#my blood tests at the er last week were normal so its not my heart. probably. if youre forcing my neurotic brain to believe the er.

[lesbiangiratina]

Heat wave During my period With chest pain

[elisende]

Whisper My Name

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Shadowheart, Astarion, Gale

Rated: E

Words: 2311

Twenty years after sharing a forbidden ritual, Langoth meets the bear of an elf he's been longing for ever since. Will he bend to his own desires, or is his past too much to overcome?

Langoth wasn’t one to dwell on the past.  

For many reasons, but most of all--he told himself--because it didn’t serve the needs of the present.  

And so when he saw the bear transform into the powerful druid, ritual tattoos twining his weathered cheeks, the same who had claimed him, over twenty summers ago, at a long forgotten ritual, Langoth was unprepared for the flood of memories, most of them sensory.  

The druid even carried the same runed club he’d used on Langoth.  His hands clenched at the recognition.

He heard the druid master Halsin’s words distantly, felt the curious stare of his companions as the silence grew.  Words, it seemed, were required.  

“The tadpole?” Shadowheart prompted in a pointed whisper.

Somehow, the worm writhing behind his eyeball seemed to diminish in importance.  It might have had something to do with the druid’s challenging gaze, or perhaps the suggestion of a smile on his lips.  

Or maybe how he’d whispered into Langoth’s ear as he’d penetrated him with his member, thick as an oaken branch, whispering sweet, meaningless words--how for years after, in the night’s depths, he would imagine that encounter and again and again, but this time, it would be Langoth’s name on the druid’s lips….

Astarion tutted, rolled his bloodred eyes, and resumed the conversation on Langoth’s behalf.  Yes, they were looking for a healer.  Could Halsin possibly trouble himself to assist with their mind devouring tadpole issue…?

When Halsin spoke, it was to Langoth that he responded, his face grim.  Was there worry in his eyes?  Worry for him?

He could barely feel his feet as they ascended the dungeon stairs to vanquish the last remaining goblin leader--Dror Ragzlin, and his weary bones told him it would be their hardest fight yet.  He glanced over at Halsin, back in his wild shape.  

The druid had recognized him, hadn’t he?  Suddenly he was unsure.

“Someone’s in lo-ove,” Astarion teased in a singsong voice, just below the threshold of the others’ hearing.  He bared his fangs in a simulacrum of a smile.  “Should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Langoth said, keeping his eyes forward, bow drawn.  He’d never wished more for a goblin sneak attack, but unfortunately, they’d cleared all of the temple except for Ragzlin’s chambers at its heart.

“Oh, I think you do.  If we manage to survive this next little scrap with the goblins, you’re going to spill everything, aren’t you, darling?  And what exactly was that little exchange with the Priest of Pain about, hmm?”  

Normally, Astarion’s menacing flirtations amused him, but not today.  Not for this.  He lunged at the vampire spawn, hunting dagger to his throat.  

“Leave it,” he said, as softly as he could, pinning him with his fiercest stare.  Astarion only laughed, damn him.  Ahead, Shadowheart had stopped; they’d reached Ragzlin.  

He’d never been so ready for a fight; usually, they filled him with dread.  That he might experience the helpless feeling of lying prone and powerless before his enemies, or feel the pains of death wrack his body, organs shutting down, the light of the world dimming.  The bloodied edge of a raised maul, poised to brain him.

He had come closer to death more times since the Nautiloid abduction than ever before in his life.  The experiences--whether he was fighting giant, venomous spiders, screeching intellect devourers, or most horrifically of all, the deadly harpies--had terrorized even his dreams.  They reminded him of the time before.  His first and most traumatic brush with death, and at the hands of his own brothers.  

And yet, rather than study the layout of the hall, pacing the dim corners and finding the best advantage its terrain had to offer as they always did, he pushed past Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, and the bear that was the Druid Halsin, kicking down the door and launching an arrow right at Ragzlin’s head.  

It only served to enrage the fiend.

But then the bear bounded in roaring before him, shielding him from the worst of the retaliation.  Langoth felt every blow as though it were his own flesh being pierced, burned, mauled.

It was a brutal fight, and he had no shame in admitting they would have lost it without the druid.  Especially as he’d rushed in so thoughtlessly.  He had paid the price; his bow arm was barely still attached to his body, a mangled pulp of gore and broken bones.  

“What in the hells, Langoth,” Gale said, groaning as Shadowheart hefted him off the stone ground, and not for the first time that day.  “I know you’re not exactly a Bezantur scholar, but a frontal assault on a hobgoblin and twelve of his minions?  What possessed you?”  

He felt a stab of remorse as Gale began hacking up blood.  How needlessly, recklessly stupid he’d been.  Never apologize, the ghost of his brother reminded him, silencing his apology to the mage before it began.

Nearby, Halsin transformed out of his wild shape and Astarion chuckled knowingly.  “Oh, I think I can guess what possessed him.”

“Are you alright?” Halsin murmured, only to him.  Before Langoth could answer, the druid muttered some healing words over his maimed arm.  He winced and hissed as the magic knitted his muscle, skin, and bones back together.  When he tested the flex of his hand, it wasn’t even stiff, much less sore.  He glanced up at the druid, and electricity seemed to snap as their eyes connected.

“Er, I could use some healing too,” Gale said.  His tone was wry but the effect was spoiled as he began choking on his own aspirated blood.  Halsin abruptly turned and it was like basking on a rock when the sun had suddenly vanished behind a cloud.

Once he’d seen to Gale and mended Wyll’s cracked skull, Halsin addressed the whole party, though once again he looked directly at Langoth.  

“Return to the grove, I’ll make my own way there.”

He nodded, feeling Astarion’s eyes on him, sensing him smirk.  “And our... problem?” he asked.

“Once I’ve seen to some matters, then we can discuss your problem,” Halsin promised.  He left without another word, changing his form to that of a mouse to slip past the drunken goblins still cavorting outside the shattered sanctum.

“Onward,” Langoth said, and the word sounded harsh even in his own ears.  

He felt poised as though on some precipice, staring down into the dark, unknown shadows that lay beneath.  And the ground beneath his feet had just given way.

*

He delayed their return to the grove as long as possible, even tried to find Lae’zel’s cursed Creche.  If he had hoped Astarion would forget his obvious connection with the druid, he was disappointed.  The hectoring grew so obnoxious that he finally commanded the elf to stay at their camp, and there he remained, in a sulk.

The air was sweet around the grove: vetiver, blackcurrants, and sun-warmed cedar.  He’d recognized the smell as being somehow familiar when they’d first arrived, weeks ago.  Comforting, even safe.  Now the connection with the druid seemed so obvious.  It had been in his skin, his hair, his mouth--every part of him that Langoth had smelled and tasted.  

Through the blood-spattered gate, Halsin was waiting for them--for him.

Even as he spoke to them of the grove’s fate, the elf seemed to be watching him for some sign of--what?  Recognition?  Remorse?  Or did he fear Langoth would give away their secret?

He seemed about to turn away from them but stopped himself.  “Before you speak to Zevlor,” he said slowly, “May I--have a word?”

What could he do but agree?  

He felt his companions’ eyes on them as they slipped behind a toppled statue at the far end of the grove.  This, Langoth decided, was his chance.  

He had already decided that if Halsin had recognized him--for it had been a long time ago, and he didn’t doubt the druid had more than his share of enthusiastic partners--he would be cool, reserved.  Distant.  He could ill afford any distraction and his feelings about Halsin were too complex.  The way the endless field of stars in the night sky were complex, or the depthless mysteries of the sea.  The unseen roots of an ancient arakhor tree, spanning continents.

But all of it fell away when, as soon as they were out of sight, Halsin took Langoth’s face in his hands and spoke the words, “I have thought of that night every solitary day of the past twenty years.”  And Langoth’s resolve crumbled to sand.

He looked up into the druid’s hazel eyes; he felt he could read him so easily, see the weariness, sadness, and abject loneliness of Halsin’s soul, even alongside his strength, that steely will that would not bend or sunder to any assault.  Before, he’d seen the scars on his body, as the dawn brightened the forest, telling of innumerable battles fought and won. More battles than Langoth had years.

His proud words caught in his throat and he found himself instead kissing Halsin, with a passion, a need, that frightened him.  It was just like that night.  He was losing himself, body and soul.

“Here?” he asked--no, begged, the word half-breath.  

He could see Halsin prevaricate, certainly about to command patience, they had waited this long.  But instead, he said, “You’ll need to be quiet.  Can you?”

Langoth remembered their night together, how he had broken the ritual, cried out, even begged.  Hot blood rushed to his cheeks.  He nodded.

“Bite my arm, if you need to,” Halsin said, his sonorous voice suddenly hoarse.  There was no time to undress; how long could their “conversation” reasonably last before his companions grew impatient, or curious?  Before a tiefling or druid chanced over to this little alcove?

All thought melted away as the druid stood behind him and brushed aside his long hair to trail kisses down his exposed neck.  He gasped to feel his hot breath on his neck once again, and memories of the past threatened to collapse in on the present.  Halsin’s rough fingers found the front of his jerkin, loosened the laces to stroke his chest beneath.

“Quickly,” he reminded Halsin.  The druid didn’t need to be told twice.  With a swift, decisive motion, he pulled down Langoth’s breeches, then pushed aside his own tunic.  He felt Halsin’s erection pressing against his bare flesh and moaned into the other man’s open palm, already cupping his mouth in anticipation.  Was it possible that he was even bigger than he’d remembered?

Halsin paused for a moment, breath still hot on his neck, then Langoth felt the viscous touch of oil smear his skin.  He’d poured a flask of it on his cock, thank the gods for that.  Now his attention was back on Langoth, and his fingers slipped between his cheeks, finding his ass and slipping inside easily with the oil.  

A fire that had been kindling within him exploded into full, roaring burn and he moaned again into Halsin’s hand, too loudly this time.

“Shhh,” the druid said.  He shifted closer to offer his meaty, gauntleted arm to bite.  Langoth sighed against it instead, and Halsin kissed his neck again, with the utmost tenderness, before sliding his cock deep inside him.

Now he did bite, hard, making the druid suck in his breath.  The sensation was too much for Langoth, far too much, and yet exactly what he had longed for, like a cup filled exactly to its brim.  The druid pulled him tighter with his strong arm wrapped around Langoth’s face even as his hips found a rhythm, a tempo to which Langoth’s desire also beat.  

The druid’s breath was ragged, gasping.  Heat coursed down his body, up again, like some kind of healing magic, bringing life back into his limbs where fear and death had too often resided, these past weeks.  And before.  The time before, when he had nearly--

Another thrust, too deep, and he cried out instead of biting.  Halsin hushed him again, reminding him, with his powerful embrace, that he was safe.

“Whisper my name,” Langoth murmured.  “Please.”

Halsin bent lower, so his lips, impossibly soft, brushed his ear, and whispered, “Langoth” as he thrust again and again, relentless.  His lips found Langoth’s neck once more, his hectic breath and soft groans telling him how close he was to coming.  The sun emerged from the clouds and warmed the rocks where they were braced.  In that moment of perfect ecstasy, sun beating down on them, they both climaxed as one, Langoth’s bite on the druid’s arm drawing blood.

They rested there some moments before Halsin withdrew, taking Langoth in his arms and kissing him deeply again.  “I have missed your taste,” the druid sighed.

Langoth rested his head on his strong shoulder, the demons at bay for a time, feeling only the perfect peace of Halsin’s embrace, his own satisfaction, the tranquility of the grove.  

“We should go,” he finally said.  “What will we--?” “Once I settle things here, I am coming with you,” Halsin said, and his voice brooked no argument.  More softly, he added, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Langoth.  I swear.”  He took him again into his arms and held him.  

They stayed as long as they dared, then Halsin dusted him off--another memory resurfaced, how before he had brushed the dirt from his face, when they had finished.  As tenderly as a mother, he set Langoth’s jerkin straight, relacing the top and brushing something invisible from his shoulder.  All the while, Langoth looked up at him in a kind of wonderment.

It was only later, in camp, with the preparations for the night’s celebration underway, that he recalled something his eldest brother had told him many years ago.  No one can really protect anyone else in this world.  Don’t trust anyone who says they can, brother.

[mintytrifecta]

Someone That I Used To Be chapter 2

Chapter 1:https://mintytrifecta.tumblr.com/post/618489689649840128/someone-that-i-used-to-be-chapter-1 AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818781/chapters/55016005#workskin Guess I messed up His first mission was to stop something dubbed "The Mississippi Purchase". Apparently the Spanish treaty to put their goods and trades in the area outraged enough people that a war started over the area. Napoleon made a move to protect land sitting on what is now known as Mississippi and caused even bloodier battles. Yellow fever mixed with bloodshed mixed with hate and distrust led to greater wars and much less development in technology. Dakota was part of the group sent in as undercover agents to be seated in Thomas Jefferson's governing party. He was the one who brought up the idea of offering the purchase and in turn, less bloodshed. Which surprisingly worked and went successfully. Until it didn't. Coming back into the fixed future, Dakota scanned in to find records of his mission, but none were there.The Agency he was part of never existed. Which means, neither did he…Dakota freezes for a moment before regaining himself.Well, no matter. This could be a clean slate! A new beginning. Dakota did the best he could to ignore the weight on his chest. Guess I made a bad call Dakota had been in the Bureau for a few years now. Gave himself a complete makeover and change in personality.Yet he couldn’t find himself removing his glasses. The only artifact left from his timeline that he possessed. It wasn’t particularly special, just another pair of sunglasses he got during one of his missions and decided to keep, he told people. He doesn’t know why it means so much to him. He heard his stomach rumble. 'Enough thinky time more feedy time.' Vinnie ended up wandering into the time vehicle operations facility. Wasn’t today the test for new recruits or something? Eh who cares he’s hungry and wants a burrito.Upon entering a vehicle he found it was occupied. The person sitting there looked suspiciously familiar. And had terrible taste in lollipops. But I have no idea After a shortcut through some dinosaur ages, Dakota and the person in the car he was in arrived at their destination.Twenty first century Danville. His food-buddy started ranting about how what he was doing broke code and rules for how time vehicles should be used and how he should follow these rules as if anyone working for the Bureau gives a damn about the rules aside from rookies and judges. And then he found kids in danger. Well we can’t have anyone dying when we’re nearby now can we?(It wasn’t until he met the kids, years into the future, that he realized why the boy’s smile had been so hauntingly familiar) (it puts a weight on Dakota’s chest) What I could have done different Turns out his food-buddy is his new time travel partner. Dakota inwardly cringes at his first impression. God, this won’t end well for him. Surprisingly, Food-buddy er- Cavendish doesn’t rat him out. Dakota opens his eyes and shakes hands with his new partner. One little choice Dakota sits up in his bed, early in the morning. One small action He realizes where he knows Cavendish from. One coincidence of thought He killed him. And the lights went out. Dakota fumbles with his glasses in his hands, unable to bring himself to go back to sleep. He stands atop the Bureau roof, watching the pale glows of electrical illumination below him.  If he were in his original time, something of this magnitude would even be imagined.The brightest of people would have never seen this beauty.Yes, to one from a world like this one it would pass as a regular night.  But in a world unlike this, the glow of the lights and technological wonders seem almost like magic. How fortunate, Dakota thinks, that humanity has the gift of imagination. The eerie darkness of the stars above give comfort, as well as doubt. No matter what timeline, the stars never change. If Dakota tells his child self he finds comfort in stars, why he’s sure the child will laugh at him. But he can’t help it.The stars served him as a constant reminder to keep wonder in his life. To never go back to living carelessly. To have empathy. Dakota sighs. What if, he thinks, what if one day he travels back in time; what if one day the stars go out. What will he do then? He’ll be left unguided, alone, with no light left. He doesn’t want to be who he was. He’s changed. Or so he hoped. I never thought Dakota did his job without a second thought. Who cares who got hurt as long as he finished the mission. Things really die As Dakota did more and more time traveling missions, the heavier he felt. It never really dawned on him what he's done. Oh how he wishes he could take it back. Not in real life Dakota remembers how he and his friends would try to fantasize a better land for themselves. One where they didn't have to cower in fear, one where they could all be happy together. So why does he feel so agonized now that he's there? In real life He avoids Cavendish for a week after they met. He couldn't look at him anymore. It makes him want to vomit. There's no such thing as ghosts. Dakota can't touch firearms anymore.The mirrors know this and mock him with familiar faces. I am not a hero Dakota tried hard not to mention anything to Cavendish during their time together, but he found it progressively harder to keep his mouth shut. I am not a movie star Dakota smiled at his partner going off on another tangent about how famous they'll be once they complete a big mission. Vinnie lets his smile fall for a second after he realizes that Cavendish was famous before the timeline changed. He took that dream away from him. Dakota brings his smile back after Cavendish asks if he's okay. I am not a genius, I know Ask Dakota and he'll tell you Cavendish is the brains of the duo. He's figured out things much faster and better than Dakota ever could.Ask Cavendish and he'll tell you Dakota is much smarter than he lets on.  I am not a monk Dakota seldom finds himself getting mad. He considers himself even-tempered and flexible.So when Cavendish and Milo almost get caught by the pistachions, Dakota does what he rarely ever does. He snaps and tries to attack. He'll deny any accusation of breaking down the night after. I'm not special Dakota doesn't know why he does it. Why keep sacrificing yourself for just one person over and over again.He tells himself, Its Cavendish what're you gonna do? He tells himself, Anyone else would have done the same.He let's his mind drift off to the Island. Do any of the Dakotas there regret what they've done? I'm the same as anybody else Dakota screamed at the judges. In his fit of blind rage he let's it slip he's changed the timeline without authorization .

Dakota and Cavendish are sent back to the 21st century. The weight on his chest is back. You and I Dakota and Cavendish.Cavendish and Dakota.That's how they're remembered. Their friends think they're inseparable. Dakota thinks they're fragile. We were always a mess The day Cavendish left him to find the alien ship was one of his worst days. He didn't know why he left. Or to where. A creeping feeling in the back of his head told him that Cav found out.

Dakota didn't sleep that night. Drinking our bourbon The day they came back from Octalia was one of his proudest. They found Cavendish and helped save an entire planet for God's sake. The party they had lasted for hours.Dakota didn't leave his side. Screaming in the streets. They went back to their jobs at P.I.G. and tried explaining what happened. Block only laughed and sent them back on their mission. Dakota has never heard Cavendish as angry as he was then. When I saw you coming It gets close to the date he killed him. Ice and rage in your eyes Nightmares and anxiety seize him day and night. I put on my Armour and my shield Dakota wasn't going to be deterred. Cavendish had enough to worry about anyways. And raised up my sword He shut himself in and cried.  Not once did he tell Cavendish why. I am not a hero He killed people! I am not a movie star How unforgiving is that! I am not a genius I know Why did he go through with it?! I am not a monk Dakota screams. I'm not special The weight on his chest gets harder and harder. I'm the same as you Tears spill. And you Cavendish bangs on the door, demanding to be let in. You were there too  You drove that train Dakota grabs his hair. Right through my heart Blood splattering on the ground. You Pale dead eyes. You were there too Dakota dries his tears. You drove that train He comes out and they don't speak about it. They don't say a word until the next day. They pretend everything is normal. He wants to scream. Right through my heart Dakota leaves their shared space for the day. But I guess it's time He comes back late at night. To put that to bed He enters their house without knocking. But I guess it's time Dakota sighs. To let the dead be dead "Hey Cavendish? We need to talk."

[mindmusicspirit]

Sick, tired and broke...

While it took the coronavirus to get people to genuinely realise this : our healthcare system is trash when it truly doesn’t have to be.

That technically feels like the end of my Ted talk, but I’ll go into some slightly repetitive data about it, because what I ultimately discovered is that this healthcare system is costing the most financially and humanely for Millenials.

Let’s start out with 2019 when 137 million Americans faced financial hardship due to medical costs. Scary part is, regardless of age, high healthcare bills are the number one reason people would consider taking money out of their retirement accounts or filing for bankruptcy, while 66.5% of all personal bankruptcies are tied to medical issues. ( CNBC).

According to the NYTimes, Americans borrowed $88 billion in 2018 in order to pay for their healthcare. If we’re borrowing $88 billion to pay for healthcare, imagine the profit that these healthcare companies are enjoying!

Why is healthcare so expensive? The best answer I could find is due to a “free” market and lack of regulation by our government as well as a lack of transparency when it comes to medical billing. According to Public Health Policy Professor Marty Makary of John Hopkins, the healthcare marketplace is “irrational”-- though I prefer the term uncontrolled-- where price gouging has become the norm. Heart surgery at one hospital may cost $44,000 while the same surgery will cost $500K at another facility, and the kicker here is, despite the disparity in price, there is no marked difference between the quality of care in the different facilities (CNBC).

As for lack of transparency for medical billing, I can personally attest to that ( though clearly I’m not a unique case). Last year I was hospitalized at Tulane University Medical for Diabetic Ketoacidosis, brought on by food poisoning, and I received 3 seperate bills for that one stay. One bill was about $350, the second bill was for $2200 , and the third bill was for $14.99 with no thorough explanation about what I was being billed for ( no general explanation provided either). The bills were just medical coding with no legend of what the coding represented, leaving me angry and confused. How does one hospital stay, at one facility come with 3 seperate bills? Sad thing is, I had health insurance, and seeing as health insurance comes with deductibles and out of pocket limits, I figured those hospital bills hit that, at the very least. Apparently it did not for reasons not even the health insurance reps could explain to me. How do I spend $2500 out of pocket, when my limit is $1500, and you’re telling me that that $2500 doesn't count toward my out of pocket? A clear lack of transparency in not just medical billing, but health insurance as well.

The general high cost of medical care is another reason we’re just out here remaining sick and in debt: The average hospital stay in the US costs about $5220 per day, whereas in Australia where the nation's wealth is comparable to the US, it’s about $765 per day. It is not even hospital stays that are the initial causes/starting causes of medical debt either: 65% of medical debt started out with either diagnostic testing or a doctor’s visit followed by Lab fees, ER visits, drug prescription costs and outpatient services (SingleCare.com). Why would something/someone whose job it is to cure or heal you be what brings you into debt? Even more so, why does something as primary and preliminary such as diagnostic testing or seeing the doctor be the main cause of medical debt? We’re in debt before we can even know what’s ailing us? Drug prescriptions are no different either. About a month and a half ago I lost insulin vials and needed to get replacement vials from the pharmacy: I’ve never actually lost insulin before in my twenty years as a diabetic, so you think that my pristine record would count for something. It didn't. Health insurance was not going to cover it, and the cost of one vial was going to be $900. Keep in mind, one vial will last me about two weeks. Maybe three if I make sure to not eat. $900 is more than my half of rent to put that cost into perspective relative to my monthly bills, and it was only going to last me half the month. If prescription costs are that drastic, I can only imagine the average cost of the diagnostic or doctors visit that affect the 65% that fall into debt because of it.

In addition to costing us financially, high medical care and medical costs affect our quality of life and ability to accumulate wealth, especially Millennials. According to a 2016 study published by Health Affairs, Millennials carry the most medical debt in the US as well as incur it more frequently: the article focused more on the fact that the debt starts at the age of 27 once the medical care/insurance for young adults under their parents insurance ends at age 26. The age group that ended up accumulating the most debt was also age 27 ( PBS.org) The Millenial age group also accounts for 35% of the overall population, so that could be another reason why we hold the most medical debt as well ( Single Care).

Quality of life is also affected in that Americans are foregoing medical treatment or medical visits due to cost. In fact, 21% of Americans had to do that in 2016 alone. That is 21% of people not getting the necessary healing treatment they need, or living in the dark of what’s ailing them.

32% have postponed medical care due to cost. When I hear “postpone”, I assume that the only reason they end up getting medical care is because their ailment got worse or to a point where they couldn’t avoid not getting the medical care that they needed.

40% of adults ages 18-64 have relied on at home remedies or over the counter drugs instead of going to the doctor due to medical cost ( Singlecare.org)

I have fallen into all 3 categories: In fact, once , in order to avoid a hospital visit, I treated my own onset of ketoacidosis. For those of you not sure what that entails, it basically includes taking my insulin through my veins as opposed to subcutaneously ( injecting my arm or stomach) while avoiding any liquids or food, including water for at least 24 hours. The reason you have to do that is because your body’s acid level is falling to a dangerous level so it won’t react to insulin being delivered into your fat stores or beneath the skin: It has to be delivered directly to your bloodstream to have an effect. This acidity level will also cause your blood sugar to rise to dangerous levels, and potentially even lead to a heart attack if not treated in a timely manner.The low acidity level is also why the body won’t tolerate any food or liquid, as it tries to purge every possible foreigner from the body in order to normalize its pH level. Imagine not being able to drink water without violently vomiting it up. So there I was at home, a young twenty year old, injecting insulin into my veins, every hour for at least twenty four hours, until my body was on the mend again. I had to be my own doctor in order to avoid a $2k-$3k plus bill that I knew I couldn’t afford. Was it risky? Yes. But, I was forced to be concerned not only for my life but for my financial well being simultaneously. Sad fact of the matter is, I’m confident that I’m not the only type 1 diabetic with a story like that, and I’m not the first to have to weigh my life versus my finances.

In order to pay for medical costs:

53% work out payment plans with their provider. That’s probably the best option, although it ends up being one more bill to add to the list at the end of the month. I’m still paying off that $2500 hospital bill I previously mentioned.

37% have had to borrow money from family or friends

34% have increased their credit card debt

70% say they cut back spending on food, clothing, or other basic household items.

41% say they took an extra job or worked more hours.

59% say they used up most or all of their savings.

35% say they have been unable to pay for basic necessities like food, heat, or housing. (Singlecare.org)

The statistics at the bottom are exceptionally high and staggering. 70% have to cut back on basic household items/comforts in order to pay medical bills: Is it really a succesful or efficient healthcare system if you have to choose between food or medicine?

In addition to our quality of life/quality of health being impacted, I mentioned our ability to accumulate wealth, which for Millenials have proven more difficult than prior generations: According to Caroline Ratcliffe, a senior fellow at the Urban Institute who studies asset building and poverty, wealth is stagnating for younger generations compared to their parents and grandparents. For people under 40 years old: their wealth has only inched up compared to their parents in the 1980’s, and many factors affect that: Credit cards ( see prior posted article on credit card debt), Student loans ( future article) and of course medical debt:

When one in six Americans have past due medical bills on their credit report, it affects their ability to secure a good interest rate on a home or auto loan. ( PBS.org) We’re constantly told how real estate is one of the best ways to accumulate wealth, yet these unnecessary and predatory forms of debt make it harder for us to do so. A lot of these past due bills average about $600(CNBC), but when most of us have credit card bills, monthly living expenses, student loans, and living paycheck to paycheck, how easy is it to pay $600, realistically?

The additional injury to injury ( because we’re long past insults to injury), is the fact that medical care is slated to become even more expensive. It’s expected to hit $6 trillion by year 2027, and it’s already 2020!

When individuals, the federal and state government, and private business seem to share an equal balance of overall medical expenditures ( be it through medicare, the cost of employee covered insurance etc etc), why then would medical costs go up?

It goes back to the beginning of the article, where we pointed out how unchecked the healthcare industry is. Despite the fancy words and round about explanations we may get from lobbyists and those in healthcare, in addition to being gaslit by them that rising costs are unavoidable, it most certainly is avoidable.

Don't forget, compared to other countries that have comparable wealth to us, everything is more expensive here in the US, and there doesn’t seem to be a disparity in the actual quality of care. For example, the total health spending per capita is 84.8% more expensive in the US than in Canada.

In America, they perform 322 C-sections for every 1000 live births, which average a cost of $16,000. In the UK, it’s 264 C-sections per 1000 live births with an average cost of $6k.

An MRI averages about $1115 in America, yet averages to about $215 in Australia. (Singlecare.com).

These countries are comparable in wealth to us, so is affordable and universal health care really that far fetched or radical of an idea in America? Especially when it’s driving such a staggering amount of people into debt? The answer is NO. Based on the medical cost and quality in other countries, not only is it possible, but easy to make it affordable and universal. There are so many different models that are currently working that we can choose from to emulate even.

Health insurance, healthcare and pharmaceutical companies need to be governed or regulated here in the US. Otherwise, the health care system is just another player in the systemic debt traps that seem to be set for the poorer masses, and it’s a problem that’s only projected to get worse, especially for Millenials. It’s grossly affecting our overall quality of life and ability to generate wealth. These statistics show that while the sick get sicker and entrapped by debt, the healthcare industry and those at the top will benefit the most financially from our plight. This current system is neither logical, nor sustainable for the masses, the greater good, or for the economy.

What ever happened to the Hippocratic oath to do no harm?

References:

137 Million Americans are struggling with medical debt. Here’s what to know if you need some relief.

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/11/10/americans-are-drowning-in-medical-debt-what-to-know-if-you-need-help.html

2020 Medical Debt Statistics

https://www.singlecare.com/blog/medical-debt-statistics/

Millennials rack up the most Medical Debt and most frequently.

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/health/millennials-rack-up-the-most-medical-debt-and-more-frequently

Americans borrowed $88 billion to pay for healthcare last year, survey finds

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/02/health/americans-health-care-debt-borrowing.html

Survey: 79

million Americans have problems with Medical Bills or debt.

https://www.commonwealthfund.org/publications/newsletter-article/survey-79-million-americans-have-problems-medical-bills-or-debt

[foodb4doodz]

People keep asking where I've been. What I've been doing. And that's a very long, very hard story.

In July of this year (2019) I was at my mother's when I randomly started lactating. I called my fiance up at work and had him buy some pregnancy tests. We found out I was pregnant on his lunch break. Pregnancy had been something my partner and I talked about a lot, for a little over a year at this point, and wanted very much but we weren't making any plans yet. In fact we were using 2 "forms" of birth control. I had an IUD as well as tracking my cycle and ovulation and abstaining on my fertile days. I even had a period that month, ending just a day prior to finding out. But I was pregnant.

We were excited and scared. We knew with the IUD there were inherent risks such as an increased risk of ectopic pregnancies. I made some calls and talked to my OB, they told me I needed to get to a hospital to have labs and an ultrasound done to rule out ectopic pregnancy.

I went to work that day and went to the ER in the next town over that night. The did an hCG test, had me pee in a cup, and got me an ultrasound. There was nothing to see. I was only maybe 2 weeks along. Too soon to see anything. The ER doctor told me I was "barely pregnant" and needed to see the hospital OBGYN to get Methotrexate and terminate my pregnancy because she believed it to be ectopic. I left an hour later with a diagnosis of pregnancy with IUD and number to the suicide hotline because that was my treatment for this.

I didn't like those answers. If I was going to terminate a pregnancy I wanted I was going to have to have something more concrete than a maybe it's ectopic. I spoke with my OB and they understood. For 3 weeks we did quantitative hCG testing as well as ultrasounds. On week 3 of my pregnancy we removed my IUD. On week 4 we saw a gestational sac in my uterus, yay it's not ectopic! However my hCG was not rising at an appropriate rate. It was rising, just not fast enough/high enough. On Monday of week 5 I had experienced some pain. I thought it was gas but couldn't help but worry that somehow my pregnancy was still ectopic. I went to my OB and they found that I had a few ovarian cysts that had burst. That was the cause of my pain. They had me do one more round of hCG testing and I was sent on my way. Later that afternoon I had extreme pain and discomfort that I can only compare to labor pain.

The next day, Tuesday, I got a call from my OB. My hCG levels had dropped. That was indicative of a miscarriage. They set me an appointment for the next day, Wednesday, for my last ultrasound and to speak with my doctor about my options.

I go in Wednesday with my fiance. My abdomen is severely bloated. I'm in pain physically and emotionally. I'm seen for my ultrasound. We see my gestational sac. It hasn't grown. There is no heart beat or baby. They tell me that my uterus is full of blood. They ultrasound my abdomen. It's full of fluid. I have no ovarian cysts, they had all "popped". That's why I was in so much pain I'm told. I speak with my doctor. We talk about what the best options for me are. I decided to go with a D&C. We set the appointment for that Friday, officially day 1 of my 6th week.

I go in Friday and I'm prepped for surgery. I'm told it should take 20 to 30 minutes it's a simple procedure. I wake up hours later, covered in bandages and stitches. My doctor had found internal bleeding and had to operate. They performed a laparoscopic surgery. They made 3 incisions; one on each side of my hip and one in my belly button. They found a ruptured fallopian tube. I apparently had an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured. It was undetected on ultrasound. I was told its incredibly rare to have a gestational sac in the uterus and a pregnancy in the fallopian tube but it does happen.

It took me two weeks to recover from the surgery. I spoke with my doctor about trying for a baby this time. I was cleared after a few more weeks. I had been trying for about 2 months. I felt like I was pregnant but every test I took came back negative. I took two in one week and they were negative, then I decided to take a third one a couple days later. It came back positive. I went and bought more tests all positive.

I was terrified. Even without the IUD now I'm at an increased risk of developing an ectopic pregnancy. We repeated the same process of ultrasounds and testing. My hCG was rising normally. That was the first good sign. Then we saw a gestational sac in my uterus. Another good sign but not good enough. Then we saw it and heard it. We had a heartbeat, in the uterus. This is a normal and healthy embryo. However I have a hemorrhage in my uterus. It's not deadly but it is there. We are waiting for it to heal. I'm on iron in the mean time. On top of that I have hyper emesis which is just fancy for I can't keep any food down. Throwing up on average 3 or more times a day. I'm on 2 anti emetics, they just aren't cutting it. I've been hospitalized twice. I've been having a rough time physically and emotionally. But I am currently 10 weeks and 2 days along. We officially have a fetus and in 3 more weeks I'll be in the second trimester.

It's been a very long and hard process. I've been gone because I've been sick and heart broken and scared. I wanted to be able to mourn in peace and have time to enjoy my pregnancy while I have it because I was scared I wasn't going to stay pregnant. I'm still scared. I'm worried every day. I've been gone trying to take care of myself and my family.

[rawresparza]

It has been a crappy past few days, and I turn out to be not very good at being supported and/or comforted. But I suspect I'm not the only one. May I please prompt you to show us Rafael learning to be loved by Sonny? I bet it wasn't easy for him. Please and thank you?

HI, anon! I’m so sorry you’ve had a rough few days and I hope things have at least started to look up. I totally understand what you mean because I have a hard time in that regard, too, and sometimes I still struggle with it. I definitely agree Rafael would, as well. I hope this is at least a little bit along the lines of what you were thinking and if not, I hope it’s still okay. May the rest of your week be brighter

–

Rafael has had a grand total of approximately seven hours of sleep, forty-eight hours of a migraine, and zero hours of patience over the last three days and if anyone would bother to ask, he’d say he’s very much fed up with it.

Well, no, that’s not true at all. A number of people have asked, Sonny has asked him so many times he’d lost count, and he’d only responded with increasingly gruff versions of “I’m fine.” Sonny knows damn well he’s not fine, he hadn’t been fine when the defense had dropped a surprise fucking witness on this case and he hadn’t been fine when he’d popped prescription ibuprofen for the umpteenth time, even though it hardly ever works to get rid of the pounding in his head.

But he can’t slow down, he doesn’t know how, that’s not in his blood. Always keep moving, keep busy, that had been his philosophy as a kid because it’d meant maybe, just maybe, he could avoid a bad evening at home or a run-in with some older boy or another he’d mouthed off to that day. Either way, slowing down would mean risking getting caught in someone’s snare, and coming up with new excuses for his bruises for concerned teachers or the school nurse or even the ER doctors was never worth the trouble.

Upon deeper reflection, he supposes one could make the argument that at this point in his life, he’s really just running away from the very thing that could help him: taking a break, taking a breath, letting someone take care of him. He’s just not used to that and seven months into this relationship with Sonny, Rafael is a little concerned he never will be. Comforting other people has never been his forte and he’s even worse when it comes to being comforted but that’s why he’s never made any real effort to make friends. He’d had Eddie and Alex and even Yelina as a kid; but with friends like them, why would he dare pursue anything like that as an adult? Getting close to people had only ever led to getting hurt, in his experience.

Sonny had somehow managed to evade the walls he’d carefully built up around himself over the past couple decades, Rafael has no idea how he’d done it. A few invitations out to coffee then drinks then dinner, that absurd Staten Island accent murmuring sweet nothings in his ear, a kiss on a rooftop with a half-decent view of the Manhattan skyline, these are all things that had led Rafael down the path to his own demise; that is to say, he’d let himself fall in love. He doesn’t regret that, he could never regret that, but sometimes, Rafael feels like maybe he doesn’t deserve it.

This is one of those times.

With Buchanan and his piece of shit client looking all kinds of arrogant on the evening news, Rafael’s mood has taken a turn from bad to awful. He’d popped another two ibuprofen against the advice of his boyfriend–

“Did you finally hit up Fordham for your medical degree while I wasn’t looking?”

–and now he’s feeling especially petty because Sonny had been right, he shouldn’t have done it, especially not on an empty stomach. He’s had seven coffees and half a stale granola bar he’d found buried in his office desk drawer today. When Sonny had asked what Rafael wanted him to bring home for dinner, Rafael had lied and said he’d already eaten.

Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just always been a sucker for self-sabotage, old habits die hard. It’s easier to push people away than admit he could use the help.

He can feel Sonny watching him watch the news and it’s unnerving. His body betrays him, works against him, tenses up even though he doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he’s getting more and more irritated by the second, by virtue of the fact that Sonny is simply existing beside him. That isn’t fair, he knows that, but he also knows Sonny will earnestly try to offer any form of assistance possible and that’s the opposite of what Rafael wants. What he wants is to be left alone to wallow in his frustration, he wants Sonny to go back to his own damn apartment so he can get sufficiently buzzed off a few pours of the good scotch he saves for shittier days before hopefully getting another hour of sleep.

Instead, Sonny’s hand finds its way to the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with the ends of Rafael’s hair. It feels good. He’s not used to feeling good. Before Sonny, he’d barely remembered what it was like to feel at all. On better days, things between them are incredible, it’s like living in fantasy world compared to what Rafael’s previous, much more short-lived romances; but on days like this, he wishes he was still alone. At least he has the decency to feel bad about that, he supposes.

“You should turn that off,” Sonny says, tilting his head toward the TV screen. Rafael purses his lips, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening, but Sonny doesn’t heed the warning. “And you should eat something. Carmen told me she only saw you guzzling coffee during recesses.”

“Carmen’s not my mother and neither are you,” Rafael says. He doesn’t bother to hide his bitterness but Sonny doesn’t even flinch. It’s a little infuriating.

“No, I’m your boyfriend,” Sonny says patiently. Sonny’s fingers travel up over Rafael’s hair, webbing out over his scalp and pulsing just slightly at just the right pressure points. It sends a shiver down Rafael’s spine and his eyes flutter shut as a relieved sigh escapes him. “I’m your boyfriend, and I love you, and I really wish you’d just let me do something to help you. Feed you, hold you, tell you nice things, whatever. Anything.”

Rafael slowly blinks his eyes back open, still reeling a bit from how much tension has already left his body just from one gentle massage. But it’s not the massage, it’s Sonny. Of course it’s Sonny, it’s always been Sonny. “Okay. Tell me something nice.” It’s conceding without conceding, he’s really just testing the waters, but he turns the TV off anyway and his heart flutters in his chest when he’s met with a pair of dimples.

“I got the recipe for your favorite dish from your ma.” Sonny hesitates, studying Rafael for a reaction. “She said she used to make it for you when– well, when things weren’t so good at home. I’m sure it won’t be as good as how she does it but…” He trails off when Rafael straightens up in his spot on the couch, shaking Sonny’s hand from his head. “I’m sorry, did I overstep?”

Rafael catches Sonny’s hand before he can pull it away, shaking his head, a look of awe taking over his expression. “You called my mom? You did that for me?”

“You’ve just been so stressed out,” Sonny says, lowering his eyes sheepishly. “This case has been rough, I know, but you’re barely sleeping and I’m sorry, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life, but Raf, you seriously look like you might keel over any second. I just figured, if you won’t take care of yourself, I can do it for you until things get back to normal.”

Swallowing hard, Rafael considers Sonny’s words, turning them over in his mind, examining them piece by piece. It’s not a hard bargain Sonny’s driving, he suspects most people would be thrilled to have their significant others say something like that to them. It’s just that over the years, he’s developed a habit of being suspicious of those who extend kindness his way. He’s not proud of that but it is what it is.

Maybe it’s time he starts to unlearn that. Maybe it’s time he starts trusting Sonny not just with the good but with the bad and everything in between. It’s time he starts getting used to the idea Sonny isn’t going to run when things get hard

“It’s hard for me,” Rafael admits. “I’m not great at the whole asking for support thing.”

“No kidding,” Sonny teases, arching a brow.

Rafael’s smile reaches his eyes, genuine but brief before he takes on an air of sincerity again. “I want to be better at it. That might take time, but I want to let you in.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m very patient when it comes to gorgeous, green-eyed ADAs. Especially ones with really short fuses.”

“You’re going to take a dig at me while I’m opening up to you?” Rafael asks, huffing with mock indignance. Even as he does, he settles in next to Sonny, lowering his cheek to his boyfriend’s shoulder and smiling against the soft fabric of a Fordham Law shirt while Sonny’s arm drapes over his shoulder.

“To be fair, I complimented you in the same breath, so those clearly cancel each other out.”

They laugh together and it’s like the air has cleared. The room feels different. Sonny kisses his hair, and Rafael doesn’t even consider pulling away. He’s found an anchor in Sonny, a happy place in Sonny’s arms. Somehow, he’d stumbled into this, having no idea what to expect. Rafael had never imagined he’d be this fortunate.

“By the way,” Sonny says, “I picked up some kung pao and fried rice for you at the Chinese place we like. I’ll heat it up for you if you want it.”

God, he loves this man. With every last part of himself, Rafael loves Sonny more than he’d thought he had the capacity to love someone. It surprises him, every single day, the ferocity with which he feels for this one person because he’s never felt that with anyone else before. Sometimes he cringes at himself for throwing the word “soulmate” around in his head because that’s not like him, that isn’t a concept he’s ever believed in, but Sonny has a way of making Rafael believe in the impossible.

Tomorrow, when he’s back in court, he’s sure he’ll be pissy and snappy and anyone who crosses his path will suffer his wrath; but at the end of the day, he’ll remember he has this. He has Sonny.

That makes it all worth it.

[drjasonjones-blog]

Meeting My Future

Jason:

The night was dragging slowly tonight, ER was busy but not with anyone who was seriously injured. Patients rolled in and rolled out, the bays cleaned up for the next patient and paperwork had been written up. This was my last shift before I had a three day break, but there was nothing at home for me either. I was born and raised in Caldwell, trained as a doctor and landed a job at the St Francis Hospital. My parents would've been proud of me if they were still here but fate had other ideas, they were both killed in a horrific car crash after a drunk driver had smashed into the driver's side, the car was written off and my parents were pronounced dead at the scene. That was ten years ago, since then I lived my life as a survival process, eat, drink, work and sleep, never met anyone who struck me dumbfounded. Ever.

This night was going to change everything, paramedics came rushing in, a man on a stretcher who was unconscious “BP 70/40, been given morphine as he has a break on his lower left leg, both fibia and tibia” “Bring him into bay two” the paramedics and nurses were on either side of the man “After three. One, two, three” They all pulled him onto the bed. The paramedics gave me his chart and left the ER. “Let's have a look at you” My breath caught in my throat, there was a scar that went from the middle of his forehead, down his nose and an S shape curve to his top lip that made it distorted. “You certainly have been in the wars, but this cut looks like an old injury” A nurse had taken his jacket off and it thudded to the linoleum floor. What the fuck? The nurse bent down picking it up “It weighs a ton, I'll go through his pockets to see if he has any ID” “I doubt it, with his looks and the weight of his jacket I bet he's involved in gang, drugs or both” The nurse went through his pockets taking out guns, daggers, extra clips, a length of chain and a wad of money. “No drugs or ID but with this money I bet he's already sold his products” Right back to the game. A male nurse proceeded to cut his leathers up his broken leg, the break was clean “Let's get this straightened out before a blood clot forms and travels to his heart, lungs or brain”

After straightening his leg and strapping it up I went in all doctor mode on him, there was no other injury on his lower body. That's when I had noticed the holster across his chest, handles were facing out. Unsheathing one of the handles, the blade emerged, it was beautifully crafted but I didn't have much time to admire the craftsmanship. Handing the blade over with the other arsenal I unclipped the holster and took it from his body. I grabbed the stethoscope, putting the buds into my ears I placed the metal disc against his chest above his heart. That was odd, taking the disc off his chest and put it on my own chest, I heard my heartbeat. “Anything the matter doctor?” I placed the disc back onto his chest, there was a distinct echo “Get me ultrasound here now, there's an echo in his heart”

Z:

The night couldn’t have gotten any worse. After having woken to #Bella in our mated bed, not that he slept much, if at all. She started in on him. We need to pick a male, she is getting close to her transition. No male was good enough for his young. Didn’t Bella understand? Did no one understand? This was his young gets the best and that’s it, nothing more and nothing less. After storming out of our chambers, Nalla, was the next to get on him. Thinking that she could wrap him about her finger, about joining the program. He wasn’t going to have HIS young out there fighting. She needed to be protected. Rhage let Bitty yes. Hell she went and talked to everyone about it. Z, loved his young with every fiber of his soul. But we all knew that there was a lot that was different in growing up for Nalla and Bitty. All of this, it was just to much, and he hadn’t even been up an hour. He needed to get out and clear his head, or he was going to snap.

Leathers, shitkickers, weapons and money. He was ready. He at least told Wrath he was going out. There was no need to explain why. Wrath knew what was going on. Hell the whole mansion knew. Dematting downtown next to #ZeroSum. He was itching for a fight. His eyes already black, from the normal, well it was now normal, yellow eyes. He stalked the dark streets, the bass of the music washing over him. It only fuled him more. He hunted for what was his prey. The fuckers that would see him and his dead. Lessers. Not that he needed to wait that long. Once he put some distance between him and ZeroSum. The strong smell of baby powder hit his nose. He smirked, it was time to play. He stalked right for the smell, coming around the corner of the ally. A group of 5 lessers, this was just what he was needing. They all turned as he smirked at them. His heart raced, the blood pumping. They ran at each other, and a deadly dance of blades began.

The next thing that he knew, he was in pitch blackness. A beeping and voices in the distances. What the hell had happened? He couldn’t remember anything at the moment. The only thing he could do was trying and fight against the blackness that wanted to drag him down. He would fight like hell to get back.

Jason:

Having the wand of the ultrasound in my hand, I squeeze some gel onto the end and some gel on his chest by his heart. Placing the wand onto his skin I look at the image on the screen. This couldn't be right, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6, his heart had six chambers, that would explain the echo. I had heard of a three chamber heart, a throwback like if the human race was evolved from lizards.

I took several pictures of this man's heart, he would be a medical wonder to us all and it will help us to understand why he had this mutation. But for now he was in need of my care to get him healed up, he was going to be here at the hospital for some weeks with that clean break. Now that I had him comfortable I had him wheeled down to room 5 where I can give him another check on him. Moving the covers off his broken I saw that his bones had healed already. How can this be? What was he?

Stunned and shocked at this man or whatever he was in front of me he would be a medical marvel, someone to study to test how his healing powers are so advanced to ours and the heart with its six chambers. I'd love to get to know this man or whatever he was better in a medical sense. I have to admit I was fascinated by him, I was drawn to him, I was attracted to him. What was I feeling? I looked up above me as if God would give me the answer.

Z:

Hours, minutes? He didn’t know how long time had passed. In the darkness time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. But he fought like the warrior that he was. He had to get back to his young, yes his young. She was waiting for him to come home. He couldn’t leave her, he loved her to fucking much for that. He also had to protect her, the race and the king. Slowly, he started to pull from the darkness. There was a smell that filled his nose, going deep into his lungs. It was the most intoxicating smell. One that he wanted to be closer to. There was a growing need to see where this scent was coming from. Who this scent was attached to.

Slowly his eyes opened, yellow eyes burned. They landed on a male, as he was looking up to the heavens. His heart sped in his chest. All he could do was stare at this male before him. He took a deep breath, breathing in the male. Fuck it was going to make his whole body hard. He didn’t even notice where he was. The world had fallen away. All he could was the male. Yeah he was fucked. He hadn’t had these feelings in such a long time. It was a little disarming.

He had hidden a big part away from everyone, even his own brother. He was gay, males had always done it for him. He mated Bella to hide that fact. Yes he loved her on some level, but he didn’t feel like this. No. It was never this intense for him. Shit. He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do. Maybe he should scare the male away, it would be safer for him. He wanted to protect him. And he didn’t know why in this moment. That a male would come into his life, and now he would have to figure all this shit out. It was going to be mess if he didn’t do it right.

Jason:

Hearing rustling I looked down to the man laid on the bed, his eyes open. O my god, they were a beautiful shade of yellow. Yellow? No one had yellow eyes, he must be wearing contacts, but why would he cover up his eyes? "Are those contacts you have on your eyes? But why cover up your eyes?" I wanted to see his eyes close up, I bent at my waist getting closer to him, I noticed a scent, a line forest scent. Who plugged a Glade air freshener in the room?

I looked deeply into his eyes and came to the conclusion that they weren't contacts "Your eyes are so beautiful, I've never seen eyes that colour before. Who or what are you?" I didn't expect him to answer me, for all I knew he could of been a foreigner who didn't speak English. But then I remembered his jacket full of weapons and money "Are you in a gang? Was it's rival gang who broke your leg?" It wasn't fair of me to bombard him with questions but I had to know more about him, one thing I was certain of was that he had lead a hard life with the many scars on his body and on his face.

Straightening myself I checked over his body again, the break had completely healed in the time I was talking to him, he was a miracle. I had to get to know him more, I wondered if I made the excuse to do a follow up check on him I'd get to know more about him, where he is from and where he lives. I had this feeling that he was getting under my skin, I was literally breathing in his essence and I wanted more.

Z:

Fuck me. He noticed that he had come around and was staring at him. When his eyes met his, damn. They were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. He didn’t even answer him, when he threw all the questions at him. They were just noise when he was staring at the male before him. Should he speak now? Hell he didn’t know. Never in his life had he had this before. Wanting to pull the male closer, just breath him deeper into him. The moment that he got closer. Oh that wonderful scent. He almost reached up and pulled him closer. But he gripped the sheets in his hands. Was it bad that he wanted to kiss the male and make him his own? Yeah it was bad, because he was human, and in his world. Humans could get hurt or worse killed.

Beautiful? He wasn’t beautiful. His body was fucked up. Slave bands wrapped around his wrists and neck. His face was fucked up. The scars that littered his body. Nothing about him was beautiful. The male wouldn’t understand, how could he? All these questions proved to Z that he couldn’t have anything with the male. Even though every fiber of his being wanted to be with him. Mine, screamed in his head. Oh fuck. This wasn’t good, but fuck it he wanted this male. What would everyone think about all this? Did he give a fuck? No he didn’t. But one way or another he was have this male as his. He would have to see if he was up to deal with Z himself.

Now was the time he was going to get his answers. His voice gruff at first. “A gang?” He wanted to laugh. “Maybe…” He smirked at the male. “Do I have a broken leg now?” He knew that his leg was healed. His race never took long to heal, and he had fed, so it wouldn’t have been a problem. Z, sat up on the edge of the bed, standing at his full height, as he pushed off the bed. He stepped close to male. The smirk no longer on his lips. “I’m not beautiful in any form. Look at me.” He was daring him to. “I’m fucked up.” He took another step forward to the male. “I’m something dangerous.” If he showed any fear, he would smell it and see it. This was his chance to prove to Z if he could handle him.

Jason:

The man spoke, his voice was beautiful, like an angel. It wasn't what I'd expected from him, I expected a deep rumbling voice but his was sweet and it was soothing. He'd asked if he had a broken leg "Yes your fibia and tibia were broken, it was a clean break. Do you remember how it had happen?" I could see by his expressions he was having a war with himself about what I didn't have a clue, so I asked him the dumbest question of all "Are you in pain?"

The man got to the edge of the bed and stood to his full height, I was near him if his knees buckled but he stood there solid like a tree. He took a step forward and then another, closing the gap between us. Yes I was feeling crowded but I showed no fear to him, then he said that he wasn't beautiful, that he was fucked up "Tell me who isn't fucked up anymore. We all hurt from our past. Some more than others" He grinned but his top lip always remained over his top teeth like he was hiding something. Do I take the plunge and ask or do I remain silent. Before I knew what was happening I opened my mouth and the words tumbled out "What are you hiding from me?"

I was mentally kicking myself after the words escaped my mouth. Fuck now I'd done it. His face contorted as if he was in two minds to show me. Then I remembered his words about being not beautiful "To me you are beautiful and what's that scent? It's like a pine forest" I inhale once more, that scent burrowed itself deep into my bones "What are you doing to me? Are you trying to gas me, have me black out and then kill me and dump my body where no one will able to find me" My own words had me scared bit I stood my ground and showed no fear to him.

Z:

Pain? In pain? He shook his head, he wasn’t in any pain. In some ways he might be. Not able to touch him, to bring him close. His soul ached. Because he knew that it wouldn’t be simple to be with him. There would be so many things to deal with. The biggest? Him being human. Yeah Z had a thing from feeding from humans. Once he thought he was dirty, unclean. Now, now he felt that he was once again. Not good enough. This male before him needed a life free of danger. For him to be with Z, he wouldn’t be able to live his normal life again. He would never be safe again. He didn’t want for the male. Something better than him.

Z moved the male, through movement, his back almost hitting the wall. He placed his hands on either side of his head. He leaned in a little bit. “Hiding? Now why would I hide anything.” He smirked, the tip of his tongue licked his upper lip, teasing the scar. “If I showed you what it could be. You would run screaming from this room.” Maybe it was best that he told him what he was, scare him shitless. They he would be save from Z and his world. It would be the best for the both of them. Then why didn’t he just show him, get it over with? There was something that was keeping him from doing just that.

What shocked Z, is that the male could smell his scent. Was there something special about this male? He didn’t let the shock show on his face. What was really a slap in the face. That he would think that he would kill him. Yes. He was a cold blooded killer. The scariest motherfucker of the brotherhood. One that you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. For some reason it hurt him to hear those questions. To hear what he actually thought. Not that he would understand why Z felt the way he did. Hell Z himself didn’t even understand it. Yellow eyes meeting his. “If I wanted you dead. You would be laying on the floor right now.”

As much as it killed him, he pulled himself away from the male. Taking a few steps back. He needed to get out of here, wipe his memories and poof out of his life. He looked around the room. “I need my shit.” once he had it he would be out here like a lesser with a dagger through the heart.

Jason:

He came closer, putting his hands on the wall my head between them. This close I smelt more of that scent and his eyes. O my god I could get lost into those eyes. Everything faded, it was just him and me, nothing mattered but him. Then he abruptly broken the connection that had us tied together for that brief moment. "Where's my stuff?" "I'll go get them for you"

Coming back into the room with his clothes. "I'm afraid your leather trousers had to be cut to gain access to your leg. The only thing I have are hospital scrubs" Handing over the clothes I moved back towards the door, I thought giving him privacy was what he wanted. He dressed quickly, his face showed disgust at the scrubs, I had a feeling that wherever he lived would be stocked up with more leathers. "It's coming to the end of my shift, will I ever see you again?" For the first time I had feelings for another being, pity he was in a gang. That was my luck for you. Before he could answer I exited the room, I didn't want to hear his rejection. I quickly got my things from the locker and headed to the car park.

Getting into my car I had the feeling I was being watched, it wasn't like his stare. This was more threatening. I started the car up, dropped the feeling and drives out of the hospital grounds. Along the back road that went to the suburbs of Caldwell the feeling came back, I looked out of the rear view mirror and saw a minivan. I couldn't really see the driver but my feelings became uneasy, I had a feeling I had just stared at pure evil. Putting my foot on the accelerator, I tried to get to my destination before anything would happen. Round the corner a Ford Taurus was stopped blocking the road, I slammed on the brakes. Taking a look in the rear view mirror the minivan had stopped. Men were getting out and coming towards my car. The door of the Ford Taurus opened and out got a man with pale hair and skin. What the actual fuck? My door was opened by one of these pale freaks "He smells of vampire but he's not one of them" "kill him. We can't have witnesses, the Master will be angry if there are any" I prayed for a saviour to come and save me. The pale freak beside me raised his fist and punched me squarely in the face. Blackness came rushing, surrounding me, swallowing me down. I didn't know if I was alive or dead.

#MeetingMyFuture

#DarkParables

[reflections-in-tea-cups]

Shadow

tw: pet death

We lost our beautiful, lively, shy, affectionate, panther of a house cat on Monday, March 25, 2019. While I hope the details of the past month fade from my memory, I know some of you are shocked at the news and want to know what happened. This story is still too painful to retell, so I’m putting it here.

It’s a long story with a tragic end. It’s not my best writing, but editing it further is beyond me right now. 

Shadow came into our lives on Feb. 13th, 2015. We went to the animal shelter to look at a dog – instead, we came home with an eight-year-old black cat. We thought he was a gentle old man, but as soon as he stepped out of the crate we realized they had sent us home with a panther. He was thirteen pounds of pure muscle, and the first thing he did was jump up six feet to hide on the top shelf of my closet.

Despite his size and athleticism, he was incredibly gentle and shy. He hid under the bed the first two weeks that he spent with us, only coming out after lots of cajoling. Even then, he’d often stop just at the edge of the bed so we could reach in and pet him. Once he was comfortable with us, he’d throw himself at our feet for pets and scritches, rolling around so we could get at his belly. He was always deferential to our resident female cat, despite having at least three pounds on her. He was playful and sweet, jumping up walls to catch at laser lights and crawling under the covers for morning snuggles. You always knew what his favorite toy was, as he’d leave it next to (or, more commonly, in) his food dish.

I’m not sure when he stopped eating. He still cried for food every morning and night, and he still went to the bowl and began lapping it up. We noticed that there was more wet food being left over, but that happens sometimes and it usually isn’t a problem – maybe one or both cats don’t care for that flavor of wet food, or maybe they got tired of it, or maybe they’re eating less because everyone is less active in winter. They always had access to dry food, so I didn’t worry.

I was shocked when I picked him up in late February and realized I could feel his bones. He was always a healthy, muscular cat – but suddenly he felt frail and old. Concerned, I made an vet appointment; the soonest available was two weeks away. Luck was on our side, and I got a call a few days later saying they could see us March 8th.

At the vet, we found our healthy-at-thirteen-pounds boy was now under ten. Blood work showed signs of pancreatitis, dehydration, and anemia. X-rays didn’t find anything surprising, just an empty stomach. He got anti-nausea meds, pain meds, and fluids. They sent us back home with some prescription food, instructions to monitor his food and water intake, and a blood recheck appointment set up for a week later.

His appetite increased for a few days. He still wasn’t eating enough to gain any weight, but any progress was hopeful. But by Wednesday (the 13th) he was back to barely eating anything and I called and got him an appointment for the next day. The 14th was terrifying – his weight had continued to drop, and as had his red blood cell count. They recommended hospitalization for IV fluids and medication, and to monitor his eating. I cried signing the papers to leave him there for the day.

When I went to pick him up that night, they said he hadn’t really improved and they recommended overnight hospitalization. Our vet isn’t a 24 hour clinic, so that involved transferring him to a local emergency vet. The ER vet reassured us that pancreatitis is often treated by a few days of pushing fluids, so we should remain hopeful. She also offered to do an ultrasound on his abdomen, to further look for anything else that could be causing his symptoms. No one really knew why he was so anemic, but maybe the ultra sound would see if/where he was bleeding internally.

After a sleepless night, the ER vet called to tell us Shadow had done well – they’d gotten him to eat a little, and the ultra sound hadn’t found anything too alarming or conclusive. The only thing they noted was an enlarged lymph node. We were told another day of hospitalization would be ideal, but we might be able to take him home that night. It was with a much lighter heart that we brought him back to our regular vet, giving them the overnight report and excited to get our healthy boy back soon.

However, our rollercoaster took a sudden dive. The vet reported that he hadn’t eaten and had only gotten more lethargic as the day progressed. The next diagnostic step they recommended was exploratory surgery, during which they would also insert a feeding tube so we could ensure he was getting the calories he needed. At this point, they were very worried he was about to enter liver failure from starvation.

We decided to go ahead with the surgery, which was scheduled for the next morning. We took him home that night for lots of cuddles – lapped up our affection all night. He was so happy to be back in his familiar environment, and our other cat also made it clear she was thrilled he was home.

Taking him to the vet the next morning was a tense affair. After finally being home, he wanted nothing to do with his cat carrier and let us know it. Three hours later I got a call from the vet – he’d done very well in surgery and was waking up comfortably! They had a new diagnosis based on the state of his liver and gall-bladder: feline triaditis. While they did take a couple biopsies, they were pretty confident we were on the right track. They said the prognosis was good but the at-home care would be intensive; not only were we responsible for his calorie intake through the feeding tube until he began to eat again, but there were also five medications that needed to be given once or twice a day. They still hadn’t found a source for the anemia, but hoped it would recoup with everything else.

We were thrilled to bring him home and dedicated to getting him back up to health. His food was specially prepared each day and given to him 4-5 times daily. He had to be quarantined from our other cat and dog for a while, so he was confined to the spare bedroom. Within three days, he was starting to eat on his own and was feisty enough to try and escape to the rest of the apartment whenever I opened the door. His stitches were healing well, and we got a onesie for him to wear instead of the hated cone (not that he liked it much better). The vet checked in that Monday, and was almost as excited as I was to hear how well he was doing. We started letting him explore the rest of the apartment with Leira and Kenai when we were home to monitor him, so he got more stimulation and got to hang out in all his favorite spots. Everything was looking up.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last. On Friday (the 22nd) I noticed that his eating was declining. We had just gotten him up to full calories through the feeding tube, so I figured it would take a while for his appetite to surpass what we were giving him. However, his appetite didn’t pick back up, and he began showing increased signs of nausea when I fed him. He also felt unusually warm. On Monday I called the vet, and left a message asking if this was normal recovery behavior. I spent the afternoon at home with him, waiting for the vet to call. They didn’t, so I called and asked again that evening – this time someone went back to talk to the vet in person. We were advised to take him to ER.

We went back to the ER where he had been hospitalized just ten days before. After a quick physical exam (where we saw he had lost even more weight, and he was feverish), they took him back for more bloodwork. He was extraordinarily anemic – his red blood cell count had decreased by half from its previous low levels. We could take him to a clinic that could do a blood transfusion – the nearest one was an hour away by car, and he’d have to stay there for at least 24 hours to make sure his body didn’t reject the blood. And since we didn’t know what was causing the anemia, it was likely the transfusion would only buy us a little time.

The next diagnostic step would be to test a sample of his bone marrow, a process that would involve putting him under anesthesia. There were three main suspects for his anemia at this point: a virus attacking his red blood cells and/or bone marrow, an autoimmune disorder (his body attacking his red blood cells), or cancer. We were advised that was a toss of the dice whether or not it was something treatable; even if it was, it would be extremely intensive and difficult for him.

We took some time to hold him close and think about our options. His options. For the last few weeks (and the last four years) we had discussed always trying to do what was best for him. And as he fell asleep in my arms, that most difficult choice became clear.

The vet told us we could take him home overnight if we wanted, but it we weren’t going to do a transfusion we should bring him back within 24 hours to put him to sleep. I didn’t want him to go through two more car rides (his most hated activity) and what would clearly be a painful and stressful night – we decided it would be best to let him go peacefully that night. He’d had a good day cuddling on the couch with me, Leira, and Kenai (one of the rare times I actually got a picture of him and the dog together). Luis and I held him for at least an hour, telling him we loved him and soaking in his sweetness.  Finally we knew we couldn’t delay any longer. Luis held me and I held Shadow as the vet administered the anesthesia, lulling him into sleep for the last time.

Shadow was so much more than we ever could have expected. I’ll never be able to describe him adequately, or what he meant to us. We will miss him forever, and cherish the time we did get to spend with him.

[icloudtumbler]

I am 33 and yes, i had a mild stroke - a brain attack late last year. I was of no clue that i am already suffering from hypertensive crisis that time. I was so confident that i am a healthy person not til November 2020. It started with uncontrollable headaches which was continuous up to almost 2 weeks. It's this unbearable pain on the left side of my head. I used to have migraine and i thought it came back so i took pills. Until on the 8th day, i can't bear the pain anymore. The left side of my face turned numb and my tongue got twisted. My speech went abnormal. Things weren't good. I thought i was going to die & was preparing for it.

My sister took me to the hospital. CT scan, lab tests, ultrasounds were required. I was rushed to the ER. It was horrible feeling that i wanted to scream. Sleep wasn't an escape to consider. I was feeling bad. I was feeling okay on the outside but my body wasn't.

I was asked to stay but i insisted on home care. So the scenario went to going to the hospital each day. The local ambulance was of big help. The first week after the first day at the hospital was a struggle. The pain didn't go away. Depression and anxiety added up. I wanted to work and bring back the normal things i used to do. My speech went bad that i felt my tongue got shorten plus the fact that it's already twisted.

After weeks of hospitalization, i was diagnosed to have high blood sugar and high cholesterol which can lead to more strokes if not taken care of. Hypertension is chronic. It runs in the genes same as diabetes. It's heart breaking.

Little by little, i gained my strength. I changed my diet and focused on to loving myself more especially mentally. I used to weigh 74 kgs which is not normal as per my bmi. I was 4kg overweight with my 5'8" height. It was a self-healing process. I wasn't used to telling people how i feel. So i kept everything inside. I was so ashamed for people to know about my health condition so i asked my family to keep it. Physical health is important and so does mental health. I wrote letters to help me cope.

On the month of February, i lost 4kg. I was feeling good and continued seeing the doctor. Medication is still continuous. Though i declined the doctor's advise to have the speech therapy done at the hospital, my speech slowly got back to normal after few months. My tongue then was still twisted and discolored. Last month, i finally lost another 4kg and miracle as you call it, my tongue went back to normal last month of May and the discoloration was gone just last month. So here I am now, all ready to share what i'm going thru.

Its funny how i thought of death, how i tell myself i'm okay if it's my time already. Funny how i thought id be losing my life. But here i am. I never lost myself instead i gained 3 people. I gained my sister back. Crazy as it may seem but we were so inseparable until she got married. Thought i lost her all those times. No more phone calls, no more meals together, no more bonds, no more sleeping together. But i was wrong. This illness made me realised i have her all these times, she got my back as always.

I also gained the most patient, kind, and loving boyfriend. He was there during my lowest times and i couldnt ask for more. He is an inspiration, a motivator, and encourager.

Lastly, i gained myself back. The universe had his own way to align my stars back together. I am here, i am present, i am breathing. 🌌

[creative-type]

Monster of the Salt Rock Hills IV

First

Previous

AN: There’s some fairly minor speculation on Thistle’s past here that may be jossed in the future. Also, apparently paper bags were invented in the 1850s, which fits in the vaguely Victorian aesthetic in the comic. Lastly, it’s probably going to be a week or more before my next update. I’ll try my best for a quick turnaround 

AO3

Summary:  The day after stopping a drath summoning gone horribly wrong, Orrig and his team are summoned to the Salt Rock Hills to find and eliminate a monster that has been ravaging the countryside. But things quickly go awry and it soon becomes apparent that nothing about this case is as it seems. Thistle must learn to work together with her new coworkers and overcome her own insecurities to find the truth of the monster of the Salt Rock Hills before it’s too late. Set immediately after Chapter 6: The Knowing Ones

Chapter Four: Lost Causes (and the Fighters Who Champion Them)

It was a quiet walk back to town. Both Brent and Lyra tried to explain what had happened, but Orrig silenced them both with a grunt. Thistle thought she understood his reasoning: They had already embarrassed themselves in front of a fellow guild member, a citizen of the Salt Rock Hills, and the one surviving member of Marco Russo’s team. It was an enormous loss of face, and Orrig’s reputation would suffer if their gaff were ever made public.

Thistle couldn’t help but think it was somehow her fault. She should have noticed the magic in Rhys’s bracers sooner, or gotten Lyra to calm down faster, or done something to prevent the situation from getting so out of hand. They had gone out to the scene of the attack representing Orrig and failed – she had failed, and Orrig would have no choice but to punish her for her mistake.

—i don’t know what you expected. good for nothing, insolent brat, i’ve told you that time and time again. maybe orrig should fire you—

The voice, always so close, was relentless in its attack. The scene replayed in Thistle’s mind dozens of times, hammering home each and every one of her inadequacies until they were all she could remember. She’d let Lyra be humiliated and once again failed to protect Brent from harm. A fugitive glance revealed that the bump on his head was now the size of a goose egg. She hadn’t even had time to rule out a concussion.

Dread and shame made Thistle’s belly twist into knots. She wanted to apologize to the others so badly it hurt, but with Orrig’s embargo on conversation she didn’t dare. The burden of her guilt felt heavier with each step, and by the time they reached town Thistle was almost drowning under the weight of it.

“Ve go to bar,” Orrig said.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be allowed to drink?” Lyra said sarcastically.

Orrig grunted. “Ve not on job now.”

The concession caught Thistle by surprise, and when Lyra almost tripped over her own feet she guessed that she wasn’t the only one. Surely Orrig wasn’t going to pretend that their disgraceful behavior hadn’t happened? Or maybe he was trying to soften the blow of their punishment, whatever that may be?

For the first time Thistle wished that her employer’s thoughts weren’t so difficult to discern. There was a certain amount of comfort in the knowledge that Orrig was level-headed and almost supernaturally stoic no matter the situation. He was the anchor to Lyra and Brent’s raging storm of emotions – unmovable, dependable, and unfortunately unreadable beneath unsounded depths that Thistle had not yet learned to navigate.

He led them down the street Carson had pointed out earlier. Orrig had to duck his head to fit through the entranceway of the tavern, and none of the seats had been built with an orc’s girth in mind. It was too early in the day for most business, there was someone manning the bar nonetheless.

The man eyed the mercenaries suspiciously as they took their seats. “Are yeh buyin’? I ain’t got time for loiterers.”

“A pint of whatever you’ve got that’s good,” Lyra said.

“Same for me,” Brent added.

Thistle looked fretfully from the hematoma on Brent’s forehead to his vacant gaze. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Pfft, I take harder hits than that all the time,” Brent said. “I’ve got a thick skull.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Lyra said under her breath.

Brent shot her a glare, but didn’t say anything. Thistle screwed up her courage to speak up again, “I, um, I’d like to take a look anyway. I might be able to get rid of the swelling. That is, if you don’t mind…”

“You can heal?” Brent asked.

Heat flooded Thistle’s cheeks, and she managed to nod. “A little.”

“Huh, I didn’t know that. Well, if it makes you feel better, I don’t care.”

It was embarrassing how relieved Thistle was not to be brushed off or be dismissed as needlessly worried. She could feel Lyra and Orrig watch her as she put Brent through a basic concussion protocol – which despite a little wooziness he passed with flying colors. It was only after she made him follow her finger with his eyes, tell her his birthday, and test his hand grasps that Thistle called on her magic.

The hematoma, though unsightly, was not dangerous. With so many blood vessels in the scalp even a minor trauma could turn into a large bump – and running face first into Rhys’s force field was not minor trauma.

Thistle frowned to herself. Even removing the fact that Brent could have been seriously hurt in the explosion, Rhys should have realized he was risking the integrity of the scene by activating his bracers. Thistle was troubled that the elf would escalate the conflict like that. It wasn’t as if Brent had been charging him. He hadn’t even been holding his sword at the time.

“It’s cold,” Brent said when Thistle touched his forehead.

“If it’s uncomfortable I can stop.”

“No, it feels good. Like when you pop a really big zit and all that pressure’s gone.”

Thistle had to choke back a giggle, almost causing her spell to fail. Their drinks had been brought over sometime during Thistle’s assessment, and Lyra made no effort to hide her disgust as she took a long draught.

The spell was a simple one. Thistle had learned it out of necessity the first time she’d been chased by angry villagers armed with stones, and in seconds the bump was gone. She couldn’t help but be pleased with her handiwork. “Alright, one last check to make sure everything’s okay…”

Thistle placed a hand on Brent’s temple. The ethereal blue of her magic brushed against his skin, and even wearing gloves Thistle was acutely aware of the intimacy the gesture implied. His eyes fluttered closed, and the hair near her hand stood straight up, innerved by an unseen energy that seemed to Thistle both unknowable and unquestionably right.

“What in the world…?” Thistle said as her magic brushed against something that felt alien to her senses.

“What is it?” Brent asked. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Thistle said. “It’s just…I can’t believe it. That mage put a bug on you!”

Once, when Thistle had been very young, she’d heard of a mage being tried in the realm’s highest court for casting a spell on a boy that made him forget the death of his mother. The newspapers caught wind of the case, and it became so infamous throughout the country that it was rumored a Wizard had been called into help with the proceedings. At the time she hadn’t understood what the mage had done wrong – Wouldn’t the boy be happier without such a painful memory weighing on his heart and soul? Hadn’t the mage cast his spell in good faith? Why were they being treated like a criminal when the end result was a blessing and a mercy?

It was on that day that Thistle learned that there were lines that magic should never, ever cross. Years of hard experience only reinforced the dangers even the most well-intentioned magic had on the mind.  

The spell Mum had cast on Brent wasn’t quite to that level, but it was close. It was subtle and insidious, as finely woven as a gossamer thread. Thistle never would have noticed it under normal circumstances, and the part of her that wasn’t indignant was amazed at the intricacy of the spell.

“What?!” Brent exclaimed. “What he’d do to me?”

“It’s an altered communication spell used to spy on people…a metaphorical fly on a wall. They can hear everything we’re saying,” Thistle clarified when his face screwed in confusion. She scooped the delicate matrix of spellwork into hands that glowed blue. It reacted to her magic, shimmering with golden light. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

This last exclamation was addressed to whoever was listening on the other end of the spell. Disgusted at the mage’s lack of ethics, she forced her hands together the same way she would shut a badly-written book. The spell shattered, and an unpleasant jolt of energy shot up her arms.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Rhys?” Lyra said darkly. “It seems like something that’d be right up his alley.”

Thistle shook her head. The bug had the same fingerprints the Teleportation spell, and that had undoubtedly been cast by Mum. And while she couldn’t rule it out entirely, Thistle was almost sure that Rhys had no magical talent. Why else would he have expensive enchanted bracers?

“When’d he *#$@!$ cast?” Brent asked. “He never moved!”

“You have to be close for something this fragile,” Thistle said. “It must have been right before Rhys, er…”

“Knocked you on your @$$,” Lyra finished for her, seething. She slammed her drink down, and seemed on the brink of another tirade when Orrig raised his hand.

“Stop. I vill send complaint to guild. They vill take care of mage. Dis not our job”

This reassurance did nothing to assuage Lyra’s temper. “And that’s another thing! What the $&#@ do you mean, this isn’t our job? We were asked for specifically! You said so!”

Orrig sighed, and reached into his bag to pull out the requisition form. He pointed a thick finger to a number printed at the top, one that Thistle had failed to notice when she read the listing for the first time.

“What’s your license number got to do with this?” Brent demanded.

“Vas copy error. My number similar to elf’s, vas sent to wrong place.”

“So we’re just gonna leave?” Brent said. “We came out all this way for nothing?”

Orrig nodded. “Vas mistake, ve technically not hired. Against guild rules to interfere.”

“Goddamn it. I’m going to need another drink,” Lyra said. “And if I see that pretty-boy’s face again I’m going to break his nose.”

There was a hearty hear-hear from Brent, and the group settled into an unhappy silence that was only broken when Lyra called for another pint. The bartender – who Thistle belated realized must be Carson’s father – sauntered over to them. He was a portly man with a receding hairline and a scruffy brown beard. While he had not been blessed with his son’s height, Thistle could see the familial similarity in the shape of his nose and the line of his jaw.

“Coin first,” the bartender said. “A silver, if it pleases the lady, ‘n I’ll get yer beer.”

“A silver? For a pint? That’s highway robbery!” Lyra exclaimed.

“An’ I’ve got a business t’ maintain,” the bartender said flatly. “Not that an outsider’d understand, runnin’ around chasin’ phantoms. Between you lot an’ the cripple, you’ve done nuthin’ but fill my son’s head with crazy-talk and waste my hard-earned money huntin’ a monster that don’t even exist. I got every right to throw you out on th’ street. A silver or nothing.”

A muscle in Lyra’s jaw twitched. She shoved a hand into her money pouch and pulled out the coin. Carson’s father snatched it greedily out of her grasp before handing over a fresh drink.

It was only then that Lyra snapped. She rose to her feet, and in one fluid motion she flung the contents of her mug onto the bartender’s face before slamming it back on the table. Before anyone could react she shoved away from the group and stomped out the door.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Thistle was frozen in place, torn between horror at what Lyra had done and pity for the events that had driven her to that point. Carson’s father sputtered with outrage, beer dripping down his face and staining his shirt.

At this rate they were going to get chased out of town. Thistle brushed her hand across the bartender’s shirt, a small surge of magic drying the fabric instantly. She left the stain untouched – he had basically goaded Lyra into retaliating by massively upping the price after she’d already drunk one pint, and was lucky she hadn’t thrown him through a table.

Orrig, Brent, and Thistle made a hasty exit after that. Further down the road Lyra was turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

“Should we go after her?” Thistle asked anxiously.

“Good luck with that,” Brent said.

“I think it best if ve leave,” Orrig said. Thistle thought that he looked troubled. “Lyra need space. I vill try to find vay to Crossroads today.”

“We can’t just do nothing,” Thistle said.

“Hmm. You and Brent go find vhile I get vay home. Vill leave as soon as possible. Is better that way.”

“She could be anywhere by now,” Brent said. “We should split up to cover more ground.”

Bad things seemed to happen when they split up, but Thistle nodded anyway. She and Brent started in the general direction Lyra had disappeared to, and with a final grunt Orrig ducked back into the bar. At first Thistle wondered if he might have gone to issue an apology, but for some reason she was reminded of their interaction with Grand Master Wu. Orrig had only intervened when Lyra stooped to crude insults and had never once asked Lyra to apologize for shouting curses at a Wizard capable of turning into a dragon. It seemed like he let his employees speak their mind, up until a certain point.

Thistle wasn’t sure if Orrig’s leniency was always a good thing, but right now she was grateful for it. She could imagine all too well what Lyra was feeling right now, after being insulted and humiliated by Rhys and then being discriminated against by a bartender they didn’t even know.

“So, do you want to go left or right?” Brent asked, drawing Thistle from her thoughts.

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” Thistle said.

He sighed. “Not really. I mean, usually I’d say check out the taverns or the bars. I know a couple of her haunts back in the city, but out here? Who knows.”

Thistle thought for a moment, hesitating. “Brent, do you know what that ouvrière means?”

“It’s Elvish,” Brent said. “I think it’s a rude thing to say to a girl who wears pants and works? You hear it from the more stuck-up city elves every once in a while. Usually Lyra brushes stuff like that off, no problem. I think the @$$&^* just caught her by surprise.” He rubbed his neck. “Anyway, we should get looking. I’ll go left you go right?”

“Sure.”

Thistle walked slowly, trying to process everything that had happened. Off of the high streets the buildings grew even more decapitated, many with sagging roofs or stucco walls covered with mold and dirt. She had traveled enough to know the difference between a small town that was thriving and one that was not, and the Salt Rock Hills had the feel of a town taking its final, tortured gasps. There seemed to be little diversity among what was left of the population, and each person who stopped to stare at Thistle was human.

Struck with inspiration, Thistle gathered every scrap of her fraying courage. Scanning the street she found an old man sitting in front of a butcher shop who looked neither suspicious nor afraid of her. Thistle clung to the strap of her bag to keep from fidgeting and approached him carefully.

“Excuse me, have you seen an elf come this way?”

“Sure did.” He smiled at her, exposing a set of false teeth that appeared to be made out of wood. “Tooted up the street not too long ago spoutin’ all sorts of wickedness that ought not be repeated in mixed company. She a friend of yours, stranger?”

“Um, yes.” I think. “My name is Thistle, and we came up to figure out what was attacking the winged horses, only there was a mistake and the job went to someone else.”

The man nodded sagely. “I see. Well, it ain’t ev’ry day we get so much excitement ‘round these parts. I think I’ll treasure the look of Minnie Baker’s face when she heard yer elf friend for the rest of my days.” He stuck out a hand. “Name’s Frank. I used to be the butcher, but I can’t do much cuttin’ these days.”

Thistle clasped fingers gnarled with arthritis. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Frank chuckled. “Trust me, stranger, the pleasure’s all mine. Can’t say enough how much I ‘preciate you all comin’ out here to catch the monster in th’ Hills, even if it ain’t yer job. Are you gonna stay for a bit? Maybe the other mercs will let you join th’ hunt.”

“My boss is actually trying to find a way to Crossroads today.”

Disappointment flickered in his eyes. “Ah, well, don’t know what I was expectin’. Not enough money for two teams, I suppose. Tell yer boss to talk to Jacob. He’s th’ owner of the tavern down yonder an’ oversees the stables here in town. It might cost a pretty penny, but it’s the best way if yer lookin’ t’ leave on short notice.”

“Oh.” Thistle’s stomach sank. “I think we might have met.”

Frank’s wizened face twisted into a grimace. “Shoot. I don’t suppose he made a right fool outta himself? Was he the one who sent your elf friend in a tizzy, spoutin’ his usual garbage?”

Thistle didn’t answer, but her lack of response was enough. Frank spat in disgust and rose unsteadily to his feet. “Go find your friend, stranger. I’ll see if I can talk Jacob into seeing sense. Th’ monster is real, and something’s gotta be done afore someone else gets hurt.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Thistle said.

“Ha! You’ve done nothin’ but entertain these old bones through another day of drudgery. ‘Sides, Jake’s got the only rooms in town to let. If you can’t get him t’ help you leave, then yer gonna have t’ spend the night.”

Frank tipped an imaginary hat and set off from the shop in a slow, shuffling gait, his shoulders stooped with the weight of age. It didn’t seem right for him to get involved with the dispute, but Thistle got the impression there was nothing she could say to stop him.

He didn’t make it more than a few steps when someone called his name. Both Frank and Thistle turned to see where the voice had come from. A woman waved at him from across the street before jogging over. She wore a long white coat over a simple plaid shirt and held a heavy back bag in one hand.

“Hullo, Doctor,” Frank said respectfully. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I was just gonna go give Jacob a piece of my mind.”

The woman brushed away a strand of curly brown hair that had fallen out of her plait and smiled enormously. “Whatever keeps you young,” she said blithely. “I was just wondering if you’ve seen Isla come this way. I was expecting her in the surgery over an hour ago.”

Was it Thistle’s imagination, or did his expression darken? “Can’t say I have, Doctor.”

The doctor’s face fell. Thistle took a half-step forward. “Excuse me, but do you mean Isla Clark? I saw her earlier today with the mercenaries investigating the winged horses.”

“By the spring?” the doctor asked, almost disbelieving. When Thistle nodded, she threw her arm up in the air in exasperation. “Did she walk all that way? No, don’t answer that. Of course she did, despite my explicit warning against pushing herself too far.”

The doctor took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. “Well, that settles that. Frank, why don’t you tell me who your new friend is?”

“Her name’s Thistle, and she’s just passin’ through. ‘Parantly there was some mix up with the mercs an’ her group is lookin’ to get outta town afore dark,” Frank said. “Thistle, this here is Doctor Maureen Malady. You won’t find a better sawbones anywhere in the world.”

“I don’t know about that,” Doctor Malady said, the lines framing her eyes and mouth crinkling with suppressed mirth. Hers was a face made for smiling, and there was something about her demeanor that put Thistle instantly at ease. She adjusted wire-framed spectacles before extending a hand. “I’m sorry your stay at the Hills will be cut short.”

“Actually,” Frank said while Thistle shook the doctor’s hand, “she were just lookin’ for an elf that was travelin’ with her. I expect she wants to get back to searchin’.”

“I see,” Doctor Malady said. “I’d check the general store just over yonder.”

Thistle perked up at this. “Really?”

She nodded. “Ooohh yes. There aren’t many elves that come this way. Is yours rude and too pretty for their own good?”

“Uh…”

“The general store,” Doctor Malady said with a sympathetic smile. “It’s just up the way, you can’t miss it.”

Thistle reluctantly turned in the direction she indicated. It seemed wrong to let the slight on Lyra’s character to go unchallenged, but she’d wasted too much time here already. She waved goodbye and jogged up the street, and before long came to her destination. Everything from spools of ribbon, penny candy, canned goods, and cigars decorated the storefront window, while a pair of tethered horses (of the mundane variety) pawed impatiently at the ground.

It seemed like an odd destination for Lyra, but Thistle braced herself nonetheless. It was entirely possible that Orrig had already found a way back to the city and was waiting for them to rejoin him so they could leave this place behind. Cheered by this thought, Thistle strode boldly – or as boldly as she could manage – into the store.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t got any crates. Need to go to the lumberyard for that,” the man at the register said irritably. The bell over the door alerted him to Thistle’s presence. “Can I help…you?”

He stared dumbfounded at Thistle, but for once she didn’t notice. She stopped dead in her tracks as Rhys Taliesen leaned back from the counter, an eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t expect to meet you here,” he said mildly.

“I, er, neither did I,” Thistle said.

Shouldn’t he be at the springs investigating the dead horse? How had he made it back to town so quickly, and where were Mum and Rizaek? Her thoughts shifted to Isla Clark, who by Dr. Malady’s reaction shouldn’t be making the long walk from the springs to town at all. Had he left her behind? Thistle drew her hands to her chest and took a tentative step backwards.

“Please don’t go,” Rhys said. “I would like to speak with you.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” he said with almost boyish earnestness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name before. Mum said you found his spell. No one has ever done that before.”

“You knew he put the bug on Brent?” Thistle asked. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

His eyes flickered to the storekeeper. “Why don’t we take this conversation elsewhere? There are matters that I would like to discuss with you privately.”

For a moment Thistle was frozen. Rhys’s presence alone was enough to disarm her, and now he was sounding polite and reasonable? Was this the same person who had attacked Brent without provocation and insulted Lyra because she wasn’t wearing a skirt? Thistle’s clothes were baggy, but there was no mistaking that she was also a girl who, as Brent said, wore pants and worked.

A spark of anger thawed her indecision. Thistle barely knew Orrig, Brent, and Lyra, but they had been nothing but kind to her during that short period of time. Lyra especially had apologized for her part in their disastrous first meeting, and then put up with all Thistle’s weird awkwardness while traveling to the Salt Rock Hills.

Thistle crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, but no. That spell Mum put on Brent was unethical – if not illegal.”

Irritation flashed across his brilliant green eyes. They were the color of bottled glass…or poison. “Look, I didn’t realize that Mum had cast the spell any more than you did, and I certainly didn’t tell him to do it. You were there. Did you see me do anything untoward?”

Yes, Thistle thought stubbornly. “When did you find out?”

“When you broke it.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never seen Mum jump so high. He’s a talented mage, you know.”

Thistle’s heart beat faster as Rhys took a small step forward, but somehow she managed to stand her ground. Her pleading look to the storekeeper was useless. He was too busy pretending she and Rhys didn’t exist to interfere.

“I’m surprised you associate with that lot,” Rhys continued, a note of reproach in his tone. “I made inquiries when I learned of the clerical error for this job. Orrig seems like a decent enough fellow – he’s had a solid career and maintains an excellent reputation – but there’s no denying he’s a little long in the tooth, if you pardon my phrasing. The mercenary guild is no place for old men.”

“Excuse me?” Thistle said.

“It’s obvious that he’s already lost control of his subcontractors, yourself excluded.” Another step forward, this time blocking the view of the shopkeeper entirely. Sometime during the exchange Thistle had backed herself into a corner, and Rhys had her completely boxed in as he continued, “And even if he hadn’t, the orc will be retiring within the next season or two. When he does you’ll be out of luck.”

“Excuse me?”

“A mage of your skill shouldn’t be wasting their time in a position that soon won’t even exist. And even if the orc doesn’t hang up his axe this time next year, do you honestly believe you’ll get anywhere with his crew of miscreants?

“What are you getting at?” Thistle asked quietly. She thought she knew where this was going, but a part of her couldn’t believe what she was hearing and wanted Rhys to say it for himself.

“I appreciate talent,” Rhys said. His voice was low, intense, persuasive. “I saw it in Mum when no one would hire a mute and he was on the street peddling for coin. I saw it in Rizaek when he was mucking stalls for a pittance. And I see it in you.”

“I couldn’t possibly…I mean, I work for Orrig. He’s the one who hired me,” Thistle said.

Rhys nodded. “Loyalty is an admirable trait, but it will only get you so far in this line of work. I don’t need an answer now,” he said as Thistle stiffened, mistaking her indignation for something else, “just promise you’ll think it over. I’ll be staying at the tavern owned by Jacob Swinehart if you change your mind.”

There were a great many things Thistle wanted to say, first and foremost being that Rhys had to be out of his mind to think she would want to work for him, but it was as if the surreal nature of the conversation had jammed the gears of her mind to a grinding halt. He left the store a moment later, leaving Thistle gaping after him like a fish out of water.

Is yours rude and too pretty for their own good?

The fact that she had mistaken Lyra for Rhys would have been funny if she weren’t so mortified. What would Orrig say when he found out rival mercenaries were giving out job offers? What would Brent say if he found out she had let Mum’s disgusting invasion of his personal privacy go unchallenged?

“Er, ma’am, are you alright?”

“What?” Thistle said, jumping at the unexpected voice of the shopkeeper. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I…I was just leaving.”

The shopkeeper gave a wary appraisal of Thistle’s unusual appearance. “Alrighty then. Have a good day.”

“You too.” Her voice sounded distant, as if someone other than herself were saying the words. Thistle left the general store, forcing a façade of normalcy over her growing anxiety. Too much, this was all too much. First the dead horse, then the debacle with Rhys and Jacob, and now this? Thistle wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

always were weak-willed. never had the stomach to speak up…you ought to be ashamed of yourself

She didn’t need the voice to tell her that. Shame came as easily to Thistle as breathing. Once again she hadn’t been able to speak up against Rhys’s vicious slander. Thistle couldn’t believe he had gone so far as to attack Orrig, who seemed to her the epitome of professional competence.

but what if it’s true? what will you do if orrig retires? you have no references, and no one would speak for someone so ungrateful. where will you go when they finally see you for what you really are?

mercenaries hunt monsters. your hood is the only thing separating you from whatever is killing the winged horses. once they see that for themselves, they’ll hunt you too.

Thistle felt ill as she wandered through town. The faces seemed less friendly, the air colder. She could see town people’s suspicion, imagined she could hear their thoughts as they moved out of their way to avoid her. The anxiety was giving way to panic. Even if Thistle knew where Lyra was, she didn’t think she could manage a conversation. Instinctually her feet led away from town – away from the wary strangers and their unforgiving eyes.

The only good thing about the Salt Rock Hills was that it was tiny. It didn’t take Thistle long to reach the outskirts of town following the road that she guessed led to the abandoned mines. She remembered Mayor Stone saying Carson was the only one who went to the Hills voluntarily, and he was probably back in his father’s tavern by now preparing for the evening rush.  

Thistle was alone.

Taking a cleansing breath, she found a bit of broken down fence that had once marked the boundary of a large pasture. The pasture was long-since abandoned, overgrown with knee-high grass, half a dozen different wildflowers, and countless weeds. There was bishop’s lace, ragweed, yarrow…and thistles.

Her heart was heavy as she cupped her most recent namesake with her hand. There were no blooms, but a small spark of magic changed that. The thistle’s flower unfurled, purple and perfect and beautiful.

“What am I doing here?” Thistle asked herself. She pulled away from the plant and sat on the fence, staring out at everything and nothing. As before, there was no answer.

She sat until the knot that had been growing somewhere under her breastbone loosened, and long enough for her to wonder if Brent had had any more luck with their mission. Dwelling on her most recent failure made a melancholy feeling sit heavily in her chest, but melancholy she could manage.

It was no use continuing to look for Lyra when she’d most likely already been found. Resolving herself to face Orrig knowing her disgraceful interaction with Rhys was the most difficult thing she’d done since arriving at the Salt Rock Hills, and despite her eagerness to leave she was in no hurry to see her employer again.

Swallowing her reluctance, Thistle hopped off the fence and made one last, sweeping glance of the pasture. It really was quite peaceful out here, and she could understand why Carson wandered out this way. Farther up the road there was even someone resting up against a lone fencepost…

Thistle did a double take, but there was no mistaking that red armor. “Lyra?”

The figure startled. “Thistle? What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you,” Thistle said. “Orrig wants to go back to the city.”

“Oh thank the gods. How long have you been standing there?”

As Lyra approached, Thistle noticed she’d applied a fresh layer of makeup. “Not too long. I thought Brent would find you first.”

“Ha! Brent couldn’t track himself out of a wet paper bag. Is Orrig seriously leaving today?”

“If he can get transport,” Thistle said, taking some joy at the way Lyra’s face brightened. “Apparently Jacob owns the only stables in town.”

“Who’s Jacob again?” Lyra asked.

“The, well…the owner of the tavern.”

There was a beat of awful, terrible silence. “%*@#.”

“He also owns the only rooms to rent, so if we can’t use his horses we’ll have to pay him to stay the night.”

“Double %*@#,” Lyra said, scrubbing her face with her hands. “If he expects me to apologize he’s got another thing coming. Charging a silver for a pint of beer is a %*@#!+& joke, especially out here in this country backwater. Most the people here probably haven’t seen a silver in their life. You don’t suppose that orc will let us use his flying horse, do you? I bet we could fit all of us on that thing and make it to Crossroads before dark.”

“Rizaek?” Thistle asked. “I don’t speak Orcish, but I got the impression he didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“Hmph. I wouldn’t trust anyone who works with that pretty boy @$$&*^# anyway. I was serious when I said I’d break his nose if I ever saw him again.”

Thistle didn’t have a response for this. The fury in Lyra’s voice was almost a palpable thing. In Thistle’s limited time with her, Lyra’s anger had burned hot, fierce…and quickly. Rhys’s words must have struck a nerve.

“It’s not worth fighting about,” Thistle said, trying to convince herself what she was saying was true. “Not if we’re leaving today.”

Lyra leaned over the fencepost and stared out at the hills. In the distance a winged horse had taken flight and was soaring higher and higher into the air. “You’re wrong,” she said. “@$$#*&% like Rhys live their whole lives thinking they’re better than everyone else just because they have more money or connections or something extra dangling between their legs, and if no one ever proves them wrong they’ll keep on thinking it for the rest of their lives. I’m tired of it. He can call me whatever stupid name he wants, but I’m not afraid of him and I’m not going to back down. No one’s going to fight for me, so you’d &@#% well believe I’m going to fight for myself.”

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and offered Thistle a crooked smile. “Sorry for the speech, but I’ve met too many Rhyses in my life to given two $&%!$ about this one. If I give up an inch he’s going to take a mile and come back looking for more. So yeah, I’d say it’s worth fighting over.”

“Even if you don’t win?” Thistle said.

Lyra laughed. “Oh, I know I’m not going to change his mind, but if I can make him think twice before spouting slurs to strangers who might take offence, then, well, that’s a win in my book.”

Thistle thought about this for a moment. She could see where Lyra was coming from, but there had to be a better way. Or maybe there wasn’t, and she was just too much of a coward to admit it. Thistle spent the majority of her time trying to help people, and to date she’d still never been accepted by anyone who knew what she truly was.

“What does ouvrière mean?” Thistle asked before she could stop herself. Her throat tightened when Lyra gave her a curious sideways glance that she could not decipher. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“I’m more surprised that you don’t know,” Lyra said. “It’s Elvish for ‘worker’.”

“That’s it?” Thistle said.

“That’s it,” Lyra said wryly. She propped her chin up with a hand. “That’s what I hate about Elvish. It’s got no real curse words, and everyone is so %*@#!+& obsessed with high society and being polite that they have to come up with creative ways to insult those they think are lower than they are.”

“But how can calling someone a worker be an insult?” Thistle asked.

“Oh, it’s not the word we use for someone who’s respectable,” Lyra said. “It means someone who does dirty work, common work, or a girl who doesn’t have a husband or father or brothers to take care of them so they go out in trousers and a shirt that they can actually breathe in, walking the streets without a chaperone and likely getting themselves into all sorts of undesirable situations with all sorts of undesirable folk for a little coin.”

“That’s…that’s terrible,” Thistle said.

Lyra shrugged. “It’s just a word,” she said flatly. “And like I said, it’s not even a real curse. Now dwarvish has some fantastic swear words. I picked up a bunch from a chatty drunk back in the city. Maybe I should throw some of those in Rhys’s face before I break his nose.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, and they both knew it, but Thistle forced a chuckle anyway. “Do you suppose we should head back? Maybe Orrig’s found a way to Crossroads.”

“Gods I hope so,” Lyra said. She slid off of the fence and glanced at Thistle again, this time a sly grin spreading across her face. “So if you didn’t know what ouvrière meant then that means you’re not an elf.”

It was as if someone had snatched the air out of Thistle’s lungs. If Lyra had already figured out she wasn’t a city elf, how long would it take for Brent to realize she wasn’t human, or Orrig to see her for the monster she truly was? Thistle had known them for all of three days, and they were already starting to guess at her identity. They were mercenaries, professional monster hunters, how long would it take for them to see through the mask and shadows…

Lyra doubled over and laughed a laugh that sounded more like the maniacal cackle Thistle had once heard from a villain in a play. “I can’t believe it! That’s fantastic!”

“What?”

“I bet Rhys is the type to think elves are the best mages in the world. I would pay good money to see the look on his face when he realizes his pet spell slinger was schooled by a human girl!”

Lyra’s laughter drowned out Thistle’s weak protests, and she was still laughing when they found Brent and Orrig sitting outside city hall. It was just as well that she was in a good mood, because no amount of coin that would convince Jacob arrange transport to Crossroads, and there was no one else who could assist them on such short notice. They were stuck in the Salt Rock Hills for the night, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

[adriennefrank]

Strawberry Moon

Is it odd that I was thrilled to carry you into the hospital on your third ER visit? My heart was full of gratefulness that I was able to be there. To be present. To comfort you as you struggled for breath. I was certain that this would be one of my last opportunities. The surgeon had told me just the week before that he couldn't do anything else to help me fight off the cancer that was tightly wrapping its tentacles around my neck. I was so thankful that I could be there with you, even as your own body struggled for breath. You woke up early on that Monday morning, many hours before the sun. You were hot, which was understandable. The heat and humidity of those June days had zapped everyone, even the healthiest of bodies. In the dark of night, I stole the fan that Mimi was using, and turned it on your body. You settled down a bit, and I put my hand on your chest. The heart that has been beating in your chest for five and a half years plus, was racing. Beating wildly. Out of control. I noticed your breath was fast. Short. Shallow. My 3AM stupor attributed this to your frustration with the heat. "It will slow down," I believed. Until it didn't. You woke me at 6AM and got up to watch TV. I knew something was wrong. You never wake at 6AM. You love to sleep in, according to what your body needs. I considered taking you to the pediatrician, but I knew that it was probably more serious than a visit to the clinic. And I had Mimi in my ear, telling me that you needed to go to the ER. So we went. But I am ashamed to admit that it was after I went back to bed for another hour or so. I needed relief from my own demons that I only got while sleeping. When I slept, I forgot that cancer existed in my neck. When I slept, I forgot the doctor's words about how risky a surgery would be. When I slept, I forgot that I needed to find books for you about coping with the loss of a parent. When I slept, I forgot the nightmare of life. But when I awoke, it all came crashing down on my back, like a load of the heaviest cement blocks. Painful. Aching. Horrific. How could I help you when I was falling apart myself? But that is what mothers do. We mother in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, til death do us part. You felt too weak to walk, so Mimi carried you to the car. I drove as fast as I could along 38th St. and Chicago Avenue. It's not the first time I have breathed a word of gratefulness that we live so close to several children's hospitals. Thank you, Minneapolis. We arrived moments (or was it hours?) after the nurses had begun their strike. The car in front of us didn't hit the accelerator as quickly as I thought appropriate when the light turned green, so I gave a little honk. The nurses began cheering and waving at us, thinking the horn was in support of their demands. Sure, friends. Anything to get my son to the ER as quickly as possible. We parked the car in the lot set aside for emergency room visits. I didn't have time to wonder how many petrified parents had pulled into that parking spot before us. I gathered up your almost fifty pounds of boy, carried you inside, and held you as the triage nurse asked question after question. So many questions. Couldn't she see you panting in my arms? You were uncomfortable, but not nervous. Well, you weren't nervous about your breathing difficulties, but you were nervous about the "arm hugger." The blood pressure cuff had squeezed and pinched and left an imprint on your arm and in your mind. If anything was to be feared, it was the arm hugger. I answered all their questions and we sat down, the only three in the waiting room. That felt good. I was certain we would be called back soon, if a breathing attack didn't get them moving, surely a lack of others waiting would get us some attention quickly. And it was a short wait. Maybe 10 minutes at the most, although it felt like an hour, listening to your shallow breaths in my ear, feeling your heart beating so quickly in your chest. We were led back into Procedure Room #9. I set you on the bed and helped your change into the gown that the nurse offered, the one with the stars and spaceships sprinkled on it. You kept your Snoopy jammie bottoms on underneath. Mimi was on the phone texting our family while we got you situated for your first breathing treatment. You balked at the taste, but your body was too weak to put up much fight. I sat in the chair to the left of your bed and held your hand. And then I crawled into the bed with you and held your body. My dear boy. My sweet, dear boy. I'm not sure if there is any time I love you more than when you are sick and weak and I can mother you in all the ways. That sounds so selfish, but you are so independent and "tough" as the doctor called you. I wanted to hold you in my arms forever. As we snuggled in the bed, watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates, I remembered your previous two visits to the ER. When you were two years old, you had new pants on with pockets. Your little hands reached into the pockets to test them out just as you walked up the two stairs from the sidewalk. Your little toddler legs tripped, the pockets acted as handcuffs, and you crashed right into the concrete with your chin catching most of the force. Kyle and I raced you to Children's Riverside hospital. I was certain you needed stitches. You happily colored away as the doctor came in, gave me a band-aid and reassured me you were fine. We drove home in the blackness of night and all that remains is the scar you have on the underside of your chin. A year later you woke up on a summer morning and told me your legs didn't work. Polio, I was certain. And it was all my fault for waving the doctor off about the vaccine. You had single-handedly brought polio back into the United States' population. But instead of rushing you to the closest iron lung, I delivered you to day care and asked them to keep an eye on you. When you still were crawling around at lunch time, I left work and we hurried to the emergency room. The kind doctor decided you were having growing pains, and you were fine from that moment on. Our time at the hospital was so short that I decided we deserved to play a little hooky. I took you to get a cheeseburger for lunch before returning you to day care. It was a sweet time with you. And now here we were. Back at the emergency room, but this time it was different. It had only been days since my surgeon told me he didn't recommend surgery to remove the mass threatening to steal my breath. It was too risky in his eyes. Let's try chemotherapy again, he said. It was the unspoken words that killed me. We all knew that chemotherapy could only slow the cancer down, not destroy it. What could I hope for? A final Christmas in 2016? Would I make it to kindergarten graduation? These were terrifying questions. I had to bring myself back to the present. All I knew is that you needed your mama now and I was there for you, with you. I blinked back tears in that stretcher bed that I am sure had "STRYKER" imprinted on the side. Your vacant eyes focused on the TV in the corner of the room while we held the breathing mask to your lips. In that moment I knew I would not be there each time you will need me. It broke my heart that day and it breaks again as I write the horrid words. But at the same time, I felt such a relief that I was able to be with you that time. We finally were moved into a more permanent room and the day was filled with asthma education, movies, BINGO, and breathing treatments. The doctors didn't diagnose you with asthma, but they didn't have a certain answer for your shallow breaths. A virus? The dry, dusty, summer winds that we had faced at the pool just 24 hours before? It remains a mystery, but I'm grateful that the steroids caused your airways to open and relax throughout the day. I relied on my Valium for that. Even though you had improved so much during the day, they still felt like you needed to be kept overnight. Which, of course, meant that I was also kept overnight. You needed me with you and I needed the same. I told the nurse and doctor that we needed to be discharged by 10AM the next morning because I had an appointment to meet with a surgeon at Mayo Clinic in Rochester. The breathing specialist asked me what was priority: you being able to easily inhale oxygen or my appointment? Fuck you, I thought. You have no idea what my life is like and how dare you accuse me of not taking care of my son. I can't remember if I responded calmly or not. Probably not. But in my heart, I knew I was going to make sure that I left on time with a healthy boy. It must have been around 8pm when I told the nurses I was going to wheel you around the hospital halls for a bit in the wheelchair. They told me this was not allowed, but I somehow managed to get you out of that 9 ft by 9 ft room. I walked you to the cafeteria and then around to the lobby. We stared at the sculptures and art pieces, all created for the children who were unlucky enough to be inside these yellow walls. And then I remembered, the strawberry moon! Maybe we could catch a glimpse of the full moon rising on the longest day of the year. I casually rolled the wheelchair out the door, like we had been released from that medical prison. The humid city air hit us as we walked towards the sidewalk on Chicago Avenue. I looked up. The sun had set, but I couldn't spy the moon no matter which direction I turned. I'm not sure if we were too early or if the tall walls of the city hospital were blocking our view. We would miss it. The once-in-a-lifetime event, and we would miss it. The evening light turned into morning light. The longest day of the year yielded the shortest night of the year. It was obvious to everyone, but me. You body calmed overnight and your breathing became normal again. We were released from your jail cell late morning, just in time for us to drive south to Rochester. Although I fought your doctors to get you discharged on time, my appointment at Mayo Clinic merely felt like a formality. It was an answer to the question of whether I explored every option before giving up. Did I fight for you with my last ounce of strength? We walked in to see the surgeon. I hadn't seen him since just over a year before, when, at our first meeting, he told me I was uncurable. I didn't need to see him again. What else was there to say? I walked in with little respect for him. And even less hope. But I wanted him to see you. I wanted him to know why I was desperate for as many days as the Good Lord would give. I wanted him to see my ringless finger. I wanted him to lay eyes on the five year-old boy who had heard that word, "cancer", more times than any child should. I needed you. I needed your presence. I needed the doctor to see our family. You grounded me in that moment of fear and floating. The kind nurse brought you crayons and apple juice and snacks and kept you occupied while the surgeon performed his examination. You happily drank your apple juice (treat of all special treats!) and played games on Mimi's phone. I held my breath as I always do, waiting for the verdict. Will he or won't he? Am I a lost cause? Will he try to convince me that quality of life is more important than life and how can you even compare the two? "I think we should do the surgery." He went on to describe the major risks, the unknowns, the loss that I potentially would face. Loss? Is it loss to be alive? I knew in that moment, before I even left the exam room, that I would move forward with the surgery. How could we not? I've always taken the most aggressive approach. I've always weighed my options with the question of which I would regret more? Yes, I would regret not fighting with everything in me. "And I think we might be able to cure you." Cure. Cure me from cancer. Cure me from hopelessness. Cure me from depression. Cure me from this weighty, terrifying life. Cure. My eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I haven't heard that word for such a long time." We walked down the hallway after spending almost two hours with my doctor. My doctor. The doctor who would do the surgery that I hadn't yet committed to. The doctor that spoke of ridding my body of cancer. Forever? How had life changed so quickly? From mourning my last ER visit with you to allowing myself to dream of coming out of surgery cancer-free? How were we walking out of our second hospital of the day with a chance at feeling hope again? I would have loved to show you that strawberry moon that night when I pushed you along Chicago Avenue. I would have told you how rare it was, and why they coined the term, "strawberry moon." I would have described how we had just lived through the longest day of the year, hoping to sear these memories into your brain forever. Now, I am left feeling hopeful that we might live to see the next one. Together.

[angelbabymommy]

Where do I begin? How do I tell this story? I guess the only way I know how.

I am 32 years old, I have carried and birthed 5 beautiful babies into this world, children I am thankful for each day, even more so now. Children I am blessed to hug, laugh with, make memories, and love always.

March 7, 2020 I gave birth to my fifth child. My partner and I both agreed we didn’t want another child for some time and I made the decision to use birth control. I was using the Xulane birth control patch. All was well.

In June 2020 I realized I hadn’t started a period. Surely I wasn’t pregnant but just to be safe we took a test, imagine our surprise to see two lines! Wait! What just happened!?!

It was overwhelming. We were scared. But we accepted it. My partner and I were warming up to the idea of another baby to adore. I found a midwife, I found a hospital that would allow me to have the water birth I always dreamed of having. I was going to stay team green and have my partner announce the gender of our baby to me at birth. I also had decided this would be my last baby for good. I began to envision this life with this child. I felt strongly and deeply in my heart it was a little girl. My heart was overjoyed.

July 14, 2020 we had our first ultrasound scan. We measured 6 weeks! Our baby had a heartbeat, 108 bpm. Everything looked normal. They scheduled us for a follow up scan for two weeks later. During those two weeks I experienced some nausea, my tests were still blazing positive. I craved foods and I was tired. But I was happy.

July 31, 2020 I should have been 8 weeks 3 days. We would see an even bigger baby with an even stronger heartbeat! I couldn’t wait, I had looked forward to this day so much. But when we did the scan my heart sunk. I am not an expert by no means but I’ve had enough babies and scans to know what we should have seen and we were not seeing that. The nurse said it was inconclusive. But I knew, I knew it wasn’t inconclusive. I knew my baby was gone. Taken from me. Why? What had I done wrong? I didn’t drink or do drugs. I took my prenatal vitamins every night before bed.

I came out to the car and burst into tears. Barely able to speak. I was a blubbering mess. My boyfriend was in denial. He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted a second opinion. My body didn’t warn me. It gave me no indication that something was wrong. It still believed it was pregnant. Why oh why? By Monday I began spotting pink. I knew my body was finally beginning to realize what had happened, that we lost the baby. It’s funny people say lost the baby, as if I somehow misplaced it. I didn’t lose it. Where did it go?

Tuesday I saw my old OB who had delivered my other babies. She remained optimistic. She drew blood. She wanted to check my hcg count before proceeding. The next day, Wednesday, August 5, 2020 my Dr called. My hcg count was 2500, that’s normal for a 6 week pregnancy. I knew then my baby had stopped developing right after that first scan. My pink spotting was beginning to turn more red and a bit more heavy.

That night around 7 PM I began bleeding uncontrollably. I was getting blood all over myself and my bathroom. My four year old was scared repeatedly asking me if I was okay. I assured him I would be okay. I finished making dinner, feeding my kiddos and bathing everyone and getting them off to bed. At that point I was soaking a pad in less than an hour. I tried to shower, to get blood off me, but blood poured out of me. It was like a scene from a horror film. I began passing clots. Some were as big as my hands. I started feeling weak, dizzy and faint. Any time I stood I would see spots and darkness. I knew this wasn’t normal.

My boyfriend had to leave for work. He works the overnight shift. Fortunately my mom was here. I hadn’t even announced my pregnancy yet but I had the unfortunate experience of having to explain to her what was going on. As I crawled my way out of the shower trying to dress myself with blood still running down my legs, my mom petrified, she called 911.

The ambulance rushed me to the hospital. My blood pressure remained stable. My heart was pounding against my chest, it was in a state of tachycardia. My hemoglobin levels were low at a 10. The nurse assigned to me immediately set up an IV, took blood and urine. The ER doctor said my hcg levels were now at 1700, they were definitely going down. Another ultrasound scan confirmed the pregnancy was no longer viable. At that point the doctor felt comfortable administering me medication to help with the cramping and bleeding.

They did a pelvic exam. The ER doctor gently used a speculum to open me up and used forceps to remove clots, lots of clots. Once he believed he had gotten them all he could get to my ER nurse took wipes and began cleaning my legs and feet for me. My bleeding began to slow down. My heart rate was still high though. Even after IV fluids my hemoglobin levels had gone down another 2 points. They wanted me to stay overnight, they talked about a possible D&C and blood transfusion.

But I couldn’t stay. My boyfriend at work, my grandma refusing to help and my mom having her own health issues (osteoarthritis & fibromyalgia) I had to make it home to my other kids. I sadly had to sign myself out of the hospital against medical advice. At 2 in the morning I waited for my Uber to take me home. I sat in the backseat of someone’s car wearing the pants I came to the hospital in, soaked and stained with blood. Praying that I didn’t bleed on their seat and get charged a cleaning fee.

I made it home. Shortly afterward my four month old awakened, I went to make him a bottle, feeling weak and dizzy again, I sat on my kitchen floor trying to regain my composure and ability to walk and stand. While sitting there, my heart pounding out of my chest and sounds slowly fading out I blacked out and fainted. I awoke after smacking my forehead and elbow into the high chair and my mom jumping up as quickly as I had ever seen her move in months, crying she said “You fell, you passed out.” I laid on the floor crying and telling her I couldn’t finish making the bottle. My mom made it and gave it to my baby for me.

I forced myself to eat and drink water. Still feeling weak I dragged myself to bed and slept. I woke up the next day feeling tired, my body sore, still a little shaky and weak but somehow I survived. I was lucky. I didn’t need the blood transfusion after all. Somehow my body pulled through on its own, maybe with some help from God or my guardian angel.

I called my Dr office and informed them I miscarried. They said they were sorry for my loss. My Dr will do blood draws every week until my hcg levels return to 0. Then they will know my body did the work of emptying the uterus of all the contents of this pregnancy. My body let go, but my heart is another story.

Physically I know I will heal. This physically pain won’t last forever. There will come a day when my bleeding stops all together. My body will feel great. But my heart doesn’t know better. My heart doesn’t want to let go, it wasn’t ready to say goodbye, when we never even got the chance to say hello.

Emotionally I feel like I’m being tortured, I feel like I’m living a nightmare. I don’t know why this happened to me. I will never have answers. I’m angry with God, why would he take my baby from me? I’m angry with my body for failing me. I want my baby back, but I know that won’t ever happen.

Last night I laid on the floor of my bathtub while water streamed down me from the shower head. I wasn’t even interested in showering. It was just somewhere to go to escape. I put on a strong front all day for my mom and kids but in the shower I cry. I allow the grief to wash over me and the water drowns out my tears. Those gut wrenching, soul crushing, tears, the kind that makes your nose snot up and you feel the lump in your throat and you can literally feel your heart breaking. I prayed to God harder than I ever have before. I prayed for strength. I prayed for comfort and peace. I prayed for understanding. I prayed that God mend my broken heart.

It’s a rollercoaster of emotions honestly. I’m terrified of ever becoming pregnant again. What if this happens again? I don’t know if I can bear this pain again. This pain is unbearable. It’s a pain and emptiness I wouldn’t wish even upon my worst enemy. I know if there ever is a next time I will spend that entire pregnancy in fear. Fear of becoming attached and losing another baby. I never thought it would or could happen to me until it did and now here I am. 1 in 4 is not just a statistic. I am that 1 in 4. And it’s truly heartbreaking. My dreams are shattered. This has got to be the most traumatic experience of my life ever.

On the other side never becoming pregnant again envelopes me in fear as well. What if I become infertile after this? What if I’m never able to achieve pregnancy again? I want my rainbow baby someday. I know my heart will never fully heal until I have my rainbow baby nestled safely in my arms. The thing is I don’t know when/if that will ever happen for me. And so I sit and wait in this limbo of emotional turmoil. Even a rainbow baby would never replace this angel baby of mine. I will always hold onto this sadness to some degree. It will never just go away, I will never stop talking about and remembering my baby. There will never be another day I live that I don’t think of my baby and all the what ifs.

I’m triggered by the foods I ate while pregnant. I’m triggered by the births of healthy newborns and others announcing their pregnancies. Why do they get to keep their baby but I didn’t get to keep mine? That sounds selfish. But it feels unfair. It is unfair. Nothing about this is right or okay. I randomly cry throughout the day, silently.

I don’t even know the gender of my baby. I submitted my ultrasound scan to the Ramzi theory group; 3 boy guesses and 2 girl guesses. I will never know until someday I get to meet my baby in Heaven and hold my baby in my arms. I hope my baby is safe and healthy and happy in the arms of Jesus right now. I hope my baby knows I loved them so so much and wanted them more than anything in this world. I would do anything to have you sweet baby with me again.

This is my story. This is miscarriage. This is what it feels like. There is no simple way of explaining it. I’m part of a special group of women that now have their very own and very special angel watching over them. I will never forget you. In my heart you live forever. Until we meet again...

Positive Pregnancy Test: 06/27/2020

First Ultrasound: 07/14/2020 108 bpm 💓

My Due Date: 03/09/2021

My Miscarriage Date: 08/05/2020

It was such a short time with you but I fell in love with you from the very start and I’ll never stop loving you with every beat of my heart.

“An angel opened the book of life and wrote down my baby’s birth. Then whispered softly as she closed the book, Too beautiful for Earth.”

Fly high angel baby 👼 Mommy loves you 💕

[shecomesinpieces]

I’m back here and it feels apocalyptic. Everyone I know is gone, and here I stand alone. 

In the past five months I’ve come to conclude that having tumblr as an emotional outlet had a positive effect on my mental health. I miss it, all the time. I thought eventually I’d stop having things to say, or the urge to say those things would quiet, but it hasn’t. It rages on.

Part of me wants company here, part of me wants peace, and part of me hopes someone stumbles upon this place and recognizes me. I guess I’ll leave that up to fate.

The anxiety that set in shortly before I departed has not let up. In fact it has morphed, manifesting itself as extreme health anxiety. I’ve been to the doctor countless times, even checked myself into the hospital (more on that in a minute), and everything seems fine. So its all in my head. Is it?

I had a good session with Atherton last week. I came to her because I have genuine kidney pain that is not a manifestation of anxiety, but my urine test came back normal so the Dr. doesn’t know whats up. She said “I keep getting “afraid I’ll miss something”. She traced that back to pregnancy, and then back to age 5. She said “you had to do something you didn’t want to do”. Kindergarten. She said I made a pact with myself at that time that I’d never let someone force me to do something I didn’t want to do. Then fast forward to pregnancy-- I knew the risks of unprotected sex and yet when the test came back positive I was still shocked and immediately and strongly felt like it was something that had been forced upon me. “Afraid I’ll miss something” started there, when I somehow missed (or ignored) the signs that I was pregnant. So now I carry that with me. I’m afraid I’ll miss some symptom of a deadly disease, so I am hyper-vigilant about every little ache. I remind myself constantly that if it was something serious, I’d probably know because it would be unignorable. It only helps a bit.

Anyways, Sunday all day I had very uncomfortable chest pain unlike anything I’d ever felt. Nothing seemed to ease it. Aidan had been sick, so Ella and I spent the day out and about. As we were driving home around 5pm I had this voice in my head say “you should go to the ER”. I’ve never genuinely considered going to emerg because I know what a colossal pain in the arse it is. The ailment must be equal or greater to the effort involved with emerg, basically. But anyways, there was a voice. And that freaked me out. I tried to talk myself down, and bargained that instead I’d phone telehealth ontario and explain what I was feeling. So I did, and the nurse was very thorough, and she recommended I go to the ER immediately and have someone else drive.

So we did. We arrived around 6, and didnt get back home until midnight. 

I think it was about 9:30 before I went in to see anyone. They just stuck me in an “isolation” room, told me to put a gown on, and then I waited. They’d already done blood work hours ago, but I hadn’t heard the results. A very young, cheerful, and rather attractive doctor (or nurse?) came and asked some questions, took my blood pressure (which was double my normal BP, but still well within an acceptable range), and then left again. Another slightly older, equally attractive doctor came in and told me the bloodwork came back normal, but they were going to run an EKG. They did, it was super fast, and that was normal too. They asked a few more questions and then determined it could be pericarditis, which is basically inflammation of the sac surrounding the heart. They didn’t confirm this with an ultrasound, but rather gave me 600mg ibuprofen and sent me home. Apparently it resolves on its own. Extremely uncomfortable though.

And here I am. Its been almost a week. The pain is pretty much gone. In hindsight, not sure it was/is pericarditis. Likely there was a stress component exacerbating the situation. On the bright side I know that my heart is in fine condition, so that has genuinely alleviated a lot of anxiety. Thank god for free healthcare. I honestly cannot express enough how grateful I am to have that service available to me, even if it ended up not being something serious. I could weep I’m so grateful.

I’m still really sad though. Spring is (supposedly) on its way, and I don’t even feel excited. I feel depressed. And anxious. Its a rolicking good time I’ll tell ya. Anxiety making me sure I’m going to die, and depression being like “yeah, so?”

I haven’t been depressed since... 2013? 2014?

It doesn’t really affect me externally. I’m still going through the motions. But it feels like I’m wearing a lead blanket. I’m just tired. Nothing excites me. I don’t want to do art, or read, or go outside. I barely want to watch tv. I just want a break. From this feeling, or life, or something.

I keep thinking about Grahame. I don’t even know what happened. I just snapped. It was the culmination of years of feeling angry. Feeling like I was always being held at arms length. Maybe that was his intention, or maybe it wasn’t, but that was my experience of the relationship and it felt awful more often than not. I loved him like he was a part of me, and I would have told anyone, I would have made space, welcomed him into my home and life, introduced him to my family, etc forever. I wanted all of that. But I felt like he never quite wanted that of me. I was like some weird hobby he didn’t want anyone to know he liked. Shoved into the back of the closet and brought out only when he was alone. I hated feeling that way. So I ended everything.

There’s so much more I have to say, but I’m so tired, so it’ll have to wait. It’s hard to summarize 5 months in a single post.

[iamkellyadams]

Over 40 mom, sheds 40 pounds without dieting or pills!

Below is an inspiring story narrated to us, which would relate to many of those who are over 40 and want to lose weight but have no idea where to begin. Let’s read how this mom from Idaho, US lost more than 40 pounds without restrictive dieting or taking any dangerous weight loss pills. She also reveals her secret, which led her to this amazing transformation.

Introducing Susan Tanner, from Idaho, US

Hi, my name is Susan. And I’m 43 years young!

I’d like to share a personal story that I know will resonate with you…

I was always one of the cool girls in school. I was a regular in a cheerleading squad and was homecoming queen my senior year.

What’s more, I was one of those ‘skinny’ girls you love to hate. I ate anything and everything I wanted and still kept to a size 2 without much effort. Even though I was pretty active girl, but exercising was never a priority on my daily agenda.

I used to chalk up my slimming figure to genetics.

I married right after finishing my college. Me and Tyler backpacked through Europe for a year and then settled in Idaho with decent full-time jobs. About 3 years into our marriage, I gave birth to our first child – Aiden.

And that’s when everything went downhill.

I was far from skinny,  and gained 60 pounds while pregnant with Aiden. But I told to myself, its natural to put on weight while pregnancy. And I was not worried, and always believed I will return back to my normal self few months post delivery.

But then brutal realty hit me, and no matter what I did after giving birth, I had not been able to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Heck I was no where near, and kept on piling pounds after pounds.

As time went on, the busier I got. We had a second child and between juggling two children and a full time job, there was no time eat properly or even exercise. And the heavier I got.

It wasn’t long until I started wearing clothes that ranged from size 12 to 16.

I no longer felt confident or sexy. I had very little energy to do anything besides look after the kids and my job.

I was so upset about my body, I started avoiding being intimate with my husband. I feared that he would be turned off by the unsightly jiggles all over my body.

I decided to make a change in my life, and go all the way to lose my excess weight and finally feel sexy again. It was also not about my body image, I knew if I did not do anything about my bulging belly I may get very sick and that thought was scary. I feared not for myself, I feared if god forbid something happens to me then what who will take care of my family my kids, my husband. For months I tried and tried, and I did everything the mainstream media ever advised to lose weight.

At times of desperation, I turned to countless fad diets — where I:

Ate food that tasted like cardboard

Choked down diet pills that made my heart race

Suffered through gut wrenching workouts

Even starved myself, desperate to lose the weight

Each and every time I would stop dieting for only a few days only to have the weight pile back on with a vengeance.

I had no idea what was going on with my body. I finally gave in and convinced myself that I was just getting older and this was the body that came with age.

…until a visit to the emergency room early one morning turned my life upside down.

It was a Friday night.

I woke up shortly after falling asleep, with crushing chest pains and heavy breathing. I thought they were just from the Mexican food we ate that night. So, I took a couple of tums and sat up for what I thought was heartburn to subside.

But the pain did not go away. My left arm started tingling. I woke Tyler up and told him what I was feeling. It didn’t take Tyler long to respond:

“Baby, you might be having a heart attack. We need to go to the emergency room right now”, he said while already putting his pants on.

I broke into a cold sweat a few minutes later and I started to believe Tyler was right.

On the way to the hospital, I couldn’t help but think about the situation I was in. I was only 40 years old and here I was having a heart attack. I kept thinking about how Tyler could be all alone to take care of two young children.

That night at the ER, after several hours and tests, the doctors confirmed that I had a mild heart attack—they told me that based on my test results and current condition, I was very fortunate that it was not an even bigger one.

You see, l knew I was heavy and probably a bit overweight but little did I know that the doctors diagnosed me as clinically obese. Even worse, my ‘obesity’ had brought on cardiovascular damage.

The words that came out from the doctor that night remain vividly in my mind to this day:

“Susan, if you don’t drop at least 40 pounds, I’m not sure you can make it to your next birthday”, he began.

“Your arteries are hardening, your BMI is over 30 and your cholesterol levels are through the roof! You’re only 40 years old but you have a body and a heart of an 80 year old woman”, he continued.

I lost focus for a moment and asked myself rhetorically, “How did I get myself into this? I didn’t even finish eating that double chocolate cake at dinner!”

Everything had happened so fast that I didn’t even think twice about the ultra unhealthy lifestyle I had led the last few years—and the excess weight that came with it.

I really thought I was just getting older.

“You’re also showing signs of Type 2 Diabetes and I’m afraid to say that even weight loss surgery would be dangerous for you at this point”, the doctor continued with the bad news.

At that exact moment, I felt helpless and completely defeated. There was no way I could drop 40 pounds. Even with the fad diets, I had only managed to lose at most 10 pounds. But even then the weight always came back, with more weight.

I was released from the hospital the next day. When I got home, all I could do was to just sit and cry.

I did not know what I was going to do. Tyler and I had so many things planned for our future – our trip to Europe that summer, our plans to start our own catering business.

I even questioned whether I would be around to see my children’s next birthday.

I was sobbing uncontrollably when I felt a hand on my shoulder – it was my son Aiden. He had watched me cry the entire time. He put his arms around me and offered his assurance the only way he knew how:

“It’s going to be okay, mommy. Jesus will take care of you”, he said while holding back his tears.

At that moment, I felt guilty for letting this happen to me all these years. I knew I wanted to be there to see my son and daughter graduate from school, get married and see my grandchildren. I knew I had to do something but did not know what.

You know, I’m not a very religious person—I do go to church on almost every Sunday, but hearing Aiden speak about Jesus that evening compelled me to seek higher help at our church the very next day.

…and that’s where this sad story with certainty of a doomed ending would turn around.

That morning at church, I met Kyle Cooper, a retired United States Marine Sergeant, who would eventually be the one that saved my life.

Unbeknownst to me at that time, Kyle was at church on his way to speak to our pastor, when he saw me sobbing uncontrollably. Being the big hearted, caring person he is, he came up to me.

“Hello. What’s wrong?”, Kyle offered.

I stared blankly at Kyle, and for a moment, I wanted to tell him to get lost. But when I saw him in his marine uniform, everything came pouring out:

“My doctor told me that I’m going to die, real soon, if I don’t lose 40 pounds quickly. My cholesterol level is high, my blood pressure is high, my arteries are clogged and my body’s already showing signs of Type 2 Diabetes. I have to lose weight yesterday!”

I continued to tell him about how I had tried every fad diet and did every gut wrenching workout but none of them had helped me lose any weight—nothing worked!

I started crying again and let out softly, “I don’t want to die this young. I want to see my children grow up. I want to travel the world with Tyler”.

Kyle looked at me for a few seconds, smiled and put his hand on my shoulder,

“I’m Gunnery Marine Sergeant Kyle Cooper. I just got back from Afghanistan where I’ve been fighting and training soldiers for the last six months. I have helped over 200 middle aged reserve soldiers transform their overweight bodies and recapture their youthful health. If you’re willing to try, I’d like to work with you too”, he said with a very convincing face.

I looked at Kyle with disbelief and sarcastically and angrily retorted,

“What does a Marine Sergeant know about weight loss? Isn’t it a requirement for one not to be overweight in order to get into the marines? Are you kidding me? Please, just leave me alone!”

Kyle continued to smile and did not seem to be one bit affected by my rudeness.

For the next 15 minutes, Kyle proceeded to tell me everything he had discovered in the last six months— about how a disastrous mission in the mountains of Afghanistan led him to Sam Pak, a Korean medical student who would share with him an amazing weight loss discovery that have kept regular people in Asia with youthful energy and healthy bodies.

I sat in silence, mouth agape, in a trance, listening to every word…

He continued to tell me that he’d spent the last few weeks intensely planning on how to bring Sam’s remarkable weight loss method to the world.

The biggest revelation from Sam’s method was that women in their 30s, 40s and even 60s don’t lose weight and are storing fat because of metabolic acidosis. Metabolic acidosis occurs when your kidneys can’t get rid of food acid properly. It makes your body store fat and throws your fat burning cycles out of whack.

No matter how much you work yourself to death in the gym or restrict your diets as much as you want, metabolic acidosis makes absolutely certain you never lose an ounce of fat.

He continued to explain metabolic acidosis might very well be the main reason why I haven’t been able to lose any weight.

Kyle passed me a folder with 21 pages of Sam’s notes. Those notes outlined a fat loss program that tells you exactly what food to eat and when to eat each food.

I was still very skeptical, especially when the notes included eating foods that I thought were not ok on a diet, and excluded foods that I thought was ok on a diet.

But I owed it to Tyler and my children to at least give this program a try—I had nothing to lose but everything to gain.

I apologized to Kyle for my rude behavior and thanked him for coming up to me in my neediest of time and for sharing with me Sam’s program.

The next morning, I jumped out of bed like a girl on a mission. I headed to the grocery store and purchased every food listed in Kyle’s notes.

I remembered thinking “This seems a bit too easy, will this ever work?”

But I was desperate and ready to try anything.

Plus, Kyle obviously knows that Sam’s program works for fat loss since he had used it to transform the bodies and health of over two hundred overweight reserve marines, just a year earlier.

I immediately began eating the foods Kyle’s notes had outlined and followed the other surprisingly simple steps laid out.

Since I followed Sam’s notes, here are the SHOCKING results I experienced that I will always consider a true miracle:

My weight dropped like a rock from 216 lbs to 175 lbs in just 21 days. I no longer had to worry about my blood pressure or cholesterol levels. I’m happy to say that I have not had another heart attack!

I have since lost an additional 32 lbs (73 pounds total)! This was over the course of just one year. It was far easier than I expected, I never once felt hungry and I’ve not gained back any of the weight since.

I just had my 43rd birthday and, I feel as healthy and energetic as I did in my 20’s. Keeping up with children while juggling our business would have been impossible for me at my previous weight and condition!

My extreme fatigue and dramatic mood swings have disappeared and my creativity and “zest for life” have come roaring back just in time for our family’s trip to Italy this summer. And Tyler and I are having great sex (and lots of it) again. I truly couldn’t feel happier.

Since then, something else amazing has happened and it’s the main reason I’m sitting at my desk writing this letter now.

Kyle is an amazing person who is not only brilliant but also a natural teacher with a big heart. Our lives had been changed so much by Sam’s weight loss method that we encouraged Kyle to share that method with women everywhere.

Kyle has since retired from the marines, formed a weight loss program on the back of Sam’s notes and made it his mission in life to share this healthy weight loss program with women all across the world.

If you’re a woman who has struggled with weight loss, you owe it to yourself to watch Kyle’s presentation which you can find right here.

Turn up your speakers and click the play button to watch now.

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I surprised myself and returned to a normal lifestyle

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/surprised-returned-normal-lifestyle/

I surprised myself and returned to a normal lifestyle

I stumbled into triathlon in 2010 and was immediately hooked. Having never been an athlete, I surprised myself with how I took to the sport and found immense joy and happiness in everything related to it – the people, the training, the lifestyle, and the medals. I also found a sense of purpose and accomplishment within myself. On Nov. 2, 2013 I completed Ironman Florida in 13:31:51 – my most rewarding and difficult accomplishment to date. (An ironman is 2.4 miles of swimming, followed by a 112 mile bike ride, followed by a 26.2 run.) Little did I know that endeavor would be a walk in the park.

My symptoms started in February 2014; a dull ache in my right scapular region. I had just been dealt a devastating blow to my marriage and chalked it up to intense heartache. Over the next few months, the ache remained and hurt whenever I lifted my arm over my head. I had never hurt in that region before so I brushed it off to circumstance.

By the end of April, I had to make some changes. I picked a town in Florida to move to (Port Richey), packed up my family of pets and said goodbye to my husband in South Carolina. I was starting over all alone but determined to pick up the pieces.

Within days of arriving in Port Richey, I joined a running group to try and return to a normal lifestyle for me. Pretty soon, I started with a triathlon group as well. Spending time with likeminded people certainly helped with my mindset and it was because of this group that I met a man, John, who I immediately connected with. We started logging some pretty significant training miles together, pushing each other to the limits and having the most wonderful time doing it. Training time lead to other time and it was soon clear that I had found someone very, very special.

By September I was in the best shape of my life. I was setting personal bests in sprint triathlons and 5K road races. I was having a ball with John and loving life. Things weren’t just looking up, they WERE up. But my symptoms weren’t something I could ignore any longer. A triathlete is used to pushing through a level of pain, to get over the hurt in order to reach the sweet spot. But I couldn’t move past this hurt. The dull ache had turned into sharp pains lasting most of the day. The pain moved from the scapular region to the side shoulder to the front of my chest over the course of a month or so. I would wake up screaming in pain, gasping for breath. Sneezing brought me to tears. A jerk of my arm or a push to my back would result in me bowing down in pain. I would have to hold my right arm as if in a sling as the weight of just letting it dangle hurt my whole chest. I began to get nauseas after running. How could I be this physically fit, but yet feel so horrible? I kept praying it was just an injury, rather than an illness. As much as I hated for the racing season to end, I was looking forward to the break. My last race was on Oct. 10, 2014 – a 9-mile train run. I finished in a respectable time and really enjoyed the run. I later found out that I did it with my right lung 80 percent filled with fluid.

Around mid-September I finally decided to seek treatment. On account of the chest pain, I had a full cardiac workup which showed nothing other than I had a healthy heart. A chest X-ray showed nothing as well. A few weeks later I started physical therapy on the chance it was an injury. On the second session, the technician was quite insistent that I see an orthopedic doctor and even made arrangements for me to see a friend of his that day, on a semi urgent basis. Upon seeing that doctor for just a consultation, he was just as insistent that I have a CT scan done. Although insistent, I thought this was completely random. I do not remember his exact orders for why I should have the CT done, other than that I should have it done at a place that I would feel comfortable staying at for a few days if they found anything. I headed to Trinity Hospital for the CT. It was not long after the scans were done that the radiologist came and said that he advised I go to the ER. The CT had shown something on my liver.

On Oct. 14, 2014 an internal medicine doctor assigned to me from the ER told me she was admitting me to rule out cancer. I was alone at the time, John had not yet made it to the hospital. I called my parents and let them know I was being admitted and it did not look good. I felt calm at the time; I felt strong enough to beat anything that was going to be thrown my way.

I was diagnosed with stage IV adenocarcinoma lung cancer that spread to the liver and spine. My lungs, the powerhouse of my athletic ability, had turned on me.  I was stunned, shocked and now scared. I had never smoked in my life – it all seemed like a cruel joke.  But I vowed to remain strong in front of my parents and John during the hospital stay. I told myself I could fall apart at home. I had to have a thoracentesis and a chest tube. I had a plethora of CT’s and PET scans, chest X-rays, blood tests. The pain was very intense and I do not remember much of my two week hospital stay because of the medications.

During the weeks after my stay, the support from friends and family was amazing. I had never felt so much love or support in my life. John went above and beyond to help me recuperate and stay positive. I was very tired all the time, I had no energy, I had lost a significant amount of weight and I was very, very sad. I tried to rely on triathlon training and just make it to the next buoy, the next mile whatever that mile may bring. I was reminded daily that if I could do an Ironman, I could do this, that I was stronger than I thought. My spirituality rose sky high, however, my core was shattered. It was clear that all roads had lead me to this point. However, I felt my life was ending.

We rallied hard to get into Moffitt. I saw Dr. Eric Haura and both John and I immediately liked him – he was a triathlete!! I felt comfortable being with someone who knew my background of being a fighter and someone who was undoubtedly analytical and I wanted him to assure me I could get back to where I was athletically. He started genetic testing procedures to see if he could isolate the cancer cell and in the meantime I started on a six-week chemo round in November; going once every three weeks. I hated every second of it – I would have one good week and one/two very bad weeks. In February I was cleared to start taking a daily chemo pill, Zalkoryie. I felt in much more control with this method of treatment.

I also started exercising again. I am a firm believer in the power of exercise – for the mind, body and soul. I was an athlete and I wasn’t going to let lung cancer stop me. Especially if I can motivate someone else to get moving. I resumed all disciplines as best as I could and tried to rebuild all the muscle I had lost. I did a comeback triathlon with the St. Anthony’s sprint distance in May. Although my performance was nothing like in the past, I was proud I completed it.

However, by May the pill had stopped working and my tumors were growing again. I started on the next version of a chemo pill, Zykadia.  This pill had some wonderful reviews and many people had reported going years before losing resistance to it. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people. In September of this year, I found out my body is resisting this pill as well and my tumors are growing again. More genetic testing is being done and I will hopefully start a new treatment plan.

It is hard for me to explain what cancer has done to me. I realize my blessings are abundant, however I recognize on a daily basis all that is now gone. Though I am working hard to regain my athletic ability and once again feel that joy, I fear that part of my life is something I will never have back. I have lost my zest for life and bubbly personality; in its place are worries about debt, needles, pills and an early death. I feel guilty for John having to deal with my nausea and treatment plan rather than planning vacations or logging training miles together. Cancer knows no boundaries or rules; it doesn’t discriminate and it doesn’t play fairly.  I, however, have a triathlete brain to get me through this.  A triathlete doesn’t stop when the racing gets ugly – they keep going, they push through, they finish.

[enzaime-blog]

Daniel’s Nerve Cancer Story

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/daniels-nerve-cancer-story/

Daniel’s Nerve Cancer Story

Daniel was an otherwise healthy toddler until he suddenly started spitting out his food at meals, having recurrent fevers, and experiencing sore knees. He endured months of misdiagnosis before doctors identified advanced neuroblastoma, a rare cancer of the nerve tissue. At Memorial Sloan Kettering, he received an innovative therapy that activated his immune system to fight the cancer.

In June 1989, at the age of two and a half, Daniel, who had always been a good eater, started spitting out his food regularly at meals. A large, apparently healthy child who was at the upper end of the height and weight charts for his age, Daniel had never previously experienced any significant health problems. This sudden change was very troubling to his mother, Karen, who, at the time, had just given birth to Daniel’s brother, Michael. “I spent all of my well-baby visits for Michael inquiring about Daniel,” Karen remembers.

Karen asked the pediatrician to do a chest x-ray, believing that some sort of obstruction must be preventing him from swallowing his food. The pediatrician refused, insisting that he did not want to expose a two-year-old to what he felt was unnecessary radiation.

At the same time, Daniel began to develop recurring fevers not seemingly related to any other symptoms. While both Karen and Daniel’s father, John, found these developments to be worrisome, the pediatrician reassured them that such symptoms were normal childhood occurrences. By September, Daniel’s condition had worsened. He came down with a different cold or flu almost every week, but, still, the pediatrician was not concerned, blaming the continual illnesses on nursery school, which, Karen was quick to point out, Daniel did not attend. “I just thought there was definitely something seriously wrong with him,” she says. “It was my mother’s intuition.”

Tumor Hiding — in Plain Sight

One morning in early October, Daniel woke up crying. Unable to walk or crawl, he told Karen that his knee hurt. Karen took Daniel to the pediatrician immediately, whereupon she was told to go to the emergency room of their local hospital in New Jersey to meet with an orthopedist. After a long, painful day of waiting in the ER, the orthopedist arrived. Despite Karen’s pleading for an x-ray of Daniel’s knee, the orthopedist, believing that a virus located in the hip was the cause of Daniel’s pain, ordered x-rays of only the hip. When the x-rays came back, neither the doctor nor the consulting radiologist saw anything of concern in Daniel’s hip. (Later, when Daniel was finally correctly diagnosed with neuroblastoma, doctors at Memorial Sloan Kettering reviewed these initial x-rays and identified the presence of a large tumor in Daniel’s spine — a tumor that had been missed by the previous doctors, who had been looking only at the hip portion of the x-rays.)

Because Daniel’s fevers had never dissipated, the pediatrician ordered a series of blood tests, the results of which all appeared normal. The pain, fever, and absence of a diagnosis continued through November, even after the pediatrician referred them to a pediatric specialist for a second opinion. Throughout this period, Daniel’s doctors, suspecting arthritis, considered sending him to a rheumatologist in Manhattan, but since none of the blood tests confirmed its presence, the referral was never made. Instead the pediatrician advised Karen to treat Daniel’s pain with Tylenol and told her that she could rest assured that whatever was going on with Daniel it was minor, since all the tests ruled out anything serious.

Prayers and Supplements

By Thanksgiving, Karen and John were at the end of their ropes. “I didn’t feel very thankful,” Karen says. She felt helpless as Daniel’s fever and intense pain persisted. Karen adds, “I just prayed, ’Lord, I know I should be thankful, but please show us the cause of Daniel’s suffering!’” With few options remaining, in early December Karen and John took Daniel for a painfully uncomfortable two-hour car ride to a highly recommended naturopathic doctor. The naturopath prescribed $400-worth of vitamins and supplements without even examining Daniel. “I felt so sorry,” Karen recalls, “that we caused Daniel to endure so much extra pain on this long trip, in our desperation to find an answer to Daniel’s suffering.”

It was a really big help knowing that these are caring human beings helping you.

John ErdDaniel’s Father

Reflecting on those early weeks of December, Karen and John say they noticed that Daniel’s pain had moved from one knee to the other knee, then from the knees to his hip. He also started to complain of a “tummy ache.” When Karen asked him to point to where it hurt, he pointed to his back. It turned out that “tummy ache” was Daniel’s catchall phrase for “pain.”

Finally, a Doctor Who Listens

It was around this time that Karen made a conscious decision to place everything in God’s hands. When the stress over Daniel’s condition began to get the most of her, Karen concentrated on reassuring Bible verses like Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” “Various scripture passages reminded me that it is God who is in control,” Karen says. “After much prayer and reflection, I thought perhaps a rheumatologist has seen something like this.” In mid-December, she insisted that the pediatrician provide her with names of rheumatologists, since Daniel’s severe knee and hip pain resembled the symptoms of arthritis. As she pondered the names of the doctors and hospitals given to her, Karen prayed that God would make it extremely obvious to her where to bring Daniel.

When Karen called to schedule an appointment with Dr. Thomas Lehman, a pediatric rheumatologist at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan, the doctor himself answered the phone. The receptionist was strangely absent from her desk, Dr. Lehman explained, so while he and Karen waited for the receptionist to return, Dr. Lehman proceeded to inquire about Daniel’s symptoms. “He listened for almost 30 minutes,” Karen remembers with appreciative amazement. A further sign to Karen that her prayers were being answered, Dr. Lehman just happened to have an opening at eight o’clock the following morning. Karen could not help but think that perhaps Dr. Lehman would be the one to finally diagnose Daniel’s mysterious illness.

It was nearing Christmas when Karen and John took Daniel to the appointment with Dr. Lehman. They remember his excitement at driving across the “Christmas bridge”— the George Washington Bridge, which connects northeastern New Jersey to upper Manhattan. Almost immediately, Dr. Lehman proved to be different from Daniel’s previous doctors. “He was wonderful!” Karen gushes. “None of the other doctors had wanted to hear the full chronology of Daniel’s illness, but Dr. Lehman wanted to know everything since he was in utero.” Karen is quick to mention, too, that as a physician Dr. Lehman recognized the utter importance of listening carefully to the mother, who knows her child best.

After absorbing the details of and asking questions about every iota of Daniel’s condition, Dr. Lehman said that Daniel was exhibiting many of the symptoms of some rarer types of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis (JRA). While waiting for the results of the blood tests, Dr. Lehman prescribed Daniel the non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug naproxen used to treat a rare form of JRA.

At Last, a Diagnosis — “Daniel Has Cancer”

Daniel appeared to improve over Christmas, but on the evening of New Year’s Day he complained that his chest hurt. When Karen and John lifted his shirt to see what was wrong, they were horrified to find that his chest was swollen like a barrel. They notified Dr. Lehman, who insisted that they bring Daniel in first thing the following morning. “And we got a phone call from his office before 7 am to make sure we were coming,” Karen notes. “At that point,” John remembers, “we knew it was bad, but we still never thought cancer.”

Karen spent the day and night with Daniel at the hospital, as he received blood tests and the chest x-rays that Karen had requested of Daniel’s previous doctors six months before. Early the next morning, waking next to Daniel in his crib, Karen overheard someone in the hallway mention “the big C.” Suddenly, a voice in her head said, “Daniel has cancer.” Shortly after, Dr. Lehman walked in the room and told Karen that Daniel most likely had cancer, possibly neuroblastoma, but that it was treatable.

“After I calmed down a bit, I said I needed to call my husband, although I could barely utter the words through my tears,” Karen says. “It was such a huge shock, but it was also a great relief to finally have a diagnosis,” she adds. “The next thing Dr. Lehman told me was that he had already contacted the best neuroblastoma oncologist in the world, Nai-Kong Cheung from Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. Little did I know that he literally was the best doctor in the world!”

Dr. Cheung arrived later that afternoon having already studied Daniel’s blood samples and the chest x-rays, which showed a large mass in his chest. After more tests and scans, he told Karen and John that Daniel had advanced stage IV neuroblastoma, which is a relatively rare cancer of the nerve network that carries messages from the brain throughout the body. Dr. Cheung recommended that Daniel be transferred to Memorial Sloan Kettering to begin treatment at once. “We very quickly knew, after speaking to a number of people, that Memorial was the best place in the world to treat this,” comments John.

New Treatment Provides New Hope

When they arrived at Memorial Hospital, the Erds were informed that a new treatment protocol called immunotherapy had recently been approved for patients with neuroblastoma. This was welcome news because, at the time, no child with stage IV neuroblastoma had been completely cured with the standard therapy. Immunotherapy uses the patient’s own immune system, through the injection of what is known as a monoclonal antibody, to help fight the cancer. The monoclonal antibody attaches to a marker on the surface of neuroblastoma cells, which becomes a target for the patient’s immune system to attack and kill the tumor. Daniel, at three years old, would be one of the very first patients in the world to receive this innovative protocol.

But first he would have to undergo standard chemotherapy to reduce the size of the tumor, which had invaded his knee and hip bones, a number of his ribs, as well as his spinal canal. It had taken so long to make the correct diagnosis that the tumor now blocked his spinal fluid from circulating and was crowding his organs, including his lungs, to such an extent that one of his lungs collapsed during the initial surgery to install the chemotherapy port in his chest.

The doctors informed the Erds that the entire treatment process would take eight months. To ease Karen and John’s commute, Karen’s parents quickly volunteered to take in the couple along with Daniel’s eight-month-old brother, Michael, for what turned out to be almost an entire year. “Words cannot express how thankful we are for the prayers and support of our families and so many others throughout our ordeal,” says Karen.

The Power of Childhood Resilience

Daniel was vomiting on and off throughout the night of his first chemotherapy treatment, which also happened to be his third birthday. But by the next morning, when Karen comforted him, saying, “You poor baby, you were so sick last night,” he remembered nothing. He was more interested in going to the hospital playroom, which he had seen the day before. “That’s the one positive thing about having cancer at that young age,” Karen explains. “The younger kids do better because all they know is today,” adds John.

Dr. Cheung was amazed at Daniel’s almost immediate positive response to the chemotherapy. When he came to see Daniel the following Monday, he found the three-year-old happily running around the playroom, seemingly free of pain. Unfortunately, the entire process was not as easy, with Daniel experiencing various infections, including a very serious case of septic shock. Throughout it all, Karen and John asked many questions, a practice that Dr. Cheung encouraged. “He told us, ’Doctors don’t know everything. In many cases, we try something and if that works, then we continue down that path,’” John recalls. “He was the most humble, selfless, caring doctor I have ever met,” Karen adds.

 Everybody in the neuroblastoma team is thrilled to know that Daniel is coping well, and that he learned the art of healing in nursing school, which will allow him to give back to those less fortunate.

Nai-Kong V. CheungNeuroblastoma Program Head

And it wasn’t just Dr. Cheung. Once the chemotherapy had shrunk the tumor enough to allow the bulk of the remaining portion to be surgically removed, Michael P. La Quaglia, a pediatric surgeon specializing in treating children with neuroblastoma, performed Daniel’s delicate surgery in August. “When we initially met Dr. La Quaglia, after listening to our story he said, ’I can’t imagine what you are going through.’ He was so personable and caring right from the start. It was a really big help knowing that these are caring human beings helping you,” John says.

Success — Daniel as a Happy Young Adult

Between the chemotherapy, the monoclonal antibody immunotherapy, and the surgery — which together accounted for the 350 days Daniel spent in the hospital during that fourth year of his young life — the tumor eventually disappeared. “Daniel’s positive attitude and compliant nature were so helpful throughout the entire ordeal,” Karen remembers. There were a number of post-treatment-related health concerns, including some developmental delays, but Daniel went on to be a smart and happy child, adolescent, teenager, and, now, young adult.

Inspired by all the remarkable healthcare workers he has met during his treatment, Daniel has decided he wants to give something back and is currently studying to receive his degree in nursing. He is also an avid and talented artist, and has been actively involved in hockey, paintball, and snowboarding with his brother, Michael, and friends. Looking back on the long, twisting road that has led them as a family to the present, the Erds, fortified by their faith in God, take nothing for granted and are able to appreciate the great gift of life that is presented to them each and every day.

The Erd family dedicates this story of courage and resilience to Daniel’s loving grandparents — Henry and Lida Erd, and Anton and Kay Thomasen.