#physical therapy exercises for elbow pain

[mypainclinicglobal]

Experience effective physiotherapy for elbow pain at My Pain Clinic in Bandra, Mumbai. Our specialized physical therapy exercises are designed to relieve your symptoms and enhance elbow function.

[ooc-miqojak]

As someone who has been in chiropracticfor 17 years due to a back injury at 18... and has had the physical care go from treating my back, to treating muscle tension from sitting at a desk all the time? Totally valid, all of these. And they're more important than you think! Stop and do some hand stretches! The un-ending burning/tingling that starts in your fingertips is hard to work on and stop/prevent once it has started, and it hurts in a maddening, unceasing way that over-the-counter stuff like Advil just doesn't seem to help with...don't let carpal tunnel start to set in!

this is a poster i made for my call to action assignment in humanities! it's a bunch of basic and easy stretches for people who sit and work at a desk all day (me)

the idea is that you'd put the poster up above ur desk and do the stretches every 30 minutes or so,, the whole routine won't take more than about 6 minutes to complete and when done regularly it can prevent wrist, shoulder, neck and back pain! :)

all these stretches can be done while sitting (although i HIGHLY recommend you stand up and move around while taking a break from working)

you can get a free digital copy of this poster here on my gumroad!

[carminecherry]

RULES? THIS IS A STREET FIGHT | hanma shuji

KINKTOBER 2024

this is PART ONE of the series NO TAPPING OUT

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!hanma x fem!MMA fighter!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after winding up in a street fight, you catch the eye of a sick bastard whose mental wires are so horrifically crossed that pain and pleasure have become one. he lives for the fight and once he has his eye on something or someone there is no getting away unscathed. he wants to sink his teeth into you and see how good of a fighter you really are. you will never go down without a fight. and you will never tap out. (Basically, Hanma is a fucked up, horny weirdo who has an unhealthy obsession with you)

⇝ PART ONE LENGTH: 3k words

⇝ PART ONE WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of violence, animal death (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. you're nearly recovered from a life-threatening injury and got the go ahead from your physical therapist to do some light exercises. however, your walk to the gym is cut short when you find yourself caught in a street fight.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Welcome to Kinktober 2024! After not thinking hard about it, I figured Hanna is the perfect scary, fucked up guy to write about. For plot reasons, Y/N is a seasoned MMA fighter. Hanma is a fucked up, horny weirdo who develops an unhealthy obsession with you.

keep an eye on the tags and stay safe this kinktober! <3

Spotify Playlist to listen to while reading:

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

Your footsteps on the pavement echo as you cut through a dark alley between the city buildings. The air nips at the skin of your face, forcing you to nuzzle into your jacket. Winter has set in, draining the city of life and color, the brittle corpse of a vibrant fall. The sun sets quickly these days, light retreating earlier and earlier. 

The air feels more hollow now, carrying sound further. The scuff of your shoes and the rustle of your jacket as you adjust your arms to cross; the tips of your ears growing rosy with cold. 

The worst thing is how it cuts right to your bone. Like ghostly fingertips trailing up and down your skeleton. Prodding in their icy nails, finding points of weakness and wrapping their fingers there. Gripping ferociously tighter and tighter.  Locking your joints, making your movements stiff. 

You shake off the spectral grip, but the tightness in your body clings to the ghost of past injuries. You’ve racked up quite a few over the years, on and off the ring. But you’re no stranger to discomfort. 

You roll your shoulder as it starts to cramp, laughing curtly to yourself. You can feel the hourglass of time trickling away, especially on days like today. It was catching up to you, your scrappy younger years of street fighting. Your short-lived wrestling career. 

You were still on hiatus, living on the money you saved from your brief stint in the spotlight. Your body kept score. You rub absently at your locked elbow. 

Physically, you’re more or less healed. The physical therapy has been hell but you’re through the worst of it. You had only a few more weeks until you could start training properly again. All of those hours of practice, all of the years of building up your body to be taken away in an instant by a stupid  accident. 

You stretch your arm in front of you, staring at the hinge of your elbow. You test the range of motion, flexing as far as you can, remembering how when you opened your eyes it had been bent the wrong way. This time, it’s the memory that makes you shiver. 

It had come back to you in flashes, large chunks still missing. You laid there, phasing slowly in and out of consciousness. The last thing you remember is riding on the back of your motorcycle, cruising down the city streets, the world blurring between oranges and reds as the seasons changed. 

You can’t remember the exact moment, but the police report stated you had been sideswiped by a drunk driver. You lost count of how many times you read those crinkled pieces of paper. A thin file to encapsulate the biggest moment of your life.

Your precious bike had been totaled. Seeing all of the pictures, you don’t know how you survived. The drunk driver hadn’t been so lucky. You don’t forgive him and you don’t mourn him, the feelings sit complicated and unprocessed in your chest even now. 

You remember the sounds first. The drone of his car horn through the crunched metal of his vehicle. The screaming, your screaming, ripped from your throat. It sounded foreign. The sirens in the distance, growing louder. The rush of traffic as vehicles swerved around you. 

You couldn’t move the first time you awoke, body shocked. Whether it was a gentle breeze rocking the tree branches above you or if your vision was wavering you’ll never know But the leaves swaying side to side had been hypnotic, a moment of calm in your calamity. Your eyes followed as one deep-ruby leaf detached and floated to the earth. 

Turning your head to see where it landed, you saw your mangled arm. It looked fake, bent in all the wrong ways. You couldn’t feel it, move it. This couldn’t be real, that’s all you could think. The safety gear on your body was torn to shreds. 

There was red. So much red. Another crimson leaf fluttered to the ground. The peace was in such contrast to everything else. Your blood pooled, the edge trickling its way over the leaves adding a sick, glossy red to the autumn colors.

There were more memories. The ambulance arriving, the swarm of bodies blurring your vision. Asking you questions, the words sounded strange; just noise. The electric shock of pain when they put you on the gurney. The blackness that ate at the edge of your vision. 

They said it was a miracle that you survived, bones set well, you could walk, could use your arms… Everything was a miracle. The word lost meaning over the months as you recovered. Now, here you are. A miraculous, spiteful force of nature, freezing her ass off walking to the gym. You’d finally gotten the go-ahead from your doctors to do some light exercises. You were happy to be able to do something, anything. Body growing restless after months of unuse.

This walk had never felt this long though. Your legs are heavy and tight, slowing you down. You round another corner, the sun dropping below the buildings, shadows creeping farther and farther. A new sound slices through the hollow night air. You pause, looking around. It was far away, but it’s piercing. Like the feeling of falling through ice and being plunged into the freezing waters beneath.

It was an inhuman cry, hissing and wailing out. You hear the hushed laughter of boys beneath the sound. The tightness in your joints are forgotten as they’re drenched in the adrenaline that rushes through your veins. 

You surge with power as you hurriedly approach the sound, quickly finding the small posse at the alley’s dead end. You don’t stop, you don’t hesitate, you don't assess the situation before you’re running,  swinging, knocking one of the three boys to the ground; his hair is a crispy box-dyed bleach mess. He let out a startled cry, his voice cracking; he couldn’t be older than 16, the youngest looking of the group.

The two other boys turn, startled. The shorter with tightly permed black hair and the other with a buzz cut close to the scalp. Little gangster wannabes. They back away from the crumpled, trembling lump of fur at their feet. The cat lets out a weak cry. You feel strange, like you're out of your body. There is a feeling. Is it anger that flares? Your body moves on its own. 

You kick the boy on the ground, a yelp followed by a wet heave wracks his body. The other two break from their stupor, springing to action. You still feel heavy, tight. Like trying to run in a dream. But the motion is familiar, the strength is still your own as you connect a solid right hook with the shortest boy. A sick pop clicks in his jaw as he goes stumbling back. The final boy looks terrified, but lunges at you nonetheless. 

You sidestep his attack easily, tripping him as he approaches. You pause there, with all three on the ground. Logical brain finally clicks on as you snap back into your body. Your eyes sweep the narrow space. 

The dirty ground littered with trash, the blackened brick of the walls that feel like they’re closing in on you, the quivering mass of fur, matted in blood, crawling its way to the safety of the corner. You stand as the barrier between the three young men and their feline victim as they get back on their feet. Shit. 

3-on-1 would’ve been a challenge in any condition, but after months of strict bedrest you’re utterly unprepared. You had the advantage of surprise, but now… With your back to the wall, you had very few options.

You take a deep breath, cracking your neck in anticipation. “Come on, bring it you little fucks. Fight with someone who can fight back” They hesitate. “COME ON!“ You agitate. They share a look, the shortest boy seems worse for wear as his jaw hangs limp in his hands that cup it. Dislocated. That has to suck. The buzz cut boy leans to whisper to the permed boy who nods gingerly before taking off. “COWARD!” You shout after him. 

This leaves you with two. You’re liking these odds more. They were slightly taller than you, but still children. Gangly and uncoordinated. Any natural athleticism they have is unfocused, untrained next to you; hardened over years of practice. “Come on man, let’s just go” says the box-blonde on the left. The other boy, with his buzz cut barks back, “Nah, let’s teach this bitch a lesson” with fake bravado. The blonde looks nervous but nods, squaring his shoulders.

You stretch, bouncing on your feet, prepared for them to make a move. The buzz cut boy charges with a battle cry. You bite back a laugh at the childish attack as your foot connects with the side of his head in a signature roundhouse kick. It’s like punting a bowling ball. You hop it off, rolling your ankle through the tingling sensation of impact.

He tumbles to the ground with a grunt. Blood mixing with saliva that drips from his mouth. The box-blonde is shaking. Arms up in fists but makes no move. “Come on! Get her! Don’t be a pussy!” The buzz cut shouts to him from the ground, lobbing a big ball of spit and blood to the icy concrete with a splat. 

“You’re pathetic.” You goad. Your wrestler persona peeking through after all of these months on the sidelines. “Sniveling children. Get out of my sight.” You seeth, eyes, boring into the lanky blonde. You hold him there, under your gaze. His decision is clear. He links arms with his fallen colleague and pulls him down the alley as they make their escape. 

You exhale, letting your body relax. The only sounds now are your breaths and the shuffling of your shoes as you back into the space further, eyes still on the empty space where the boys had run away, the darkness setting in as the veil of night raced across the sky. 

Your back meets the dirty brick of the alley wall as you slide down, the stupidity of what you’d just done really sinking in. If things had gone south… You risked more than your safety, you risked thousands of dollars of P.T., all of those months of recovery, even the future of your career. 

The jagged breathing from the lump in the corner pulls you back. That's why you did it; risked it. You extend a brittle finger to the creature. It tries to curl away from you but it’s… Fading. Your chest clenches. You reach further, giving a gentle scratch to the cat as it tries to bite. It can’t move enough. 

You continue, giving soft strokes over the cat’s forehead, avoiding the open wounds. One eye is… Gone. The other blinks at you, teary. The sound is unreal. Like a weak gurgle, mewl of agony. Your throat constricts, swallowing hard. Tears blur the edge of your vision.

The cat, with what little strength it has left, doesn't fight you. Instead nudging up into your finger, still shaking. You scoot closer, slowly, letting its body rest against yours. You feel its coldness pressing into your leg, siphoning your heat. It vibrates there. Twitching occasionally. It’s whimpers soften. A small noise replacing it. A staccato purr. 

The breaths come slower, body stilling. You look down, each beat of your heart clenches in your chest painfully. You feel warmth on your cheeks, wetness, tears finally falling. You share one final look with the cat before its eye closes, slowing in its spot next to you. 

You lean your head back into the bricks, feeling like you're sinking. A fiery gnawing at your chest like your drowning. And then you’re alone in the alley. The light glittering of snow crystals float from the inky sky, not enough to make proper snowflakes. They twinkle, catching in the low light. 

The cold wraps her arms around you, sinking into your bones once more. Locking you there as the little heat left beneath your fingers seeped from the soft fur, unreplaced. You breathe, a cloud forming before you as the temperature plummets. 

You could've sat there forever, but you’re stirred by the sound of footsteps approaching. Three… Maybe four people. You harden your face, pulling yourself up from the pavement, bracing for whatever or whoever turns the corner.

You feel yourself detaching from the moment as it sears into your mind. The long shadows of four men are cast along the frigid brick. Three familiar silhouettes, one taller, larger, meaner looking man between them. His head was shaved close to the scalp like the smaller boy next to him; the family resemblance is unmistakable. An older brother, perhaps, your age or slightly older. 

He turned a scathing look to his miniature, “You’re wasting my time with one, little bitch?” “She’s strong, bro. She’s gotta be running with someone.” The older brother brings a fist down on the younger’s buzzed head, “You fucking pussy, wasting my time. This better be worth my while…” The little brother massages his head, “She’ll make it worth your while…” The elder turns his eyes to you, looking you up and down. The look in his eyes makes you feel sick, alarm bells going off. 

You’re in deep shit. No escape. Feeling the effects of your healed injuries. You can’t stand this. Feeling weak. It made the sick feeling intensify. You put your fists up. Once again, bouncing lightly on your feet as though second nature. The large man’s face changes, intrigued. “N-nothing to say now, huh bitch.” The box-blonde sputters out.

A look of annoyance flashes across the big man’s face. “Can you actually fight? Show me what you’ve got, kitten.” His arrogance, his tone. It makes your skin crawl. You were gonna make him hurt. 

Muscle memory takes over, testing the new, healed tissue. You’re a bolt, closing the distance between the two of you in a blink. Feigning a hook and landing an admittedly low blow. Burying your foot deep between his legs. Your shoe presses into the denim of his jeans and the soft, sensitive flesh beneath, finally ending against the hard bone of his pelvis. The noise he lets out in guttural, sick.  

But this is a street fight. He holds his crotch, huffing, a dry heave. The three smaller men back away. Veins pop along his brow and shaved head. Face red with anger. “I’m gonna fucking kill y-.” Your knee connects with his lowered face, your elbow ready to rebound the soft spot where his skull meets his spine. A dirty move you haven’t used since you were a teen. He stumbles, dropping to a knee.

You don’t stop, kicking once hard into his chest. You feel the crack of a rib. His meaty arms shoot up as the wind is knocked out of him, trapping your leg. “Fuck!” You twist, but his grip tightens. You punch hard, but can’t get enough force with your leg like this. 

His eyes are murderous as he crashes his body to the ground, pulling you with him. He still hadn’t regained his breath, and  this new position allowed you to snake your free leg behind his head, squeezing hard. Wriggling to get purchase on his arm, securing him in a headlock. The tide is shifting back in your favor before a dirty sneaker crashes into your face. 

You see stars, grip loosening. Another kick to your shoulder, then your head. The other three boys were stomping you. You squint your eyes, tuck your chin, hanging on until the big man loses consciousness. If you can just hold on. You see red smattering the soles of the boy’s shoes. 

This is what they’d done before. Trampling the poor creature that lay lifeless in the corner of the alley. Stomping on those who were vulnerable. You hate them. You hate them. Acidic, venomous, the electric feeling of adrenaline in your veins, pushing you.

The body in your grasp finally goes limp and you bounce up, feeling the world spin, skull knocking into the chin of one of the boys. There's something hot, sticky in your eyelashes, making it hard to see. You wipe, seeing red. You can’t help it, this is so fucked. You laugh. The sound ricocheting harshly off the walls. 

“You could’ve just left.” You laugh, head spinning. They shift on their feet, uneasy, fists raised. Eyes darting between the man on the ground and you. You hang your head, another humorless laugh escapes you.  

You cast your eyes to the man on the ground too, freezing when you see the tattoo peeking up above the collar of his shirt on the back of his neck. A gang tattoo that you’ve seen here and there around the ring. Bad news. These guys gamble on matches, big money, and deal in the darker, shadier parts of the underbelly of the city. 

Very bad news, when he groans from his place on the ground. It’s now or never. You rush the boy with a dark perm, his jaw still slack and hanging unnaturally from his face. He flinches, jumping out of your way. You see an opening and you take it. 

Sprinting down the alley. The heavy slapping of your shoes on the concrete and your heartbeat in your ears. You hear the hesitant steps of someone trying to follow you and a shout after you, but yours are the only steps that twist around the maze of alleyways. You could run them with your eyes closed. The alleys where you grew up. 

You zip around, losing your pursuers. You feel the rush, the high as muscles reawaken, cold air filling your lungs. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to move like this again after the accident. It’s melancholic; feeling so good to move but so shameful to run away. Your heart could burst with all of the emotion from tonight. You had no plan, no destination, Just to put as much distance as possible between you and the foursome you escaped. Coward your heart whispered. Weak… You would get back, get strong again. You would win. You never want to run away like this again. To lose.

[saturnville]

on the frontline, II

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: the bond between nessa and john begins to grow. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

“You know, Dixon, you’re really pretty.” 

Nessa’s hands halted momentarily. She raised her gaze to meet his blue eyes, which twinkled with mischief and temptation. She squinted slightly and shook her head. She nodded toward his arm which he raised just slightly. 

Weeks had passed since the gunshot and he had made significant progress. He was able to start physical therapy early with her and a series of shadowing nurses, but, with his job, Nessa made it a priority to ensure he was in the best shape. He missed flying and she wanted to make sure he was able to get to at least one more mission before everything was said and done. 

“Is that so?” Nessa questioned, pulling the bandages off his healing wounds. Her gloved fingers traced the scar. It was healing nicely; the swelling was going down, the stitches were still in place, and the tissue was scarring healthily. She felt John jump at her touch. 

John nodded. Her knee nudged his thigh which prompted him to spread his legs just wide enough for her to stand between them. He hummed at the warmth that entered his space and fought an internal battle to keep his hand to himself. To run his fingertips along the curves that were prominent even with being covered by thick pants.

Nessa turned and swiped cleaning solution, cotton pads, and bandage off the side table. The cooling solution was ice against body, which seemed to heat in her presence. Nessa’s left hand held the cotton in place as her right placed the bandage across his chest. Her hands were small against his body and they felt so good. 

“Well, thank you. You’re too kind. Lift your arm for me, beloved.” That was new, John noted. He obeyed her command. “How does that feel?” Better, he admitted. Nessa started him out on light exercises to regain mobility, and while it wasn’t as painful as it had been in the beginning stages, he still felt discomfort. 

“Are you lying to me, Major?” She asked teasingly, tilting her head to search any signs of discomfort on his face. His eyebrows were slightly knitted together and his jaw was locked she poked his shoulder. He failed to meet her eyes. “Thought so.” 

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, “I don’t want to deal with this shit.” Nessa hummed and removed herself from her position between his legs and crawled over the bed. She was positioned on her knees and she cleared her throat. “What are you doing?

She peeled the gloves off her hands and shoved them in her pocket. She moved her hair over her shoulder and placed her hands on his shoulders.“Relax, Egan.” Her touch was gentle as she used her left hand to control his elbow while stabilizing his shoulder with her right. Slowly, she moved his stiff limb forward, backward, upwards, and downward until the wincing was no more. 

It was painfully intimate, she noted. Two military professionals in the infirmary by themselves on a small bed together. Granted, she was doing her job, but something about the interaction felt different. She found herself enjoying it. Of course she enjoyed being a nurse; it was her passion. But this was different. Not only did she feel needed, but she felt wanted, too. It was an unusual feeling that she couldn’t shake. 

“How about now?” Nessa’s voice was hardly above a whisper. John turned his head though not far enough to look her in the eyes. She did see, however, the fullness of his lips as he replied, “A lot better.”

“Good,” she replied, seemingly infatuated with the ridges of his back. She tried to control herself, but it was a losing battle. Her fingertip traced the scar that went from the center of his back to his right shoulder. She remembered the story. His plane was struck and he needed to evacuate and a piece of the parachute contraption cut through his jacket and sliced through his flesh. “That’s good.” 

At the low groan he released, which sounded heavenly, she snapped back to reality and dropped her hand. She stammered embarrassingly and scrambled off the bed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Go ahead and get your shirt on; I’ll grab the ice, and get you off to bed.” 

John’s voice was stuck in his throat. “Nessa,” he called, but by the time the last syllable slipped from his lips, she was already in the neighboring room, gathering ice. 

She didn’t say much when she returned. She instructed him to lay on his back so she could properly ice his shoulder. John’s blue eyes burned holes into her head as she massaged the ice against his skin. 

“Are you okay?” he found himself asking. Nessa nodded once, “I’m okay.” 

He gave her a look. She gave him a closed-lip smile. She repeated, “I’m okay. We’ll ice for five more minutes and you can be on your way.” 

The five minutes passed quicker than he would have liked. They engaged in small conversation, being that’s all he could get out of her at the point. Her demeanor had shifted greatly, and while he wanted to question it, John didn’t want to pressure her to speak. 

“You’re good to go,” Nessa said, tossing the bag of ice on a nearby surface. 

As John prepared to leave the infirmary, Nessa's gaze lingered on him, a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. She wanted to say something, to express the thoughts racing through her mind, but the words remained trapped in her throat. Instead, she offered a small, hesitant smile, hoping he would understand the silent message behind it.

 John met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a similar uncertainty, yet tinged with a hint of desire. With a nod of gratitude, he stood up from the bed, his shoulder feeling much better than before. 

As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway, casting one last glance back at Nessa. In that fleeting moment, they shared an unspoken connection, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was forming between them. With a final nod, John stepped out into the corridor, leaving Nessa alone with her thoughts, her heart beating a little faster than usual. What had she done?

[fearecia]

Putting this in a pinned post to make it easy to find/share. We all know how Tumblr is about things (and to be fair, I'm terrible and inconsistent as hell with tags).

Link to the "shoulder release" document:

Notes about this guide:

This is a WIP, and still very much in the rough draft phase. Please forgive typos/errors. I literally haven't done a single edit yet.

The document focuses on releasing shoulders as a way to treat neck tension and migraines. Seriously, just trust me. It helps.

Carpal tunnel? Tennis elbow? Golfer's elbow? AC (acromioclavicular) joint injury? Rotator cuff problems? Tight upper back? Sporadic numbness in your arm? Seriously, just try the muscles already listed. You'll likely find at least some relief. Like, if it involves the upper body, release your shoulders.

I've done my best to make this able to be understood by people without massage training. So if it seems like it's covering really "obvious" info, that's intentional. Just skip the section if you already know things.

A lot of massage therapists may balk at me telling you to dig around in your own armpit. We're taught in school to avoid the area. Why? Because there's a crap ton of nerves and blood vessels there. *Which is precisely why releasing this area is so powerful.* There's also a ton of muscle (on yes, basically everybody) here that will protect all those structures. It's honestly really safe so long as you stick to "In pain, refrain!" And read the other rules too.

90% of the time, the culprit is one of the four muscles listed (or any combination of them). If you are someone who exercises a lot/does yoga/is otherwise pretty physically active, you are more likely to fall into the 10% of people who will have their issue somewhere else/it will just be really hard to find. So bear that in mind.

Sadly, this sort of thing will probably never be a "one and done" type of deal. Most of the things we do every day steadily build up to cause problems, and you have to constantly work to undo that entropy. So save these notes for future you.

And just in case you want to know what the hell qualifies me to make this sort of document, here are my "quals."

My first career attempt was nursing. While this did not go well (doctors don't really appreciate autistic students willing to question their authority) I learned a shit ton about the body. I became a student teacher for the anatomy and physiology class because I was so good at it (and that professor used to teach the pre-med students). A&P is now literally one of my special interests.

8 years as a licensed massage therapist focused exclusively on injury therapy. I studied Rolfing techniques, and primarily used trigger point therapy, structural integration, and myofascial release as my tools. Clients liked to joke that going to see me was like seeing the physical therapist (they weren't wrong).

Some of the stuff I share is literally self taught through "following the tension" in clients bodies. Like, I developed some of my protocols. And then practiced and refined them over 100s of bodies. The goal was always the most efficient and least painful way to achieve lasting release.

I eventually destroyed my shoulder doing massage (which was injured long before this career due to an AC joint sprain gotten when I was 20). Bonus, this means I'm *very* practiced at releasing my own shoulders.

I'm now a mechanical engineer, which just means I now have the engineering knowledge to understand to the force transferrence patterns I saw in clients all the time. Kinesiology is the same thing as statics and dynamics.

Hopefully that helps put perspective into things. I'll update this post as new versions of the document come out. I have a ton on my plate right now (who am I joking; I always have a ton on my plate), so please be patient waiting for updates.

[catboycumgutters]

so i experimented w giving myself a rest day from physical therapy this week. i thought, maybe i need a little recovery cushion. still did my daily yoga, so, i figured i wouldn't really notice a difference. rest day was yesterday.

holy hell there is a difference. a bad one. oh my god. i'm so rice krispies today. oh my god. ow. owowow. ow. why. fuck fuck ow. i still did all my other stuff, just skipped the pt. why. ow. did you know we have shoulders and hips? bc i cannot be unaware of that fact rn. it hurts so bad guys. guys. guys it hurts. i need to return to the water like NOW it's the only thing that can save me

cruel that those home resistance swimming lanes are $50k (+god knows how much in maintenance and chemicals and electricity), my god. i could hobble out to the pool and put everything back in place and then float for a half hour and be fine but nooooo i've got all this fucking gravity weighing everything down and still not enough muscular stability to keep everything together while snapping myself back in, thus having to cycle snapping myself back together one joint at a time which usually takes hours and yes it's as painful as it sounds

had to crack all my knuckles several times, crunch my metacarpals together, twist my elbow in, and body my shoulder back in place just to type this post (and it's all locked in at the neck/jaw/temple now. hello tinnitus my old friend).

yes yes yes weed can help but i HAVE to exercise before getting couchlocked or else it will just exacerbate the problem. i have to do this dance of relaxing muscles enough to move but not enough to be too loose (waiting for the robax and gabba to kick in...). and then move in just the right way to fix them. and then somehow balance frozen vegetables all over to lock it in (hate cold hate cold hate cold). by myself. and if i can't? well then i'll just sob until physical therapy tomorrow and they can put it all back in for me. and what's nuts is!!! i'm one of the lucky ones!!! with physical therapists i see twice a week who aren't just gym trainers; with legal access to weed; in a situation where i don't have to have a job. no i don't have a vehicle; no i couldn't keep a job even if i had one; no i don't get disability or have any other income; yes those are huge problems. and yet. i'm lucky. hashtag greatest country in the world folks.

imagine joints like taffy. too cold and they're brittle and will break when you stretch them. too warm and they sag and tear. imagine finding out this isn't normal in your fucking 30s.

[bottombillyapologist]

Harringrove for Turkey drabble for @ihni , the prompt that hit my inspiration nerve was "workout-ish, or a silly injury + care and cuddles after".

Enjoy!

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

It was the first thing Steve had said since Billy had curled up on top of their duvet cover and refused to move. He’d been sitting on the edge of the bed after Billy fled the living room of their apartment. 

Billy knew it had been stupid of him to try, he hadn’t had the same strength in his shoulders since Starcourt. Despite all physical therapy, his left side was permanently weaker than the right. That and a bit of numbness had put him off most heavy lifting. But he still wanted to try. He missed the endorphin rush of a heavy workout, and while he’d been cleared for lighter impact things like swimming and yoga, it still wasn’t the same.

He ran across the idea of calisthenics in one of the books he’d been gifted post-therapy. While some of the concepts weren’t in the cards for him, there were a few that seemed just a few steps past the strength building yoga he had already been doing. 

The look on Steve’s face when he’d shown him the book was telling. Thinly veiled worry, a slight purse to his lips that screamed disapproval. He knew Steve wasn’t going to tell him not to try, but the look made him bristle. He’d snapped the book shut and set it aside for the night. 

It was naive to still hope he could one day get back to where he had been before his injuries. In his heart of hearts, Billy knew that. But it did nothing to dispel the feeling that he was weak for not being able to overcome it. That he couldn't fight his own body for a sense of freedom. He couldn’t move without pain. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t lift. And he didn’t want to accept that this might be as far into recovery as he would ever get.

So Billy had gone behind Steve’s back. It’s not like he needed permission, but every step of his treatment and recovery had been run through Steve. He probably knew Billy’s limits better than his own at this point, and it felt wrong not to tell him. 

Steve was puttering around in the kitchen while Billy went through his regular night exercise routine. He stretched out, did what he could with the hand weights Steve kept under the TV, and only then did he try one of the more advanced exercises. It wasn’t even technically calisthenics. Just a more advanced version of a yoga pose he’d practiced plenty of times. 

He laid out on his yoga mat and pushed up onto his elbows, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder as he got his feet under him. It was kind of like doing a plank, but walking his feet forward until he was up in almost a vertical position, then slowly raising his legs. If he could do it, it would help strengthen his core and get him used to having more weight on his shoulders. Maybe one day he’d be able to do a real handstand again. 

Of course, he got stuck trying to muster the core strength to get off the ground. His back already ached from getting into the position, and he could feel his left shoulder dipping towards the ground. It was frustrating. And in a moment of stupidity, he’d kicked off the ground and tried to force it. 

Predictably, he lost his balance. He managed to flip all the way over, twisting to avoid going straight into the coffee table, but he caught the edge of it on his hip. 

Steve heard the crash. Of course he had, and came running. 

Which led them up to now. 

Billy was embarrassed. He didn’t know how not to be. He hadn’t looked at how bad it was, but he could feel a bruise blooming on his hip. His shoulder was throbbing, and the pain was radiating down his arm through shot nerves and making the whole thing feel like it was on fire. 

He just couldn’t get over how stupid it was of him to try in the first place. He should’ve known by now there was no point in trying to push himself further than he could take. This was a huge step back. He wouldn’t even be able to do his usual routine until this healed. Which could take a week, or it could never be the same again.

Steve was hovering at a distance. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, but waiting for permission from Billy to move closer.

“I should’ve known I wasn’t strong enough to do it. It was stupid to try.”

Steve paused for a beat, and Billy waited for a reprimand. For Steve to tell him, yeah, he shouldn’t have tried because now he’s undone a significant amount of progress.

“Billy, do you know how many times I’ve hit my head in the stairwell since we moved in?” Steve reached out to put a hand on his knee as Billy processed the question. There was a poorly placed overhang in the stairs to their apartment, and while Billy remembered to duck, Steve often didn’t. The first time he’d hit his head was when they were moving. He’d dropped a box of books down the stairs.

“I haven’t even bothered to count, but it’s a lot. No matter how many times I go down those stairs, I forget it’s there. Everyone does shit and hurts themselves accidentally. And there are so many things that are hard for you to do, or that you can’t do, that messing up is part of the process. I love that you try things even when you’re unsure. But baby, you know that means sometimes you find out the hard way it’s not something you can do. It doesn’t make you stupid.”

Billy swallowed down the lump in his throat. No matter how many times he heard the “progress isn’t linear” lecture, it didn’t seem to stick. He focused on Steve’s hand, now stroking up and down his calf, and took a few deep breaths.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t stupid for trying. Sometimes the only way to find out is the hard way, and it doesn’t make him stupid.

Billy huffed, uncurling from the position he’d taken on top the covers. 

“Ok…”

The smile Steve gave him was fond, and it made him feel silly for believing Steve would think he was stupid in the first place.

“Ok. Can I check you over now?”

Billy nodded. He appreciated that Steve didn’t make a face as he studied the bruising on his side, but moving his shoulder was another story. Billy gasped as he tried to straighten his arm, and Steve winced in sympathy before grabbing his wrist to stop him from moving it further. He gently palpated the joint of Billy’s shoulder, seeming satisfied with whatever he’d found.

“Alright, nothing’s broken but your shoulder seems strained pretty badly. I’m gonna grab an ice pack and some ibuprofen, do you want anything else?”

Billy shook his head, but regardless, Steve came back with a warm cup of his favorite tea and a sling for his arm for later. It took some situating, but once Billy took the ibuprofen in addition to his regular meds, they managed to get positioned with an ice pack balanced on Billy’s hip and another on his shoulder. His head was resting on Steve’s chest, and gentle fingers worked through his hair as listened to Steve’s heartbeat. 

At the end of the day, no matter how many times he screwed up his recovery, they were alive. They had their own apartment. Nothing was going to take Steve away from him any time soon, and that was enough. 

The ache in his body had settled to a dull throb, and the medication he’d been given to help his anxiety made him sleepy. Billy grunted and shifted a bit in Steve’s arms. Steve shushed him, pushing loose curls out of his face. 

“Go to sleep, bud. I’ll have meds ready in the morning.” 

Billy smiled a little at that. He’d probably feel like he’d been hit by a bus when he woke up. But Steve would be there with whatever he asked for, even if it was something ridiculous.

Overall, he had it pretty good.

[after-witch]

an absolutely delicious thing i love is-

darling keeping a diary and yandere reading it

it doesn't contain escape attempts or insults for the yan though

good things about the yan, darling is starting to love the yan and has conflicting thoughts about that, just a normal diary with a bit of 'i wish i could leave'

and yan reads it and is just all fuhdeduighieuhgd

love that trope so much <3

also, how are yours wrists and elbows and your back etc?

Cute and creepy at the same time! It would really feed into a delusional yandere's imagination, too. They'd easily be able to ignore all hints of "I wish I could leave," and focus squarely on the compliments.

It could go very south though, if the darling were to pick up on the fact that the yandere read it.

My back is "okay," my last physical therapy appointment was last week. Hoping if I can keep up the home exercise program, it at least won't get worse. I did make some improvements at least!

I thought my elbow nerves were doing better, turns out it was the temporary pain med prescription doing all the lifting there, lmao!! So just having to wait until I can get in for the specialist testing next month.

[steddieassheg0es]

Eddie is very used to being someone’s dirty little secret.

People want him in dark alleyways or bathroom stalls, hidden away from prying eyes. Self hating gays and straight boys who insist ‘getting your dick sucked isn’t gay’. Or, on a few memorable occasions, confused boys needing aid in self discovery. Those ones had been sweet, at least.

No one wants to hold his hand. To give him flowers or wake up next to him the morning after.

Which is fine. He likes sex, he enjoys pinning someone to one of those alley walls and having his way with them.

It’s just unfortunate that he’s so damn romantic.

He knows it’s foolish. Boys like him don’t get happily ever after. If they’re lucky they get to live a sad, lonely life. If they’re unlucky they die of disease or being hate crimed.

But the truth about Eddie is he’s…soft. He just wants to have someone to love, to take care of. He longs to plan a future with someone.

He dreams of a future with Steve.

It’s stupid and reckless to indulge in this infatuation but he can’t help it. Steve is just so….good. He’s brave, and caring, and despite what the others seem to think, he’s smart. Maybe not the way the little geniuses are, but hey neither is Eddie.

He’s almost grateful for that now though. If he hadn’t failed senior year twice, he never would have met this amazing group of people he can’t imagine living without now.

He could have done without the whole being blamed for murders committed by an interdimensional psychopath though.

Realistically he’s aware he’d never have known the difference if things hadn’t gone this way. It’s not like he was miserable before, he had great friends and the world's best uncle. But a sappy part of him thinks he’d feel the loss, know his life was missing something.

He really is too damn romantic.

Regardless, things did happen this way. Now he has a group of children he’s practically adopted. He has Robin who can relate to the painful experience of being queer in Indiana. Nancy who helped him finally graduate. Jonathan and Argyle who provide the most zen like company to get high with when he just needs to stop thinking.

He has Steve. The man who carried his broken, bleeding body out of hell even though everyone thought he was a goner. Who sat by his side for weeks at the hospital, helping Wayne feel less guilty about having to leave him to work.  Who held Eddie’s hand when he finally woke up screaming, not realizing time had passed and he was no longer in that awful place being eaten alive.

Steve had left his side once, after much reassurance from Robin and Dustin that they had things covered, to help Wayne move what he could salvage of their belongings into the new government gifted we’re sorry your trailer was destroyed while you save the world house. The additional hush money helped replace what couldn’t be recovered with a hefty chunk left over.

Then Steve was back, sitting diligently in the uncomfortable hospital chair until Eddie was cleared for release. Much to Eddie’s chagrin, cleared to go home did not mean cleared for much else. He’d been confined to his bed, then eventually the couch, for weeks after his discharge date. Steve hung around the entire time, patiently reminding him that the pain and the exhaustion meant he was still alive. That with time he would get better, and wasn’t that a miracle?

So really, it was inevitable that Eddie fell for him ass over elbows.

—

Summer was an exercise in restraint.

The new house wasn’t too fancy, they didn’t need much. Almost anything was an upgrade from a one bedroom trailer. But one of the delightful perks that came with it was a pool.

Wayne had insisted on it because the doctors had mentioned it would be a great tool for his physical therapy.

It wasn’t as big as Steve’s, but it had the benefit of never having someone they knew die in it so Steve and Nancy would actually swim for a little bit.

More often though Steve could be found lounging on one of the poolside chairs, golden in the sun. Eddie wants nothing more than to bask in his glow, kiss his pretty pink lips, dreams of carrying that warmth with him forever.

It also didn't help that Steve’s swim shorts were…short. Nothing scandalous, but certainly enough to draw Eddie’s eye to the perfect curve of his ass. He did his best not to stare.

He was a romantic, but he wasn’t asexual.

Eddie spends so much time watching, it takes him a while to realize he’s being watched in return. His heart drops to his stomach when he looks up to see Robin smirking at him. Her eyes flick back and forth between him and Steve, a knowing glint to them.

Surely she wouldn’t out him, right? To anyone else he’d be sure, but her and Steve are practically telepathic. The Party has basically accepted if you don’t want one to know something, you can’t tell the other.

The downside to hosting is he can’t make an excuse and run. He has to sit there with the worry building in his gut, trying desperately to keep the fear from showing in his face. He must manage, because no one says anything and they all seem in good spirits when they leave.

They already had plans to have a similar afternoon the following day, so there’s no avoiding Steve. But if he knows, he says nothing. Not that day, or the next, or the rest of the week.

Maybe Robin did keep his secret.

—

Eddie’s hackles are finally starting to lower when Steve shows up alone on a day they had no plans. He’s oddly shy when he asks if they can talk.

“I just…fuck I swear I used to be good at this. I'm no good with words though. That’s all you. Eddie, I…”

He sighs, frustration clear on his face and Eddie thinks this is it. Steve’s trying to find a way to gently let him down. He’ll be nice about it, but he won’t be comfortable with Eddie anymore. Slowly he’ll stop coming around, their friendship will quietly die. Eddie will die right along with it.

He’s so busy panicking in his head that it startles him when Steve speaks again.

“Fuck it.”

Suddenly there are lips on his and his mind goes blank. He lets himself get lost in this moment. This glorious, beautiful moment where everything is good.

But as fast as the thoughts left him, they come crashing back just as quick. Steve is kissing him. Steve…wants to hook up with him? But what category does he fall into?

Not the straight boy looking to get his dick sucked. They never kiss. Eddie’s pretty sure Steve isn’t a self hating queer. So he must be looking to test out a new side to himself, see if it fits.

The thought of being an experiment to Steve breaks his heart. But at least it’s the best option available. It would be way worse to be used for a blowjob. And he never wants Steve to feel that kind of self loathing.

Steve pulls away first. “Was that…are you okay?”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah, of course. More than okay.”

The bright smile he gets in return is worth all the pain that will come when it’s all over.

—

Eddie’s a bit confused when they just kind of…hang out like normal after. There’s kissing, which is certainly new, but that’s about it. Steve doesn’t push for more.

He tries to tamp down the happiness that blooms in his chest. So Steve isn’t the one and done kind. In the short term it’s amazing, but he knows the longer this goes on the more it will hurt when it’s inevitably taken away.

The confusion only grows when Steve shows up the next night with flowers and a pretty pink hue to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I just…I wanna do this right, you know? My only experience is with girls, but who doesn’t like flowers? You deserve flowers. Anyway I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie with me? Maybe get something to eat after?”

“Oh, uh…yeah, no, flowers are great. They’re very pretty. No one’s ever…right. I’ll just put these in water. Did you have a movie in mind?”

Steve follows him into his kitchen, watching him search for anything even resembling a vase in the Munson home. Would a beer mug be tacky?

“Um…well Labyrinth looks like something you’d be into. Or I think Ferris Bueller is still playing? Whatever you want, I’m not like a film buff or anything.” Steve reaches around him and selects the pint glass he’d been staring at, filling it from the tap and arranging the flowers inside.

He can’t help but think it looks like a physical representation of them. Beautiful and elegant flowers clashing with the crass and low quality chipped cup. But Steve just hums in apparent satisfaction before turning those pretty hazel eyes on him.

“You’d see Labyrinth? Up my alley it may be, up yours I doubt.”

“Well, I mean…everyone likes Bowie, right? Besides, the movie itself isn’t the point. I just wanna spend time with you.”

His cheeks are once again that delightful shade of pink. Eddie is so fucked. This whole thing is just going to make him fall that much harder, leaving him with his heart that much more shattered.

But when a pretty boy asks you out, you don’t say no.

—

Things continue this way as the summer warmth fades into the chill of autumn.

Steve is charming, and he holds Eddie’s hand even when their friends are around. Everyone but Robin watches in bemusement but no one makes a comment. He “formally introduces himself” to Wayne, but to the older man’s bewilderment. Eddie just shrugs, not really sure what’s happening either.

Behind closed doors, Steve presses in close. He lets his hands wander, but only ever above the waist. Usually they can be found in Eddie’s hair. He lets his tongue slip into Eddie’s mouth, hot but sweet.

But he never pushes for more.

The only reason Eddie can come up with is things he remembers overhearing in locker rooms. Straight boys love to complain about how girls need to be wooed. Need to be romanced before they’re willing to “put out”.

But Eddie doesn’t need that. As nice as it is to delude himself with the things Steve is doing, he knows it can only end badly.

So he takes things into his own hands. So to speak.

They’re in Eddie’s room late one night. Wayne is gone, because house or no house he’s still got to put food on the table and he’s too used to the overnight shift to change it now. Eddie’s got Steve underneath him making such pretty sounds as he leaves a trail of bites down that pretty neck. He rolls his hips, groaning when he feels an answering hardness against his own. Lets his fingers wander lower, plucking at Steve’s belt when hands at his wrist stop him. He’s gently nudged into sitting up.

“Eddie…woah, slow down. Hey. We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna. There’s no need to rush.”

Mortifyingly, the words make him burst into tears.

“Oh Eddie…baby, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what’s going on anymore. What do you want from me Steve? What are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean waiting for? Hey hey hey, breathe. You’re okay. Just talk to me.” Steve’s thumbs stroke his wrists gently while he pulls himself together.

“Fuck, Steve, I just don’t know what this is. I thought I did but you don’t seem to wanna fuck so I don’t get what you’re looking for.”

“I’m not…oh. Shit. With how well things were going I thought…well, I guess I shouldn’t have assumed. Eddie, I like you, a lot. No that’s not true. Fuck it. All in, right? I’m so fucking in love with you, you have no idea. I want…god, I want so much. I want everything. But I…I get it, if that’s not what you want. We can go back to being friends.”

Eddie’s pretty sure his brain must have some remaining damage from the Upside Down, because there’s no way he heard that correctly.

“You’re…in love with me?”

Steve’s eyes dip down before they meet his again, that shyness from weeks ago making a reappearance. “Yeah. Yes. Embarrassingly so if Robin is to be believed.”

“Robin knew? Wait, no, forget that. Steve…Jesus Christ, this can’t be real. Of course I love you. I love you so much it’s driving me insane.”

A pleased little grin hesitatingly makes its way across Steve’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, fuck.” Eddie leans in, pressing their smiling mouths together. His once aching heart now soars, granted wings by the angel in his arms.

“Eddie…um. Not to ruin the moment, but what you said…it’s not that I don’t wanna have sex. Shit I want you so bad, have you seen you? I just don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. I can wait. I can wait forever. You loving me back is…more than I ever hoped for. If you just wanna snuggle and occasionally kiss, I’d die a happy man. Anything else is just a bonus.”

“You…you really mean that? If I said no sex, ever,  that wouldn’t bother you?”

Steve shrugs easily. “I’d be a little bummed, sure, but it wouldn’t change anything. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to leave.” Fingers brushing against his cheek alert him to his fresh tears. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fuck, you have no idea how amazing that is to hear. I’m used to being good for nothing but sex. Don’t get me wrong. I’m gonna fuck you so good you scream, pretty boy. But knowing that I don’t have to for you to stay? That’s kind of a miracle.”

“You’re kind of a miracle.”

“I love you Stevie.”

“I love you too Eds.”

—

They don’t have sex that night. Eddie’s not sure when they will. He knows for all of Steve’s talk, he’s never been with a man. Eddie’s never been with someone he loves, who loves him in return. They both need time to adjust, and there’s no need to rush. Wait until they’re both ready.

Eddie’s happy to wait. He has all he’s ever wanted. Anything else is just a bonus.

First let me be transparent and say this hasn’t even had a second read through, never mind been beta’s. I just really wanted to post one last thing before the new year here in the east coast and I’m cutting it close. I’ll probably come back and fix it up later.

This isn’t a second part to Depollute Me Gentle Angel so much as the other side of the same coin. When I originally had the vague idea that became the first story, I wasn’t sure which way I’d write it. So I decided both.

Title once again from We’ll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross.

[sir-ghost-the-green]

Below is Ghost venting about chronic illness things: first day of physical therapy edition. Don’t mind my misery, lol.

physical therapy really sucks in the immediate. i’m in so much more pain than i was when i went in. i’m only typing now because i’ve been resting for two and a half hours since getting home. also the ones i went to can’t help with bracing or the joints that were actually bothering me because my rheumatologist referred me specifically because of how my ankles look when i walk, i guess she didn’t think to put on there the sheer pain that my other joints cause. i’m really hoping this gets better and that these ankle exercises decrease my general pain levels because if all physical therapy does for me is wreck my day to the point where i struggle to leave my bed i’m just going to cry.

between the popping and pain from my joints during the exercises to the 170 heart rate just because i exercised at all to the advice when i asked what to do for my other joints being “join a gym or get some free weights. bicep curls will help your elbows and shoulders” i’m surprised that my few minutes sitting in my car before leaving weren’t just me crying.

i need this to improve things because i’m struggling to do daily tasks like walk my dog or clean my room or carry the things i need to at work. this just keeps getting worse and i need something to help. if this doesn’t work i don’t know what i’m going to do. my family barely believes that im not making all this up to be lazy, and i need to be able to move out and support myself as soon as i can. this isn’t sustainable. this needs to help. i’m praying it does.

[overheaven]

i know i have a lot of things i could be doing better (stretching more, not getting lost in hyperfocus, trying to remember to feed myself) but gotdang i should not be in this much pain always!! anyways gonna journal about that here

it is wacky to have that HUH? THIS ISN’T NORMAL? moment but legit within the last like. two weeks only i have realized my body hurting all the time is not just me being 31 or having bad ergonomics because i realized my partner has the same type of lifestyle and yes she absolutely gets pain flare ups too! but not like this, not all over, and usually improved with minimal changes. & i’m having like “i need physical therapy repair” levels of pain consistently for the last few years, all over in varying different places, and wow yeah like. that really isn’t normal huh.

and maybe i don’t exercise regularly enough but i DO try to be aware of my posture and do at least some end of day before bed decompression and stretching… i know for a fact there are people my age who do even less than that (for whatever reason) who aren’t in this much pain like. is it my bed? am i just sleeping on really shitty mattresses? is it just me doing art or playing video games for too long and getting RSIs? is it a vitamin deficiency?

like i shouldn’t have to be going to the orthopedic walk-in with a different swollen limb or a new pain every month. this is beyond just “agh i got tennis elbow from overexertion” this is “i got tennis elbow from sitting with my arm on the sofa wrong” this isn’t just “my back hurts cause i have an office job” this is “my back hurts when i sneeze, cough, and breathe” this is “i got a muscle spasm so deep i had to go to the ER because i couldn’t unbend my hip without wailing”

then there’s these other elements like, my mouth ulcers have been acting up a lot these past few months, and in recent years i’ve started getting tonsil stones, i developed acne (2-3 years after starting T!) that needed to be treated with accutane even tho that doesn’t run in my family at all, my ongoing habit cough and other respiratory issues… idk i might just be clinging onto the hope that there will be one compact answer to all of this but i wonder if it’s all connected.

it kind of just feels like everything in/on my body flares up or breaks out on the regular. it’s like it’s fighting itself lmao. and idk where to start trying to repair it because each thing is compensating for something else.

i do wonder if this is some sort of long covid thing which i mean i don’t doubt having caught it exacerbated or accelerated issues, but a lot of these have been present beforehand so like. yeah i guess i’m hoping this won’t be written off as “just covid” shit like. bone and joint issues run in my family REALLY bad, as do thyroid issues… idk i wonder if i’m finally getting that shit too lol. got my mom’s side’s shitty eyesight early, might as well get the rest too now ://////

[hasufin]

Magic Words

Had an interesting interaction with my doctor this last week. I was in for regular monitoring of an unrelated condition, we were going over my blood work. (Like a surprisingly large percentage of Americans, I am on hormones: specifically levothyroxine.)

Anyway, she asked how I'm doing otherwise, and I told her how although my symptoms from the unfortunate paradoxical response to glucosamine have mostly abated, I'm still suffered from pain in my elbows and ankles. And if this were, you know, knees and hips that would be "you need to lose weight". If blood panels had shown signs of inflammation (we already checked) we'd be thinking arthritis. If it presented somewhat differently, it might be gout. But we've ruled out all the obvious things, and at this point we're looking at a number of obscure illnesses with no clear diagnostic criteria and no treatment protocols. But really, we have no idea how to proceed. So she's kind of wibbling about what to do: she's not disbelieving my symptoms, but we've tried all the realistic diagnostic options and come to no conclusions; I'm in that medical limbo of "You have pain-itis, I guess."

Then I said the magic words:

"This is seriously affecting my quality of life".

These words were, in fact, entirely true. There's a lot I've stopped doing, or significantly curtailed, because they cause me pain. I'm unable to exercise properly because of it. This is, in fact, a quality of life issue. I could soldier on, sure, but there's clearly a problem.

But my doctor suddenly changed her tune. You see, I'd given her an OUT. "You should see an orthopedist", she said. "They'll probably want you to do some physical therapy and other steps before getting an MRI, but they can find out more than I can."

I realize, she felt trapped too. I was describing a minor, but apparently quite intractable, problem. She'd exhausted the resources at her disposal, but "my elbows hurt" doesn't justify escalating. "This is impacting my quality of life" absolutely does.

[healthcareservicesdallas]

Identify the Causes of Golfer's Elbow

Golfer’s elbow Dallas, a condition characterized by pain and inflammation on the inner side of the elbow, is not exclusive to golfers. It can affect anyone engaging in repetitive wrist and forearm motions. At Top Notch Vitality, we recognize the importance of identifying the causes of golfer’s elbow to empower individuals with the knowledge needed for prevention and effective treatment.

Repetitive Movements:

A primary culprit behind a golfer’s elbow is repetitive movements, particularly those associated with sports like golf. Whether you’re perfecting your swing on the golf course or participating in activities involving continuous gripping and flexing of the wrist, the repetitive nature of these motions can lead to strain and inflammation in the tendons.

Incorrect Technique:

Using improper techniques during physical activities can significantly increase the risk of a golfer’s elbow. It’s crucial to pay attention to your form, especially in sports like golf, tennis, or weightlifting, where incorrect techniques can place excessive stress on the inner tendons of the elbow.

Overuse and Strain:

Overusing the forearm muscles without allowing sufficient time for rest and recovery is a common cause of the golfer’s elbow. Intense physical activities without proper breaks can contribute to the development of this condition.

Lack of Warm-up and Stretching:

Skipping warm-up exercises and neglecting proper stretching before engaging in physical activities can leave your muscles and tendons vulnerable to injury. Adequate warm-up routines and stretching are crucial in preventing a golfer’s elbow.

Age and Health Factors:

Age can be a contributing factor, as tendons become less flexible with aging, making them more susceptible to injury. Additionally, individuals with certain health conditions, such as arthritis, may be at a higher risk of developing a golfer’s elbow.

Prevention Strategies:

Preventing a golfer’s elbow involves adopting proper techniques, incorporating regular breaks, warming up adequately, and maintaining overall arm strength and flexibility. Top Notch Vitality recommends consulting with healthcare professionals or specialists for personalized advice based on your specific needs and activities.

Seeking Timely Treatment:

If you suspect you have a golfer’s elbow or are experiencing persistent pain, seeking timely treatment is essential. Rest, ice, physical therapy, and, in some cases, anti-inflammatory medications may be recommended to alleviate symptoms and promote healing.

Conclusion:

Understanding the causes of golfer’s elbow empowers individuals to take proactive steps toward prevention and seek timely treatment when needed. At Top Notch Vitality, we advocate for a holistic approach to health, emphasizing the importance of informed choices for a pain-free and active lifestyle.

By embracing this knowledge and incorporating preventive measures, individuals can confidently navigate their activities, knowing they are taking the necessary steps to protect their elbow health. For more insights into health and wellness, trust Top Notch Vitality as your partner in achieving and maintaining a vibrant life.

Original Source: https://jacobjose.livejournal.com/315.html

[germanshepherdcare]

German Shepherds: A Comprehensive Guide to Care, Health, and Training

German Shepherds are a breed of dogs renowned for their muscular build, agility, high intelligence, and unwavering loyalty. Their reputation is built on qualities like bravery, loyalty, and confidence, making them one of the most popular dog breeds in the United States today.

These dogs have earned their place as exceptional working dogs, frequently employed by the military and police for roles such as patrolling, bomb detection, and search and rescue missions. Their extraordinary combination of strength, intelligence, and capability sets them apart in these fields. In conclusion, German Shepherds are not just remarkable pets; they are also reliable working companions, making them a truly special breed.

German Shepherds are high-energy canines, necessitating intensive training and regular exercise to keep their bodies and minds engaged. They thrive in families with an active lifestyle and experienced dog owners who can provide socialization and consistent training, especially during their puppy phase. German Shepherds sport a thick double coat that sheds year-round and undergoes a more substantial molt once or twice annually. Regular grooming is essential to prevent matting and tangling. Proper care will ensure a long and healthy life for your furry companion.

Despite their relatively longer lifespan for a large breed, German Shepherds are susceptible to various health issues. Responsible breeders screen both male and female dogs for conditions like degenerative myelopathy, hip and elbow dysplasia, gastric dilation, volvulus (bloat), cancer, allergies, and heart disease. Pet parents should stay informed about potential symptoms, as early detection is crucial for positive outcomes.

Degenerative Myelopathy

Degenerative myelopathy is a progressive nerve disorder affecting a dog’s spinal cord, leading to hind leg paralysis. Early signs include hind leg weakness and difficulty standing. While there is no cure, physical therapy can strengthen muscles and preserve leg use. DNA tests are available to detect this condition.

Elbow and Hip Dysplasia

Elbow and hip dysplasia are degenerative joint diseases causing chronic pain. Symptoms include limping and reduced mobility. Treatment options include weight management, joint supplements, pain medication, and surgery. Preventive testing like PennHIP can assess the risk.

Cancer

German Shepherds are prone to various cancers, including bone, lung, intestinal, and hemangiosarcoma. Symptoms may include internal bleeding, pale gums, weakness, and a swollen abdomen. Treatment options range from chemotherapy and surgery to radiation, depending on cancer extent.

In summary, German Shepherds are remarkable dogs, but they require dedicated care, training, and attention to their unique health needs to ensure a fulfilling and healthy life. Read More: https://germanshepherdcare.us/ #GermanShepherdscare.us

[shallowseeker]

Fic idea: Dean's adventures in physical therapy

Working title: Weak in the knees

Start of a Post-13x22 ficlet, with the knee pain and the stretching

Idea: As the Apocalypse World refugees settle into the bunker, Sam and company draw up a very detailed training regimen for all who seek to become official hunters. (Basically, Sam starts a puketacular morning jogging group and Not-Bobby and Mary hog the bunker gym.)

Dean tries his darnedest to become invisible, but on one particular "sore-knee day," a refugee named Jules corners him against the punching bag. Turns out she's a former physical therapist. Her directive? "Work on your tight hips and weak abductors." She makes it a whole friggin' routine.

But the stretches and strengthening exercises are easier said than done, especially when an exuberant Jack takes an interest the subject. If his poking and prodding ain't bad enough, he drags Cas into the madness, and Dean's hope of "relaxing into the stretch" are blown to smithereens.

///

01

Dean startles awake and gets that uncomfortable, topsy-turvy, where-the-Hell-am-I feeling.

Oh. Bunker's library.

Holy shit. They really did make it home.

Not still in Not-Bobby's refugee camp, wringing their hands over how to get fifty folks through a quickly vanishing rift.

Dean looks around. Doesn't recognize half the people strewn about in library chairs. Two of them are flanked by small piles of vomit. Gross. Like a made-for-TV college party film.

His gaze lands on not-Charlie, and even though it's not her, his heart swells up like a balloon. She's rubbing her eyes and yawning, and when her eyes meet Dean's, she looks cagey and unsure.

"Well, that was some party," pipes Arthur-freakin'-Ketch from somewhere near her feet. He sways to his feet, then nudges his elbow into her ribs, like they're friggin' besties or somethin.

"If there were less clothes in the fray, you'd think a spectacular orgy had taken place here." He throws an arm around her waist and cackles, squeezing her faux-gentlemanly.

Which is weird. That's weird, right?

Maybe they are besties.

Charlie rolls her eyes and extricates herself.

"You're not my kinda pretty," she rasps. She too gets unsteadily to her feet. "God. This is not where my ten-year college plan put me."

"Stranded in an entirely unfamiliar world and hungover from the world's most smashing victory party?" Ketch asks, too happily and not at all like the Arthur Ketch Dean had been acquainted with during his British Men of Letters run.

"Ung," Charlie answers, screwing up her eyes and massaging her temples.

Sam chooses that moment to enter, looking fresh and definitely not hungover like the rest of them.

Asshole.

Dean wonders where Cas and Jack are. Or Mom.

They'd all really made it back. It feels surreal, like they've finally caught a real break.

"Oh, geez," Sam sniffs, taking in the state of the room and sniffing like the princess he is. "I offered to get you guys set up in rooms last night--"

Several of the guys raise their hands and groan hopefully, little white flags of desperation waving in the air.

"---and the offer's still open, if any of you can walk."

Most of the guys make it to their feet, but a coupla the the blackout drunks fare pretty badly. Dean sees Sam shiver in disgust when he notices the vomit.

"You get to clean that," Sam says to Arthur Ketch. "That is, if you want to stay."

"That's not proper fair, now is it?" Ketch huffs, and when Charlie nods at him, he actually relents and gives Sam an acquiescent shrug.

"Yes. Why not?"

It's strange to see how much sway this Charlie has over him.

Finally, Dean nods a morning greeting to his brother and gets to his feet.

Chive and smoked cheddar pancakes are on the menu for a quick hangover cure, but damn if his knees aren't sore as Hell. He limps towards the kitchen. The Apocalypse world terrain had not been kind to any of his joints.

///

"So, let me get this straight," Mary says later, swiveling her orange juice over a plate of simmering bacon. "You plan to lecture these guys on the ways of this world, and then turn them loose?"

"Relocate them," Sam corrects. "And whoever wants to, can stay here, in the Bunker with us. That's what it was originally for."

Dean tries not to balk. It's true. This had been a communal hideaway for hunters--

"And what if they have legal doppelgangers?" Mary presses.

"We're already on that," Sam sighs, "and most of them don't, by the way."

"Funny how the butterfly effect works like that," Dean calls from where he's bent low over the stove, so close that the heat from the pan dampens his cheeks.

Not-Bobby is quiet and surly in his corner seat, back to the wall.

"I thought you told us we'd still be in the fight," he grouses finally, turning hard eyes on Sam. "I thought you told us we'd be looking for a way to save our world. To go back and gank that sonuva-bitch-Michael."

"And I meant it," Sam rushes hastily, turning his eyes over to Dean in a panic, looking for support. "But I think it's only fair to offer anyone who wants an out an actual out."

Bobby stares at all of them, considering.

"Whoever wants to fight can stay in the fight," Sam tacks on, "We'll train them. Rest and recover the rest. Cas can heal whoever's not up to speed, and we can start a fresh training program."

Dean's not sure he likes the sound of that.

He looks over to Mary, and she looks back at him, chewing her lip nervously.

"Fine," Bobby grumps. "That's fair. We recuperate. No sure anyone's gonna let that angel touch 'em though." He raises his eyebrows at Dean, like his opinion matters when it comes to this. "No offense."

Dean purses his lips.

Whatever.

Sam looks unsure at that reaction, but recovers.

"Right. There's a gym here," he says, too proudly, like he wants to impress this Bobby.

"Well, what haven't you got here," Bobby sighs, sounding resigned.

///

02

After Bobby leaves, trudging off to whatever room he'd been set up in, Mary rounds on his baby bro.

“Sam,” she hisses, “That was…”

She breathes out, trying to get her nerves under control.

“What?” he asks, looking genuinely perplexed by her reaction.

Poor Sam. Sometimes, he just doesn’t get it.

Dean flips another chive-and-smoked cheddar pancake, adding it to his rapidly-growing stack. He throws more batter to the skillet and shoves one of the cooling cakes into his mouth. He chews and continues to watch Mom struggle for words.

He swallows. “What she means is, you’re moving a little fast there, Sammy. Slow the Hell down, yanno? We've not even been back a day."

Sam bristles.

“Having a plan isn’t incompatible with rest,” he protests. “I didn’t mean we weren’t going to rest. I-Bobby sounded like he wanted to jump into hunting for ways to beat Michael. You both heard him.”

“What Bobby says and what Bobby needs are two different things, Sam,” Mary sighs, and she down her glass of OJ.

She’s probably a little hungover, too, Dean realizes, so he slides two pancakes onto a plate and crosses the room to give them to her.

“Thanks,” she says absently, and she grabs one of them bare-handed. She shoves nearly the entire thing in her mouth. Then, “Jesus, Dean.” She turns her attention to the cakes more fully and promptly gobbles more of them them down.

“Don't choke. And hey, these’re good for hangovers,” he explains, winking. "Real savory."

It feels so unbelievably good to have her back here.

And Hell. Maybe Sam’s plan is a good one, after all. With some structure, she might actually stay here this time. It’d be cool to have not-Bobby, too. Even if it is weird.

“And yeah, maybe a plan is good,” he amends, throwing Sam a bone. “It just needs to be slow, right? No one wants to get up at ass o'clock in the morning and go running with you. Capische?”

The sounds of footsteps breaks the flow of the conversation.

Dean' had 's barely paid attention to the individual refugees, especially with all the angel shit that'd been swinging their way. So, the last group he expects this early in the morning is the adorable little family that waltzes in.

There’s a plain-looking couple and two little girls, and he’s one hundred percent sure they all just heard him say ass o'clock.

The dad’s clad in hunter uniform: blue Henley and green plaid overshirt. Mom’s in a sweater and blue jeans. Little girls're wearing denim overalls and dress.

All look freshly laundered.

“Oh,” sweater-woman says, looking awkward as her eyes slide to Mary in question. “I’m sorry. Are we interrupting?”

“No, no!” Sam hurries to say, flustered in that clumsy Sammy-boy way. “You’re not. You must be--”

“I’m hungry! Mary, pwease,” the littlest girl cuts in, bratty and grumpy in the way that only little kids can be. She tugs on her pink dress, then clutches an old stuffed monkey like she’s trying to suffocate it.

“Lily, shush,” the older sister bosses, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back.

In reply, the littlest girl, Lily, shoves at her sister angrily. They’re maybe ten and six, Dean thinks, trying to hide his grin at their antics.

Mary seems equally charmed by them.

“Of course you are, Lily,” she says, walking over and crouching down to her eye level. “Don’t worry. We’ll scrounge up something for you.” Then, to the parents: “I don’t think we all met formally. Things were…tough at the camp.”

“It’s fine, Mary,” the man says, looking too earnest, “We owe you everything. You and Jack.”

“Caleb, Billy–these are my sons. This is Dean. This is Sam.”

Dean strolls back over to the pan and flips another pancake.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, tone just a shade too rough, like Charlie’s had been. “Both of you. And your princesses are--?”

The older sister puffs up her chest, putting proud little thumbs in the straps of her overalls. “I’m Dana. This is Lily.”

“I’m not a princess,” Lily gripes, scowling. “I’m a knight.”

“Of course you are,” Sam throws in, a little awkwardly.

Mary throws a smile over her shoulder at Dean, then turns back to them.

“Do you guys like cheddar pancakes?"

The older girl, Dana, pulls a face, because of course she does. What little girl would want hangover pancakes?

"That sounds gross.”

Lily, on the other hand, seems to take it as a challenge, “Well, I’m not scared of grownup food.” She turns her attention to Dean, “Mom always says Dana’s a picky eater.”

This kid’s got spunk in spades.

Dean laughs.

“Spoken like a true knight.”

Lily beams.

“Lily,” blue-shirt-dad-guy-Caleb admonishes quietly, and then he locks eyes with Dean in apology. “I’m sorry. Cereal or anything would be fine. O-or we can walk to a store if there’s one nearby.”

“I already went grocery shopping this morning,” Sam announces happily. “We’ve got all kinds of cereal: Raisin Bran, Golden Flax, Cheerios.”

Dean shakes his head with a proud smile. Leave it to friggin’ Sammy to get up at the buttcrack of dawn for complete strangers. The family stares at him with a look of total confusion, though, like they haven’t heard of any of these cereals, and Sam’s grin falters.

“What’s cereal?” Lily stage-whispers, and Dean huffs out a laugh.

On the other hand, had things had been so bad over there that the littlest one hasn’t even heard of cereal?

On Sam’s wavering smile and Mary’s nervous frown, they must be thinking the same thing. Dean steps in.

He doesn’t really wanna cook when he’s got a hangover from Hell, but the girls are pretty damn cute.

“Okay, well. How about regular pancakes then?”

Lily squeals.

///

03

///

Dean winds up finishing up the stack of hangover pancakes before making regular pancakes, banana pancakes, and cinnamon pancakes.

Mary scrapes together some bacon, and after burning a few strips, she seems to get the hang of the temperature.

Sam is almost useless, except that he puts on a fresh pot of coffee and makes incessant small talk with Caleb and Billy, or “the Sanders family,” as Dean soon learns to call them.

The oldest girl, Dana, seems pretty taken with Sam, marveling at his height and telling him all about how much she’d liked the shower in The Bunker.

Turns out she’d not had a real bath in the entire eight months before coming here.

Lily, on the other hand, scowls at almost everyone and keeps looking expectantly at Dean.

When he brings a stack of pancakes and bacon to the table, she shouts, “Finally!” before digging in.

Turns out, she likes the hangover cheddar pancakes best of all.

///

Before too long, the smell of cinnamon lures Jack into the kitchen, just like Dean hoped it would.

He’s surprised to see that the kid actually looks bad.

Exhausted-like. Exhausted like he’s been fighting a war. Which, of course, Dean reminds himself, he has.

Jack hovers in the doorway for a few moments, like he’s not sure if he’s welcome inside, which is ridiculous. The Bunker is more the kid’s home than any of these friggin’ refugees.

“Jack, come getcha a hot one,” he says gruffly, and Jack shoots him a surprised glance before shuffling over. “Come on,” Dean urges, trying to banish that damn impersonal hesitancy of his. “You like the cinnamon crap, right?”

Jack sniffs the air, like he’s trying his darnedest not to look too excited. “Yes. How did you--?”

“I have eyes. You always eat the sweet stuff. Here.” Dean slides a stack of four onto a plate and shoves it the kid’s way without looking at him directly.

Jack’s eyes grow even bigger, and Dean sees his fingertips flex on the plate. “Th-thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbles. “Welcome home. By the way.”

Jack seizes up. He takes in a quick little breath, and then he nods.

As Jack makes his way over to the secondary table Sam had set up in the middle of the kitchen, Dean sees Mary staring sidelong at him, sappy and happy-looking.

Jeez.

It's not that bigga deal.

She puts on more bacon. Dean pours more batter.

///

It’s quickly apparent how much Lily likes Jack.

She tells Sam loudly all about how Jack can fly and protect them from “sky-fire” and how he can even make special animal shadow shows.

After she finishes her cheddar pancakes, she clambers over to the table where Jack’s at and plops herself into the chair right next to him. She starts asking him a shit-ton of random questions, like: “What’s your favorite color? Have you ever seen a giraffe? Can you fly all the way to the moon?”

“Lily,” Billy-the-sweater-mom warns, and Lily shoot her a guilty gaze.

“Bobby says he’s a good angel,” she fires back, defensive. Sweater-mom jolts. (Almost like "angel" is some kind of filthy swear-word.)

Mary’s eyes cut over to them sharply, shifting rapidly from Jack to Billy, like she’s thinking about inserting herself into the conversation.

Dean catches movement in the corner of his eye, and he’s relieved to see that Cas has finally made his appearance in the doorway. He locks eyes with Dean and gives him a curt, good-morning nod.

Hey, Dean thinks, unnaturally relieved to see him.

Probably because of all the friggin' people.

(It's overwhelming round here.)

Meanwhile, sweater-mom lets out a shaky laugh.

“No, No. Honey, I know. We trust Jack.” She gives Jack a watered down smile, and he tentatively returns it. “That’s not…I just don’t want you to make him tired, that’s all. Jack’s been fighting for us non-stop, and he looks exhausted, Sweetie. Let him eat something.”

Lily squints at Jack, biting her lips.

“Yeah," she whispers. "You do look tired.” On a wave of frantic inspiration, she shouts, “I can help! I’ll get you a drink!” Too exuberantly, she scoots her chair back and trips.

Dean’s not fast enough to get to her.

No one is.

She lands hard on her elbow, and then she gives a little muted cry of surprise. It’s too quiet, like she’s spent an entire lifetime learning not to sound off her signs of distress.

“Oh, Lily!” the sister growls, sounding exasperated. “You’re so clumsy.”

Jack scoots his own chair out in alarm, but Cas beats them all to Lily’s side. He carefully crouches down next to her, dipping his head gently, like a hawk baring its neck to a little bluejay.

Like, I won't hurt you.

But Cas’s superhuman speed has an immediate chilling effect.

The Sanders couple immediately get to their feet, like they're going off instinct. Billy the sweater-mom starts gasping, like she’s fighting down a panic attack, and Dean sees the Caleb the henley-dad wrap a fist aggressively round his fork.

Makeshift weapon. Huh?

Oh.

They don’t like that Cas is a full-blooded, bonafide angel. No matter how much he's helped them so far. Dean taps Mary’s shoulder, silently urging her to man the food, and then he strides over to jump into the fray.

“Hey. Whoa, whoa,” he says, putting himself between them. “It’s just Cas. We trust Cas, too, all right?”

Henley-dad-guy makes a pained noise, and Jack slowly gets to his feet, trying to look unthreatening and in control.

“It’s okay, Billy…Caleb. Cas is my,” he seems to struggle for the right word. “Well, he’s my dad.”

Cas’s head whips up to Jack, something unreadable passing over his face.

Peripherally, Dean sees Caleb put a hand on his wife'e shoulder and nudge her behind him. “That means he’s a-a-?”

“I’m an angel, yes,” Cas says firmly. “I will not harm your daughter, though I can’t blame you for being cautious of me.” His smile turns wry. “I’d say your reticence is very wise.”

Caleb-Henley-dad-guy seems to relax a little bit.

“Okay,” he says cautiously.

“May I see your elbow?” Cas says, turning gentle eyes to Lily. His voice is a deep rumble: “That looks like some bruise.”

Lily winces.

“Yeah, but I’m brave. It doesn’t hurt all that much,” she quips.

When she brings her little elbow forward, Dean hears sweater-mom take in another rattling gasp.

Calm down, Lady. Yeesh.

“You certainly are brave,” Cas agrees, brushing his fingertips just barely along her skin. “You fall scared even me. May I fix your bruise?”

Lily turns her eyes to her frozen parents and licks her lips nervously. Next, she tracks her eyes to Dean, and finally she looks to Jack.

“If he’s Jack’s daddy,” she says, shifting her gaze to her own father and then back to Cas, “Then he’s safe.”

Dean nods at Cas, and Cas sends a flutter of grace into her arm.

Lily’s mouth opens in a small, silent, “oh,” but she doesn’t look afraid. Instead, she seems struck as she stares up into Cas’s eyes. Then, she wiggles her elbow and rotates it around happily.

“Oh,” she whispers. “You did fix it. Thank you.”

Dean grins.

"Yup. That's Cas."

///

[cuddlingdragons]

life updates and such!

so… it's been about six months since I last uploaded something to any of the art gallery sites I'm part of. it seems as good a time as any for reflections and updates.

essentially, since August 2022 i've been dealing with cubital tunnel syndrome and other vague overuse injuries in my in my upper back/shoulder. What I initially thought-- and by extension my doctor also probably thought-- was that a few weeks of rest would take care of it. That obviously hasn't been the case and I feel that the source of my injuries has probably been years of hardcore computer use. I coped with the onset of the pandemic by getting lost in my computer, the results of that simply are what they are.

I started physical therapy in October and learned some stretches and exercises to help with my recovery. got discharged from physiotherapy at the end of January with some mild improvements!

it's currently mid March and and I can say that my shoulder situation is a -massive- improvement from when I first brought it up to my doctor. It's not 100% but it's manageable with heating pads and I don't see any reason to believe it won't keep improving. a huge game changer for me has been fixing a tablet driver so that I navigate the computer with my old drawing tablet instead of a mouse. instead of a keyboard I use dictation software, I pretty much don't use my phone except for calls and timers, and I read and dictate stuff on my ipad. occasionally I let myself have 15 minutes of drawing or playing a video game. it's not ideal but it's better than it was

Arms-wise its… a little complicated. I'm Having so much less neuropathy tingles, but I have daily intermittent pain in my elbows. That wasn't there when I initially went to my doctor, so I'm curious about how they'll assess it when I see them again. I'd put it at 1/10 on the pain scale, but it's still really limiting because it's easy to make it worse by putting too much pressure on the elbow muscle, like using a screwdriver to try and open up my Wii. (not my brightest decision.) I attended TFCon in LA last last weekend and OOF, it was an interesting reality check to see how I do without access to a heating pad or ice packs all day. (At least I had the foresight to pack ibuprofen!) Soreness went back to my normal levels after a day but I'm having tingling in my right ring finger again. So yeah- there's improvement! still feels like a long way to go say before I can hopefully be at zero on the pain scale.

I know this post is already long but I want to say I was initially really devastated by this development. What has helped me has been to remember times I've had friends get sick or injured, and while I didn't get to speak with them as much as I wanted to for a while- I didn't stop loving them or caring about them. I have faith that the feeling is either mutual or we can simply pick up where we left off if I can't get to you for a while.

I hope that you are well, or as well as you can be at this time.

- siz