands and wipes at his lip, “Now, gauging the relationship between pack members, I do believe you are the more invaluable one.”

He speaks with a calm tone, but the blood on his face and the hunting nature of his eyes was unsettling. Your bare arms erupt in goosebumps, and you watch him take a sniff in your direction.

He grins, “Your fear is delicious.”

“Others are coming,” you squeak, blood pumping in your ears. Your eyes keep flickering to Lydia, searching for her chest moving with air. “A fight will break out.”

“We don’t want that on your special night,” he says in a terrifying coo, “I just need to find Derek.”

Your face scrunches, “And how would we know the answer to that?”

“One of you does,” he smirks, “And I’m going to make sure there is plenty of incentive.” He walks over Lydia and in your direction.

In a split second Peter is swiping at you, sending you flying to the ground in a mass of shimmering blue fabric. A thrill of pain like nothing else explodes in your side and you know his claws are out.

You gasp in pain, too sharp to cry out.

“I can hear the unevenness of your heart,” he growls, fangs lengthening in his mouth, “I can smell the sickly symptoms of death.” He bows to take hold of your neck, the tips of his claws digging into the soft skin there, “Let me speed up the process.”

And he lifts you into the air, his nails sinking further into you. This time you cry out, hitting him pathetically with your arms. He throws you back into the ground and pins you beneath his body. His jaws are inches from your jugular when a frantic voice screams across the field.

“(Y/N)!”

Peter lifts his head and watches as Stiles sprints across the grass like his life depends on it. He slides the last few feet, getting on your level. His hand rises to touch you, but Peter growls at him – protective of his prey.

“Don’t kill her,” Stiles says in a shaky voice. His eyes stay on you, avoiding the gaze of the Alpha. “Please.”

Peter hums, “I might find it in me to spare her; if you tell me how to find Derek.”

Stiles stammers, “What?”

A clawed hand grips into your already damaged side and a sharp cry of pain comes out of you. “Tell me how to find Derek Hale.”

Stiles is losing control of his breathing, digging his fingers into the grass to stop himself from getting killed. “I don’t know that. How would I know that? Leave her alone!”

Peter removes his claws, each dipped in the dark red of your blood. “You’re the clever one, aren’t you? And deception has a particularly acrid scent, Stiles. Tell me the truth or I will rip her apart.”

You feel weak and faint as Peter trails his fingers along your bare skin. Tears are streaming from your eyes and into your hair. The tears to your side are searing with pain; with every breath you’re hurting.

One of your ribs must be broken.

Stiles was panicking, unsure of how to help you. “Okay, look… I think he knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Derek, I think he knew he was gonna be caught.”

“By the Argents?” Peter was staring at him with a hunters mark.

Stiles struggles to look between him and you bleeding on the ground. “Yeah, and when they were shot, he and Scotty… I think he took Scott’s phone.” You wince in pain and he pounds a fist into the grass.

“Why?” Peter asks lowly.

“They all have GPS now. So if he still has it and if it’s still on… you can find him.”

“Then lets go.”

Stiles is still frantic, fingers in the grass and tears of frustration burning his eyes. You were writhing on the ground in clear agony.

“No, I’m not just letting you leave them here.”

“You don’t have a choice Stiles; you’re coming with me.” Peter bends down to fish in your dress pocket, producing your cell phone, “Here ‘Lydia is hurt on the field,’ happy now? Sent it to a friend chat.”

“What about (Y/N)?”

Peter searches his pockets for a handkerchief, “She’ll be coming with us.” He wipes superiorly at his chin. Stiles begs from his place on the ground.

“You can’t drag her around with us! She’s bleeding out; she needs a doctor!”

“Then I suggest you don’t waste my time trying to find Derek,” he straightens his leather coat, “Because the longer you take… the longer she suffers.”

“She has a bad heart,” Stiles pleads, those frustration tears building in the corners of his eyes. “Any more stress could kill her.”

Peter squats beside you, making you whimper. “Then don’t cause her any more stress by fighting me.” He sinks his claws under your arm and drags you effortlessly across the field.

You cry out in pain, your legs too weak to flail. Blood leaves a trail behind you, Stiles scrambling to his feet, “Stop it! That’s hurting her too much. Her heart will give out before we find Derek – and there goes my incentive.” He yells the last part, “I won’t care after that!”

Peter grumbles and wraps his arms around your waist and legs, carrying you the rest of the way to Stiles’ jeep. You’re placed in the back, panting and hissing with pain as Peter and Stiles sit in the front.

You try to think of a way to prolong your consciousness. You gather the extra fabric from your dress and apply pressure to your side. The punctures to your neck and arm are less of a concern. At least he didn’t bite you.

“I forget how long it takes for humans to heal,” Peter huffs a laugh, “You’d be perfectly fine by now if you were a werewolf, (Y/N).”

Stiles sets his face as he drives away from the school. He keeps checking his rearview mirror to see how you’re coping.

You elevate your legs, take deep breaths, and keep pressure on your largest wound.

“Don’t feel bad,” Peter says, “If Lydia lives, she’ll become a werewolf. She’ll be incredibly powerful.”

Lydia had been bitten, you realize horribly.

“Yeah,” Stiles says sarcastically, “And once a month she’ll go out of her freaking mind and try to tear people apart.”

“Oh, the bite isn’t so bad,” Peter laughs, “It might actually save (Y/N)’s life if she can’t surpass her own wounds.” He directs Stiles to a parking garage further into town, “I could grant her a bite.”

“And make her a raging monster every month? No, thank you.”

Peter smiles wickedly, “Not even to save her life?”

It was quiet after that, the jeep making its way into the hospital parking garage and to a certain level. They park near a small gray car and leave you there.

The wounds to your side were pulsating with rhythmic pain and heat. Blood continues to soak through the fabric you keep bunching over it. You can hear Stiles being frantic and you can’t imagine how he must be feeling.

The longer he takes the more you suffer.

He was probably going out of his mind with worry. But you know instantly that you would forgive him for however long it’ll take to appease Peter.

There’s a loud bang and the back of the jeep is torn open. You tumble out at the momentum, crashing to the asphalt in a painful heap. You gasp at the cascading amounts of aching hurt.

Peter grips you by the hair and lifts you from the ground effortlessly. You scream, bundles of bloody fabric leaving your hands to claw at Peter’s hand.

“I can be very persuasive, Stiles. Don’t make me persuade you.”

“Okay, okay!” Stiles yells, “Put her down!”

You sob on the asphalt, the effort to breathe between cries is putting strain on your heart. It doesn’t take long for you to fall into a limbo between pain and unconsciousness. Stiles began to frantically type on a laptop. You couldn’t understand what they were saying.

The hurt was too loud.

“I can’t breathe,” you gasp.

Peter goes to stand over you, urging Stiles to focus on the computer, “I’d suggest typing faster there, Stiles.”

“God. Fuck. Shit. God. Damn,” Stiles keeps messing up the keys and needing to refresh, meanwhile hearing you gasp for air behind him. “Wait! Here, look… they’re keeping him… at the Hale House.”

Peter gives you a good kick to the back as he steps over you, “Not at it. Under it. I know exactly where that is.” His ears perk up, “And I’m not the only one. Give me your keys.”

Stiles is practically bouncing on his toes to get to your struggling figure. “Careful, she grinds in second.” But his keys are returned bent and unusable. “What… how am I supposed to get her to the front of the hospital?!”

“You have a cell phone,” he says, “Now, because you did me a favor, Stiles. I’m going to offer this only once… do you want me to give her the bite?”

“The what?” Stiles is unable to focus with you quieting behind him.

“Does she want the bite?” Peter asks more clearly, “This is her one chance to get a cure all for her wounds. Of course it might kill her either way, but… that’s a risk you’d have to take.”

Stiles is at a loss, quiet as he considers. “No. She wouldn’t want that.”

“Very well,” Peter slides into his car without another word.

Stiles’ dress shoes squeak as he reaches your side, ignoring the way Peter speeds out of the parking garage. He kneels at your head, terrified that your lips were going purple. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, “(Y/N)? (Y/N), can you hear me?”

Your eyes barely flutter open before closing again, unable to breathe. He puts his head to your chest, one hand on your neck, searching for a pulse. Your heart was giving out.

“No,” he says, “No way. Not today. You’re not supposed to faint when you’re not breathing.” He pulls out his phone and puts 911 on speaker. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.” He brushes the hair out of your face, revealing road rash from where you fell from the trunk.

911 instructs him to start CPR and wait for personnel to pick you up. Being in the hospital parking garage meant that help would be there soon. Stiles has his hands over the scars on your chest, smeared with blood from your side. He tries to keep his arms straight as he attempts to pump life back into your body.

He gives you a kiss of life, two breaths that would hopefully keep oxygen moving throughout your body. This was not how he envisioned your next kiss. Your lips were lifeless and soft. They were still purple.

You couldn’t die now – not when he still needs to apologize. Not when it would be his fault for not getting you help sooner.

Not when he had just confessed having feelings for you.

~~~

Stiles sits in the hospital hallway, legs bouncing and arms shaking with the movement as he leans on them. His head is bowed as the Sheriff comes speeding towards him.

“You know what?” Noah says as he approaches, “It’s good that we’re in a hospital because I’m gonna kill you!” He speaks firmly, “It has been a madhouse trying to find all you kids.”

Stiles finally looks up and the Sheriff stills.

His son is red-faced from crying. He rubs at his eyes, sniffling loudly as he tries to speak past the lump in his throat. “Is she going to be okay?”

The Sheriff looks behind them at Lydia, “They don’t know, partially because they don’t know what happened.”

“No… I mean, is (Y/N) going to be okay?”

Noah looks at the sorrow in his sons face. “You haven’t gotten an update?”

“No,” Stiles says in despair, “She went back there not breathing and I don’t know if they’ve gotten her back!”

“Listen,” Noah sits beside him, resting a hand on his back, “Let’s handle what we can control first. Now, these girls were attacked by the same thing, right? Did you see anything? I mean, do you have any idea who or what attacked them?”

Stiles licks his lips, hesitant in the truth. He still needs to protect his dad. “No,” he says, “No, I have no idea.”

“But why was (Y/N) with you and Lydia with Jackson?”

“(Y/N) was dragged off the field by whatever attacked them,” Stiles lies through his teeth, “We split up to protect them both. (Y/N) was closer to my jeep.”

Noah clenches his jaw, unsure of how to help his son. “And she was still breathing when you made your way over here?”

“It wasn’t until we reached the parking lot,” Stiles mutters. He runs his hands over the short length of his hair. “God, dad… what if I was too late?”

The Sheriff looks disheartened. “You did everything you could.”

The wait was agony. Agony that only gets worse as Chris Argent comes to interrogate him and Jackson. He’s barely able to keep it together long enough to help create some Molotov cocktails. He instructs Jackson to take them to the Hale House and help.

Your parents appear a few minutes later.

“Oh my god, Stiles,” Angela cries, as red in the face as Stiles was half an hour ago. “Have they said anything?”

“No,” he says, “I’ve been waiting here for nearly an hour.”

Tom runs for the nurses station, “Maybe they’ll give her parents the news.” Angela follows with Stiles on her heels.

A nurse was trying to calm Tom down, “Sir, I understand – let me call into the OR and check.” She makes a call to a different part of the hospital and speaks quietly.

Stiles stays a foot away, not wanting to intrude but needing to hear the news just as badly. Angela was stifling sobs as Tom holds her close to him.

“Okay,” the nurse replies, placing the phone back on the receiver. “She’s currently in surgery.”

“So she’s breathing,” Stiles says loudly.

“Yes,” the nurse continues, “The lacerations to her side are being stitched and some were deep enough to puncture the abdominal wall. There’s been lots of damage and blood loss. So far so good, though,” she consoles. “She did come into the ER not breathing and spent a lot of time without oxygen. But they were able to restart her heart.”

Angela continues to sob into Tom as he says, “Thank you. Please tell the doctor her parents are here waiting for updates.”

They walk back to the waiting room, sitting on the hard cushioned seats. Stiles was slow to follow them, unsure of how to be included in their fretful waiting. It was his fault you were kept from help for so long.

“Stiles,” Angela says, her voice thick with emotion. “Your dad said you were with her when it happened.”

He scratches the back of his head, afraid to look them in the eyes. “I found her after the attack. I tried to get her here as quick as I could.” He licks his lips, “She… she couldn’t breathe as we parked.”

Tears continue to leave Angela’s eyes, “Her heart?”

“It just… gave out,” Stiles breathes, upset that he felt like crying again. “I g-gave her CPR… in the parking lot um – while the doctors came for us.”

Tom is getting teary too as he listens. He leans his elbows on his knees and covers his face. Angela looks horribly between being grateful and being resigned. Like she knew this would be her daughter’s fate, but glad you weren’t alone.

“Thank you for helping her, Stiles,” she pats the seat beside her and he sits. “She wouldn’t have made it to surgery without you.”

He gives her a painful smile. Yes, he got you to the hospital. But he could’ve gotten you here in better shape.

She puts a hand on his arm and rubs soothing circles with her thumb. The burning in Stiles’ eyes was quickly making them water again. He sniffs and leans into his hands like Tom. Angela moves her hand to his back, rubbing the expanse between his shoulders.

They sit like that for another hour before a doctor appears, “Westbrook?”

The trio stand eagerly.

“How is she?” Tom asks. He hadn’t said a word the entire hour.

“She’s stable,” the doctor says calmly. “We were able to repair the lacerations to her side and a few punctures elsewhere. We did have to restart her heart once at her arrival and once during the surgery.”

Angela swallows hard, eyes red but out of tears, “Can we see her?”

“They’re setting her up in a room now. Give it another twenty minutes.” He looks uncomfortable as he prepares himself to say something more. “(Y/N) went without oxygen for over five minutes. When the brain goes without oxygen for that long it results in the death of brain cells. We call it an anoxic brain injury.”

“What does that mean?” Tom crosses his arms, “What would that do to her?”

The doctor clears his throat, “We won’t know for sure until she wakes up. She may be comatose for a few hours or a few days. She may experience some coordination issues, communication problems, amnesia, or other impairments.”

“Oh my god,” Angela whispers, covering her mouth, “Could all that be permanent?”

“It depends on the severity of her brain injury. All minor impairments can be corrected over time,” he gives them all his reassurances.

Not soon after your parents were called back into your room. Stiles stays behind, bouncing his legs and waiting for something – anything – to happen. Everyone he loves is in some kind of danger and he has no idea where they all are.

He’s trying to get comfortable in the hard plastic chairs when Scott and Allison appear. They’re holding hands and running into the waiting room.

“How are Lydia and (Y/N)?” Allison asks.

Stiles slides off the chairs and awkwardly straightens himself. “Lydia is going to be okay,” he nods to the middle room with windows, “Her wounds…”

Scott squeezes Allison’s hand. “Allison knows. She knows everything.”

“Alrighty then,” Stiles hums, “She was bit, but the bite hasn’t fully healed, and she isn’t dead so… whatever that means.”

“And (Y/N)?” Scott asks, looking at every sign that his best friend has been crying.

Stiles swallows, “I don’t know. Her heart gave out and she went without oxygen for a long time.” He licks his lips, rubbing hard at his eyes, “The surgery went well, but we don’t know how bad her brain damage will be until she wakes up.”

Allison, already having lost much that night, was exhausted by the news. She leans into Scott who holds her tightly. Stiles watches it with a pang in his chest.

They talk about the events of the night. How the cocktails Jackson brought weakened the Alpha and Derek delivered the final killing blow. He was now the Alpha. Kate was dead and the Sheriff was at the crime scene. It was a distraction that Stiles was grateful for. It made the time pass quicker than just stewing in his own guilt.

“If it weren’t for you I think Peter would’ve killed a lot more,” Scott says as a way to cheer his friend.

“Jackson’s the one who delivered,” he replies.

Allison looks worried at the obvious disregard of his contribution. “Stiles… you have been a hero tonight.” She shakes her head, “A lot of people are alive because you helped.”

“At what cost,” he mumbles, thinking of your brain injury. “I don’t know.”

“How about we go home,” Scott suggests, “You need some sleep and the Westbrooks would call with updates.”

“No,” Stiles chews on his lips, “I’m not leaving until she wakes up.”

Scott looks at his friend seriously, “Are you sure? That could be a long time.”

“I’m sure,” he waves them off, “I’ll wait for my dad.”

They leave with plans that sound a lot like ‘rooftop cuddling,’ and Stiles is again left to wonder the ‘what ifs’ of the night. What would have happened if he had never left your side to get that drink? What if he hadn’t found Scott’s location in time? What were you going to say about his confession of feelings?

It hurt too much to think.

~~~

Sheriff Stilinski had spent the majority of the night managing the crime scene at the Hale House. The bodies of Kate Argent and Peter Hale were removed, and the property was taped off while forensics worked.

It was nearly daybreak when he left to pass out on his living room couch.

Several hours later he awoke for a finger of whiskey and a sandwich. He was just layering the turkey and cheese when he yelled for Stiles to come down for a talk.

When there was no reply, the sheriff went searching the house, turkey in hand. Stiles was nowhere to be seen.

“Damnit,” he curses, “That complete…” He searches for his phone, dialing and forgetting about his sandwich. “Tom?”

“Yeah, Sheriff, is everything okay?”

“Fine, fine. I just can’t find Stiles. Is he still at the hospital?”

There’s a pause where Tom has a breathy laugh, “Yeah, the kid’s still here.”

“Thank god,” Noah sighs, “I’m sorry, Tom – has he been pestering you guys?”

“No, he’s… well he’s actually just been stuck in the waiting room this whole time.” Tom sounds exhausted. “The times I’ve gone out for drinks he’s been there waiting for an update. I just tell him (Y/N)’s still comatose.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Noah rubs at his eyes, “She still hasn’t woken up yet?”

“Not at all,” Tom swallows, “Not even a twitch.”

The sheriff searches for his keys, “Well, I’ll come grab my son. He needs a shower and some sleep at least.”

“Sure, and Sheriff, we would call you if she woke up,” Tom adds softly, “I know she… she cares about you and Stiles.”

An unexpected twinge of sadness envelopes him, “Thank you, Tom. She’s a special girl.” He clears his throat, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

It takes him another twenty minutes to get to the hospital. On the right floor, he finds Stiles slumped in a hard cushioned chair with his feet propped on a coffee table. He has several magazines open and covering him like makeshift blankets.

His face looks swollen from frequent tears and his eyes look irritated from wiping at them so much. Noah looks at him with a quickly softening heart. The last time he had seen his son cry this much at a hospital…

“Stiles…”

The boy turns his eyes to his father, hidden beneath the blanket of magazines.

“Read anything good?”

He gives a half-hearted smile, “No, but this Victory magazine is actually thick enough to help retain my body warmth.”

“I see you’ve found ways to entertain yourself.”

“I got tired of being stuck in my thoughts,” he sighs, scratching at his head. “You should see the towels the nurses let me fold.”

Noah’s eyebrows raise, “Man, you must’ve been really bored. Did you not sleep at all?”

Stiles shakes his head, “I was afraid of missing when she woke up.”

“And how’s the Martin girl?”

Stiles shrugs, “She’s been able to get up and down with some help. But she’s been sleeping a lot. Her parents are taking turns sitting with her. You know… tension with the divorce.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can,” Stiles says, shifting until a few magazines fell to the floor. “I can’t sleep knowing that (Y/N) could still be seriously hurt.”

“And she could be seriously fine.”

Stiles scoffs, “And it’d be all my fault.”

“Hey,” the sheriff goes to sit by his son, knocking a few magazines off his chest. “None of this is your fault. You had nothing to do with the attack.”

“… but I could’ve kept them inside the school. I could’ve stopped them before anything bad happened.”

Sadness creeps into the sheriff, “Let’s get you home. You need to get cleaned up and have a rest.”

“No,” Stiles was quick to reply, “I’m not leaving until I know she’s okay.”

“The doc said it could be days, Stiles. You’re not going to be able to stay awake for days.”

“I can try.”

Noah stands, “No. You’re going to come home for a few hours. I’m gonna be honest, son, you look terrible. And I know you don’t want your little reunion with (Y/N) to be memorable because you smell like musty teenager and look like you’ve got a head cold.” He waits for a few seconds while Stiles pouts like a child. “After you get some sleep I’ll let you stay at the hospital as long as you want.”

A silent battle rages between the two. It takes only one more nudge for Stiles to stand from his uncomfortable chair. “Stiles, you’re not the only one who’s worried about her,” the sheriff gives him another look of concern.

“You have to wake me if I sleep through a call from the Westbrooks.”

“Deal,” Noah claps a hand around his son, leading him to the front doors. “God, do you even own a deodorant stick?”

Stiles jabs his father in the side, “And an antiperspirant spray, jackass.”

Noah slaps the back of his head, “You need to actually use them for them to work, smart alec.”

The entire car ride back has Stiles nodding off against the window. There’s a wet, foggy mark where his mouth rests open. He stumbles into the house and starts stripping as he climbs the stairs.

Noah follows and gathers the clothes, catching the bent ring of keys as they fall from a pocket. It makes him sigh, memories of his wife handling those same jeep keys… then he saw the random sets that had to belong to places Stiles shouldn’t be.

A key to the police station, to the school, to a few neighbor houses.

He would arrange to have the proper keys fixed, and the others confiscated.

Stiles stands in the shower for longer than usual. He lets the hot water run down his head and work at the knots in his shoulders. He feels cramped from being stuck in an uncomfortable hospital chair for nearly twelve hours.

It takes the thought of seeing you again to make him scrub himself clean. His father was right, he wants you to see him fresh and sane. And right now he was anything but.

It feels good to be in a pair of pajama pants and a simple black shirt. He collapses on his bed without much thought. He was more desperate for sleep than he realized.

He drifts into dreams – dreams that he will hold onto in the days to come.

~~~

He walks along the path of a lake, grand berry bushes grow wildly there. Large, tart blackberries and deep, rich blueberries bloom along the leaves. Bushels of ripe berries are everywhere, halfway picked with plenty more to go. He picks a handful of plump raspberries and delights in their sweetness.

The trees overhead protect him from the sun, welcoming him with their shimmering leaves and singing birds. The berries leave sticky sweet juice on his fingers, each delicious as he sucks on them.

Ahead is the path leading to the boardwalk atop the lake. He grins as the summer sunshine appears to warm his skin. He admires the shiny red strawberries growing in twisted strands near the picnic tables. A cutting board is laden with freshly cut lemons and red berries – a pitcher containing sour pink lemonade beside them.

All the colors seem brighter, like a summer filter overlay everything. Stiles picks up an already prepared glass, ice cubes clinking and submerged in the pink drink. After a sip he promptly eats a few cut strawberries, smelling them with an air of familiarity.

He loves the smell of strawberries and summer fruits.

In an open cooler beside the table, half-buried in chunks of melting ice, are bright orange creamsicles and bubbly sodas. A candy tray holds caramel chocolate, sugary peach rings, and sticky gummy worms.

He was quick to sample everything, his attention catching something floating in the lake. A girl was lounging in a large nectarine orange floatie, sunglasses on her face and sunscreen on her shoulders.

Stiles smiles wide, running for the boardwalk. It was all so vibrant and warm. The red of the berries, the lemon yellow, bright orange creamies, shimmering green trees, sparkling pink lemonade, and the brilliant blue of the lake water.

It smelt of sugar and sun warmed earth and fresh berries. It smelt like (Y/N).

He stops on the edge of the boardwalk, shading his eyes to see you lounging in the floatie. “(Y/N)!” he calls to you.

You look up at him, cheeks peachy pink from the sun, “Stiles?” You sit up, swimsuit beautiful with lavender purples and sage stems. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “But I’m glad to see you.”

You float closer to the boardwalk, moving the sunglasses to your hair. “Do you even own a swimsuit?”

He laughs, “Probably buried beneath a few camp shirts.”

“Figures,” you smile, lifting a hand bangled in rose gold, “Help me up?”

He swallows, “Yeah, sure.” He bows to take a hold of your hand, but there’s resistance. You yank on his arm and manage to flop him onto your floatie. He flails as you try to balance the giant inflatable.

It makes you laugh to see him so frantic, “You’re going to tip us!” He lands on you, your hands wrapping around him in a fit of giggles.

He holds onto your sun warmed skin, pulling you too close to the edge. Side heavy, the floatie tips over with a scream from your lips. A splash makes the water ripple as you tread to the surface, spluttering water.

“I told you to calm down,” you laugh, splashing at Stiles.

He splutters more, making ridiculous faces as he wipes the lake water from his eyes. “It was getting hot anyways.” He splashes at you next, causing you to squeal with laughter.

The splash battle was short and intense, Stiles mimicking his favorite water benders in sending waves your way. You dive for the ladder at the boardwalk, scaling it to make a quick getaway.

Stiles curses, following your dripping figure. “Get back here!” he runs across the boardwalk to meet you at the picnic table.

You are eating a plump strawberry, tossing one at his head for good measure. He ducks and gives you a sly smile, opening his mouth like a target. You promptly aim a large berry, laughing hysterically as he jumps and catches it in his mouth.

Both his arms go in the air, triumphant, “Did you see that?” he cries between loud chews. He runs to you, tickled by your laughter. He wraps you up in his arms and soaks you in.

This is you. You remind him of summertime. The vibrant colors of life. The sweet berries that grow wild. The sun that warms whatever it touches. The water cooling sunburnt skin.

The orange cream and peachy sugar.

He spins you once and sets you down, still inches from you. The pair of you are laughing like summer will never end.

Then you lock eyes.

The laughter dies slower, smiles never leaving your faces. But your eyes are entirely too warm to be just mirth. He’s looking at you like the sun itself. He was embracing the embodiment of color and sweetness and warmth.

He looks down to your berry stained lips.

With one second of hesitance he leans down to your mouth. He devours the sticky sweetness of your berry lips. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, like it was the one and only time he’d be able to kiss you.

You respond with holding his face, fingertips digging into his cheeks. His hands drift down your sides to the backs of your thighs. In an upward motion he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

A sigh of surprise escapes you, taller than him momentarily so you have to angle his face up to yours. He groans in delight as he carries you to the picnic table. He sets you on top of it, moving his hands to your thighs, searching for that moan of satisfaction from your mouth.

He nips at your lips, loving every sound you make. He nuzzles into your neck, finding that sweet spot to kiss. He has to pull back to take a breath.

You look tired. Your lips are purplish-blue. His brow knits. “(Y/N) you’re…” He lifts a hand to your chin and finds that it’s coated in bright blood. Brighter than those red berries. “Oh my god!” He pulls back to see a fresh wound to your side, soaking the lavender swimsuit in rich blood. “Oh my god, (Y/N) – what do I…”

Your chest stutters and choking sounds come from your throat. A strained redness enters your eyes as you reach for him, puncture marks along your neck. Stiles is frantic at your absence of words, “What’s happening?” he yells, “What did I do?”

You fall back onto the table, dull lemonade spilling and mixing with your bright blood. Berries and lemons roll to the ground. You choke and flail as Stiles cries his panic.

And he sits straight up in bed, sheets tangled between his legs and pillows on the floor. He’s sweating and cold, the sun setting outside as he scrambles for breath. He throws his legs over and bows over his knees.

~~~

With no word from the Westbrooks, Stiles finds himself wandering the neighborhoods until he finds your house. He looks longingly at your window, dark as it was with the recent sunset, he could just make out the cat staring back at him.

“Oliver,” he whispers, finding something else to distract himself with. He goes for the front door, hoping that in the commotion of getting to the hospital, your parents left it unlocked. He was right.

The cat was there to greet him, mewling loudly and rubbing his head against Stiles’ legs.

“You hungry, little buddy?” he closes the door and makes his way to the kitchen. Inside the pantry he finds a container of dry food shaped like little fish. “I would think (Y/N) made you gourmet cat food.”

Ollie stands on his back legs and stretches his front paws up Stiles’ leg. It was super cute. “I guess maybe just for special occasions, huh?” he sighs, taking a scoop and pouring it in the food bowl by the back door.

The cat purrs and flicks his floofy tail as Stiles sits at the dining table to watch him. It must’ve been ten minutes when the front door opens again.

There was Melissa and Scott, holding keys and a duffel bag embroidered with the hospital logo.

“Oh! Stiles, what are you doing here?”

“Um, I… well, I knew Ollie needed to be fed.”

Scott shuts the door while Melissa continues to look discontented, “Who’s Ollie?”

“The cat,” Stiles gestures to the fluffy animal, “(Y/N) would kill me if he went without food for this long.”

“You broke into the house to feed the cat?” Scott smirks, hands in his pockets.

Stiles lifts his arms, “No! The door was unlocked.”

Melissa laughs, “Still strange, Stiles. You still entered without permission.” She walks to the stairs with the duffel bag; Scott makes his way to the dining table.

“What are you guys doing here?” Stiles asks in a low voice.

Scott slumps into a chair, “The Westbrooks need clothes and stuff, so mom volunteered to pack a bag.”

Stiles crinkles his brow, “Did you do something with your hair?”

“Maybe,” he wipes a hand up and catches the gelled back fringe, “I’m trying something new.”

“I didn’t realize you had a forehead,” Stiles smirks.

Scott mumbles a retort. “I thought you were going to camp out at the hospital.”

“I was until my dad decided to drag my ass out,” he grumbles, “But there hasn’t been any news that she’s awake, so…” He plays with the hem of his shirt, feeling a little empty of conversation. “How are you and Allison?”

“Great,” Scott smiles an idiot smile, “Until her dad hunted us down and nearly killed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Stiles grimaces, “After everything that’s just happened?”

Scott shrugs, “I’m still a werewolf, I guess. He let me live, but I have to stay away from Allison.” His smile grows more subtle, eyes on the floor, “At least, I have to pretend to.”

“Great plan, Scott. Let’s remember how this guy hunts and murders the supernatural for a living. He has a literal collection of the best weapons money could buy, with – let me add – special werewolf ammunition that can work around your little healing superpower.”

“Yeah, but I still get to see Allison.”

Stiles slumps a little further down his chair, Oliver snacking on his dinner in the background. “You’re impossible.”

“I could say the same about you,” Scott retorts, “You’re just as hopeless.”

“You know I told her how I feel about her…” Stiles speaks quietly, avoiding his friends gaze.

Scott measures the rhythm of his friends heart, “And?”

“And she got faint…”

“Made her weak at the knees, did you?”

“And she ran off to be attacked by the Alpha.”

“Ouch,” Scott hisses, “No return confession?”

Stiles clears his throat, “There wasn’t time for her to.”

“Then I guess there’s still a chance that she does,” Scott says softly, “It could be the first thing she says when she wakes up.”

Melissa comes down the stairs with a heavy duffel bag full of clothes and toiletries. She huffs at the boys, “You two coming?”

“Back to the hospital?” Stiles asks, standing quickly.

“Yeah, we’re going to drop off the supplies and maybe grab a late dinner.”

“Count me in,” he replies, scratching Ollie behind the ears in goodbye.

~~~

Stiles had been wandering the hospital hallways all night, refusing any sleeping aide from Melissa as she left. She’d be back for her day shift in a couple hours.

In a pathetic attempt to see you, he creeps past the night nurse to stand awkwardly at your window. The blinds are drawn and he wails silently, upset that it’s been so long since he last saw you.

He falls to the ground and slumps against the wall. Past the point of tears, he just melts into the floor. Until he hears a sneaker against the tile.

His eyes fly to the door to see Angela standing there with dark circles under her eyes. “Hello, Stiles.”

He clambers to his feet, rubbing his shaved hair flat against his head, “H-Hi front desk Westbrook.”

She smiles at that, “Have you been here the whole day?” she leans against the door frame as if she were hiding whatever was inside.

“No, my dad made me go home for a nap.”

“That’s good,” she says, “Um… Tom is asleep on the couch, but if you want to see her…”

“Yes, please!” he says entirely too loud.

She shushes him, “Again – her dad is asleep. Let’s try not to wake him; it’s the first sleep he’s gotten since the accident.”

Stiles nods vigorously, straightening his jacket and pulling on his hoodie strings. “Yep, I got you. Roger that.”

She refrains from rolling her eyes, endeared by him much like her daughter was at times. “She hasn’t moved an inch, but if you hold her hand long enough I swear she squeezes back.”

They step into the darkened room, only a lamp in the corner providing some light on the machines at work. You lay stone cold on the hospital bed. Dressed in a white gown and layered beneath a scratchy cotton blanket, you would look asleep if it weren’t for the numerous machines tracking your vitals.

Stiles goes into shock for a second, standing rigid by the door while Angela goes for her usual chair by the couch. She gestures for him to move, afraid speaking would wake her snoring husband.

With shuffling steps, Stiles makes for the chair beside your bed. Many stickers were on your chest, each connected to wires that lead to a machine. A thin yellow tube goes into your nose and is taped at your cheek. A monitor is attached to your index finger and the back of your hand has an IV stuck there.

He can see little stiches beneath your chin where Peter stuck his claws, and he knew your side was heavily bandaged with surgical tape. The right side of your face, the side that fell onto the asphalt as you tumbled out of the trunk, had road rash. Bloody scrapes were at your forehead and on that cheekbone. They were both covered with a shiny ointment.

“You can sit down,” Angela whispers, nodding to the chair, “She won’t bite.”

Stiles gives her a stiff smile, sitting in the chair. It was much more plush than the ones in the waiting room. He scoots closer to your bed and ponders your face. You look peaceful – not at all how you looked right before losing the ability to breathe.

It was making his dry eyes burn. Your lips weren’t purple anymore. They had the soft pink color he saw in his dreams.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he says softly. It put a lump in his throat “I – I’m… god…” He bows his head and finds that the warmth that usually took hold of him when he saw you… it ached and burned in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

He reaches for your left hand, closest to him. It was free of wires and tubes, but it had hospital tags around your wrist. Your fingers are cold, and he wraps both his hands around them.

Angela tries to mind her own business, pulling a book from the side table to read. Or at least give her eyes something to look at.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles continues, he holds the mess of hands to his mouth, “I’m sorry for everything.” He tries to compose himself, tired of crying. “Um… don’t worry I fed Oliver before I came over.”

He misses the smile that Angela has on her face.

“And I’m pretty sure he deserves some fancy gourmet fish cake for the trouble,” Stiles deflects, rubbing his thumbs across the back of your hand. “He was worried sick about… about not eating.”

Angela huffs a laugh behind her book.

“That’s why dogs are better, you know. They freak out when their owner is sick. Cats just freak out when they can’t find their next meal.” He tries to swallow past the lump, “I was… I was freaking out there for a second.”

His fingers become light and lazy like they were the night on the preserve when you got drunk. “I felt hopeless again, seeing you like that.” He sniffles and clears his throat, “Which would make it super awesome if you would wake up soon,” he laughs sadly, “Please wake up soon. Please be alright.”

He holds your hand for another half hour, searching for that squeeze that Angela mentioned. Until Tom stirs on the couch and Stiles stands abruptly, suddenly afraid of his intrusion on a family matter.

He waves goodbye to a saddened Angela before returning to his hallway wandering. He walks and walks until the shift changes and the sun begins to rise again. His eyes feel dry and droopy, like he was in need of another emergency nap.

He slumps against the nurses station as Melissa appears in her scrubs, “You hanging in there, kiddo?” She rubs across his shoulders and he groans. “You didn’t sleep last night?”

“I napped all afternoon,” he says into the station counter, “(Y/N) still isn’t awake.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” she sympathizes, “She’s a part of my rounds today. I’ll make sure to give you updates, alright?”

He gives her a silly smile where his face was squashed into the counter, “Thanks, McCall.”

He wanders until he finds the gift shop open. There he buys a foil balloon covered in smiley faces and says, ‘Get well!’ It stays tied to his wrist as he makes his way back to the waiting room by your door.

Getting as comfortable as he could across three hospital chairs, he starts to fall asleep. It only takes five minutes for him to be lightly snoring, chair arms digging into his shoulders and lower back.

He fidgets there, balloon bobbing above him as he fights the stiffness of the chairs. He’s so exhausted that it doesn’t even wake him from the dreams he was diving into. Dreams similar to the summer day at the lake with you.

Ones where he got to hold you and kiss you again.

Melissa checks your chart by the door before sneaking a look at the snoozing boy.

“Oh, just like that. No, no – you first,” he mumbles, “Me first?” he drools in his sleep.

Melissa shakes her head and smiles, returning the chart and being startled by Tom walking out of your room. “Oh, Mr. Westbrook, you scared me.”

“Sorry, Melissa. And it’s Tom, please.” He stretches his arms, looking at the same thing she was moments ago. Stiles is stretched out across the chairs making kissing noises at the thin air. “Has he been here all night?”

“He’s been here all weekend,” Melissa folds her arms.

“That’s… concerning.”

Melissa pats his arm, “He’s one of the good ones.”

“You sure about that?” Tom winces at the dream kissing, “He seems like a load of trouble.”

“Oh, he’s plenty that,” Melissa laughs, “But he’s got a good heart. He cares a lot about your (Y/N).”

Tom folds his arms, “Speaking of which, she was twitching a bit in her sleep just an hour ago. Would you mind checking on her? See if she wakes to some stimulus or something.”

“Of course,” Melissa says, following his lead into your patient room.

Stiles wakes as the custodial service empties a garbage can by his head. Rudely woken at a really good part in his dream, he groggily smacks the balloon tied to his wrist. It floats back to hit him in the face and he falls out of the hospital chairs.

“Oh my god!” a muffled voice yells from your patient room.

Stiles flies to his feet, throat bobbing as he listens for something else. “(Y/N)?” He walks to your windows, blinds open now that the sun was out. His knees wobble at seeing your eyes open and mouth smiling.

He jumps to the door, creaking it open slowly as to not disturb the sudden commotion inside.

“Okay, lets run through basics,” Melissa says, “Cover one eye for me.” She measures your sight, dilating pupils, and your depth perception. “So far so good. Lift both arms for me and smile.” She checks for any signs of one sided weakness, but you pass with flying colors.

“Is she fine?” Angela holds onto her husband, “Is anything wrong?”

“Okay, (Y/N) – I need you to wiggle your toes. Good. And can you feel this?” Melissa checks for any numbness in your extremities. “Perfect. Now can you repeat this for me? Sally sells seashells…”

You lick your lips, “Sally sells seashells.”

“Amazing,” Melissa claps. There wasn’t an immediate speech impediment. “Alright, now tell me your name.”

“(Y/N) Westbrook.”

She nods, “And do you have any pets?”

“I have a gray cat named Oliver.”

“Where were you born?”

“In Palo Alto,” you say, still with confusion in your brow. “What’s going on?”

Melissa holds up her hands, “We’re just checking for any brain injuries. What surgery did you get last summer?”

“I had a device put near my heart,” you point to the 3-inch incision on your chest. “What the hell?” You move your left sleeve to look at the claw marks on your shoulder.

“And where do you go to school?” Melissa asks.

You shake your head, touching the scars, “Um… I go to school at home, I guess. I’m homeschooled.”

The room goes silent.

Melissa tries to maintain the calm, “(Y/N), do you know why you’re in the hospital?”

“I’m assuming because of this,” you point at the claw marks, “Cause I have no idea where they came from.” You scoff and find a hitch in your chest – a pain in your side, “Or maybe there’s another thing by my ribs. That actually hurts a lot.”

“Oh my god, she doesn’t remember,” Angela whispers, terrified.

Tom rubs a hand down her arm, “Just give them a minute.”

“Do you know who these people are?” Melissa points to your parents.

It makes you laugh, “Yeah, that’s my mom and dad.”

“And what about me?”

You lick your lips again, “You’re Melissa McCall. You always help when I’m in the hospital.”

She looks stiff, contemplating the next move. She looks behind her to see Stiles standing frozen at the door, balloon stuck behind him. Melissa grabs him by the sleeve and drags him into your view, “Do you know who this is?”

Stiles gives an awkward wave, balloon bouncing along with his hand. “Hi, (Y/N).”

You squint your eyes, a frown growing, “No, I’m sorry, who are you?” You miss the way the room steels over with fright. “How do you know my name?”

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies @dullypully @taylordaughter @greenoliveslover @nataliambc @anehkael

[cebfilm]

double CPR during gyno surgery

Pre-Op Visit

Maria entered the clinic, her heart fluttering slightly as she signed in at the reception desk. The soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of antiseptic filled the air. At 23, she had grown accustomed to regular gynecological appointments for her polycystic ovarian syndrome, but today’s visit felt different. She couldn’t quite place why—perhaps it was the note she had tucked into her medical file.

Dr. Carter greeted her warmly, his voice steady and professional. “Maria, it’s good to see you again. Let’s take a closer look and discuss any changes you’ve been experiencing,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him into the examination room.

Maria settled onto the examination table, her legs resting in the stirrups, the cool sheet draped over her lap offering some modesty. She took a deep breath as Dr. Carter explained the steps of the examination, his tone calm and reassuring.

The moment felt tangible as he reached for a pair of latex-free gloves, snapping each one on with deliberate care. The faint rustle of the material was accompanied by the smooth stretch over his fingers, a prelude to the thorough examination ahead. “These will ensure everything remains sterile,” he said, flexing his hands briefly to ensure the fit was snug yet comfortable.

“We’ll start with a visual inspection of the external area,” he continued. He gently separated the labia, examining the vulva for any signs of redness, swelling, or abnormalities. “Everything looks healthy so far,” he said with a reassuring smile.

Next, he prepared a speculum, the gleaming metal instrument lubricated with a water-based gel. “I’m going to insert the speculum now. You might feel a bit of pressure, but let me know if it’s uncomfortable,” he said. Slowly and carefully, he guided the speculum into her vaginal canal, angling it to minimize discomfort.

Maria inhaled sharply at the cool sensation but relaxed as he spoke to her. “You’re doing great,” he assured her. Once the speculum was in place, he gently opened it to visualize her vaginal walls and cervix. A soft light illuminated the area as he examined the tissue for any irregularities.

“Your cervix looks healthy,” he noted. “I’m going to collect a sample for testing now. You may feel a slight pinch.” Using a small brush, he took a quick sample for a Pap smear before carefully removing the speculum.

Moving on, Dr. Carter explained the next step. “Now we’ll do a bimanual examination to check your uterus and ovaries.” He slipped on a new pair of gloves, inserting two fingers into her vagina while pressing gently on her lower abdomen with his other hand.

“This helps me assess the size, shape, and position of your uterus,” he said, his hands working methodically. “Let me know if anything feels tender.”

Maria nodded, wincing slightly as he applied pressure to one side. “There’s some sensitivity here,” she said.

“Noted,” Dr. Carter replied. “That’s consistent with your polycystic ovarian syndrome. It’s one of the reasons I recommend the upcoming procedure—to get a clearer understanding and provide relief.”

As he removed his gloves and helped her sit up, Dr. Carter maintained his professional demeanor. “You did great, Maria. I’ll explain what to expect during the surgery, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable every step of the way.”

Maria nodded, her nerves easing slightly as his calm and methodical approach reassured her.

The Procedure

The operating room was cool and sterile, with bright overhead lights casting a stark glow on Maria as she lay motionless under anesthesia. The steady beep of the heart monitor punctuated the quiet efficiency of the medical team.

Dr. Carter stood at the head of the team, reviewing Maria’s pre-op notes one last time before they began. “We’ll be performing a laparoscopic procedure to address the ovarian cysts,” he explained to the team. Instruments were laid out meticulously on the tray beside him.

After making the initial incisions, the surgical assistant inserted the laparoscope, the camera transmitting a clear view of Maria’s internal structures to the monitor. Dr. Carter carefully navigated the tool to locate the cysts.

“There’s some scarring here, likely from previous ruptured cysts,” he noted. “Let’s excise the current ones to alleviate her symptoms and preserve as much ovarian tissue as possible.”

The procedure progressed smoothly as Dr. Carter worked with precision, excising the cysts and cauterizing any bleeding tissue. The team maintained a rhythm, their movements synchronized and deliberate.

Then, without warning, the heart monitor emitted a rapid, irregular beeping.

“She’s in ventricular fibrillation!” the anesthesiologist called out.

Dr. Carter immediately stepped back. “Stop the procedure. We need to stabilize her. Call for the crash cart.”

The surgical team acted quickly, tilting the operating table flat and removing the laparoscope. A nurse began chest compressions, her hands pressing firmly on Maria’s chest. “One, two, three…” she counted, maintaining a steady rhythm.

Dr. Carter took charge. “Prep the defibrillator and administer one milligram of epinephrine,” he ordered.

The defibrillator pads were placed on Maria’s bare chest. “Charging to 200 joules. Clear!” The shock caused her body to jerk, but the monitor still showed erratic activity.

“Continue CPR,” Dr. Carter instructed. Another nurse stepped in to take over compressions, her hands pressing down in precise, rhythmic movements.

“Administer another dose of epinephrine,” Dr. Carter said. “Charge to 300. Clear!”

Maria’s body arched again as the second shock was delivered, but the ventricular fibrillation persisted. Sweat formed on the team’s brows as the resuscitation efforts continued.

Sab’s Collapse

Meanwhile, in the observation area, Sab watched in horror through the glass. The sight of Maria’s lifeless body being shocked and compressed was too much to bear. Her breath quickened, her chest tightened, and before she could cry out, she collapsed to the floor.

A nurse rushed to her side, feeling for a pulse. “She’s fainted, but her pulse is weak!” the nurse shouted. Sab was quickly transferred to a nearby stretcher.

“She’s going into cardiac arrest!” another nurse exclaimed.

“Start CPR!” a second team sprang into action. One nurse tilted Sab’s head back and began giving rescue breaths while another began compressions. “One, two, three…”

Sab’s chest rose and fell with the breaths, but her heart remained unresponsive. The defibrillator was quickly wheeled over.

“Pads on. Charging to 200. Clear!” The first shock jolted her body, but the monitor still showed asystole.

“Epinephrine, now!” the nurse ordered. Another round of CPR followed, compressions deep and steady, interspersed with breaths.

“Charge to 300. Clear!” Sab’s body arched as another shock coursed through her. Her heart finally showed a faint rhythm, but her condition remained critical.

Dual Resuscitation

Dr. Carter, now splitting his attention between Maria and Sab, directed the teams. “We’re not losing either of them,” he said with determination.

Maria’s chest compressions continued relentlessly. A nurse alternated between compressions and rescue breaths, sweat dripping as she counted aloud. “One, two, three…come on, Maria.”

“Charging to 400 joules. Clear!” The defibrillator delivered another shock to Maria, and this time, the monitor flickered—a faint pulse began to appear.

“She’s back! We’ve got a rhythm,” Dr. Carter announced, but his relief was short-lived as he turned his attention to Sab.

Sab’s compressions continued as another nurse prepared a dose of amiodarone. “Administer the antiarrhythmic,” the nurse instructed, injecting the medication into Sab’s IV line.

“Charge to 400. Clear!” Sab’s body jolted again, and after a tense moment, her heart monitor showed a weak but steady rhythm.

“She’s back!” the team exclaimed.

ICU Recovery

The sterile, rhythmic beeping of heart monitors filled the dimly lit ICU. Maria’s eyelids fluttered open, the bright fluorescent lights stinging her eyes. She blinked slowly, her body heavy, her chest aching with every breath. The sterile scent of antiseptic surrounded her, and it took a moment for the fog to clear from her mind.

“Maria,” a soft voice murmured nearby.

She turned her head slowly to see Sab lying in the adjacent bed, tubes and wires attached to her as well. Sab’s face was pale but alive, her chest rising and falling steadily.

“Sab…” Maria whispered, her voice raspy and weak. Her hand, though weighed down by IV lines, reached out shakily across the gap between their beds.

Sab’s eyes met hers, brimming with tears. She stretched her hand toward Maria, their fingers brushing lightly. “You’re okay,” Sab whispered, her voice cracking with relief. “We’re okay.”

A nurse entered the room quietly, adjusting the machines and checking their vitals. “You gave us quite the scare,” she said gently, her gaze kind. “But you’re both stable now. Rest—you’re in good hands.”

As the nurse left, Maria and Sab turned their attention back to one another. Their hands stayed clasped, their breathing syncing as they lay side by side, tethered by their shared ordeal. Though the ICU around them was cold and clinical, the warmth of their connection filled the space.

They didn’t need words. Their intertwined hands said everything: relief, gratitude, and love. The soft hum of the monitors became a comforting rhythm—a reminder that their hearts were still beating, together.

[getvalentined]

I've never done a full breakdown of everything that happened to my version of Vincent while he was under the knife (although there is a partial breakdown from like 12 years ago on Ask Vincent Valentine), but @spinejackel tagged my recent Vincent doodle gushing about autopsy scar (Vincent Has a Y-Incision headcanon supremacy!) so I figured it was probably a good time. This is also probably the best method, since I can apply the right tags and trigger warnings to hopefully keep it from hitting the people who would be disturbed.

For anyone who doesn't know, figuring out the fucked up physiology of victims of science is like my entire jam. I think this is what happens when you let a chronically ill child watch Akira and the original Bubblegum Crisis OVA and most of the works of Masamune Shirow. All that before FF7 even existed. This means that the explanation under the cut may seem excessive, and this post is very long. I've been building it over over a quarter century, I don't think there's any avoiding it at this point.

Warnings for body horror, nonconsensual body modification, medical horror and torture. Basically, if there's anything you can think of related to becoming a victim of science under the rule of an unethical sci-fantasy oligarchy, it's probably in here to some degree. It's explained plainly and simply, in clinical but not visceral detail.

My headcanons for what Hojo did to Vincent are pretty specific, albeit not precisely comprehensive; 27 years later I still don't really have a particularly solid concept for how he turned Vincent into a shapeshifter, although at least we know it's not something entirely specific to Vincent—Hojo repeated that facet of the experiment in Azul, but not in any other SOLDIER operative even in DeepGround, implying that it's only possible if very specific physiological conditions are met. The minimal concept I do have involves a twisted application of the concept of incarnate summoning as it appears in FFXIII-2, but it's very vague and also not the topic of this post. Maybe later.

Regarding the Y-incision/autopsy scar, my headcanon is that once Hojo tweaked Vincent into being able to regenerate from any injury—an enhancement that is confirmed to be entirely Hojo's work in Dirge—the professor of course felt it necessary to run various tests quantify the usefulness of his handiwork. He did this first by inflicting various surface injuries, then by causing more extreme bodily trauma, which eventually culminated in Hojo removing the majority of Vincent's internal organs in order to measure how long it took them to grow back and, assuming they did grow back, how the new ones compared to Vincent's original parts.

To be able to observe this as closely as possible, Hojo kept Vincent's torso open for the entire process—which he repeated twice more in order to check the weight, size and structure of the newly-grown organs in comparison to the originals. This study proved that most of them did grow back, but the majority of them stopped developing much earlier than was appropriate for Vincent's age and size. The difference was consistent, Hojo just never figured out why most of them grew back smaller and less-developed.

The reason this happened is based the fact that most of the organs in the human trunk are used in digestion and other related processes, and Vincent's regeneration means he doesn't need to eat or drink anymore. His body only expended as much energy as was completely necessary to develop those organs to the point of being functional rather than normal, because they're not really necessary. Vincent is glad he still has them, though, because he does still occasionally eat (usually in social situations) and also he'd be really sad if he couldn't even have coffee.

Vincent's brain activity remained normal during the entire process, although that may have something to do with Hojo driving a bunch of fluid lines into his head and flooding the inside of his skull with mako to keep him awake the whole time even while deprived of oxygen. (Rebirth spoilers, but seeing the bit in the Nibelheim Protorelic questline where Hojo does something super similar to this, after this has been my headcanon for decades, was a trip.)

Two organs didn't grow back at all: Vincent's appendix and one kidney. This was also the result of efficient energy expenditure, as the human appendix isn't necessary for survival, and only one kidney is really required. (Each time Hojo removed the new kidney, the one that grew back would be on the opposite side, which bothered Hojo to no end.)

His lungs grew back a little larger, possibly because his skeletal structure never quite recovered after his first transformation into Galian—his arms and legs are noticeably too long for his body, although not to the point of looking impossible, and likewise his ribcage settled to breadth that would allow for larger lungs. He doesn't really need these anymore either, related to his brain being exposed to so much mako during the process that it can now operate without oxygen if necessary, but switching himself over from aerobic to anaerobic respiration is really unpleasant and Vincent tries to avoid it when he can.

His heart was pretty normal by the time Hojo was done with him, although his heartrate had dropped to like 20bpm even when elevated. Again, if respiration isn't necessary, there's not much reason for the system to be active. (By the time Lucrecia was done this had dropped to around 5bpm on average, although it's completely arrhythmic and jumps all over the place when he's not either particularly active or on the verge of a transformation.)

This was the experiment that left Vincent susceptible to degradation, which Hojo didn't realize until after finally closing him back up. Upon realizing that Vincent's body wasn't responding properly to a different test (a repetition of an earlier experiment related to the regeneration of external tissues and features), Hojo just kinda threw him in a tube to be disposed of at a later date, kinda like that scene in Arrested Development where there's that dead dove in a bag in the fridge. The incision healed at some point during the period that Lucrecia was working on him, but early enough in her work that the tissue couldn't flawlessly regenerate (like it does in the present), leaving him with one more gnarly scar on top of all the rest.

Vincent is self-conscious about all the physiological changes brought on by what was done to him, often to the point of loathing. His left arm is the worst—it rotted off while he was in the throes of degradation and grew back as something that he hesitates to call his arm—but Vincent hates that Y-incision scar almost as much. Some days they tie.

(It has come up in appropriately horrified conversation with Shalua that, considering how his regeneration works, Vincent could probably get rid of all the scars on his chest if he somehow peeled the skin off his torso in a single swath. He will not be doing that. Besides, it might grow back the wrong color/texture/etc, like his left arm. Not worth the risk, much less the suffering.)

Also I gotta finish off this entry with the extremely stupid headcanon reveal that Vincent's (honestly fairly impressive) dick was cut off during the first round of bodily trauma regeneration tests—and Hojo has never felt the sort of rage he experienced upon discovering that it grew back bigger than before. This occurred early enough in the experiments that Vincent was not awake for it, and thus has no idea how the fuck this happened, and does not want to talk about it ever thank you very much. I've never mentioned it in public anywhere because it is extremely stupid, but I hope someone out there finds it as funny a concept as I do.

[sketchindoodles]

Kintsugi

A self-portrait honouring the scars of my top surgery.

Most representations of trans men post top surgery depict them as having scars from double incision surgery as this is the most common performed. As a trans man who was very lucky to be able to receive periareolar, I can feel a little left out of that representation.

While the scars are minimal, they can still be something that I'm hyper conscious of and still signify to me an incredibly important part of my life and who I am.

[molosseraptor]

did you crop your cane corso's ears? could i ask why? no judgment, i am wholly uneducated on canes as a breed.

The Cane Corso is a cropped and docked breed. It’s historically accurate, preferred both in the show ring and working venues, and is important in setting breed type. Both procedures are done very early and prior to the age you would bring a puppy home. The vast majority of reputable Corso breeders in the US will not leave puppies natural, nor would I want them to.

Docking is done at 2-5 days of age and cropping is ideally done between 5-8 weeks of age. Both procedures are very simple and heal within a few days to a week at this age, especially when cropping is done by laser, which is increasingly more common. Older than this, these procedures become much more complicated and much more complicated to heal. That means these procedures are done prior to litter evaluations.

A good breeder will not know which puppies will be placed in show, pet, or working homes until around 7-8 weeks or older unless a puppy has an observable fault or structural issue early on. This also means the puppies will be done correctly by an experienced cropping vet and have appropriate after care. Because of the short, equilateral triangle crop that is correct for the breed they should rarely to never need posting (taping and stabilizing to hold the shape), but keeping the incision clean and massaging the ear to help it stand can be a lot for an inexperienced owner.

Finding a knowledgeable and experienced cropping vet can also be a challenge in many areas of the country and good ones are booked out far in advance. Most of the breeders I know schedule an appointment the moment a pregnancy is confirmed to make sure they can get in at the right time with someone who knows the breed and knows what they’re doing, often traveling long distances for the right vet.

While you can technically show a natural Corso, it’s rarely done and not preferred. I know of only two dogs who finished AKC Championships with natural ears, one with a natural tail (adult import from Europe and cropped upon arrival to the US), and no completely natural dogs who have done so. A correct crop is a perfect complement to the Corso head piece and shows off the clean lines and square angles.

These procedures also prevent injury. You can look in any pet Corso group and see dogs with natural ears suffering from ear injuries, reoccurring ear infections, hematomas, etc. and dogs with natural tails suffering from happy tail and other tail injuries. Corsos play hard, live rough, and have minimal to no self preservation. Many of these dogs end up needing medically necessary crops or docks as adults, which is a complicated process with a lengthy healing time at that age.

Historically, as a working farm and protection dog, limiting injury and the ability to easily grab the dog is essential. Ears get in the way of protecting the property from humans and animals and big game hunting. Tails get in the way of big game hunting, property protection, cart pulling, and herding. By eliminating these issues early on, the dog had a longer working life on the farm and was way less likely to be culled for unhealable injuries.

None of the breeders I’ve had a dog from will sell a natural dog because they’ve been burned in the past or learned not to from others that have. For my main breed mentor, the only two dogs he left with natural ears at the future owner’s request were the only two dogs he’s ever had returned out of dozens of litters across 20+ years. People that want that softer expression are often not prepared for the reality of the breed. They want a Labrador temperament in a Corso suit and that’s not going to happen. They’re guard dogs and they’re supposed to look scary and be scary. Leaving the ears won’t change the fact that a stranger walking into your home without proper introduction will be met with violence.

Cropping and docking in breeds where it’s historically correct to do so will always be my preference for all of the above reasons and also because I think it’s far more aesthetically pleasing. Dogs left natural in traditionally cropped or docked breeds just look wrong to me. Correctly done crops are beautiful works of art and I’ll be forever proud to have a piece of that history in my home.

[fansplaining]

In the final days of 2024, we're highlighting all the incredible reporting and commentary we've been able to publish this year thanks to your continued financial support. (If you'd like to help us publish more in 2025, click that link! Even $1 a month helps.)

Next up is @hellotailor's incisive analysis of the abrupt cancellation of the The Acolyte this past August, contextualizing it within a broader pattern from the Star Wars franchise/Disney:

Bafflingly, there’s very little evidence of Disney trying to curb the toxic side of Star Wars fandom, a community dedicated to sabotaging Disney products and alienating potential customers. Time after time, actors of color have faced ruthless online abuse with minimal protection from the company that put them in the spotlight. It’s all very well to launch projects like The Acolyte and promote them with upbeat press tours, but what matters is the follow-through. And that half of the equation currently involves cancelling the show within weeks of its release, pissing off its fans, and leaving the lead actor to be harassed on Instagram by jeering troglodytes.

Read the piece or listen to an audio version via the link above!

[herkonular]

SAPPHİREHAİRCLİNİC - DEVASA+ (2)

Sapphire hair transplant turkey is a popular method for hair restoration, offered by many clinics in Turkey. This technique involves using a special type of blade made from sapphire to create incisions for hair follicles, resulting in less trauma to the scalp and a faster healing time. The procedure is often painless and delivers definite results. On average, the cost of a Sapphire hair transplant in Turkey ranges from. It's important to consult with a reputable clinic to ensure the best possible outcome. Fue hair transplant turkey, or Follicular Unit Extraction, is another common method for hair transplant in Turkey. This technique involves removing individual hair follicles from the donor area and transplanting them to the recipient area of the scalp. FUE is a minimally invasive procedure that results in less scarring and a faster recovery time compared to traditional hair transplant methods. The cost of a 3000 graft FUE hair transplant in Turkey ranges from. It's important to note that the cost may vary depending on the clinic and the number of grafts needed. Beard hair transplant turkey is a specialized procedure offered by some hair transplant clinics in Turkey. This procedure involves transplanting hair follicles from the scalp to the beard area to achieve a fuller, thicker beard. The procedure is performed in a special operation theatre by a specialized medical team that takes extra precautions for undetectable HIV+ patients. The cost of a beard hiv hair transplant turkey varies depending on the number of grafts needed and the clinic, but it is generally more expensive than a traditional hair transplant. It's important to choose a reputable clinic with experience in performing beard hair transplants to ensure the best possible outcome.

[merildae]

this is kind of a personal question so you dont have to answer, but did your top surgery affect your tattoos in any way? if so how do you deal with that?

I actually specifically asked my surgeon if he could minimize warping!

My tattoo looks like this

My surgeon (Dr. Slama at BMC who id rate 10/10) said if he did one long incision rather than two it would minimize warping and also help minimize possible needs for revisions since my boobs were really close together and a double incision could have cause buckling in the center.

I’ve taken a peak under my bandage and honestly my tattoo looks perfect, if anything better than before since his chin isn’t stuck in a valley .

That being said I was prepared to get a blast over or tattoo revision if it looked too warped

[kaijuno]

Kleroterion – Because “Power Corrupts”

This Kleroterion was a device used by the ancient Athenians during their period of Democracy, over 2,500 years ago, to randomly select citizens for state councils, offices, and court juries.

Athenian Democracy developed in the 6th century BC and the process of Sortition was their principal way of achieving fairness and equity.

Sortition is the process for the selection of a few state officials, on a random basis, from a larger pool of candidates.

The fundamental principle behind the sortition process originates from the firm belief that “power corrupts.”

For that reason, when the time came to choose people to be assigned to empowering positions, the ancient Athenians resorted to picking randomly by a lot.

The state positions were highly accountable and only for a limited period, to minimize abuse and corruption.

Sortition was used to pick most of the magistrates for their governing committees, and their juries. Thucydides has Pericles make this point in his Funeral Oration:

“It is administration by the many instead of the few; that is why it is called a democracy.”

The Athenians used a selection procedure with purpose-built allotment machines like this Kleroteria to avoid the corrupt practices used by oligarchs to buy their way into an office.

Those selected through lot underwent an examination to prevent incompetent officials. The Kleroterion was a stone incised with rows of slots and with an attached tube.

The citizens’ token was placed in the slots, and the container was filled with different-colored dice. The dice were released one by one, and each of the die corresponded to a specific row of tokens.

The color of each die determined whether the owners of the tokens in the corresponding row were selected. The selection decided who was given a seat on the citizen’s council or juries.