#need to see a doctor

[anathemaegg]

urgh the holidays is a rough time to have unmanaged heartburn issues

[cozylittleartblog]

what if there was a plague doctor that was so so so cute (and was also secretly a bird themself)

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[uncharted-constellations]

I’m Me

[ninjuice]

Vent post

I need to see a doctor quite badly. But I'm nervous because last time I went to a doctor for my shots for school and about some strange weight gain (2013) my female doctor told me "just stop drinking soda" and wouldn't listen to me when I told her I didn't drink soda. Idk if I have the sanity or energy to go through it again, but I hate being overweight.

I just want to stop thinking.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

An unbothered queen has entered, and subsequently left.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[eightdoctor]

they need to put all the doctor who authors on big brother or something like i need to see what happens when you lock them all in a room. probably murder or at the very least some extreme violence

[gallusrostromegalus]

Hope everyone had a good Christmas I got... Shingles.

[daughter-of-war]

Something I think about a lot is how the 13th Doctor clearly has dyed-blonde hair. She has visible dark roots. This can mean two things: Either Time Lords can just... regenerate with funky, non-natural-human hair colours (perhaps like how Time Ladies always seem to regenerate into a full beat of makeup..), OR that the regeneration energy of 12 to 13 fried her otherwise naturally brown / black hair into a blonde.

Of course, the latter leads to so much potential. Does the Doctor now have to upkeep her dye job? Does she disappear sometimes for "five minutes" only for Yaz to stare disapprovingly at her grown-out roots? Has any of the Fam ever taken her to a hair salon or does she bleach her hair in the TARDIS console room with a jug of water and some totally-safe-don't-worry Space Bleach that nearly sets the console on fire when she bumps into it? Where is all the art of 13 with dark hair?

I need answers.

[hubrishazard]

I edited together all the clips of 14 frantically twirling and climbing and sliding around in here like his life depends on it

[uncanny-tranny]

"If men got periods/needed abortion/got ovarian or breast cancer, those resources would be handed out like candy! They'd be more plentiful than ATMs!!"

You mean perisex cis men. You mean perisex cis men. Say what you mean.

I'm a trans man. I avoid all medical care because ninety percent of my doctors have not treated me properly because I am a trans man. I am acutely aware that doctors would be more than happy to not provide me care on the basis of my being trans, even if it costed my life.

Every time I so much as think about the doctors, I'm reminded of men like Robert Eads - of how my care is at the whim of the opinions a doctor has about my life. And because of my own past negative experiences, I hesitate to open my patient portal to schedule an appointment. When I have gotten a good doctor, it's not been the rule, it's the exception. I have a doctor right now who I'm lucky to see, who actually treats me like a human being. I'm celebrating that a doctor finally treats me like a person.

If you want to group all men as being the same, I hope you're willing to have that blood on your hands. Because that care is routinely kept away from men, and it's a real, tangible, systemic issue.

I don't talk about this because I see being trans as this negative thing, but because I want to continue living and I want my trans siblings to live. I understand the frustration that people have who say this - it's another systemic issue that also costs lives. However, I am alarmed at the trend of... forgetting or perhaps erasing that this is still an issue for men, that we literally aren't treated the same as somebody like a cis perisex woman. No doctor has ever treated me like one, and of that I know for a fact. And this is a simple fix - be clear about who you mean when you talk about a group of people or a specific phenomenon. That applies when you are talking about any group of people because, generally, these overgeneralizations will be useless because it can't apply to everyone, and might just hurt a group of people you may not even be intending on hurting.

[dandelionjack]

do you guys ever forget about Age. me too

[corallapis]

[aq2003]

doctor who said hahah yeah we're gonna make the tenth doctor a guy that gets so deeply and utterly attached to the people around him and one by one he watches them leave and it drives him to a complete breakdown as he gets his heart broken over and over again and keeps causing harm to those around him and then finally he has a conversation where someone tells him that they want him to live actually, that he's a wonderful person and he needs to make the decision to save his own life along with the rest of humanity's. and then when the battle is over and for the first time in so long he laughs with real relief and joy that he's alive and that he's happy that he's alive, he has to sacrifice himself for the person that gave him that reason for living back. he dies alone and scared and desperate to cling onto the love that shaped his identity and the pain that resulted from it. And all i have to say on this is that i need to strangle rtd with my bare hands

[sadcoms]

until i recently read posts on here about how there is an inherent queerness to the doctor and rose's relationship in how it's unspoken and filled with yearning that i'd never really considered that element, despite knowing for ages that RTD is gay but. man. it's just reframed a lot of the series for me, like the idea that you have this lonely man who's just watched his people die and is self-destructive and misanthropic and traumatised and he can love again and he wants to but it has so many risks.

but especially S3 and how it adds even more weight to the doctor's grieving widower status. how he tells martha that he and rose were together but martha refers to rose as a friend to tallulah; the fact that he can only say they were together once she is gone; how the only other person that both can feel how he feels but also understands the depth of his feelings is jack, a queer man himself. and I've been thinking to myself lately oh, it's ok, the doctor and rose probably accidentally got married on at least one planet or something but also the point is that there was no official title that could convey to people the extent that they meant to each other, that the doctor can really only tell donna that rose was his friend even though it is so wholly inadequate and she comes to see that by the end of the episode (and martha too of course). how people who saw the doctor and rose together assumed they were a couple, like on krop tor, but once there's no more physical evidence of the relationship it becomes more vague (and simultaneously clearer).

anyway something about how christopher eccleston said he based his portrayal of nine on RTD and something about RTD saying that his husband is "in every good man i write now" and how the doctor and ruby seeing each other in the club mimics his first meeting with his husband aka the one moment he would use a time machine to go back to hmmm

[themathomhouse]

this disability pride month, stop making jokes about people in wheelchairs standing up or walking.

can I stand and walk? sure, for a short while and with pain. the consequences for trying to be out all day without a wheelchair are that I'll be in bed for the rest of the week, too tired and in too much pain to move.

but the government won't give me my own wheelchair because they have the same attitude as these jokes - I can stand up, so I don't need one. exercise is good for you, you should walk!

it keeps me trapped in the house, unable to do anything more than short stints anywhere without borrowing or hiring a wheelchair - one that causes me pain to sit in and relies on someone to push me (usually with difficulty), because they're not going to have a high-end chair for that sort of thing.

it's not a miracle that a wheelchair user can stand or walk. it's something we should aspire to see more often.