#my MRI is next WEEK even though the hospital said within seven days

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

fucked up my leg again and even though my job gives me short term disability it's fucking 60% and i can only skate by normally so i'm FUCKED lmfao

[itsmrkinney]

Déjà Vu || Brian & Justin

chefdanielkarofsky​:

Justin had started the day pretty simply. He had brunch with Gus and Taylor, his and Brian’s ten year old daughter. Both had finished their school year remotely like most of America the week before so they were officially on summer break. Over the meal they discussed the day’s plans. Gus was going to watch Taylor while Justin went out to one of the local protests with Daphne. He made sure that Gus had money for take-out, after all Gus had about the same cooking skills Brian did when Justin met him, before he hugged both of his children, put his mask and backpack on, and slipped out the door.

Justin took a taxi to Daphne’s neighborhood. Once he was there he met her on the stoop of her brownstone and they walked to the site of the protest. Everything had gone well and was peaceful for the first six hours or so. However around five in the evening all hell broke loose and suddenly cops were pushing them back brandishing night sticks and pepper spray. He stepped in front of Daphne to protect her. The next moment he was shoved hard enough to knock him off his feet. The ground and the sky suddenly switched places. He felt his head slam into the pavement.

At first his head just vibrated with the force of the hit, but once his vision focused again he scrambled to his feet and grabbed Daphne’s hand desperate to escape from what he saw. He weaved through the crowd running from the cop that had shoved him because his badge read C. Hobbs. Justin would never forget those eyes and the coldness in them so he knew that the cop was Chris Hobbs.

Once they were far enough away that he knew that he was not chasing him and his adrenaline was dropping, he began to feel dizzy. “Daph we got to go to the hospital. I think I am going to be sick.”, he told her before vomiting on the street. She called an ambulance and within ten minutes he was taken to the hospital. He hated that they wouldn’t allow Daphne to be by his side in the hospital due to the coronavirus outbreak although he was happy when they said his husband would be allowed in when he arrived as long as he passed the scan.

Justin had been given medications to help with his nausea and had an MRI by the time that he heard Brian’s voice coming down the hallway. He was talking to the doctor who was filling his husband in on what had happened and the damage done. He held his arms out to him as Brian walked through the door. Suddenly he got teary eyed. He wasn’t sure if it was because he felt safest with his husband, because his husband looked harried, because of side effects of the meds he was taking or all of the above. “Bri, come here please?”, he asked.  

By the time the cab finally pulls up to the hospital, Brian is practically a bundle of nerves. The fucking mask on his face is hard enough to breathe in by itself, but knowing that Justin is lying in a hospital bed with no one around him just puts him on edge. He can’t help but think to himself, Not again, not again, not again...

When the cab pulls up, Brian tosses a few bills at the cabbie before getting out. He spots Daphne standing just outside the door, and he waves his hand to her before jogging up. Even behind her mask, he can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are glassy and the little bit of skin he can see of her cheeks is all blotchy. He pulls her into a one-armed hug, social-distancing be damned.

“He said he was fine,” she says, right before she sniffles. “But then all of a sudden, he wasn’t. Fucking cops.”

Brian shushes her before pulling back out of the hug. He squeezes her shoulder. “I’m gonna head inside, see what the fuck is going on. You gonna be okay? You’ve got a ride back to your place? If not, you can stay at ours, just use your spare key.” He lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as soon as Daphne nods her head. He squeezes her shoulder again before taking a step toward the automatic doors. “If he’s alright, which it sounds like he is, I’ll have him call you, okay? Just go home, get some rest. Have a drink on my account, and I’ll have him call.”

“Okay, thanks, Brian. Take care of him?”

Brian nods. “Of course.”

He enters the hospital slowly, but not before being stopped by a hefty nurse that could possibly have been a bouncer in another life. He answers the same few questions he’s asked any time he has to go out: Have you traveled recently? Have you been in contact with anyone that has tested positive or is awaiting results for COVID-19? Have you had any symptoms? No. No. And No, again. He takes a step closer so that the nurse can scan his forehead. Ninety-seven, five. Good and healthy.

Once he’s passed the Inquisition and had his hands properly coated with enough hand sanitizer to clean his entire body, Brian makes his way to the elevators, pressing the button for the fifth floor. Once out of the elevator, he stops by the desk to ask where the fuck he should go now, but he’s cut off by a man’s voice coming from the hall.

“Mr. Kinney?” 

Brian turns his head to see a man a white lab coat making his way toward him. He nods, turning toward the man. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Dr. O’Connor, the one that’s been treating Justin? I’d shake your hand, but considering the circumstances, I’m afraid that’s not advised. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you up to speed with his condition. And good news, he’s awake. He’s been asking for you.”

Well, that’s a fucking relief, Brian thinks to himself. He walks in step with the good doctor, listening to all that the man has to say, though it doesn’t quite register all the way. There’s only a few words that stick out: trauma... concussion... possible memory loss... And just like that, the mantra from before is back. Not again, not again, not again.

The come to a stop outside a door, and Brian can only guess that this is Justin’s room, but the words the doctor had spoken are too busy buzzing around Brian’s head to give him any sort of coherent thought. He can hear Dr. O’Connor still speaking to him, but he has trouble understanding him clearly, his eyes too focused on the door. It’s only after a beat that he finally understands the doctor’s next words.

“Like I said, he’s been asking for you, so if you’d like to see him, go on in. Just make sure he doesn’t move too much. We don’t want him on his feet just yet.”

Brian nods his head slowly before opening the door to Justin’s room, and heart clenches when he sees Justin lying in the hospital bed, arms already stretched out toward him.

“Hiya, Sunshine.”

[msoutherngirl-blog]

Transverse Myelitis

This past winter, February to be precise is when my symptoms began and I knew without a doubt something was terribly wrong. It started out as stiffness in my knees and progressed over the next week to my calves, then my feet and thighs. It was terrifying trying to continue to function that way, but I have bills to pay the same as everyone else. I couldn’t not go into work, it was not an option. For several weeks I suffered through it assuming it was a pinched nerve, taking ibuprofen and trying to tough it out. Nothing was getting better.

After two months nearly had passed of living this way I broke down and made an appointment to see my Doctor. I wasn’t even sure that I should drive myself at that point as I could no longer feel my feet even on the pavement much less a gas or brake pedal. My parents came to get me, thankfully they live close and I was able to start the slow process of taking care of that ‘pinched nerve’.

My primary care physician referred me to a neurologist here in the small town I live in and wanted me seen right away so a few days later, parents in tow, I went to the appointment that did nothing but make me angry. You see I am not a barbie doll, not afraid of a cheeseburger, however, I had no idea what was coming next. Once called back and in this ‘room’ a term we will use loosely since it looked more like a closet to me, to be honest, He took one look at me and even before attempting to do a TENS type electrode nerve test on me, he stated that I should go home, lose a hundred pounds and come back then to be seen. First, I wasn’t sent to see him regarding my weight. Second, I have a TENS unit at home that I use for arthritis in my knees weekly and have never had a single issue feeling it. I was furious. So was my mother who was in the room with me at the time. Needless to say, we walked out, as we did I told my mother that if I got a bill from him I’d march it right back in there and feed it to him. What can I say, he pissed me off?

*My angry face*

My mother had an appointment of her own a day or two later with our family doctor and told him what happened when he asked about the referral. He was not in the least happy either and promptly referred me to an orthopedist. I made calls for that specialist and as he would not be in my town for a good month plus, I made an appointment to go see him in Huntsville, Alabama. After a few minutes chatting and checking my balance etc, he ordered my first MRI. At LAST, I thought I was getting somewhere. Maybe this time I wouldn’t have to fight for my own well being?  The first MRI was for the lumbar spine as it was assumed that after the Xrays came back showing no pinched nerve perhaps there was a disc or something going on. Oh boy, was I in for a party!

Now let me preface this with - Read it ALL - not just my initial experience but the whole MRI journey. I have often referred to it as MRI Hell. The first MRI was to be done in my local hospital. Simple enough I thought, the machine was weight limited at 350 pounds, plenty past my personal weight so no problem! Or at least that is what I thought. We arrived at the hospital nice and early, filled out all my paperwork, and waited patiently for them to call me back. I walked back with the technician chatting a little as we made our way into the room and there it was. The tiny opening they claimed would house a person up to 350 pounds. Ummm only if they are seven feet tall. That thing was tiny. I thought I am here, let’s suck it up and get this over with though, so I tried. I lay on the table,  pressed my arms as close to my body as they would go and as she began sliding me into it my shoulders hit the opening. It was like being pressed into a sausage skin. I pressed the little panic button and she answered over the intercom as if everything looked just peachy. “Are you okay?” she asked as if she couldn’t SEE me being rolled into that tube. “Nope.” I replied flatly. “Nope, not happening. Get me out of here. There is no way I can lay in here for an hour I can’t move and this isn’t going to work.” I could feel the panic welling up in my chest with every inch further she sent me into that thing. It was horrifying and I am not a big baby.

Out in the sign-in area, the lady there asked if everything was okay and I explained to her the issue. Thank heavens for her because she explained to me that the imaging center at the hospital in Huntsville had the larger bore machines and that perhaps I could be seen there. Thank heavens is all I can say. Not only do they have a nicer facility but they have machines rated to 550 pounds that are far newer and take half the time for the exact same image. Easiest twenty minutes I have ever spent as a burrito. It would not be the only, however.

Once the images were ready, I went back for my follow up with the spinal doctor only to hear him tell me that there was nothing there. All was well and the issue must have resolved itself. ‘Since I wasn’t having pain, only complete numbness SURELY there couldn’t be anything wrong with me...’ Right? WRONG. If you know there is something wrong, if you truly FEEL like your body is not your own, you have to be your own best advocate. Don’t ever let anyone tell you it’s all in your head just because they would like an easy answer to get to their next case. Had I done that, I could be paralyzed right now as I type this. The only pain at that time that I had was a small spot on the lower part of my spine just above my tailbone. It just felt like it was bruised or something. It wasn’t excruciating. I wasn't in tears from it, after all, I was numb. I still stood my ground insisting that something was NOT RIGHT. The numbness had subsided a little after my primary doctor gave me a steroid shot, but it hadn’t cleared up and I knew in my heart this simply was not right. It scared the hell out of me thinking that all these people thought I was crazy and by this time I think even my parents were beginning to wonder if I wasn’t making some of it up to avoid yard work that desperately needed to be done.

Apparently, I pushed enough because he ordered a second MRI. This time it was of the thoracic spine. I knew when the imaging was finished his time that something was there. I was not crazy. When the technician came in to take me out of the machine, she brought another person with her. The two of them were very specific about me taking my time to get up and not allowing me to rush or merely get right up. With the look on her face and the clear empathy for my struggle to get up and lay still for the procedure, I could tell there was something this time that had not been seen before. This time within a couple of hours I got a call from the specialist telling me that he was immediately referring me to a Neurologist and I would be seen in a matter of days.

Now for the scary wake-up. The morning of my Neurology appointment I got up went to work and came home in time for my parents to pick me up and take me once again to Huntsville. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I was still hoping it was something that would be the easy shot and rest and you’re all fixed but that was not to be. We walked in and I filled out my paperwork, when they called me back my mom offered to go with me but I didn’t know of a reason since it seemed like I finally might have an answer. After all of the frustration and tears, all of the struggling for three months by this time, I was finally going to get something done. It felt like relief until the doctor walked in and scrolled through my MRI in detail as I watched. I still don’t recall everything he said as he went through it all so quickly, thoroughly, but quickly. When the words  “immediately admitting” and “hospital” sank into my ears panic set in, it was all I could do to tell him my family was in the lobby and they needed to be in the room.

When they came in, he went through it once more. Your daughter has a large lesion on her spinal cord. This is called Transverse Myelitis, it is nothing to leave or put off on treating. One of the larger ones(lesions) I have seen. This is usually seen in people who have Multiple Sclerosis. She needs to be admitted to the hospital today for 5 days of high dose steroids and rounds of testing. He continued about a spinal tap, blood work, a number of other things and the only thing I could think about was my dog at home. How Buddy would never understand if I simply disappeared and I burst into tears. In all of this, my first thought was for my sweet boy at home and how I could not just leave him. Yes, the test listing scared me, but the last time anyone I know was in the hospital for something treatable, was my Aunt. She went in for a simple procedure and they instead punctured her heart which resulted in months in the hospital and her death. I just kept seeing her, I couldn’t stop the tears.

He gave me until the next morning to check into the hospital as he needed to get a room for me on the neurology floor. Which also gave me some time with Buddy who my parents agreed to take home with them while I was in the hospital. Mom even sent me updates and pictures of him which eased it a bit, but since I rescued him, he had never really been away from me his whole life, so it was a bit like handing my child to people he barely knew. He was all set though, dad even made him pancakes.... spoiled much? Okay back to the initial path to my diagnosis.

I was dehydrated, so the IV was not easy. Luckily I had some great nurses while I was there and they took good care of me. For 5 days I was given a full bag of steroids daily which made even water taste bitter. It was in no way pleasant, I can assure you that. I will, however, say the worst part was the spinal tap. I wouldn’t wish that one many people, but let’s be honest... we all have that one person who we wouldn’t mind huh? *chuckles*

On the fourth day of steroids, my doctor came in to check on me as he did almost every day there and said the preliminary spinal fluid test seemed clear but it was still being sent to the Mayo Clinic as that is a requirement for such tests. I was exhausted all of the time. I slept the majority of the time I was in the hospital and more when I came home.  Transverse Myelitis can take anywhere from 6 to 36 months to fully heal once treated. Some people regain all their faculties and others have lasting deficits. It is also an illness that although it is rare affects less than 15,000 people a year, can recur in very rare cases. I hope that I am NEVER that lucky. Once was enough for me to be that scared out of my mind.

[magicalsalamander]

The Firefly that Guards the Fox VII

Pairing: BTS Taehyung  ⇆ Reader

Genre: Hybrid | Lawyer | Murder Mystery| Fluff | Angst | Smut [Epilogue] |

Words: 6.9K

Warnings: Overall story rated mature; Explicit themes, action/ violence, bloodshed, death of minor characters.

Summary: His mother and father weren’t supposed to fall in love. They weren’t supposed to find a mate in one another.

They weren’t supposed to.

After losing his father years ago, Taehyung vows to find and avenge the injustice his family has gone through. You were childhood friends with Taehyung. The four of you Taehyung, Hoseok, your older brother and you were inseparable. You were torn apart from Taehyung, your fox who’ve you’ve always vowed to protect and be with, without a warning. He called you Firefly, you called him Tae-Tae the fox. Was your fate supposed to end there in the past with your childhood?

A/N: Orig post date: 01|11|18; Updated intro 12|12|19. Part of the KLF Universe.

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Her giggles were infectious as I splashed water at her. She was relentless though, fighting back with waves back at me. I wrapped my arms around her waist and spun her eliciting a scream of happiness. “I got you firefly!” She smacked my arm, “put me down Tae!” I shook her in my arms taunting her further, “Tae! Stop!” The anger behind her tone didn’t hold any value, she didn’t really want me to put her down. However, she reached over and pinched my ears between her nails. I let go of her with a yelp. She splashed carelessly into the knee-deep water and stuck both thumbs in her ears wiggling her fingers finishing her move by sticking out her tongue. A squeal then a laugh drummed out as I run to chased her. I latched onto her falling backwards letting gravity take over. I submerged us both into the water with a splash.

I didn’t come up from the water; the girl in my arms faded as I twisted and turned to lie on my back. I felt lint balls from the fabric under my fingers, a mix between knotting suede and a thin mattress. I blinked back to a clearing light. I woke up to my mom putting my backpack together in our basement home. “Honey, please get up you’re going to be late!” I tossed the blanket over me walking only a few steps over to my mother. The room smelled of pungent, stale, reheated coffee and concrete dust. His mother turned to him with her everlasting smile. Her hair was a vibrant color and her ears a habanero orange. She handed me my backpack, “hurry along now.” I took the bag and ran towards the door letting the blinding morning light in.

He pushed through the metal exit door stumbling onto the side walk. He was giggling like a boy in elementary school. He hung onto a woman, who giggled mindlessly and hiccupped from over drinking. Her face blurred every time he looked her over. It was certain he didn’t want to take her home, none of his dates ever made it there.

He stumbled through the parking lot pulling her into the backseats of his car. Their lips and teeth knocked in passion. The heat from their bodies and tension fogged up the windows. She grinded against his crotch, rubbing him in the right way. He trailed his hand up her thigh slipping under her ‘barely considered a dress’ dress. She left his lips, kissing sloppily down his jaw, sucking generously on his neck. She had no true trajectory, she just wanted him. He leaned his head back looking through the back window of the borrowed car of his friend. The street lamp directly above his car was so bright. He squinted tight and everything faded to black.

One squint and a blink through the haziness you pried your eyes open, greeted by a white ceiling. The noises of the room sounded distance, but within moments they cleared and beeped into normalcy. With the strength of a thousand newtons, you turned your head away from the bright fluorescent lighting towards the EKG monitor and other medical devices. The streamline of my heart and other saturations ran consistently. Your eyes bounced along with the inflections of your heart rate. You groaned as you turned back attempting to right yourself. The pressure on your wrist excited every nerve and was an instant reminder that everything wasn’t alright. A lightning bolt shot up from your left false ribs shorting your breath. Your vision blurred shortly with the electricity flowing through each vessel finding a point of interest around your temples. Things weren’t alright. The plastic tubing attached to you creaked and made a racket creating their own orchestra number.

Your napping brother stumbled from his seat in the corner of the room. He shot out of his seat finding a spot next to you on the bed in a less than graceful manner. He adjusted your IV pole and the tubing making sure he wouldn’t pull anything. He laid you back down searching you over with worry in his eyes, “God, I was so worried about you. Do you know how terrified I was hearing you were in an accident? My baby.” He mumbled on about his woes, but I couldn’t help but crack a smile at him. You didn’t know how you looked, but from his reaction you could guess it was bad. Your smile turned into a laugh at the end of his speech. He still called you a baby even though you were at the prime age of twenty-seven. You weakly maneuvered your bruised hand and stitched arm carefully not to twist your throbbing wrist, “how long have I been out?” Your brother took your hand delicately in both of his, encapsulating it in tender warmth. His calloused fingers grazed over your bruises like he was tracing roads in a map, “a few days, I took time off. Mom and Dad couldn’t make it up to the city.” You groaned, “you told them?” He nodded, “they said they were sorry, but that if you were in my care they could rest easy.” You smiled at him in short delay, the nausea was coming back. When the haze cleared you took in your brother, he was still in his uniform; a distinct sore standing out from the hospital’s dreadful, white walls. He really must’ve rushed here.

A warning knock sounded at the door and then a nurse strolled in the room. “I heard the monitors come back. Welcome back to the world, Ms. Y/L/N.” She looked at your brother and a faint pink dust coated her cheeks. You shook your intertwined hands slightly and wiggled your eyebrows at your brother in an all-knowing smirk. He glares at you momentarily mouthing out, “stop it, not now.” You rolled your eyes at the bachelor, but he politely left your side giving room for the nurse to work in. She checked all over your vitals and monitored receipts form the machines, “everything seems to be fine, a doctor will be in shortly to consult further with you. Are you in any pain currently?” You wanted to shake your head, but that would be a mistake, “I’m sore. My head and side are tender.” She nodded her head, “we’ll give you some more morphine for the meantime, I’ll be back with the doctor.” She picked up her chart and walks toward the exit, but you called out to her, “Where is the man I came in with? Where is Kim Taehyung? Is he alright?” Your brother did a double take, squinting at you while he took a seat next to your bed again. The nurse looked down at her chart then back to you, “I’m sorry miss, I don’t know. I’m sure the doctor will, please ask him then.” She slid the door close, leaving you with more anxiety than before.

Your brother tangled your hands again bringing your attention back to him. Your breathing became rougher and you winced with every short breath. “Calm down Y/N. Taehyung? Do you mean the fox hybrid from back home Taehyung?” You nodded slowly at the pace of a calm grandmother, ”yes…but it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything soon, I need to know if he’s okay first.” Your brother smoothed over your hair smoothing out the knots, “that’s a promise Y/N.”

Through the same door the nurse returned with a doctor, who looked by far more than exhausted you did, “Hello Ms. Y/L/N.” He went over a routine checkup repeating steps the nurse took earlier, then stood at the edge of your bed flipping through the charts. “Ms. Y/L/N, in your X-ray we found two broken ribs on your left. They didn’t penetrate anything vital but remain stationary for the time being. It will take at least six weeks for them to fully heal. We did an CT scan and MRI just for assurance for anything major, but luckily you have a mild-concussion. That won’t take long to heal, however, you will experience some of the residual effects for a while. We will admit you for ten days and when that is up you will be assessed again to make sure you’re alright to leave. Any questions?” Honestly, he spoke so fast and it was heavy with information most flew over your head; so you turned to your brother for affirmation that he caught it all. He laughed and nodded, “I got all that Y/N. Don’t worry.” You turned back to the doctor, “is Kim Taehyung okay? The man I came in with?”

The doctor looked you over assessing your charts once more and with a huff in his words, “he’s currently in a coma.” Your heart sunk, feeling the thin strings of your heart being pulled to their limits. “He was induced into it. The injuries aren’t severe, but as a precaution to the head injury we’re giving him time to rest.” The harp player in your heart plucked softer, but they still tested your limits. You didn’t have enough in you to cry, but the thoughts were painful enough.  In last comfort the doctor could offer, “you’ve been through a lot Ms. Y/L/N. We will do everything in our power to make sure you and Mr. Kim are okay.” The doctor offered you and your brother one last polite bow, then left.

In attempts to ease your mind, your brother spoke about his recent deployment. He went on and on and at the end of each sentence he reminded you how much he missed you. His stories faded into a lull hitting its end, so you started your own. Regressing back into his attentive way, he listened intently like a mother would, but with a face of a stern solider. He clutched onto your hand in intervals of softening and squeezing with each new bit of information. It wasn’t angry, but sweet and patient. You left out some details of the Taehyungs dad, no matter how close you were, there were legalities on the line. He rubbed his thumb over your hand while you come up to date. “You’re truly a strong person Y/N, are you sure you’re my baby sister?” I pouted my lips together holding back the laughter, but it erupted full force. It was easier to laugh, than cry. He still chooses to joke after I revealed a secret to him, only he would do such a thing. It hurts, it hurts so bad to laugh.

My heart rate went through the roof, and a distraught nurse swung into the room. Her forehead was sweaty, probably from running a mini marathon to the room, and panted out, “miss, what’s wrong?” Your brother stood at attention, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing wrong.” She clutched her chest waving to us both, “no, okay—that’s good to know. Excuse me then.” Attempting to catch your breath you nudged your brother as the nurse turned around leaving the room, “go, go chase her. She’s interested in you. Don’t let this chance go to waste.” A blush crossed his face, the first time you’ve ever seen it, so you nudged him further, “I want to sleep. Go home for the night. I’m fine, I’m in good hands. Come back rested.” He looked from the door to you contemplating, but you assured him you truly wanted to sleep. He smiled down at you and saluted, “good night Y/N. I’ll be back tomorrow.” You raised your right arm and saluted him back, “go get her tiger.”

You’re weren’t allowed out of your bed for a few days. Your brother argued with you daily that he should stay the night, but you convince him that staying at home would be better. It puts less pressure on you and you get to sleep easy knowing he’s resting well. On the fourth night you make your way out of the room wobbling down the hall with your IV pole. You steadied the IV bag and hung onto the tubing with every cautious step towards Taehyung’s room. Your hospital gown didn’t give you must protection against the strong AC. You counted the rooms, until the chrome numbers 45730 reflected against the fluorescent lights. You held your breath, feeling a throbbing pulse in your neck and wrist, it was a reminder you were alive. You shoved the pole first, then yourself towards the sliver of a window on the door. Searching the small room, that looked just like yours, your eyes rested on the back of a hunched over woman.

You knocked softly on the door, just enough for the woman to hear. She didn’t respond initially, so you kept knocking. She turned around in her stool and walked towards the door. Tears built up in the corners of your eyes, but you wiped the buds before they trailed any further. You stepped back away from the door as the door slide open. His mother expected the nurse, “nothing has changed since the last time you came in.” She lifted her face revealing darkened circles and reddened eyes. Her face softened up when she saw you. She stepped out into the hallway closing the door behind her, “Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The once composed woman became a blubbering mess as she brought you into a hug. You winced and hissed at the pressure, she released you almost immediately. Wiping away tears she pleaded, “oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She truly was lost. You brought her into another hug this time, “he’s going to be okay Mom.” You didn’t know if that was for yourself or her. She looked you over again and again grazing her fingers gently over any blatantly obvious bandages. “I’m fine Mom. I have a minor concussion and fractured ribs, but they said it shouldn’t inhibit me too much.”

Instead of my words bringing her comfort, her frown depended into her smile lines. “Thank you. Thank you for being with Tae. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” She cupped your face rechecking everything over again. “You saved him.” You bit back and swallowed the knot in your throat. “It’s really nothing Mom.” She wanted to argue back, but she held her tongue. “Do you want to see Tae?” You nodded cautiously, and Mom helped move you into the room.

The first thing you noticed was his peaceful expression. The monitors read out steadily but in a low frequency. The bandages wrapped around his head and arms concealed the healing wounds. You turned to Mom as she grabbed your hand, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more Mom.” She clutched your hand, “no, you did enough Y/N. If it wasn’t for you Tae wouldn’t be here.” She helped steady you into one of the chairs beside Tae. You watched the soft fall and rises his chest. This madness has to stop.

The rest of the night went by with small chatter between you and Mom. She gossiped about her neighbors and how expensive it was to buy milk, anything to keep conversation going. She wore herself out and dozed off with her head bobbing back and forth. You attempted to get up without bothering her, but her ears were still sensitive. “Where are you going?” You pointed to your low IV bag, “I have to get back to my room. I’ll stop by again tomorrow, I’ll even bring my brother, you remember him, right?” Her face lit up slightly, “yes, I do. The kindest boy for miles. I’ll walk you back to your room.” She walked with you making the most of the small distance between the rooms. You reminded her that you were okay as she checked over you for the millionth time. You held back the nausea and pain, she had more than enough to worry about. You finally shooed her away when you were back in bed and a nurse came to check on you for a nightly routine visit.

Poking and prodding woke you up the next morning, when your nurse went through her routine. She was a rosy red and you connected that to the same rosy red on the solider across the room. You just woke up, but anyone could see the hearts in the air. This situation may be damming, but at least one good thing came out of it. “Everything is fine. Your healing is on track with our predictions. With the way things are going you may get to leave early.” The nurse bowed her way out of the room and your brother served you breakfast. You asked how he was doing, your situation was obvious.

After he watched you eat, you told him you wanted to go see Mrs. Kim and Tae. He wanted you to rest more, but with your persistence he walked you to the room. You gripped onto his arm, while he dragged your IV pole. Once you were stable, your brother knocked softly on the door in three rasp. The soft call of his mother allowed us in. Mom embraced your brother without an inkling of a greeting. She was overjoyed to see him, mumbling the same way when she first saw you. They lead you to sit first, then Mom wouldn’t let your brother go.

He recounted everything he could while catching glimpses at Taehyung. She was so impressed by his achievements in the military, “my son has really grown up!” Your brother blushed madly, a bit taken aback by the extent of her compliments. She asked you, “Is it okay if I steal your brother and go to the cafeteria for some food? I haven’t eaten yet. Will you be okay?” You nodded and even jokingly,” please take him.” He glared at you, but you shrugged the best you could more with your right side. She smiled dipping out of the room to recount even more with her estranged son.

You sat next to the bed and took Taehyung’s condition in. His breathing was shallow and the bruises on his face were deep. You looked down at your fist, saddened that you couldn’t do more for Taehyung at the moment. You sat in silence listening to the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor. You slowly raised your hand to bring it to wrap around his. You spoke softly, “Tae Tae, remember that time I fought off those boys and saved you. We even got ice cream afterwards. I think back to a lot of the times we shared together. Those were my happiest moments of my life. I haven’t been the same since you left. I was so shocked to see you. You’ve grown up and turned into such an amazing person. It’s also great that you turned out to be pretty handsome.” Pausing in your monologue to laugh at how sappy you were being, “I really missed you Tae.”

I plead into the phone, “Uncle please…don’t hang up! I need you to tell me what happened!” The man on the other end of the line begged back, “I really don’t know what happened afterwards. Look, I’ll talk to you later okay?” I spoke into the phone with more force, “Uncle, don’t hang up. I need to know what happened to my father!” The line went dead, all he was left with the dial tone.

The ringing faded into a familiar voice. “Tae, Taehyung, Tae!” The child he once looked at wasn’t young anymore, she was a beautiful woman that sat across from me. She rested her head on her hand watching me intently. I rambled on, “they didn’t think that a hybrid could be educated enough or—or,” raising his voice,” have the logic enough to think on a human level!” I could see the conflict in her eyes the way she watched me as I let emotions spill.  She spoke back to me, but I only caught every other word, “I think back…happiest moments of my life…I missed you Tae.” She began fading again. I stood up in a rush pushing the chair to the floor behind me. I lunged towards her, but she dissipated, and I fell into darkness.

Suddenly Taehyung gasped air violently into his lungs deeply, mumbling out words. In his mind he yelled out, but in reality it was a jumble of incomprehensible words. His pupils retracted like a cat hissing, the light was sudden and painful. You shifted closer to his bed taking his hand in yours, “Tae, it’s okay, calm down Tae.” His eyes relaxed and squeezed your hand in relief. This was real. He croaked out, “Y/N? Where am I?” He tried to sit up but you stopped him, “don’t get up, I’ll call the nurse and your mom.” You stood to reach to press the button to call the nurse, but he stopped you grabbing onto your wrist. “What happened Y/N? Explain things to me first?”

Hesitating on the thought you sat back down and told him everything you could remember. You mentioned the man with the black mask and hat, but you couldn’t elaborate any further. He listened patiently and then followed up groggily, “and you? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Answering honestly, “I have a few fractured ribs and a minor concussion. It’s not serious. The medicine dulls the pain, and I’ll be out of her soon.” He winced when his expression turned sour, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Your hand stopped mid reach for the button again. This whole time he’s been nothing but uptight and mean towards you. The old Taehyung was peeking through the hard exterior of a mask he put on. You titled your head, “I’m glad you woke up Tae.”

You buzzed in the nurse and his mom came back with your brother shortly. It was another reunion all over. The atmosphere was so nice. His mom, Tae, your brother and you were laughing and chatting like it was an afternoon back at their house on their low platform hanging out.

You spent more time in Taehyung’s room than your own. Mom was peeling fruits for you both, when a knock sounded at the door. Taehyung sat in his bed nibbling on slices of apples, “come in.” Two familiar faces peeked around the corner, the teen was a bit reluctant, but he brightened up when he saw you. “Mrs. Miller?” David came up next to you, “Ms. Y/L/N, are you okay? Tell me who did this to you!” You giggled at his protective agenda. Taehyung eyed the kid, “hey settle down kid. She’s stronger than any man.” You side eyed Taehyung, it was hard to know if that was a compliment or something back handed. He cheekily smirked at you. Mrs. Kim greeted the woman and offered her a seat next to you. She looked you up and down and took your hand in hers, “Ms. Y/L/N. I’m sorry this happened to you. Will you be okay?” She held her voice strong despite the shakiness behind it. David placed a hand on your shoulder. I reassured them with a nod. Mrs. Miller cleared her throat, “I’ve decided to go ahead with the appeal. After I heard what happened to you, I don’t think I can sit back anymore.” You righted yourself too fast agitating your tender ribs, “wait, really? Are you sure Mrs. Miller?” Her eyes glistened with tears splaying her fingers out in a fan across her breast bone. Her ears stood at attention, “yes, they need to be stopped.” Mrs. Kim set down her plate rounding around the bed smoothing a hand over the back of the woman. You turned to Taehyung who was staring at you. Adoration filled his eyes as the window light filtered in his eyes. David distracted you by telling you all about what he was doing in school and how he visits that sandwich stand often now that the auntie gives him discounts now.

But of course, nothing good last for long.

You were sitting facing the door listening to the banter go back and forth. A flash of black burned past the rectangle window. It was a blimp, but it was enough to notice something out of the corner of your eye. Your brother was so busy telling them a story that no one else noticed. The shadow passed by once more and stared at you for a moment. You recognized the face, or at least those same eyes. They walked away when you locked eyes. You dropped the fruit piece you were nibbling on onto your lap. Your nostrils flared, you couldn’t let him to get away again, not after he hurt Tae. “Hey, uhm, I’m going to pick up a sweater from my room. I’m a little cold. I’ll be right back.” Your brother broke conversation, “I’ll come with you.” You insisted, “no, no, I’m fine it’s only a few doors down anyways.” He glared at you, but yours won out on him. Tae whined out, “Y/N, let your brother go with you.” You turned your glare to Tae, “I need to do things on my own. I’m almost a 100% better now anyways.”

You slid out to the empty hallway and saw the tall figure walking down and turned at the end of the corridor. You speed walked following as fast as you could with your obnoxious pole. You paused before you rounded the corner, peering over the edge into the empty hallway. You stepped out into the open and frantically moving towards the other end. You were certain he walked this way. A calloused hand emerged from the darkness and clasped around your mouth. His other hand reached for your forearm and ripped out your IV. You screamed under his palm, the warm feeling blood and solution ran down your arm. He sucked you into the dark and drug you through the exit doorway into a cement stairwell.

He forced you up against the wall with his thick forearm blocking your airway. From the impact alone, it was disorienting your vision blacken briefly. When you opened your eyes immediately afterwards, black dots danced in your eyes. You could feel the stiches on your arm ripping, but most importantly your broken ribs felt like razors in your chest. You grasped the arm that was on your neck and dug your nails deep into his skin. This man had every intention to kill you.

You took a good look at him this time, a freckle dotted under his right eye and one eyebrow was partially missing. He must also still be recovering from the accident. With that in mind you removed one of your claws shimming in between the both of you, and dug your thumb into the guys eye. The squishy texture sent goosebumps along your skin, but you didn’t stop until he let up on your throat. He stepped away from you hunching over cradling his eyes.

You caught your breath but didn’t waste time and lunged towards him. You started kicking, beating him to pin him to the floor. He looked up at you with one eye and you screamed, “Who are you? Who sent you?” He didn’t respond knocking you off with a punch across the face. The adrenaline was running through your veins and you were angrier than ever. You kicked him in the stomach and rolled him over to be under you again. You landed a few hits but gained traction and punted you off. He stumbled onto his feet making his way down the staircase.

You weren’t going to let him go without an answer.

You clutched your side sliding on the cement floor but followed him. You sped down the flight of stairs but crashed straight into the wall. Your vision faded to black momentarily and the acid was building up in your throat. You felt like throwing up with a sudden rush of nausea. You panted in a cold sweat as you heard the footsteps of the man get farther and farther and eventually the door to the parking garage open. The silence filled you. You were in so much pain that only silent screams left you.

Your brother watched the clock. It’s been taking longer than it should have for you to grab a sweater. He stood up and went out to check up on you. Tae’s mom insisted on going instead, but he said, “I’m a special agent, Mom. I think I can handle wrestling a sweater.” The hallway was empty no grubby girl with an IV pole in sight. He made his way down to your room, but he opened it to an equally empty space. The private bathroom in the room was unoccupied as well. Goosebumps formed over his flesh, every sense honed into. He just felt it his baby sister was in danger.

He went back into the hallway and down the opposite direction. He looked up and down the halls of the ward for you. As he turned the corner out of a inner hallway he noticed the reflection of a fallen IV pole sticking out the hall. He ran towards it and the clear it got; the IV bag and tubing was leaking solution on the floor. There were specks of all sizes of blood that trailed into a metal exit door.

He slammed open the door with his shoulder. He looked around only to take a second look down the stairwell to see you breathing rapidly with blood soaking your gown. “Y/N!” He skipped every other step and made his way to you. “What happened?” He pulled your head up to look at him, but you could barely keep your eyes open. He picked you up in his arms and raced back up the stairs. He ran down the hall yelling for help. All staff in the hall that wasn’t immediately occupied approached him. They directed him to take you back into your room.

Tae’s mom heard the commotion in the hallway and opened the door to look outside. Her jaw dropped as she saw you in your brother’s arms with your arms limply swinging. She covered her mouth with his hand and yelled, “Y/N!” Taehyung sat up from his bed and stumbled his way behind his mother supporting himself with one arm on the wall. His other arm was in a sling, but he peered over and saw you. His heart dropped seeing you almost lifeless in your brother’s arm. Your brother sped by with a whole medical team trailing towards your room. His mother turned to him and said, “Tae, you shouldn’t be out of bed!” Her voice was unstable as she tried to scold him. She was equally as worried. He tried pushing past her to go to you, but his nurse stopped him. “Sir, she’s going to be taken care of, please return to your bed.” He looked at his mother and struggled back into bed. He knew he couldn’t do anything at the moment. He threw a pillow across the room, he felt truly helpless.

It took the medical staff an hour to stabilize you, but you came back to life. The security in the hospital escalated. Taehyung, in his decrepit state, stayed by your side guarding your room with your brother. The cops, along with Jungkook, questioned both Taehyung and you on the previous accident and today’s accident. As upset as it made Jungkook, he told us they weren’t able to recover anything from the accident. The site was clean. You sighed in relief internally, luckily you had back up documents at the office, credit cards were replaceable, so the only loss was time. Someone was sweeping things under the rug, someone very close to us.

A four days later you were discharged from the hospital, but Taehyung already left since hybrids heal faster. He wasn’t a hundred percent, but he was able to do basic things again without being supervised. He stayed with his mom, not wanting to burden Jimin and Hoseok, since they were busy prepping for the upcoming tour. It was weird living back with his mom, but he realized how much he missed it when she would cook meals for him. Your brother took you back home and was on guard 24/7. You assured him that he shouldn’t worry and it was rare for a criminal to come back for a third attempt. The punk would be stupid to attack again so soon. Your brother requested further time off to take care of you. The workaholic in you kept up with the office by working from home. You kept in contact with Taehyung, updating what little you found out.

A week later, when you weren’t constantly nauseous and could breath normally, you made it back to the office. Your brother couldn’t take off any more time to insist for you to stay home. You took the bus to work and walked in your second home. The receptionist came up to you and hugged you, “I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you’re back. Mr. Kim has been living in his office and the courthouses. He’s trying to catch up on all the cases he’s been behind on. The other lawyers didn’t want to take on his work.” With a scowl you made your way to your desk, greeted by your team. Kibum held onto you, but Krystal peeled him off to get her shy turn at a hug. Once they let you go you left for Tae’s office. You knocked on Taehyung’s door and he answered curtly; he was back to his normal self. You stepped in, also stepping back into your professional attitude as well, you closed the door and called to him. “Mr. Kim, I have the documents and cases you asked for.” He looked up and took them. You looked around noticing the multitude of coffee cups and pillow and blanket on the couch. You looked at him and spoke, “Mr. Kim have you been staying here.” He hummed in response not breaking his concentration on work.

He must’ve let the words go in and out his ears. You knocked on his desk making the tired fox look up at you. “Tae, why are you over working yourself?” Like a melting candle, his scrunched expression softened. The fox whined outstretching his hand towards you. You laughed at his cute antics. You walked around his desk and the suffering fox rested his head on your stomach. He wrapped his arm around your waist clutching to the back of your blazer. He nuzzled his head and in the best way you knew how to comfort him, you combed your fingers through his hair. It was greasy and matted, “how long have you been here?” He mumbled a number into you, truly it didn’t matter, he needed to go home. “Tae, go home. We can take care of it here. I’ve done enough work at home, we will be fine.” An audible growl left him as he pulled away, “no. I have so much to finish.” You brought both of his cheeks into your hands and he brought his to rest at your sides. “We will win, but we’re not going to win if the hero can’t fight his own needs. Go home Taehyung.”

He pulled you into his lap and nuzzled his face into your neck. He traced the edge of his nose up and down your jaw. “Just give me a moment with you. I missed you.” I almost lost you, he spoke internally to himself. You allowed him the time he needed, because you needed this too. You wiped away at his dark circles hoping they would go, but they only got deeper when he smiled. After many back and forth of “five more minutes”, Tae finally went home.

He gripped the frame in his hand, petting over the wooden edges as if it was a cat. From a rumble to a catastrophic roar, he fast balled the memory across the room. The two attendants in the room remained motionless standing at attention with their hands behind their back. His perfectly gelled hair strung out of place as he steadied himself with two open palms on his desk. The rumbling anger of his heart beat fast in his ears. He could feel his instincts brimming. He fought against the memory, but they just clawed at him. Flashes of his mother smiling at him calling him his familiar name, “Bo, my love.” Then flashes of documents, “Sexual Assault and Rape Report.” The print flashed by faster in his mind the more he struggled against it, “hybrid…victim of random circumstance…child was carried to term.” He scratched the surface of his desk leaving imprints and curls of iron in its remain. A sergeant spoke with hesitation, “Sir, we can’t dig Yates out of this one. He was caught with too many witness.” The police chief smoothed back his fallen hair breathing and seething through his teeth. “Get him out!” He paced around the room manically, “it’s all that foxes fault. It’s because of him and his…god forsaken family!”

“It’s been a chaotic drop in the stocks industry ever since Yates arrest. His lawyers spoke out claiming his innocence, and they will pursue any charges full on. Yates was released this morning on bail.” The stream switched to a video of Yates being wheelchaired out of prison. His face was covered by a mask protecting him from the numerous flashes coming from the hungry photographers. The same anchor voices over the video, but you stopped paying attention to her voice. You watched the footage of Yates play his game.

The door of the break room opened followed by the clanking of the coffee pot kissing another mug. Taehyung stirred his cup of coffee until it was appropriate to taste. He picked up his cup and stood shoulder to shoulder next to you. Ever since the accident, you’ve spent more time together. It was more like he was never too far from you, always within his peripheral. The new warmth didn’t distract you from reading the dialogue as the woman chatters on about useless details. You didn’t bother turning to him, “want to go home?” His ears twitched choking on his coffee doing a double take at the insinuation, “what?” You looked over at him brushing his loose bangs behind his human ears, “you’ve caught up on all the other cases, let’s go back to the countryside and find the shelter your parents were at.” Taehyung ran over his schedule in his head brushing his tail on the back of your thigh, “I can only take off this weekend. We can go Friday and come back Sunday night. We’ll be back by Monday.” You nodded, “I’ll bring some work with me too then, we’ll make it a work weekend.” His ear flattened, he wanted to spend time with you as well, not just work the whole time.

Taehyung came by to pick you up bright and early Friday morning. The drive will take two hours but who’s to say about traffic. You wanted to rub your eyes to cast away the sleep, but you already had light makeup on. The handsome fox stepped out of his car with aviators on, but he’s dressed casually wearing jeans and a white button up. You looked down at yourself with the same idea of casual wear being jeans and a white shirt. You joked before greeting him, “should I go change? Were matching.” He laughed taking in the resemblance, “no I think it’ll help me keep track of you.” You scoffed at his jester but forgave him instantly. You truly didn’t want to walk all the way back up the flight of stairs. Like a gentleman, he took your luggage for you placing it in the trunk. You set your messenger bag with your laptop and files on the passenger seat floor and find yourself situating in the seat.

In the first half of the drive you called your parents, wanting to stop by for a short visit, but they were busy. They said they would leave some goodies by the door for us and call again before we would leave. The second half was just chatter over the radio, there wasn’t a dull moment with Tae. You found out more about him. The same comfort and ease we shared as kids came back like there wasn’t a gap in time. The closer we got to our hometown, the chattier Tae became.

We walked down the familiar dirt road, instead this time we were unfamiliar. The air still smelled clean and the acres of farmland around us still bared fruit and vegetation. The trenches we created in the road from our back and forth journeys have filled back up and the road was flat. Taehyung parked away purposely because we thought the road wouldn’t be suitable for vehicles. You watched Tae’s tail flick like a hungry flame behind him. His lip was red from his teeth gnawing at the flesh, making the bud of his lower lip plump to its maximum. You thinned your own and laced your fingers in his bigger hand. Instantly, his hand encased yours and you ran your thumb over his knuckles. You slowed before you came around the bend in the road, “do you want to take another lap around the road?” He squeezed your hand bringing it up to his cheek then his nose for a moment. You flinched a little at his hot breath on the back of your hand. A hot blush was creeping up your neck turning your ears carmine. If this was going to comfort him, you could yield.

“No, let’s go.” He pulled you with him but kept his pace slow and even. Around the corner stood the weathered white house. It stood up against time, as if it was patiently waiting for us to come back to it. The grass in the yard was over grown, the paint on the walls chipped and the windows had at least three inches worth of dust. It was still home. Taehyung smiled towards you, “I was worried I wouldn’t remember this place, but one look and it’s all there.” You couldn’t help returning the expression, so you beamed back at him, “welcome home Tae.”

The picket fence was rusty, but it swung open with a creak and squeak from the unused metal hinges. He switched our hands, making sure he held onto you some way, and fished for the house key his mother handed to him. The key turned in the lock, but it took a grunt and a shove of a shoulder to turn and open.

A cloud of dust fell on you both. You coughed and waved away the dust stepping in after Tae. The house looked untouched. An open crayon box sat on the coffee table and an unfinished drawing next to it. You took Tae’s hand again patting it with your other, “let’s search around and clean it up before it gets dark.” You tested the light switches flicking them and after a few attempts they lit, but they faded not too long after. “We’re going to have to work fast.” You followed Taehyung around the house going through every room. The house was stuck in a time warp of twenty years ago. The furniture and style of the home was outdated. Taehyung’s ears twitched occasionally when he would pick up things, but he would set them back down. He saved his parent’s room for last. He opened the door to a messy room. The closet doors and drawers were open with clothes strung everywhere. Empty picture frames splayed across the bed. Even though you knew exactly what happened, it was hard looking at the mess. She really was in a hurry the day they left. You traced your fingers over the frame picking it to place it back next to the bed side table. Pick up the pieces, and eventually you’ll see the puzzle. You turned back to the stoic fox, his eyes were busy taking everything in. He said nothing the whole time we went through the house.

You came up behind him, gliding your hands through the gap between his arms and sides clutching him tight. “Are you okay?” He removed your hands turning you in his embrace. He brought you into his chest nuzzling against your hair. You were the only familiar scent in this home, everything else felt foreign to him, even if he remembered these walls. The only memories coming back was the one he shared with you and the rest of the fireflies. He spoke into your hair, “thank you for coming with me.” You smoothed your hand up and down his back, “before you thank me, let’s get things done.” He nodded into your hair taking in your scent as much as he could before you go to work. The blush has expanded past your ears for sure.

You set your phone up on the kitchen counter and connected it to Bluetooth and put on cleaning music. Taehyung twitched a brow to you watching your corny dance moves. You swayed to the beat as you tied up your hair into a messy bun. You mouthed along with the lyrics and obnoxiously pointed to him. He hunched over laughing, but soon joined you in a small dance in the living room. With a few beats you bumped the side of yours his hip with his, eliciting giggles out of you both. The house felt alive again. Your parents lent you cleaning supplies, along with some other goodies they left outside their door for you to pick up. You felt like Cinderella sweeping across the floor as Taehyung opened the windows letting light in. Taehyung left momentarily and parked out front bringing our luggage inside. You kept cleaning and by the time the sun set, you were content with the kitchen, living room and one room being cleaned out.

Taehyung was outside cleaning the patio, while you cleaned up the aftermath of tonight’s dinner, two cups of ramen. You cut up some fruit for dessert that your mom gave you earlier. You carried the plate out the door waiting for Taehyung to lay the matt over the low platform. The wood was old and splintering, but with a little love it would come back to life. Taehyung set the latten in the center of the matt and tapped the empty spot next to him.

You adjusted yourself on the soft cloth. Taehyung let the tranquility take over. He laid on his back crossing his forearms to a makeshift pillow under his head, “I haven’t been this relaxed in a while.” In his head he counted the stars but lost track after the twentieth when all the lights in the sky clustered too close together. You bit into an apple savoring the sweet crunch. You looked towards the tree line recounting the many times you’ve played there, where the stream you played in was bone dry. The place you meet Tae. “Tae, do you remember the first day we met?” He hummed in question not hearing you the first time. “do you remember how we met?” Tae inhaled a deep breath leaving it in a heavy sigh, “I really don’t remember it well, but I do remember the night where I told everyone what the stars were. Kids really do believe everything.” I laughed handing him an apple slice, “yeah, we may have been kids, but…it helped me through a lot of times.”

He glanced over to you watching your expression. Because of specs on the lantern, the orange light displayed a disco ball effect on her; like fireflies dancing on her skin. The perk of her nose, the flutter of her lashes, the petals that were her lips all hypnotized him. Her hair was a mess, fly-a-ways sticking out of her messy ponytail, but she looked perfect. The perfect combination of calmness and calamity. He traced the contours of her face with his eyes, mapping out things he’s never had much chance to do before. He wanted…no…needed her to want him too.

With all the experience of partying and dating he had, nothing could compare to the confidence he chalked up now. “You know, Y/N, if you get too comfortable with me, I think I should have you call me Mr. Kim again.”

The soft atmosphere broke, you couldn’t help laughing and hard. It was hilarious now thinking back to Taehyung, you meant Mr. Kim, the stern lawyer in his almighty office. He feigned being upset with your taunting, so he sat up. “What’s so funny Y/N?” A cheeky smile bloomed on his lips as he inched closer. You fell on your back laughing, “sorry Mr. Stern-Lawyer, I guess I am forgetting.” He swooped in tickling your sides violently. You could hardly breath and tears were brimming in your eyes. You placed your hands on his chest pushing him away, “Tae, stop! I can’t—I can’t breathe!” He rested both hands by head giggling to himself as he loomed over you.

Once you could open your eyes clearly enough, the fox above you was staring at you with something else in his eyes. Something you’ve never seen in them before.

He studied your face carefully, he watched your pupils expand and contract. He could hear your heartbeat in his ears. Your lips were parted glossy like dewy petals. You swallowed hard, the position was making your mouth dry. You spoke out breathily, “Tae—.” He dipped down brushing your noses together, you could feel the peach fuzz of his chin rubbing against yours. He nudged your noses together causing you to arch your head back. He watched your lips move with his name on them. His elbows caved down and caged you in even further bringing your hands to your chest. His body heat radiated to yours. A low content purr grumbled in his throat as his tail stiffened. He whispered your name against your lips, before he pecked lightly. The heat from him started a fire in your stomach. He came back for more, kissing you soft but hard each time. Your hands slid up cupping his neck and cheek tangling in his hair, anything to bring him further into the kiss. You could feel the rumbles of his purr from your hand on his neck.

You had to pull away for a breath of air, but he couldn’t wait long, so he began peppering kissing around your face. Once on each eye, each cheek, your forehead, then nose appreciating all of you. I had to, “Mr. Kim, this isn’t appropriate office behavior.” He kissed you again, and again seconds melted into minutes. He took your breath away.

He pulled away from your bruising lips looking you directly in the eyes, “I’ve made up my mind, don’t call me that…ever….” I slapped his chest laughing, he was insufferable. He pecked my lips one more before he flopped on his back sighing in relief. You didn’t quite catch what he said, but it sounded similar to the word, “mine.” His. The both of you were flushed, but you were especially nervous to look at him. He laced his fingers with yours and his tail tickled your thigh. The music playing from your phone filled the atmosphere with lyrics, even though they weren’t our own, they said everything for us.

Under the fireflies, this moment was more than perfect.

You cleared out some space in the living room and laid out your sleeping bags. We couldn’t trust any of the mattresses. We eyed eachother blushing occasionally thinking back to the kiss before. You crawled into your sleeping back, letting him turn off the lantern. The fireflies were dancing in your stomach. You fell asleep and somewhere through the night the bags came together, and our hands intertwined. It was admittedly the best sleep he’s ever had.

In the early hours of the morning you’re at the kitchen table typing away at your laptop and Taehyung rested his head on your shoulder reading the open webpage. “We should head out soon.” He nodded passing you a quick breakfast, more ramen. Within thirty minutes you were on the road, we drove forty-five minutes to get there. “Riverwood County Shelter,” the words read out boldly on the sign in their lawn before Taehyung turned into the parking lot of the dreadful looking building. The town was nice, but there was something off. Maybe it was the clear bias towards this place? No, it felt too quiet.

You looked over to Tae before you went inside, “if you want me to go inside I can, you can wait in the car.” He shook his head, “no, I want to see the place my parents grew up.” Taehyung held open the door for you, immediately leading into a receptionist lobby. A woman with glasses hanging low on her nose sat behind the curved desk. She typed away at her computer and slowly blinked up towards us. She did not want to be here, that was for sure. Taehyung approached the desk, “Hello, we’re from—.” You stepped harshly on Taehyung’s toe. A huff left him along with a deep grunt, he side eyed you full of questions. You took over conversation, “hello, were looking for a…baby to adopt. I can’t have children of my own and I always wanted to have a child with my husband.” You wrapped Taehyung’s hand in yours and brought his hand up to your lips. You pretended to blink away tears. The woman at the receptionist desk blinked back at you slowly. Taehyung seemed to catch on halfway, “My wife and I really want a fox hybrid. Something that would look like me, maybe.” The woman began typing shortly then stood up, “let me get the file and ask my manager if they’re letting people observe today. I’ll be right back.” She picked up an empty clipboard and pen disappearing down a nearby hallway.

You waited for her footsteps to fade before you rounded the desk taking her seat. Taehyung harshly whispered, “what are you doing Y/N?” You brushed hair off your shoulder, “hush, be on the lookout. Warn me if she’s coming back.” You jammed the USB into the monitor and went to town on their database. His eyes were working a thousand miles per hours, “when did you bring that?” You raised your brow at him, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me Tae.” A smirk crossed his face cheekily leaning on the table, “a man should know his wife.”

You willed away the blush crossing your cheeks and searched through their outdated system. You transferred the files of employees from twenty years ago, hoping it would give some intel about the people who knew his parents. You pulled out your phone bringing up the two long numbers that his mother gave you. Their ID numbers. A young photo of his mother popped up and in big read letters above the biographic information read, “MISSING.” You searched for his father’s data, but your fingers stopped typing on the keyboard when footsteps approached in the hall.

Taehyung winked at you, “leave it to me, honey.” He walked towards the receptionist, “you were able to convince your manager, right? My wife…she’s really been upset with the whole infertile thing. I can’t live with the anger anymore or the tears.” He spewed out the first things that came to his mind, using his years of practice as a lawyer to spin a believable story. Your fingers flew across the keys. You unplugged the USB and shoved it into your pocket tucking it deep. You closed all the documents back to what it originally was and stood leaning against the desk attempting to look distressed. “Dear, you know what I don’t want to look today. I don’t think I can handle it.” Taehyung came running up to your side, “but honey.” You held up your hand twisting your face up as if you were going to cry, “no…I can’t.” You pushed through the doors to hear a belated sorry towards the receptionist from Tae. You both got in the car and drove away.

Back at home you pulled out your laptop again and plugged in the USB immediately. Taehyung sat next to you watching the new information load in multitude of files. You passed him the laptop allowing him to go over the info first. He put on his glasses reading the information intently. When he scrolled past a photo of his father he stayed on it studying the face. “I honestly don’t remember his face besides the one in the photo. He was gone a lot as a kid. He looks so much like I do here.” You leaned into his side resting your chin on his shoulder, “look he has the same freckle on his nose like you.” You booped his nose right on the freckle. He rubbed his nose, “I guess we really do look alike.”

He opened file after file, you ended up working longer than expected. You missed the timing to go over to your parents for dinner. You opted to make a small meal, something besides ramen. You were prepping when he called you back over to the laptop. “Hon—Y/N, look tell me you see what I see?” The image of the man before you was familiar, but without his signature trademark. Under the security guard’s employee archive, was the face of a brutish man, but he lacked the scars on his face. As you leaned in forward your hand almost slipped and missed the table, “isn’t that the police chief? Police chief Archer...Robert Archer?”

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Copyright 2018 © by magicalsalamander. All right reserved.

[gayforthemoon]

I was told by a friend it is healing to write out all of my experiences the past nine months out so I’m going to literally write out everything that’s happened in the way of my illness here and shout it into the void.

Last October I tried to give blood. They rejected it six weeks later, informing me that I tested false-positive for syphilis. Crazy, if you know me. They asked me if I had any autoimmune disorders or if anyone in my family did. No, I don’t recall, I told my doctor, but it was the beginning of it all.

Shortly after that, in my last month of fall semester, I got tired. Not normal tired, and even more than my usual depression tired. I was sleeping between 12 and 14 hours a night. Getting up in the morning was the hardest thing I could do. I missed activities I wanted to go to simply because, come six or seven in the evening, I simply couldn’t keep my eyes open. My parents were worried. They got me an appointment with a big kid doctor (bye bye pediatrician) and I went to him to ask him why I was so tired. Before I could even get there, on New Year’s Eve, I threw up. I don’t normally throw up. Even when I had the stomach flu I kept it down. Just another thing to bring to my doctor. 

He asked me about four times whether I was pregnant. Each time I answered I got shorter with him. I am a virgin, do I have to scream it for you to understand?? He ran blood tests, which came back when I was at school. My iron was low, he told me, which is likely from your period (insert eye roll here), but the stomach pains aren’t as normal. Let’s test your poop to see if there is blood in it. You could have a bleeding ulcer. Either way, take some iron pills. I guess he didn’t make a note that I was already on iron pills. By now, I was seeing a doctor at school who told me my poop was simply poop, no blood. But my increasingly painful stomachaches could be from an ulcer. He started me on the medication, and I started throwing up.

Every day, no matter what I ate, I threw up. Salad? Nope. Chicken? Big nope. Milkshake? Definitely not. I called my doctor back home for an urgent referral to a gastroenterologist. He complied, and within a week I had an appointment in Grand Rapids. All the quizzes online were telling me to “seek care immediately” but still I waited. Because I could still get up, go to school, look normal. I didn’t look sick. But climbing up stairs shouldn’t have left me panting, and going for a walk across campus shouldn’t take me twice as long as it did last semester. 

My first GI doctor visit was a whirlwind. He, too, asked me if I was pregnant. I should have been prepared for it, yet I vainly thought that a male doctor would trust me when I told him I was feeling ill and not ask me about my uterus. I felt like I was going to throw up in his trashcan. He talked a lot at me, felt my stomach, and ordered an ultrasound and an endoscopy. I got the ultrasound done right away. I believe they were mainly looking at my gallbladder and liver. Both were fine, but I was still sick daily. The endoscopy happened in February, about a month after I started getting sick all the time. They told me after that my stomach was inflamed, likely due to all the throwing up, but everything else looked fine. No ulcers, no tumors. Just stop throwing up and you should be fine. Why am I throwing up though? They had no idea.

My next GI doctor visit he told me to have scheduled a gastric emptying exam. I was given a radioactive meal to eat and they watched it move through my stomach. They ended the exam early for some reason, and while the results showed my stomach moved food slightly slower than normal, it wasn’t slow enough to be super concerned. However, they couldn’t give me any medicine for it because it would strongly react with my antidepressant, which I needed more. The test was four hours long and I got no answers.

Next on the list was a HIDA exam. They injected me with some radioactive substance and watched it move through my gallbladder. Another two hours in the machine, and no answers. The people at Holland Hospital started to know me, chatting with me every time I came in. Still no answers. After that test, my GI doctor told me there was nothing more he could do, keep taking your medicine, and call our office if you get any worse. He was a shit doctor and I went back to Lansing to get a referral to a new one.

My home doctor, when asked about my newer symptoms, tried to tell me I threw up after working out because I ate too soon to the workout. Me, a triathlete, a lifeguard, didn’t know how to balance food and exercise? I don’t think so. My mom and I pushed back, saying a healthy 20 year old should be able to swim a 200 without throwing up, or go for a run, or be able to climb the stairs without feeling woozy. Again, I got the pregnancy question. Even my mom had asked me at some point. I was livid. But we pushed and pushed, and got a referral to a doctor at the University of Michigan Health Clinic. Supposedly, they were the best.

My UMich GI doctor is much better than my Grand Rapids one. I’ve only had one appointment with him, but he quickly proved the other one wrong when he said there was nothing more to be done. He ran a battery of blood tests and ordered an MRE (special kind of MRI) and a head CT. I missed school to spend more than three hours under heavy machinery. The head CT, while a long shot, showed clear, which was no surprise. The MRE took pictures of my whole abdomen and imaged it, from my stomach to my ovaries. The only abnormal result was thickening on the lower portion of my small intestine. No cause for concern.

My UMich doctor also set me up with a dietician. She immediately put me on a low FODMAP diet. Still not exactly sure what it does other than take out 75% of what I eat, but I’ve been doing well on it, even if I have lost nearly ten pounds in the month and a half I’ve been on it. Something about fermenting in my stomach? Anyway, the only areas of concern have happened when we try to add things back in. Then my tummy doesn’t like me, and I get sick after a day or two. It isn’t supposed to be a forever diet, which is why we’re adding food in. She wants to use me as a case study with new dieticians to show them how the diet can have really good outcomes.

The blood tests came back. Of them, it has been determined that I do not have Celiac’s Disease and that my iron is still low. I also tested positive for autoimmune antibodies as seen in 11 autoimmune disorders. I have to follow up with that, and I’m doing it at school. At this point, it’s likely that this unknown autoimmune disorder is causing all my problems, the next step is figuring out which one(s).

The hardest part about being sick is that I can easily pass for healthy. I get classmates asking me if I’m going to run the triathlon with them, but how do I say I’m sick, I physically can’t do it? The other side of that is that to some people, I’m not sick enough. I’m no longer throwing up every day, so I must be getting better. I’m able to go to classes and do my homework, so I must be fine. Limiting my food has helped, but you don’t develop an allergy overnight, what is the underlying cause?

I will post updates as I get them. School can be hard, DM can be hard, but I’m getting through it. Hopefully soon I’ll be getting through it and also feeling healthy, but one can dream.

[seniorbrief]

I Had Two Strokes at Age 29—Here’s How I Recovered

Courtesy Dina Pestonji

By Dina Pestonji (as told to Meghan Jones)

In the first week of 2013, 29-year-old Dina Pestonji suffered two strokes within a week, one of which left her unable to speak or move for weeks. She eventually realized that she wanted to get her life back and fought for months to do so through an intensive period of rehab. Now, the TEDx speaker and bestselling author of Surviving Myself shares her story:

On January 7, 2013, I was put into an MRI machine that would constantly monitor my brain. No one could tell why I had suddenly started convulsing and then fallen unconscious. However, the MRI showed that the pressure in my brain was building up at such a rapid rate that if I didn’t have emergency brain surgery to relieve the pressure, I would die. And so my parents had to give consent, and I had brain surgery that day to remove part of my skull to relieve some of that pressure.

I would eventually learn that I’d suffered two strokes in the past week, but until I fell unconscious, nobody thought it was a stroke. I had no risk factors—I had no family history; I’m super healthy; I’ve very conscious, nutrition-wise, about what I put into my body; and I’m also very athletic. I don’t do drugs, I’ve never smoked. I occasionally drink a glass of wine, but I’m pretty healthy. Yes, there were some warning signs—I’d been experiencing massive headaches and shooting pains up and down my body—but because I’m so healthy, the stroke wouldn’t have even occurred to anyone as a potential suspect. (Make sure you’re aware of these common signs of stroke you could be ignoring.)

The brain surgery was a four- to six-hour procedure, and there was no guarantee that I was going to wake up, or that, if I did wake up, I was going to be the same person. When I woke up, I couldn’t talk. I had lost my ability to speak, and I was paralyzed on the entire right side of my body. I couldn’t move, and I was going in and out of consciousness. I could barely open my eyes. I would try to muster up the energy to say something, but I couldn’t.

For the next several weeks, I remained in that state, and I was blissfully naïve. There were no mirrors, so I never knew how I looked. I knew something had happened, but I didn’t really know I’d had brain surgery. So I succumbed to thinking, “OK, every day people come in, they smile, they are very friendly. I see my parents and my sister every day, people feed me, they do my laundry. I don’t do anything.” I also really didn’t remember the past. I didn’t know what I had lost.

After about a month and a half, I had regained some mobility, but I still couldn’t speak. One day, my mom lifted me up to see my face in the hospital mirror. I…could see that my skull was clearly indented. My mom took me back to my bed and she said, “Dina, do you remember? You were in the hospital,” and I nodded Yes, since I still couldn’t speak. Then she said, “OK, do you remember you had a job?” And with my left hand, I drew a picture of a house. And my mom said, “Yes, you had a condo but we didn’t know what was happening to you, so we had to cancel that as well.”

That was [when] I realized, “OK, something has happened to me, but I have to get better.” I remembered I was 29, and I was still in the prime of my life. That was the worst day of my life, but it was also when it all made sense. In that day, I had a choice. I could give up, which was really easy to do because it was like I was starting from scratch, or I had to push forward, full steam ahead, and get back to being me. I said, “OK, I’m 29, I’m not going to stay paralyzed forever.” That, to me, was when rehab started. Read some more stories about the most unbelievable medical recoveries ever.

The first time I spoke was six weeks after my brain surgery—I said “Tea.” My parents and my doctors would help me practice speaking. If I said one letter of the alphabet, I wouldn’t stop there; I’d think, “OK, how many more can I say?” I would watch their lips and try to imitate them. It was the teeny little steps of progress each day that helped me to go from standing up on my own two feet, to actually moving that one foot forward, and then learning how to walk with a cane, and slowly jogging. It was a very, very slow process. I’ve been told I recovered very rapidly, but to me, it felt very, very slow because I so desperately wanted my life back.

Elizabeth Klunder/Courtesy Dina PestonjiAfter about four months, I had my second brain surgery to reattach my skull, and then I stopped doing rehab two months after that. I was pretty functional; speech took the longest time for me to regain, but my motor skills were fine. I did a duathlon seven months after my strokes and then completed a half marathon ten months post-stroke. I’m on blood thinners, and I always will be, and I’m fine with that.

There are two things I think everyone should know. Prevention is very important—things like healthy eating, exercise, and avoiding smoking and doing drugs. Even if you do all that, though, things could still happen to you that you least expect. I’m a shining example of that because I did do all of those things. But the good news is that I also think that’s a big part of what helped me to recover so well. I had a good base. I’ve always had a very healthy way of living, and that is so important.

But the other thing, something that I think every single person on the planet is dealing with right now, is mental health. I obviously can’t say definitively, but I think that stress was a contributing factor to my stroke. We live in a society where your mental health is put on the back burner. Before my stroke, I had never taken care of my mental health. It was normal for me to experience stress and anxiety and burn out on a weekly basis. The amount of pressure I put on myself, for over 20 years, was not normal.

Now, I place as much emphasis on my mental health as I do on my physical health. I meditate every single day—short meditations that take two minutes a day, but they really help center me. I take walks to help me clear my mind, surround myself with positive people, and turn off my phone and social media at the end of the day to be in a calm, happy place to have restful sleep. Everything I do is centered around mental health so that I never have to be the person that I was before. It’s vital to take time for yourself and take care of your physical, emotional, and mental health each day. Next, learn more about how to prevent stroke with these 30 habits that reduce your risk.

You can read more of Dina’s story in her memoir Surviving Myself: How an Eating Disorder, a Car Accident and a Stroke Taught Me to Love My Life and Finally Start Living It.

Original Source -> I Had Two Strokes at Age 29—Here’s How I Recovered

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/i-had-two-strokes-at-age-29-heres-how-i-recovered/

[sciwriteblog-blog]

                                   CHRISTMAS LETTER 2017

This letter is way over the top.  There are three sections, my travails, politics, and predictions.  My recommendation:  Skip the travails and go to the next two. Trump’s recent complaints about the FBI are laying the groundwork for dumping Mueller and Rosenstein.  Trump’s tactics are unprecedented in American history, undermining public trust in basic institutions like the press and now the FBI as a pretext for “executive action.” He’ll be dumped in 2020 and possibly the Republican congress sooner.  See my comments under Predictions.  

There was lots of excitement in 2017.  Just like in 2015, I paid an unscheduled visit to Alta Bates Hospital.  Same problem as before:  bugs got in my PICC, the infusion line through which I pump the TPN that keeps me alive.  (A PICC, or peripherally inserted central catheter, is for infusing TPN (total parenteral nutrition,), liquid “food” pumped out of a plastic bag through an infusion line into my vascular system to substitute for food ingested through the normal route because my gut is sickly.  I do this every night.)  It wasn’t bacteria this time but fungi, an infection called “fungemia.”  These little buggers are floating around always and everywhere just like bacteria.  How did the fungi get into my blood stream?  Through the opening in the clave used to hook the pump to the infusion line. It’s the only way.  Once the bugs get in, they go straight into the bloodstream right along with the TPN.  Worse, they “colonize” the PICC line, growing in a warm dark place where the immune system can’t get to them.

Major symptoms this year were less severe than the sepsis in 2015:  low grade fever, rapid pulse, mild malaise.  Nicki, a nurse at Herrick hospital, coached me during one of my weekly PICC dressing changes on the fever (101.4) and heart rate (above 90 bpm) levels indicative of blood infection.  The fever had been going on for some time and now my heart rate was also elevated, so after I went home and thought about it, I returned to the hospital, just a block away, to have my blood drawn for culture.  Two days later, I got a call from the doctor:  “You have a fungal blood infection; they’re waiting for you at Alta Bates Hospital; get there as soon as you can.”  

The treatment was simple: One daily infusion of 250 mg Diflucan, an anti-fungal, over 90 minutes for the three days I was in the hospital and for up to 10 days afterward as an outpatient.  Also pull the PICC line where the bugs hide out.  I could have done all this outpatient but doctors want you in one spot, so I spent three days inpatient.  Compared to the bacterial sepsis two years ago, fungemia is a cakewalk. I was never really that sick.  Had Nicki not commented, I might have gone on weeks longer not realizing I had a potentially serious infection.

I also paid two visits to Alta Bates ER on the July 4th holiday weekend.  Severe back pain this time.  I have a developmental anomaly; one of my intervertebral discs just never became a real disc.  This is the presumed reason I can’t sit for long.  X-rays and MRI’s show a strange-looking structure where a disc is supposed to be.  Is that thing really in me?  When the mattress atop the box spring sags even the slightest bit after years of use, my back senses the mis-alignment and generates pain far in excess of what seems justifiable or tolerable.  This is the third time in 12 years of such, so I have experience with it, but this time was so bad I couldn’t get to the mattress dealer before I became more or less incapacitated.  

I slept on the floor to avoid a mattress that looked perfectly fine.  Monday, July 3ed, I couldn’t get up off the floor and walk to the kitchen.  After a struggle and realizing the pain was getting worse not better, I called 911. The fire department arrived so fast I didn’t have time to crawl on all fours to the door while still talking with 911. The firemen banged on the door, taking me and the gurney down three flights of stairs; strapping fellows those firemen.  When one asked how I got to the door, I said, “I put on my track shoes and sprinted, how do you think?”   With little appreciation for my humor, we trundled through the Berkeley streets while they quizzed me on my demographics and shot me up with something that made my head spin AFTER we arrived at the ER when I no longer needed it.

Ninety minutes later I’d been given a shot of Dilaudid the brand name for hydromorphone, an opioid pain killer, and scripts for same and Valium, a benzodiazepine tranquilizer/muscle relaxant.  I wasn’t too sure about becoming a dope addict until I got a new bed, but at least I could walk.  To get to the CVS pharmacy and then home, I used the Uber app I had downloaded two days before for just this situation.  It worked great; a driver picked me up in no time; followed by a comfortable ride to the pharmacy ….where they were out of hydromorphone in a country overflowing with opiods!  Was half of Berkeley high on it for the holiday?  Back to the ER where I asked the clerk to ask the doctor could he prescribe a different pain killer?  The doctor couldn’t, and said the muscle relaxant would do.  Okay, back to the CVS, get the Valium, and finally home.  

Next day the 4th, the same problem all over again.  I couldn’t walk.  Same drill: Call 911, say hello to the firemen, “I hoped I wouldn’t see you guys again so soon, but they didn’t give me a pain killer yesterday, so here I am,” and find a doctor more forthcoming with pain scripts.  Getting home, I struck up a friendship with an Algerian Uber driver, who agreed to drive me on errands until I felt safe enough to drive or walk myself.  Next day, Wednesday, we drove to the mattress discounter and bought the firmest one in the place.  It was delivered Thursday.  Saturday morning, after two nights on the new mattress, much relief finally. The nightmare was over, most of the meds untaken.  Long-term solution:  Buy a new mattress after 7-8 years use, at least a year before it’s time for a new on.

Medical billing is notoriously slow.  Just last week I got a bill for the ambulance ride to the hospital on the second day, July 4th.  To go less than a mile, they wanted $2,419.42.  Outraged, I called the 800 number and asked why I was billed for the second day, but not the first?  Molly, the billing agent, looked this up and told me that there had likely been a coding problem and that my supplemental insurance had probably covered the second ambulance ride just like the first.  Relief!  When we were done with the transaction, Molly asked if there was anything more she could do for me.  I said, “You just saved me $2,400, what more could there possibly be? ”  We parted on good terms.

Last year I mentioned two articles I was writing on the weighty topic of whether climate causes civil war.  Note that interpersonal violence, better known as violent crime, goes up with temperature; people lose their temper when it gets hotter.  This is not in dispute.  There is even a study showing that retaliation for hit batters in baseball goes up in hot weather.  The dispute is about whether political violence, that is, coups d’état, revolutions, armed insurrections, etc., are more likely to take place as temperatures rise. I had written a story for a science writing class about 3,000 words long focusing on the Syrian civil war including the climatology involved, the relevant history and politics of the Arab Spring, and governance of Syria, which, needless to say, is bad indeed.  There was also a second article, more than twice as long, about the general problem of climate and war.  This has relevance for a warming world, of course, but is based on historical data from years in which the temperature was above normal due to natural variation.  In warmer years was there more civic violence?  Interestingly, there was an ongoing dispute among peace and conflict researchers about just this question.  

Meanwhile, I ran across a call for science manuscripts at the Atlantic Monthly, that bastion of American liberalism.  The somewhat flippant tone of the request made me wary about just how serious they were about the science, but this was the Atlantic Monthly, so I decided to try them out. Having spent so much time on the long story, I wanted to know what chance it stood of finally seeing the light of day.  After too much time polishing them, I emailed to the editorial staff links for both articles on my Tumblr blog.  Bad idea. They politely told me they would “Take a pass on these.”  At least they seemed to have read them, but the feedback I had hoped for on how to make them publishable, especially the long one, was not forthcoming.

Pulling myself together after the rejection, I thought, “Well, these people are looking for infotainment, not science,” and sending both articles was really dumb, no matter how much I wanted the feedback.  There is really no way to know which article was problematic although it was probably both. What’s ironic is that the long article is really better even though it’s too technical because it demonstrates that three UC, Berkeley professors who claim their data show that climate causes civil war, are flat out wrong.  There is agreement among other researchers that what the data does show is that when crops fail because of heat or drought and there are marginalized groups within a society, only then is civil conflict more likely, as these excluded groups revolt. This was very much the situation in Syria, where a six-year drought ignited a powder keg of political repression, triggering the worst civil war in this century.  Climatologists are in general agreement that climate change played a role in the drought, placing stress on people by drying up their crops leading to food shortages and leaving no choice but to revolt in the face of a government that refused any aid at all.  Now, after more than seven years of war, the Assad regime, with Russian assistance, has crushed that revolt.  The Russians are supposed to be the revolutionaries.  Not under Putin.

Writing about this now, I think I know what I did wrong.  Maybe I’ll go back, write a new draft and try again, setting aside for a while my latest project.

 Politics:

Last year, I said Hilary lost the election by ignoring voters who used to be solidly Democratic. The Reagan Democrats, the Forgotten Man (and Woman), shook the political landscape.  But this was really nothing new.  For some time, political scientists have studied why working class and rural whites vote for Republicans against their own economic interest. Trump lost the popular vote by nearly 3 million, and won in the Electoral College on the basis of fewer than 80,000 votes cast in swing states that were once safely in the Democratic column, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania.  A small percentage of Obama voters switched to Trump in those states, putting him in the White House.  Even in the midst of the best economy in years, voters who switched from Obama to Trump are still looking for but not finding a better job, a higher standard of living, and relief from the large impersonal forces of automation and globalization that define our time.  But if disappointed by Trump, those voters will turn against him in 2020 if the Democrats find the right candidate.  But the Democrats are so divided they just might fail even with two or three more years to work at it.

As late as Spring 2016, a clueless Paul Ryan, Speaker of the House, was touting the Holy Triad of Wall Street Republicans: free trade, open borders, and tax cuts.  Trump ran against all three and won an Electoral College upset.  Now he is about to sign a tax plan made for corporations and the rich that betrays his populist base.  The real purpose of the tax plan is to create deficits that can be used as a pretext to defund Medicare and Social Security, programs Trump promised his supporters he wouldn’t touch.  Why does he sell out his base?  Because the fat cat donors who call the tune in the Republican Party want the tax cuts they bought with their campaign contributions.  Some things never change.  

Predictions  

The speculation that Rex Tillerson will quit the State Department or be fired next month was quelled somewhat by Tuesday’s State Department briefing at which Tillerson talked like a man with plans who was looking forward to next  year.  If Tillerson leaves or is ousted, then Mike Pompeo, now CIA director, becomes Secretary of State; Tom Cotton, now a Senator from Arkansas, takes the helm at CIA; and Hilary can run for the open seat in her former home state.  Pull for Tillerson because he is moderate and pursues diplomatic solutions.  Both Pompeo and Cotton are inexperienced, have military backgrounds, and are hard liners. Their ascent would tilt the scales toward war.

Trump will fire Mueller and start a national furor, perhaps soon.  You might think that Trump would find relief when he fires Mueller, but there may be only short-term comfort in the firing given Trump’s history of sexual misconduct and the new political climate on harassment and groping.  Just ask Roy Moore.

If the presidential election were held today, Trump would be trounced in the popular vote and would probably lose the Electoral College.  But the Democrats would have to win at least 55 percent in the popular vote to have sufficient margin to win the electoral vote in states where they were weak in 2016 including Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania. Can the Democrats overcome their internal divisions, much like those in the Republican Party, and find a charismatic candidate who will excite the country the way Trump excited the Forgotten Folks?  Don’t bet on it.

There are too many unknowns to call the Senate, now precariously in Republican hands 51 49. The number of Senators up for re-election favors the Republicans, just 9 seats to the Democrats’ 24.  But “passion,” which is hugely important in the emotional business of political campaigns, favor the Democrats: energy, anger, and enthusiasm. Also, midterm elections always hurt the sitting president’s party, the Republicans in 2018.  Ditto for the House races below.  Bottom line, the Republicans keep the Senate.

That energy might win back the House for the Democrats, but jerrymandered districting favors the Republicans.  It will take high turnout and lots of atmospherics to overcome that advantage and win the 25 additional seats required to win control of the House.  Bottom line:  The Democrats win back the House.  

We will know about all these predictions except the presidential when next we meet.

Oh, yes.  This will be another year of drought in California after a two-year hiatus from the three years of extreme drought before the hiatus.  Some things never change.

Happy Holidays,

Fred

[depressedpuffin-blog]

Little Scarlet

A supernatural story about twins and family distress

Chapter 1 (1756 Words)

On the average night of August 27, 1999, Craig Trant rushed his wife, Elizabeth, to the hospital. Twelve long hours later, Elizabeth gave birth to identical twins. It was an unexpected gift, and Craig forever recalled their similarity even as they were newborns. The two babies, named Sidney and Scarlet, brother and sister, were exactly alike. They grew into the same features. Their hair was curly and brunette, they had square jaws, small but perfect noses, and hazel eyes. They used the same mannerisms. Both of the children would play their lip when they were deep in thought. They both performed an odd series of finger twiddling whenever they were nervous, where they would wrap one finger over the next. Elizabeth believed it was nurture, Craig believed it was their nature, and both adored watching the two twins grow with each other.

Within a few years Sidney and Scarlet became inseparable. They hung on each other, relying only on one another for friendship. They had bunk beds, but they would both lay on the top bunk and play. Sometimes they would draw unattractive, four-year-old doodles. Sometimes they would have thumb wars and play with toy cars. But other times, when Craig and Elizabeth were asleep, one would lay on the other's chest, and listen to the heartbeat.

"Scar?" Sidney would ask.

"Sid?"

"Are you asleep?"

"No."

"Can you still hear my heart?"

"Yes."

"Is it keeping you awake?"

"No."

And true to that word, Scarlet would soon fall asleep on Sidney's chest. That was most nights. It was almost ritual. Elizabeth would always worry that they were becoming too affectionate for each other, that they would become codependent. Craig never worried about it though. He enjoyed watching them together too much.

When it came time for Sidney and Scarlet to start kindergarten, their parents expected they might drift further apart than they had been for those first years. While both of them did try to find friends, neither succeeded much in the endeavor. The problem often was that the twins only really tried to have fun with other children in the ways they were used to. The boys did not want to draw like Sidney did. The girls did not want to play with toy cars. Eventually, they were brought back to leaning on each other, and so it was not the worst thing. They carried each other through the first years of school. One tutored the other if they were confused with homework. Never alone, they were as happy as if they had a crowd of friends at their heels.

Elizabeth ultimately came to feel anxiety whenever she would see Sidney and Scarlet doing their usual activities. She feared the worst, and any small effort to spread the two never came to fruition. She would shout at Craig. She would tell him to take Sidney to do boy things, and that she would take Scarlet to do girl things, and they would naturally come apart just enough. So Craig would haul Sidney off to the park, and try his hand at things like baseball and walking him through car shows — both of which Craig never indulged in in his years — and Sidney enjoyed himself. He was an excitable seven year old boy after all. And when Elizabeth took Scarlet to a nice lunch and put her in pretty things, Scarlet enjoyed herself just the same. Yet, each one would ask, at some point, why their sibling couldn't come, and the parent would have little idea how to answer.

Eventually grades like third and fourth came, where a child may be harassed for being impersonal with the other boys and girls. They were simply branded as the "Weird Twins", and nobody tried to talk to them. This neglection made them happy furthermore, and they continued to develop side by side. They would often sit on the blacktop, far enough from the basketball court where they could be ignored.

"Sid?" Scarlet asked, folding her fingers, one over the other.

"Scar?"

"You can go play with them if you want. I'll watch."

"Basketball?" Sidney laughed. "I'm no good."

"How do you know? You've never tried."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do."

"Why would I want to play with them anyway? Sidney asked. "They'll just say no."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do."

Scarlet kept folding her fingers within each other, making them white at the tips. Sidney watched them.

"Why do you think I want to play basketball with the boys?"

"Because I see you watching them."

"You're supposed to watch sports."

"So you don't want to play?"

"Not with them." He smiled at her and got up and ran to the big net of basketballs. He pulled one out and dribbled it slowly, smacking it on top with outstretched fingers and sometimes missed entirely. He dribbled the ball up until he was at her feet and stared down at her with a smile.

"Come on," he said.

She looked at him warily, but couldn't help but show the smile that was edging at her lips. They ran to an unused court and played basketball. Sidney would stand past the three-point line and hurl the ball towards the net like he was a shot putter. Scarlet would grasp the ball on either side and throw from above her head. A couple shots were made out of dozens that day, but they did come home and ask their parents for a basketball hoop. When Elizabeth said no, they went to Craig, and he obliged.

"You've got to come pick it out with me though," Craig said. "I'm not bringing home one that's too tall or too short and getting yelled at by you two."

They happily agreed and were in the car before he was. Elizabeth was gone, grabbing dinner from the grocer, so she wouldn't be any the wiser. Craig got in the car and the twins were already buckled in the back. He always chuckled at such a sight. Even though they were nine years old, he pictured them as identical newborns in that nursery in '99.

They started off, zooming through the suburban neighborhoods. Sidney and Scarlet would stare out of their respective windows in the same manner too. Hazel eyes glowing, like dogs the first time they look out such a window. At a stop sign Craig checked on them in the rearview mirror, adjusting it back and forth to observe. He readjusted it and started from the stop. From the right he heard it. The kids didn't because they never knew to listen for it. It was a pickup truck, never intending on stopping at the intersection. The front end slammed into the right side of the family's sedan. The door and roof dented in like paper being crunched within one's palm. The chomp of the metal and plastic echoed through that intersection. The skid of the tires made thick black lines along the road.

Sidney was on the left, and Scarlet was on the right. The force acted on Scarlet with such power that there was barely any need for the car door to be between her and the pickup truck's grill. Her young, feeble bones shattered instantly. She was devoured by the collapse of plastic shards and metal parts. Glass shattered and bounced off Sidney's skin. The roof dented in and bashed the right side of Sidney's head. He, nor Craig, saw what the crash had brutally done to Scarlet. When Craig woke up he was being put on a gurney and placed inside an ambulance. He wrenched within his restraints, screaming in agony and at the need for his children.

Sidney did not wake up within such short minutes though. It was almost a week before he woke up, coated in white blankets inside a hospital room. Elizabeth was asleep, laying curled up in the chair in the corner of the room. He looked at her blankly.

"Mom?" he asked.

She hadn't heard many voices all the times she slept in that room, so when his weak voice came out she was quickly wrenched from sleep. She looked upon Sidney's beaten face. Gauze covered the right side of his head. She started crying and rushed to him, putting her hands on both sides of his neck. Her tears fell on his cheeks, and still, he looked on her blankly.

Then a thought powerful enough to force tears was summoned.

"Where is Scarlet?" Sidney asked.

Elizabeth's soft cries quickly turned to sobs. She shook her head, refusing to speak.

"Where's Dad? He'll tell me. What happened to Scarlet?"

Elizabeth collapsed back into the chair and cried hysterically into her hands. Sidney slowly swept his legs off the side of his hospital bed. The nurse came in. She rushed by his bed side and put him back straight.

"No. No!" He struggled like a baby. Groaned like one too. "I want my dad. I want my sister."

An extra nurse and a doctor soon rushed into the room, and what could not be explained by his mother was hence told. Sidney grabbed his sheets with weak fingers and squeezed and pulled. He cried, but not like his mother. While she sobbed uncontrollably, she watched him through her fingers, and he cried softly and silently. She couldn't read his face. Neither could the doctor. Elizabeth suspected shock. The doctor suspected something much worse.

The next day Sidney was put through an MRI, and the following day the doctor came to the room with news the collapsed Elizabeth once again. Trauma to Sidney's brain had caused permanent damage of his amygdala. Elizabeth did not know what that meant so the doctor painfully explained. At the end she understood. She understood the blank faces, the scarceness of his tears. Her boy would never be the emotional boy he was before. Her husband was laid up, bones broken. Her daughter was never going to be there to talk to again. She cried herself to sleep at night, and she cried herself to sleep in the middle of the day.

The experience was somewhat different for Sidney. He hadn't spoken since before the MRI. He hadn't spoken of the silhouette in the darkest corner of his hospital room. The one that was folding finger over finger. He could see Scarlet. She looked back at him. He was almost convinced that he had been lied to about her death, but he didn't care. He just looked on her, because she just looked on him.

If you want more of the story, you can find it on Wattpad. Profile Name: DaftLamb

[enzaime-blog]

Bruce’s Bone Cancer Story

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/bruces-bone-cancer-story/

Bruce’s Bone Cancer Story

A routine blood test led to a diagnosis of bone cancer for Bruce, an otherwise healthy 43-year-old writer. Surgeons at Memorial Sloan Kettering removed his cancer and saved his leg, giving him the chance to resume his career as “the writer who walks.

It was a regular check-up. A routine blood test. I felt no symptoms. In the 38 years since I broke my left femur as a boy, nothing medically interesting had ever happened to me. The next day my doctor called. I had an elevated level of alkaline phosphatase – an enzyme in my blood I’d never heard of.

“Alk phos,” as my doctor explained, could indicate problems with my liver or my bones, so more tests were ordered. My liver was fine, so my doctor recommend I have a full-body bone scan. “Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s not like you have cancer.”

During the test, I lay in a machine that looked like a giant daddy longlegs as a metal plate moved slowly down my body. About halfway through, when they got to my legs, the technicians began to speak in hushed tones.

“Did you injure your leg recently?” they asked. “I broke my leg when I was five,” I said, hopeful. They started chattering more intensely. More tests were ordered, an x-ray, then an MRI. Then one afternoon, I got a call from my doctor. “The tumor in your leg is not consistent with a benign tumor,” she said.

I stopped walking. It took my mind a second to convert that negative into a much more horrifying affirmative: I have cancer.

Finding a Doctor

I stumbled home and lay down on my bed for several hours, staring at the sky and wondering about all the ways my life would change. Mostly, I thought about my twin three-year-old daughters. “Would they wonder who I was?” I thought. “Would they yearn for my approval, my love, my voice?”

As a writer whose work revolved around walking the roads of history, the idea that I might never walk again was staggering. I was the “walking guy.” Now I was facing the very real possibility that I might never walk again.

We had found the right doctor. We had found hope.

Bruce

Two days later, I awoke with an idea. I would reach out to six men from all parts of my life and ask them to be present in the lives of my daughters. “My daughters may not have their dad,” I wrote these men. “Will you help be their dad?” I called this group of men “The Council of Dads.”

This idea brought me comfort, but it still left the medical issue to deal with. Those initial days were a tangle of tears and late-night conversations, doctor consultations, insurance negotiations, determination, hopes, and fears. I soon realized I was looking at one of three options: a lost year, a lost limb, or a lost life.

Per the suggestion of my friends, my wife, Linda, and I scheduled a consultation with “the one person to see in this area” – John Healey, Chief of the Orthopaedic Service at Memorial Sloan Kettering.

Dr. Healey, I came to learn, has been variously described as the man the one and the guru in this field. He was the president of the International Society of Limb Salvage. In the presence of his broad knowledge and gracious expertise, we instantly felt comforted. His hands were the best chance to save my leg.

Within days tests showed I had a seven-inch tumor, an osteosarcoma in my left femur. Little is known about how to treat this rare cancer. Twenty-five years ago, doctors would have cut off my leg and hoped I beat the 15 percent survival rate. Now, however, there was a chemotherapy regimen that quadrupled the survival rate.

About halfway through our initial meeting, Dr. Healey looked at me and said, “In the worst-case scenario, this appears to be curable.” He also added several times, “This is a war, and I intend to win it.”

We had found the right doctor. We had found hope.

Designing My Treatment

To determine my exact treatment, Dr. Healey conducted an open biopsy – extracting part of the bone to be sent for pathology testing. The biopsy confirmed I had a high-grade, osteoblastic, osteogenic sarcoma. “A very bad disease,” as Dr. Healey put it.

Still, these tumors can be responsive to treatment and in many cases can be cured outright. An oncologist joined my team and a detailed plan was designed and recommended to us: I would immediately begin the first of a dozen three-week cycles of chemotherapy; the bulk of these would take place before surgery to remove the tumor.

Chemotherapy prior to surgery served two purposes: to rid my blood of wandering cancer cells and to shrink my tumor before surgery. The operation would then remove the bulk of my femur, and replace it with a titanium prosthesis. After the surgery, I would undergo several more months of chemotherapy treatments.

After healing and regaining strength from chemotherapy, I would begin physical therapy to learn to walk again. Even though the road ahead seemed long, the details gave me a clear map of what lay ahead.

It was, as we referred to it around our home, a lost year. It would be tough; but my team at Memorial Sloan Kettering inspired confidence and trust. It would be a team effort.

My One-Year War

From the very beginning, my doctors focused on saving my leg and, with it, my ability to walk. Life during chemotherapy was horrendously challenging, but the team went out of their way to make it bearable. I was bolstered by the fact that the initial treatments were working and the tumor appeared to be shrinking.

As I was rolled into surgery, I was feeling upbeat. Dr. Healey had planned an innovative approach that depended on his truly unique skill and experience: He cut out the nine inches of my femur that housed the tumor, and replaced it with a titanium prosthesis. He also removed the parts of my thigh muscle that were corroded by cancer.

Then, with the help of plastic surgeon Babak Mehrara, they removed most of my left fibula from my lower leg and grafted it to the healthy parts of my femur. The idea was to fuse an inorganic object – the titanium – with an organic object – the fibula – to make the resulting construct as strong as possible. Complicated? Yes! Rare? Even more so. Dr. Healey told us he had done this procedure only twice before.

The surgery lasted 15 hours and went brilliantly. Ten days later, Dr. Healey made a surprise visit to my hospital room. He’d come from the hospital’s Tumor Review Board with some exciting news: The kill rate for my tumor was 100 percent; the chemotherapy had killed all my cancer, thus improving substantially my prospects going forward.

“This is not a small skirmish,” he said. “This is a victory in a major battle.” He shook my hand. We were victors, and Dr. Healey was the hero.

Moving Forward – On Two Legs

I’ve spent the time since the end of my treatment living life as fully as possible. I am still cancer free.  And after 500 hours of physical therapy, I now walk without crutches or a cane and with only a slight limp. I can bike across the Brooklyn Bridge with my daughters and teach them how to swim.

The Council of Dads has also become an integral part of our lives. When our girls turned five, the men convened for the first time. “They’re here,” Linda said, “and you are, too.” As one of the men said that night, “When I first heard the idea, I submitted my resignation. But now I realize, whether we’re healthy or sick, men or women, we all need our own Councils.”

One reason is that the experience forced me say out loud what I often kept inside. Cancer, I found, is a passport to intimacy. It is an invitation – maybe even a mandate – to enter the most vital, frightening, and sensitive human arenas. It’s a responsibility to address those issues that we rarely want to discuss, but that have the power to transform us when we do.

That to me is the principal lesson I took from my experience. Linda and I formed The Council of Dads for our girls, but really it changed all of us.