#that can get me the antibiotics I was supposed to take several months ago

[tsfennec]

.

[softnoodlesdoodles]

Today it's officially one year since I got the covid infection that gave me long covid. I thought I'd have a lot of feelings about it, but I kinda don't. Maybe I'm also just really tired and sleepy today. It definitely feels like a year with how much it has become my new normal.

It's weird to think back to myself doing that little test. It was my first covid infection. I had just had the flu in December so I was annoyed that I was sick again. I remember hoping it wouldn't last too long. I had a concert in a couple of weeks and I didn't even think about the fact that I might miss that.

I did miss that, just like I missed a concert in July and a concert in September. My initial infection turned from something that felt like a bad flu into pneumonia. I remember 5 weeks in getting antibiotics for the supposed bacterial infection I had on top of covid, and being hopeful that this would finally get me back on my feet just like when I had pneumonia a couple of years ago. It did not. Some symptoms got better and others stayed. My fever didn't go away and my fatigue and breathlessness didn't either. I thought I just needed some more time and to build up my stamina. But week after week passed and all my attempts to exercise were rudely met with even more sickness. I got new symptoms, like dizziness, heart palpitations, sweating, random rashes, digestive issues and brain fog.

For a time I called what I had "middle covid". I was told that for some people it just takes a little longer to recover. Eventually I hit the 3 month mark, and I was told that most people who hit this mark recover within 6 months.

I started occupational therapy and physiotherapy. Both were a mixed bag of helpful and not helpful. My occupational therapist at times treated my condition more like a psychological problem and physiotherapy was often too intense for me.

I got sicker and sicker until I got to a point where I spent whole days in a dark room, unable to move, unable to listen to music, unable to talk to people and sometimes unable to eat. I barely made it to the bathroom a few steps away. These days were the scariest days. I felt like my body was falling apart more and more every day. Sometimes I worried that I was going to die if it kept going like this.

Luckily things slowly got a little better over the next couple of months. Now my flair up days are often less severe and I can spend my days quite well from the comfort of my bed. I sleep a lot. I have a lot of pain. I am tired all the time. But I occasionally get to go outside. I make my way downstairs to have dinner with my family once a day. I try to shower every week. I chat with my internet friends and find a lot of meaning in making art. I once again can listen to music and podcasts.

At this point in time I am grateful for stabilization and not getting worse. The idea of things getting better feels far away and impossible. Honestly, I don't like to think about the future. I don't like to think too much about what I can't do anymore. I try really hard to make my life meaningful, even though it has become small.

So that's a year of long covid. I guess I do have quite some feelings about it after all.

[starafterdeath]

This month, it's going to be one year since our dog died. His name was Pontius and he was 23 years old, which is, quite frankly, kind of a long time to live for any mutt, even a mutt like him. 

His health has been through a lot, too. First, he gnawed off his tail - don't ask me why or how, I wasn't even living with his owner at that point. He had a neurological condition that made him chase, bite, and scream at his tail as if it had a snake head attached to it. In the end, the infernal appendage was damaged so severely the dog had to get it amputated. He was forced to wear a "cone of shame" after the procedure for roughly two weeks, to his further displeasure.

When he was already in his double digits - 18 or 19, maybe (the high time my silly ass finally found out dogs weren't supposed to eat chocolate) - he got bitten by a tick. For the first time, we realized how fragile an old dog's life actually is if something as small as a blood-sucking arachnid could usher in its - seemingly - wayward mortality. It was a real threat that caused him to pee liver-colored urine, throw up everything he ate, and move with the liveliness and efficiency of a cinder block in a swamp.

Those few weeks we were really afraid he could die.

He survived, though. Antibiotics at the vet's and a lot of rest did their job.

A couple of years later he got a growth on his knee: a disgusting festering clot that grew bigger every month, most probably resulting from an infected wound. We consulted the vets about removing it surgically, but they insisted the ol' woof-woof wouldn't handle the anesthesia. At his age, temporary sedation could very likely turn into a one-way ticket to dog hell (because I'm sure if there were canine versions of heaven and hell, this doggo had a whole couch with his name on it - for him to rip apart and pee all over - in the lowest depths of pandemonium). Months passed. The growth became insufferable: at that point, it was a bulbous piece of red muck

emitting blood and pus that stained the furniture, the floors and sometimes the walls around the apartment. We consulted a different vet and decided to go through with the surgery.

He survived again.

Within the next few years he had a stroke. He couldn't walk properly and his head was now slightly tilted to the side like he was permanently surprised at something - you know how dogs do that head tilt when something perplexes them, right?

He kept on living.

He was 22 and couldn't get on or off the couch without my help. He had almost no teeth left. His age was making him apathetic towards every irritant that ground his gears before. His enthusiasm towards food never waned, though: whenever he saw his bowl being filled with any kind of chow, he jumped around like he was 13 again.

He started developing a new growth, this time - on his side, somewhere between 22 and 23 years of age. It didn't bother him much, but it did us. The veterinarian said nothing could be done about it because the growth wasn't external, like that thing on his knee some time ago, so surgical intervention would be rather dangerous for him at his age.

Then the war started and we had to leave. Taking him with us would have been impossible due to his frail state, so my husband's parents were tasked with looking after him until we were able to somehow transport him to us. I remember hugging him before we went to the airport. I don't remember if he growled at me or not.

For the next three months, he lived alone in an apartment, visited and fed by two people he barely recognized and possibly not understanding where the hell his owner (my husband) and the annoying but unavoidable food and water person (me) had gone. Then, on September 23, 2022, he died. Possibly of a heart attack.

I cannot shake off the feeling that he would have lived longer, had we stayed. I'm always told that 23 years old is already too long for a dog; not a single canine can handle living this long. This was definitely the longest I've dealt with any animal in my life, and what a troublesome animal it was. I have a hard time looking at people walking their dogs now. I start crying whenever I dwell on the reasons too much; whenever I dwell on the memories of Pontius too much. Everything about dog-owning gives me a headache. He had been taken care of since he was roughly one and a half years old, and we weren't even around to see him conclude his existence that spanned almost two decades.

I guess it's just one of those things.

[crittercrossing]

All three dogs are having some health issues at the same time, and Ivy may possibly have something diabetes-ish going on. Almost all of this has happened within the past month, and, in the dogs' case, within the past few weeks. I wanted to post an update sooner, but I genuinely haven't had the time to do it. I work a full-time job and a part-time job, on top of taking care of things at home and traveling a couple times per week to my parents' house to visit them, the dogs, and the chickens. This blog is run almost entirely on queue, but I wanted to stop in and post a text update.

A few weeks ago, I took Dorothea and Ivy for their yearly check-ups. It was technically about a month and a half early, but the day before, they had gotten into a closet they're not supposed to be in and ate into some plastic bags of treats. They had me terrified, thinking they might get blockages from eating plastic, so their check-ups got bumped up so that I could also make sure they would be okay after their adventure. Thankfully, neither one experienced any sort of issues from their plastic-eating. For the most part, all went well, and things were unremarkable. Dorothea was great! Nothing in the slightest going on with her. Ivy, however, is a challenge at the vet. She is extremely aggressive and has to be medicated prior to her visits. Even then, she doesn't fully relax, and vets are very limited with what they can get done with her. She was completely fine, other than some lab work levels that were off, most alarming of which was her glucose, which was pretty extremely high. The vet confirmed my suspicion that, most likely, it was due to the extreme stress she was under during her visit, but said this could technically be due to diabetes, as well. I am to watch Ivy for weight loss, increased urination, and increased thirst. I'm concerned for her health, and also worried about if she is diabetic. I've never had a diabetic pet before, so I would have a lot to learn, in addition to figuring out how to manage that in a cat that can't really be held and can usually not be medicated at all. With Ivy being young, female, and a perfectly healthy weight, I don't really think she's at huge risk for it. My only real worry here is that since their exam last year, Dorothea gained about half a pound, while Ivy's weight remained exactly the same. I'll be keeping a close eye on her.

The poor dogs are all having a bad time right now. I've been worried sick about them. It started with Holly. About a month ago, she began coughing out of nowhere, and it's an extremely bad, nearly constant cough. If she's awake, she's coughing. It's nearly every breath she takes. She went to the vet, where they did x-rays and determined that it wasn't anything visibly wrong with her heart or lungs. Holly does have a heart murmur, but she's had that for a couple years now, and it has not caused coughing issues in the past. She's on medication to treat the cough and an antibiotic. She has finally started coughing less within the past week, so hopefully whatever this cough is is coming to an end.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed Chevelle started showing UTI symptoms again. She had a UTI and a severe case of bladder stones in early 2021, and my immediate fear was that it might be bladder stones again. I took her to work with me (my full-time job is at a vet hospital), and sure enough, she not only had an extremely bad UTI, but... The dog is full of rocks again. The x-rays were horrifying, and I may end up posting them separately later. Monday will be two weeks since that day, and Chevelle is going back for a re-check. She's been on a prescription urinary diet for the past two weeks, with the hopes that, depending on the type of stones she has, the food may start to break them up. If her stones aren't breaking up when we check again on Monday, she'll need a cystotomy again. She had the same surgery in 2021 for her last case. Regardless, she'll be on the prescription diet for the rest of her life. She's been acting fine most of the time. She tries to pee every five minutes or so, and most times passes a little blood. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she still has the UTI come Monday (even though she's been on antibiotics), and I'm fully expecting the surgery to take place.

Katy has been declining for a couple of years now, and it's started happening pretty quickly over this past year. She has a lot of pain, stiffness, and loss of mobility in her legs, especially in her hips. She has also had a bad case of dermatitis on and off for a while. Due to her epilepsy, Katy can't have any chewable flea preventatives, leaving topicals such as Frontline as the only option I knew about for years--and I live in one of the ever-growing areas where Frontline and similar drugs don't kill fleas at all anymore. It's been a struggle to keep fleas off of her. Between fleas and baths trying to kill the fleas, it started messing with her skin. The biggest issue has been a recent, very sudden increase in the frequency of her seizures. She used to have about one a year, sometimes two. Over the past month, Katy has had four seizure-like episodes (vet is assuming they're seizures for now), and that's only four that we know of. It's extremely possible she's having more when no one is watching her. She has really unusual symptoms when these happen, so as soon as I found out this was happening, I took her to work with me too to get all this stuff sorted out.

Katy's case is still ongoing, but here's what I know and what's been done so far: She has started a daily regimen of carprofen, which is already showing promising results. A few days after starting it, she was able to stand up on her own and go up short flights of stairs--both things she couldn't do previously. She will remain on this carprofen most likely for the rest of her life. She was also put on an anticonvulsant to hopefully prevent any more of her seizure-like episodes from happening. It's been about a week, but so far, no one has seen her have any more of those strange episodes. Her skin is being managed with a medicated shampoo that she is being bathed twice weekly with, and she finally has a good flea prevention strategy! The vet suggested we try a Seresto flea collar, and it made an immediate difference. I haven't seen a flea on her since she started wearing it. During Katy's exam last week, the vet ran some bloodwork. it came back mostly normal, but her T4 level was really low. Tomorrow, she's going back in for another blood draw to run a second thyroid test--if her levels come back low on this one, she'll be diagnosed with hypothyroidism. Hypothyroidism could explain both her sensitive skin and the seizures, and if she has that, she can go on medication to treat that, as well. I'm cautiously optimistic that we can get Katy feeling a lot better again, and I hope that she can spend the rest of her life not being as miserable as she's been lately.

I'll post more updates on everyone as things happen!

[growsagain]

IMPORTANT - PLEASE READ

Hello everyone,

As you might or might not have noticed i’ve been offline a while. I’ve been very seriously ill and at this point I count myself lucky to be alive. I’ve been struggling with my health since the move but a couple of months ago I developed a problem I’ve never had before and ended up in hospital for some time after weeks of constant chronic diarrhoea (which despite my noisy gut issues isn’t something I have EVER experienced.) I got sicker and sicker and couldn’t eat, got weaker and weaker until I couldn’t even stand up.  I was eventually admitted to hospital with severe malnourishment (yes me, big fatty gurgle goddess, I hadn’t been able to eat in almost 2 months) and have been diagnosed with severe inflammatory bowel disease, crohns, ulcerative colitis and - most worryingly - some condition they have never seen before. I have some form of freaky legions that they have no idea what they are.

Despite the fact i’ve probably had mild IBS for a long time i’ve *never* had issues like this. The move was long and stressful and I think that’s ultimately what triggered this since I do struggle with several other autoimmune diseases already which puts me at risk at the onset of others. But this was totally unprecedented.  Needless to say I am going to take a long time to recuperate, although I think I’m doing pretty well considering I was almost at the point of organ failure. I had a number of blood transfusions and they threw all kinds of antibiotics at me despite tests constantly coming back as free of infection, until they made their diagnoses and put me on a massive course of steroids instead and that started to finally get me back on track. Until that the hospital was actually making me weaker and I’ve had some absolutely devastating experiences there which I’m going to be making a very severe complaint about as soon as i’m stronger.  It’s been hell. I can’t sugar coat it. I hate asking for support but right now I could just do with as many good vibes as possible. I’m definitely doing better since getting home, back with Luce where I belong, and the steroids are definitely doing what they’re supposed to do but i’m still incredibly weak and struggle to walk and move. 

At the moment I am only going to be posting content on my Patreon for the most part. It will be a good couple of months before I will be up to filming anything new but I have quite a few videos that I filmed while I was getting sicker, AND in addition a couple of very kind people have given me access to some of my old videos that I was no longer able to access myself which i’m slowly getting downloaded and have been posting some of those to Patreon as well. 

So if you’d like to support me while I recuperate and see some of my old vids as well as ones i’ve made since I started making content again this year I’d love to see you over there. As I come to terms with some of what i’ve been through i’ll also naturally be sharing more stories about the stomach things I’ve been through during this whole horrible time, which will be very personal and honest, and as descriptive as I can be.

https://www.patreon.com/gurglegoddess For what it’s worth, having dropped from almost 14 stone to under 11 in the space of 2 months, i’ve managed to regain 11 pounds in the last 10 days thanks to being home and being able to eat proper food instead of the crap they served in hospital that made me sicker. The steroids have had some fun side effects too... let’s just say I am enjoying this epic appetite!  I’m so sorry for this grim news, but i’m doing all I can to get back on track. Give me a little time and I’ll be back, bigger and better than ever 💙

[wanderinginksplot]

If you're still taking requests, can I request either Echo or Tech with hurtReader + fluff? 👀

(your writing is amazing and it melts my heart sndnfjdjdb)

Hi, friend! Thank you for the compliment - you're so sweet! I went a little lighter on the fluff than I meant to, but this is what I ended up with. Thanks for the request! Enjoy!

Tech + Injured Reader + (Minor) Fluff

*WARNING: Slight mention of gore. Nothing graphic, but a head's up.*

Watching the Havoc Marauder touch down was a ritual you followed every time the Bad Batch went anywhere without you on board. Tech liked to believe he was an excellent pilot, but you were of the opinion that flying took more than encyclopedic knowledge of a ship’s internal systems. It took instinct, a feel for the ship’s personality, and a good bit of luck to fly in a war zone.

Tech disagreed vehemently, but you had been assigned to them for a reason. Even if he had found your belief in luck - okay, slight obsession with luck - to be ridiculous, Tech admitted that you were an excellent pilot. It hadn’t been enough for you to accompany them on their mission, but it was something.

The real problem was that the members of the Bad Batch were insanely protective of anything or anyone they saw as ‘theirs’. Privately, you thought it was because they hadn’t had any personal belongings on Kamino. And they definitely hadn't had friends outside of their group. Unfortunately for you, you were also considered ‘theirs’ now and the Batch could be… restrictive when they felt you could be in danger. And since you were assigned to help them fight a literal war, you were always in danger and they were always protective. Especially Tech. You had been dating in secret for a few weeks now - too short a time for anything serious, but Tech let you take absolutely zero chances.

“Sir, we need to get you inside,” one of the troopers on deck told you, his light touch to your arm pulling your attention away from scanning the star-littered space above the hangar bay. The trooper's regulation armor looked oddly plain to you, even with the medic's symbol and the touches of gray that told you he was a member of the Wolfpack.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, partially to stall and partially because your luck senses were tingling.

“That isn’t important right-”

“Please?” you asked again. It was another quirk of luck. If a trooper touched you, you needed to know their name or they ended up dying. Statistically, you knew that probably wasn’t true, but who really wanted to mess around with fate if they didn’t have to?

The trooper blew out a sigh that crackled his annoyance through the speakers of his helmet. “Curl, sir. We really should be-”

“I’m sorry, Curl,” you apologized, interrupting the poor medic again. “I got separated from my team and I need to see that they’re back okay before I can leave. Does that make sense?”

“What team isn’t back yet?” Curl asked, seeming concerned. “I thought Commander Wolffe said that everyone had checked back in?”

“I’m with the Ba- with Clone Force 99,” you told him, changing your explanation to use the group’s official name at the last minute. Professionalism never hurt anyone.

“You’re with the Bad Batch?” Curl asked, sounding impressed despite himself. Without waiting for an answer, he gave a curt nod and lifted his wrist toward the speakers of his helmet. “Sergeant Sinker, Medic Curl.”

“Sinker here,” a voice answered immediately.

“Do we have an ETA on Clone Force Nine-Nine?”

“Hold.”

“Copy.” Curl glanced at you and you nodded to show that you were following the conversation.

“Curl, bridge says they’re inbound, expected to hit the hangar in about a minute.”

“Copy,” Curl said again. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“I’d stand clear,” Sergeant Sinker warned. “The good pilot isn’t on.”

“Are you the good pilot?” Curl asked you. You swore you could hear a smile in his voice.

You smiled back and nodded. “That would be me.”

“Understood, I’ve got the good pilot with me,” Curl replied over his comlink. “We’re gonna spectate, make sure they don’t scratch the paint job.”

“There’s no reason to worry,” Sinker said consolingly. “The GAR stopped springing for paint two months ago. There’ll be none left on that ship.”

Curl laughed aloud at that, shaking his head.

“Cut the chatter,” a harsh voice reprimanded. “This is an official channel. Save your jokes for the clubs on the Triple Zero, Sergeant.”

“Yes sir, Commander,” Sinker agreed chipperly.

The Solidarity’s deck shuddered as the hyperdrive activated, ready to take off as soon as the Havoc Marauder landed, and you stumbled with the movement. Curl caught you - his grip uncomfortable given the harsh plastoid planes of his armor - and shook his head.

“We really need to get you inside, sir,” Curl said again, sounding reluctant but concerned. “You have an appointment in the medbay with me, and I’ll be very offended if you’re late.”

You were about to point out that he would be late, too, when the Marauder zoomed up and around the Solidarity, clearly following a path to land.

“Wait, they’re right there,” you protested. “Give ‘em ten seconds to land and a bit longer for me to gloat, then I’ll gladly go to the medbay.” Curl hesitated and you pressed your advantage. “I’ll be a model patient, Curl. No arguments, no debates, no complaining.”

“I never believe anyone when they say that,” Curl said dryly, “but I guess you’ll survive without treatment for a little while longer.”

“Thanks, Curl!” your enthusiasm was a little… off… but you blamed it on the pain you were finally beginning to feel.

Tech was flying, you knew that beyond a doubt. Not only was he the only person allowed to fly, but the landing performed by the small cruiser was proof that the wickedly intelligent trooper was behind the controls.

As soon as they had landed, Wrecker burst out of the side door. “Ha! Told ya we would make it back in one piece.”

“More luck than skill, that,” Crosshair countered sourly, slouching from the door as well with Hunter behind him.

“As I said multiple times, everything was under control,” Tech disagreed. He caught sight of you and started in your direction, eyes taking in the way Curl’s gloved hand was still gripping your bicep.

“There, you saw ‘em,” Curl muttered to you. “We really need to go now.”

“I beg your pardon, but where exactly are you trying to go?” Tech asked sharply, glancing between the two of you.

“Medbay,” Curl replied, slipping into the vocal brevity of a career soldier. “Your pilot was injured, but wouldn’t accept treatment until you had touched down.”

“Luck, you know,” you told Tech, who was already scanning your form with his goggled gaze. You smirked at him and shrugged off Curl, who seemed ready to tow you to the medbay himself. “Also, statistical likelihood be karked! I stayed in the ‘safest possible place’ like you told me and I’m the only one who ended up injured! You should listen to me from now on.”

“What?!”

“Injured?”

"How? Where?"

The rest of the Bad Batch had surrounded you and Curl in a moment, all asking different variations of the same question. Hunter’s voice cut through them all. “Trooper, why is she not in the medbay?”

Curl held up his hands as if despairing of the entire situation. “Sorry, Sergeant. Your pilot refused to leave until we saw your ship land. It would be a big help to me if you would just issue an order to report to the medbay so I can start treating the injuries.”

For all that he liked to take a laid-back approach to non-combat leadership, Hunter took the safety of his team seriously and you knew he was about to do as Curl had suggested.

“It’s not even that bad an injury,” you argued before Hunter could speak. “I just got hit with some debris."

You tugged up the rough, canvas-like material of the uniform pants you wore while you weren’t actively flying and showed them your lower leg. You were busy looking at the faces of the Batch rather than the injury, but you knew something was wrong when Tech swore. Tech never swore.

With a frown, you glanced down at your leg. Your mind refused to make too much sense of things, but you saw smears of crimson and a pale flash of something before the dizziness returned worse than ever.

Fortunately, Curl caught you before you could actually fall and Wrecker scooped you up a moment later. He was already muttering soothing nonsense as he lifted you, and it was almost enough to keep you from noticing the pain. “All right, here we are. Everything is fine. Just don’t puke on me.”

“Medbay,” Hunter ordered severely. “Now .”

“Yes, sir,” you agreed, your voice more weak than you liked.

“Finally,” Curl muttered.

“Tech, go with them,” you heard Hunter say from a rapidly growing distance.

There was a sound of jogging steps, but when you tried to look for Tech’s familiar face, the Solidarity leapt into hyperspace and you felt like you might actually pass out.

“What will treatment consist of?” Tech asked. He was trying to mask his worry by being professional, but you could hear a hint of it in his voice.

“Some stitches, probably an antibiotic shot since the debris was metallic, and a check of the nerves in the area of injury,” Curl answered easily. The lack of concern from the medic was comforting in a strange sort of way.

The silence hung for a few moments, interrupted only by the sound of everyone’s footsteps. Eventually, Tech admitted, “I should have been able to calculate the risks more closely. This never should have happened.”

“Aw, how were you supposed to know?” Wrecker asked loudly.

“That’s right,” Curl agreed. “This is war. Unexpected variables are the norm and there are no safe spots. My only advice is to take all of your people with you. After all, your pilot accepted the assignment to be part of your team. Trying to keep people out of the action never works. Take the lesson, learn from it, and make adjustments in the future. You don’t need to do anything more than that.”

“He’s right,” you agreed, the sentiment muffled against Wrecker’s broad chestplate. “Let me do my job and trust that I’ll do everything I can to keep us all out of danger.”

You blindly stuck your hand out behind Wrecker’s back, searching until you connected with Tech’s familiar fingers. His grip was hesitant but steady, and you gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance.

“It’s probably true,” Curl said, apparently backing you up. “Pain is like a truth serum. And with that gash… it’s probably the truth. Even if you did lie about being a perfect patient.”

You chuckled at that, despite the discomfort from your injury, and relaxed a bit as you felt Tech press a kiss to the back of your hand.

---

A/N - This chapter could realistically be called 'Ink will do anything to avoid using the y/n designation'. For those who are unfamiliar, Curl is my OC medic for the Wolfpack and you can read more featuring him in Just for Kix on my masterlist. As always, I'm still taking requests! Thanks again, Anon, for this idea and I'm sorry again about skimping on the fluff! If you want me to rewrite or expand on it, please feel free to let me know.

[albertasunrise]

No More - Chapter 4

Summary: Frankie has been your best friend since you were in the 2nd grade. You were each other’s first’s, he, your first love and as you’d both gotten older you always somehow fell into bed together after one too many drinks with the boys. You don’t know how much longer you can keep this up but fate has other plans for you both and events are set in motion to decide for you.

Warnings: Angst, Bitch Ex, Fluff

Pairings: Frankie/ Reader

~

Frankie’s recovery was slow. His physio was extensive after having to have his left leg reconstructed and it meant it took him some weeks to build up the muscle strength in it again. He was on a concoction of drugs, pain and antibiotics, after he’d had to have his kidney and his spleen removed. The Millers had temporarily moved in with Frankie to take care of him when he was let out of the hospital and you’d gone around almost every evening so that he could spend time with Emma. You’d been shocked how quickly he’d taken to becoming a father, desperate to do anything to help that was within his capabilities. As time went on and he was well on the way to recovery he started to take more and more on, relishing being able to feed her, bath her and sing her to sleep. Neither of you though discussed the situation between the two of you. He’d not pushed the subject again, despite how desperate he was to confess how he felt but he knew that he had to prove himself and so he started with Emma.

‘So... I wondered if you had any plans this weekend.’ He says suddenly, pulling you from your book.

‘What do you mean?’ You ask as you turn your head to look at him, smiling as he bounces his smiley daughter on his knee.

‘Well, the doc said it’s important for me to be moving around and walking about.’ He starts, pulling a face at Emma and making her giggle ‘The weather is supposed to be really good this weekend. Thought maybe we could take Emma to the zoo.’

It had been four months since the accident. Frankie was able to walk unaided now and had been taking regular walks, often to get Emma to sleep as she always dosed off in her pram after she ate. He had really thrown himself headfirst into fatherhood and you’d noticed. A few times you’d seen him crying as you left for the night, his shoulders shaking as he tried to fight back the tears as he watched you leave. He’d received a monumental payout from the accident. Turned out the guy who had hit him was a multimillionaire and had paid Frankie a massive fee not to take him to court. He’s sad down with you, asked you what you thought and you’d appreciated him doing that, ultimately telling him to take the deal.

‘Yeah, that sounds like a wonderful idea.’ You reply as you smile at your daughter, her arms waving in delight at the attention she's getting from her parents.

‘I wanted to show you something.’ He said as he pulled her against his chest and stood up, holding his hand out to help you to your feet.

‘What?’ You ask as he leads up up the stairs.

A sense of Deja Vu washes over you as you walk up the stairs of his childhood home, eyes scanning over the photos that hung on the wall and smiling at the ones of you and him as children, the ones of his parents and now taking pride of place, Emma. He stops beside the door that had once been your bedroom, pushing it open and motioning for you to look as he bounces the baby in his arms. You look at him suspiciously as you take ginger steps towards the doorway, eyes growing wide with what greets you. The room had been completely transformed. The walls had been painted a subtle pink and a whitewashed Crib sat proudly to the middle of the wall on your right with a changing table sat opposite that was painted in a similar finish. Piled neatly in the corner were several stuffed toys and sat underneath the window was a chest that you recognised. It had been yours when you were a kid and you’d moved it with you when Frankie’s parents had taken you in. It was unchanged, just lovingly restored and when you walked over to it and carefully lifted the lid you sobbed when you saw the toys you’d kept inside are still there.

‘Thought maybe you might want to give them to Emma.’ He states as he takes a step inside, smiling against Emma’s cheek as she rests her face against his lips.

You close the lid and continue to scan your surroundings, smiling at the artwork that hangs on the walls and the mobile above the cot.

‘Do you like it?’ He asks, a little nervous at your continued silence.

‘I love it.’ You reply as you finally look at him, your smile spreading from ear to ear ‘When did you do all this?’

‘Well, I had some time on my hands.’ He chuckles ‘The guys helped me with it but I wanted to get something together for her.’ You nod as you watch Emma look around ‘There’s one more thing.’

You give him a bemused look, following him out of the nursery and down the hall to what you knew to be the spare room. This room was also different although in more subtle ways. There was a desk set up in the corner that adorned a large monitor and other computing equipment and in the far corner stood a tall mirror with an elegant wardroom and dresser beside it.

‘What is this?’ You ask, turning your head to look at him.

‘It kills me every night when you take her.’ He starts, the pain evident in his expression ‘I thought maybe if you had somewhere you could sleep, that some nights she can stay here. I know that you’re not comfortable leaving her yet so this way you don’t have to. This way I can help with night feeds and breakfast time.’

‘Frankie-‘

‘Please. Before you say no. At least think about it.’ He begs ‘I’m not asking you to move in here or anything. I’m just asking you to give me a chance to help more. I’ve even set a desk up so that you can work here and I can take care of her during the day. I’m not going to be able to work for a while so why not be a stay at home dad. The payout means I’m financially sound for a while.’

‘Frankie. I wasn’t going to say no.’ You chuckle, taking a few ginger steps towards him ‘I think this is a great idea.’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’ You reply, smiling at the goofy grin that spreads across his face.

‘Great!.’

~

‘What do you think she’ll want to see first?’ Exclaims Frankie excitedly ‘I think the penguins!’

‘Frank she’s 4 months old.’ You giggle ‘She’ll probably poop and fall asleep.’

You can’t help but love how excited he is about this day trip. He was insistent on wearing the baby carrier so that he could show her call the animals. You’d been concerned that his leg might struggle but he said he was fine. So here you are, him with a giggly Emma strapped to his chest and you with the buggy, pushing around the armoury of items that babies apparently require.

‘Oh look the penguins are this way.’ He says, practically skipping and you can’t help but chuckle at his excitement.

Sure enough, Emma is mesmerised by them, watching them swim with comically wide eyes as her little hands wave around as if desperately trying to pet them. The two of you coo at her as she laughs and wiggles with glee as one penguin seems to take a particular interest in her, smiling when she squeals at him waving his wing at her.

‘I think you made a new friend baby girl.’ He says sweetly as he places a kiss on the top of her head.

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ Comes a voice, pulling you both out of your family moment.

You and Frankie turn to see Emily stood across from you, arms crossed and her face red with rage.

‘So her brat is yours then?’ She spits, venom dripping from every word.

‘Emily-‘

‘This is hilarious. You cheat on me with her and knock her up in the process.’ She scoffs, eyeing Emma angrily ‘Poor kid. Having a dad like you.’

‘Don’t you dare speak to him like that!’ You growl, taking a step forward ‘He’s an amazing father to Emma. He went through hell four months ago but despite that he has gone over and above to show her how loved she is.’

‘Hell huh?’ She tuts as she tilts her head to the side ‘Fall of the bandwagon again did you Fish?'

‘His car got t-boned and he almost died actually.’ You state, taking pleasure in the shock that spreads across her face. ‘Lost a kidney and his spleen. Had to have his leg reconstructed and went through months of painful physio so that he could walk again and yet he still bathed her, fed her. Despite the pain, he was in. So he’s an incredible father and I’m just glad I was able to give him the chance to prove that…’

'Unlike you’

The guilt that flooded her features only inflated the satisfaction you feel in taking her down a peg. You could see her brain working, trying to find a comeback but struggling.

‘Why she so small?’ She finally says ‘You get on it whilst knocked up?’

‘I was in the car with him.’ You growl ‘Accident brought on an early labour and she ended up being a month premature.’

Her face paled at your statement but you felt no satisfaction now. She’d brought your daughter into this feud. She’d made it personal. She stood there for a moment, mouth opening and closing as she thought of what to say but in the end, she turned around and practically sprinted out of view, leaving you seething in silence.

‘You okay?’ Frankie asks finally as he places a friendly hand on your arm.

‘Yeah.’ You reply as you turn and smile at him ‘Yeah I'm fine.’

‘Thank you.’ He says, and you give him a confused look ‘For sticking up for me. I really hope that I’ll be a good dad to Emma.’

‘Frankie I meant every word.’ You state, your expression serious ‘You are an amazing father to Emma. She’s so lucky to have you.’

You see his cheeks pink at that, giving you a little nod as he places another kiss on his daughters head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

‘Shall we go see the giraffes Bean?’ You ask as you stroke Emma’s cheek with your finger, giggling when she squeals in reply ‘Take that as a yes.’

‘Do you want to carry her for a bit?’ Asks Frankie as he watches you with her ‘I’ll push the pram.’

‘No, it's fine.’ You reply, smiling sweetly at him ‘I like watching you with her.’

Emma loved the giraffes even more. She wriggled like crazy as her hands grabbed at the docile creatures. One of the keepers had noticed her reaction and invited you over for snack time. You filmed on your phone whilst Frankie held his hand flat so the giraffe can eat the snack the zookeeper has given him and you desperately try to stifle your laugh when the creature's large blue tongue sloppily licks it out of his hand. Emma squeals with excitement at how close it had gotten but she quietened down when it lowered its head to inspect her, the keeper telling Frankie that it is okay to pet him. You couldn’t believe your eyes as you watch Emma, very gently, pet the giraffe's snout and you found yourself tearing up as your eyes lock with Frankie’s, the two of you amazed at how in tune she is with the creature. The keeper organised for the three of you to stop in on feeding time for a load of other animals, Frankie being particularly excited about the lions. You both stood there in awe of their majesty whilst Emma squeaks and squeals as she watches the cat pace in his cage ready for his food but she stops dead when one lioness starts to roar. The sound is so powerful it vibrates through you and you both look down at Emma, concerned that the sound will scare her. Instead, she is dead still, her eyes open as wide as they can go as she stares and the cat, her mouth slowly opening wider and wider. You both can't help but chuckle at her amazement and you share a loving glance sith each other, both in awe at how innocent she is.

Emma is fast asleep by the time you get back to the car and the two of you envy her. The day had proved to be an eventful one but one that you’d never forget. You’d Whatsapped the giraffe video to the boys and Benny had replied with several laughing emojis at Frankie's reaction.

New girlfriend Fish? He asked, and Will replied to that with a GIF of R2D2 falling flat on his face captioned DEAD.

Frankie just sent a middle finger emoji which elicited another flurry of amused responses.

‘Today was wonderful.’ You say sweetly as you buckle yourself in ‘Thank’s for suggesting it.’

‘I’m just sorry we bumped into her.’ He replies, his expression guilty.

‘No need.’ You reply as you press the start button for the car ‘She’s a bitch.’ You shrug before giving him a smile.

‘I wondered if maybe you’d like to get a pizza and stay tonight?’ He asks, changing the subject completely.

‘Sounds like a plan.’ You reply ‘Could murder a stuffed crust pepperoni.’

‘God yes.’ He replies ‘That’s why I love you.,’

You freeze at his exclamation and so does he, the two of you looking away awkwardly. You focus on the road whilst he looks in the back to check on Emma, smiling at her little feet twitching as she sleeps. He inwardly scolds himself for his slip. That’s not how he wanted to tell you. He just hoped you hadn't taken it so literally. When you pull into his drive you turn your head to see Emma starting to stir, her face scrunching as she yawns and her mouth forms an adorable O.

‘I’m just going to dash to the house and get some fresh clothes for me and her.’ You say as you turn to look at Frankie.

‘I’ll get her fed and watered then.’ He jokes ‘I’ll order the pizza too. Pepperoni yeah?

‘And stuffed crust.’ You clarify ‘Forget the stuffed crust and I’ll never forgive you.’

‘You’ve got it!.’ He replies with a small salute.

Hopping out of the car he grabs the baby from her seat and carries her inside, bouncing her in his arms as he grabs a bottle from the fridge and places it in the bottle warmer. Emma is more awake now and tugging insistently at the collar of his shirt.

‘Did you have a good day baby girl?’ He asks sweetly as he looks down at his daughter, smiling when she squeals in reply ‘So how is daddy going to woo mummy hmm?’ He asks her ‘How am I going to prove to mummy how in love with her I am?’

She just stares up at him with her big brown eyes, her lips pursing as she starts to blow raspberries at him.

'Should have known I wouldn't get a serious answer out of you.' He chuckles as the timer on the warmer dings to let him know the bottles done 'Right you hungry Bebé niña?'

She suckles eagerly on her bottle, eyes comically wide as her hands grab at it. He watches lovingly as he feeds her, unable to contemplate how one can love someone as much as he loves her. He'd known the moment he looked at her that she was his and he'd never been happier in his life. He found he couldn't be angry at you for keeping it from him. He'd not exactly given you a reason to but he was glad that you had in the end. That he now had the chance to be a father to this angel in his arms.

~

‘This pizza is heaven!.’ You say, rubbing your belly as you sink back into the couch.

‘Good.’ He replies as he turns his head to look at you ‘Gino does make the best pizza in town.’

‘Well, I’d agree with that statement!.’ You say as you smile at him.

The two of you share a lingering look. You can feel your heart speeding up when his hand brushes yours. His eyes drop to your lips before returning your gaze again and you find yourself leaning in, his hand suddenly resting on your hip as your lips brush against his. Then... Screams.

‘I’ll get her.’ You say as you roll your eyes and smirk at him, sprinting up the stairs to tend to a wailing Emma.

‘Thanks a lot, baby girl.’ Frankie grumbles as he scrubs his hand over his face ‘So close.’ He finishes as his head falls back against the couch.

~

Chapter 5

[prissypickle]

Ill be talking about my growth over the year. There will be sensitive topics but I want to share what I have overcome.

The past 12 months have been so hard to deal with. But Ive overcome so many challenges

. May 18th I had a major attempt. I was in the pcu for 2 days. I wrote my parents a letter saying that Im going to the hospital to get some help. The last time i ever attempted like this was in 2014. My parents didn’t realize how much I was struggling despite telling them daily.

I was admitted into the psych unit a 3rd time. Those 7-10 days is where you grow so much. The people surrounding you at the hospital is one of the most comforting things. The paitents, (most) staff they are always there for you when it feels like no one else is. Ive been there twice since 2019. Recently ive been considering going back (for a psych eval) due to how the past 5 months have been one event after another

. I was supposed to get out of the psych unit on Saturday but I voluntarily checked myself out as we thought my bearded dragon was going to pass. My mom told the staff not to tell me unless they really thought it was over for him (sloppy writing rn Im crying over how I thought I was gonna lose him) rafiki is my rock. He knows how to calm me down. The staff allowed me to have my phone for 2 hours while I called 20 different vets to find a place to Euthinize Rafiki as that was pretty much the only reason my mom told me. I called for 2 hours and there was only one place that would do it. It was an inhome euthanasia. And I have that numbered stored in my phone. God forbid I need to use it. Its there

. I took him to the vet and we decided that if the antibiotics that we were giving him wasn’t working we would euthanize him. But it worked and my boy is happy and alive.

Things started to get bad again when my sisters boyfriend moved in. I began disociating and maladaptive daydreaming to the extreme.

I relapsed.

But I got back up. Then come January and I decided to open up my shop. @delicate.littlespace.shop its one of the best thing I could have done. I had severe struggles. Etsy started taking me down for copyright infringement because I was selling deco popsocket. They took the whole They took my whole account down because of the popsocket deal. That fucked me up a lot. I was able to get it back once I showed etsy that what i was selling isnt really a popsocket. I just buy it in bulk. I got my account back. But one night I was on Facebook and someone took my photos and put it on a child protective services group. It was the most painful thing ever as it could’ve showed my location full name etc. but they crossed off all my info. Still extremely upsetting. Ontop of my etsy issues. Someone started a roumor saying I support minors in kink so on and they told all my promoters and one left and blocked me without me able to defend my side. So im watching out here and there to make sure roumors aren’t going around about me.

A series of events happened that day. My etsy account got suspended, posted in a cps group, crisis line hung up on me not once but TWICE there were more but that was the main 3. I took 2 days off work. Then the series of events get worse. I dislocated my shoulder. It took 3 months for me to get to see a ortho who just spent 5 minutes with me and told me to go to pt. I was waitlisted on pt. I went and saw a second opinion for my shoulder. Same things. Pt.

I reinjured it severely the other day as I lifted up something that I shouldnt have and I popped my shoulder put of place. I went to urgent care the next day and found out my shoulder was re dislocated, fractured, and deformed. January to April I was in a sling. Then I was out and them on my 2nd I injured it. I was supposed to start PT finally on the 13th but my referrl never went through so I dont know what to do anymore about pt. Im just thinking how this may be a sign that pt isnt gonna help.

With my worsened injury I cant do basic needs. Washing hair, chores, cook, I can barely pull up my pants. Its horrible. I dont wish this on anyone. So Ive been struggling with major hygiene and didnt wash my hair for 2 weeks. Today I finally got it washed and it felt so good. I nearly released the other day but I was able to stop and think. Hey a year ago it would be different. Ive overcome so many things this past year. My life has been 10000years too many. Im just proud of how far I have come and Im finally safely coping. I still have a whole bunch ahead of me but Im finally going in the right direction.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 6: New In Town

First Impressions

~

SAM YAO: You know, Five, for a big corridor made of old shipping containers, this is pretty nice. White walls, little round windows, [giggles] sunlight streaming in.

[intercom squeals]

HASSIBA JELASSI: As-salamu alaykum. In the first days after the outbreak, many ships washed ashore near Kalaat El-Amal, mostly large cargo vessels carrying zombified refugees. Difficult days. We used salvaged shipping containers to build a perimeter wall. It's a ring that connects directly to many of our buildings. If you keep moving through it, you will reach our main medical clinic. We're mostly doctors here.

JANINE DE LUCA: Miss Jelassi, we appreciate your kindness. Kalaat El-Amal is our first settlement in Tunisia, and you saved us from the sandstorm. But is a three month quarantine necessary? As traders, my people are eager to be on their way.

HASSIBA JELASSI: I understand, but I am afraid the procedure is immutable. You show no sign of sickness, but we can't be too careful. Ships rarely arrive here these days, but those that do carry diseased crews. Rabies, malaria, antibiotic-resistant infections, even strange variants of the undead virus.

JANINE DE LUCA: Administrator -

HASSIBA JELASSI: Please, call me Hassiba. My sympathies, Miss De Luca, but the rules must be observed. If you follow the drones, they will lead you where you need to go. Please move swiftly, they're taking baseline fitness readings. I'm afraid I have urgent paperwork, but when you reach the clinic, we'll hold a full debriefing.

[drones whir]

SAM YAO: It is cool the way we've got this overhead cloud of helicopter drones escorting us, and the way that big one broadcast Hassiba's voice to us.

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Lynne and Miss Dempsey are still a few meters behind us, escorted by their own drone swarm. I suspect the drones encouraged us apart because small groups are easier to monitor. [whispers] A debrief means inconvenient questions about our business as traders, but I see no way out. Five, Mr. Yao, keep following the drones while I work out our options. Maintain a steady pace. Run!

~

SAM YAO: Ooh, this corridor's even nicer than the last one. I like the tile mosaics on the walls. Janine, are you okay? Why-why do you keep tapping Veronica's briefcase like that? Oh, is it an escape thing? Should I be tapping something?

VERONICA MCSHELL: It's a me thing, Sam. Janine's been tapping on my case to give me orders in Morse code. She guessed the drones are running on a wireless network. I've infiltrated it and hacked their central computer. The main database says there's an exit door ahead where the corridor curves, passcode 331. I've jammed the drone audio feeds, but I can't lock their video without being noticed and overridden.

SAM YAO: So we can't escape. Janine, should we even be escaping? I mean, these people did save our lives.

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps, Mr. Yao, but we know we are not sick. Dr. Myer's confirmed our perfect health before we left the boat. If we stay, we will miss General Bakari's rendezvous. The drones are not armed. Old commercial models, probably salvage. Even if they detect us fleeing, they cannot stop us.

Miss McShell, signal Mr. Lynne and Miss Dempsey to follow our lead. Our only chance is to escape this corridor into Kalaat El-Amal proper. I wish we could learn more about it first, but we will have to improvise. Five, Mr. Yao, get ready to dash for the red door. And go!

~

[crowd chatters]

SAM YAO: I don't see any drones behind us, Five. Yeah, yeah, I think we lost them. These houses are pretty close together. Where are Peter and Frances? I don't see them, either.

VERONICA MCSHELL: They were spotted by armed guards exiting the perimeter wall. I sent them on an alternative route to evade their pursuers.

JANINE DE LUCA: We could also use some direction, Miss McShell. We've reached a recreation area. I see a cafe, a small stage, and outdoor gym equipment ahead. The perimeter wall is looming to our rear. Five, Mr. Yao, keep moving, heads down.

SAM YAO: Oh, look at that, Five! There's loads of solar panels on the rooftops. People are taking canopies down from the buildings. Must have been for the storm.

VERONICA MCSHELL: Apparently, Kalaat El-Amal uses solar panels to meet its energy needs. It's mostly independent, but has links to a larger Tunisian government.

SAM YAO: Oh, I love the white buildings and blue doors. Can't wait to describe this to Sara. Hold on, those two teenagers we just passed, were they texting? They had like little phones.

VERONICA MCSHELL: Handheld pagers made from old phones, distributed by the local authorities. They provide weather and zombie alerts.

JANINE DE LUCA: And possibly fugitive alerts, too. Over there, uniformed police rushing towards us with papers in hand. Miss McShell?

VERONICA MCSHELL: I am searching Kalaat El-Amal's database for a viable route out. Ah, I have an idea. Keep running, head down the furthest alley on your left. Sam, do not be distracted by the stall selling sweets and pastries. Go!

~

VERONICA MCSHELL: Keep going, all of you, straight past the building marked Blood Testing. There are laundry bins behind it. Slip something over your clothes to confuse the guards.

SAM YAO: Veronica, these are peoples’ things. And they're not clean.

JANINE DE LUCA: Needs must, Mr. Yao.

[cloth rustles]

SAM YAO: Ugh. Done. Did you see the people coming through that metal arch, Five? They were riding camels! Only aren't the camels here supposed to have one hump, not two?

VERONICA MCSHELL: That was a foraging squad fresh from checking abandoned coastal resorts for supplies. The camels are Asian Bactrian camels, not native dromedaries. It appears a transport ship ran aground near Kalaat El-Amal some years ago. It contained many genetically-engineered animals bred for show. Several surviving species have prospered in the local ecosystem.

SAM YAO: Ah, that explains the green peacock chilling by the water fountain. Oh, over there, look! It's Peter and Frances, outside a little stone hut.

VERONICA MCSHELL: The hut is an entrance to the region's underground water system. The system is inspired by old Roman aqueducts and underlies Kalaat El-Amal. It may allow you to evade your pursuers.

SAM YAO: Hmm. I'm still feeling pretty bad about this, Janine. We're not making a great first impression.

JANINE DE LUCA: This is an espionage operation, Mr. Yao. Regrettably, diplomacy must be another day's concern.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Guys, over here!

JANINE DE LUCA: Toward Mr. Lynne and Miss Dempsey. We'll take separate routes to avoid detection. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Good to see you, Five. Not exactly being good tourists, are we? This hut is tiny, but the stone stairs lead down to the water system. Sam and Janine beat you here already. She shot down to scout possible exit routes and said that we should all follow once you've caught up with us.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: This place is so cool, don't you think, Five? The steps lead to a modified old-school aqueduct system. There's a huge underground channel leading into Kalaat El-Amal from a water source in some nearby mountains. The water runs in a big distribution tank under a hill, then gets circulated to systems! Veronica says it took years to construct.

[water flows]

PETER LYNNE: Frances has been asking Veronica about local trivia all day, Five. It's like traveling with a backpacker. [laughs] Okay Veronica, we're all down in the water system. The stairs led to a stone ledge in an underground chamber. There's a long tunnel ahead, it's half flooded. Water's flowing this way through grills under our ledge.

VERONICA MCSHELL: You should see a metal ramp to your left connected to a catwalk above the water. The catwalk leads down the tunnel. Follow it.

SAM YAO: Uh, what are those big giant gray beetle things creeping out of the water? Oh, they're scuttling onto the ledge behind us. They're like really massive wood lice.

VERONICA MCSHELL: Checking data... they are a breed of genetically-modified giant isopod, one of the engineered species I mentioned earlier. Apparently, they're voracious omnivores who consume most organic material. They cannot survive far from water. The locals placed them down here to keep the system clean. They patrol in a single large pack. They move slowly on land, but if they catch you, they will consume you. Head down the catwalk quickly. All accessible exit routes are that way and will lead outside Kalaat El-Amal's perimeter. Hurry, run!

~

[water flows, isopods chitter]

PETER LYNNE: Faster, Five. I'm really not liking how the isopods are chittering. Veronica, my lovely friend, how are you doing on finding us that way out?

VERONICA MCSHELL: Checking... confirmed. Computer access is hard to maintain underground, but apparently you were spotted entering the hut. All escape routes are barricaded. Unless...

SAM YAO: Oh, I do not like the sound of that.

VERONICA MCSHELL: You are on an observation catwalk. It only extends a short way into the aqueduct tunnel, but if you jump over the edge, you can follow the aqueduct waterway itself all the way to the mountains. The tunnel is large and not completely flooded at this time of year. It is viable.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: But you said the isopods -

VERONICA MCSHELL: Are much faster in water. [pursuers shout] The locals have sent people into the water system after you. They're worried about the isopods harming you. They're also very angry. You have no choice. Jump into the waterway, head straight up the channel against the current. The isopods will prevent anyone pursuing you into the water.

[water splashes]

JANINE DE LUCA: Torches on, everyone. Not much lighting down here. The isopods are leaping from the catwalk into the water after us. Forwards everybody, run!

~

[water flows, isopods chitter]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Oh my God, oh my God, those isopod things are catching up!

SAM YAO: Oh hell, they are seriously quick in the water! I really don't like how their bodies undulate.

VERONICA MCSHELL: You have come a considerable distance, you should be approaching the exit.

[PETER shouts, splashes into water]

JANINE DE LUCA: Peter!

SAM YAO: Peter's down! Five, Five, help me get him up!

PETER LYNNE: Oh, just one of these things has my ankle. Currently it is chomping to the bone. Five, would you mind ripping that off of me? [flesh squelches] Good. So, well, that’s ripped the bug in half. That's something, Jaws are still in my flesh, but that's fine. Help me up, Five.

JANINE DE LUCA: I see daylight ahead.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, the rest of the bugs are speeding up, Five. Blood in the water's got them excited. Good, good, good. Okay, gotta run through the pain. Forward, come on, before they swarm all over us. Go go go go go!

~

PETER LYNNE: Oh, thank God, open air. Right, so the aqueduct empties into the plunge pool of that huge waterfall. There are the others, Five. They're on the rocky bank.

SAM YAO: Five, Peter, over here! Get out of the water, quick.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: It's okay, Sam. Look, the isopods are huddled at the mouth of the aqueduct tunnel. Sunlight must be too bright or hot for them. This area is really beautiful. Roaring waterfall, lush foliage, sun-bleached rock. Peter, are you okay?

PETER LYNNE: Oh, yep. Yep yep yep. Just pulling some mandibles out of my ankle. You know, classic. Hey um, so this is strange. There's a marking on them, actually. Sort of you know, carved, tattooed on the underside? It's a barcode.

SAM YAO: Veronica did say they were genetically-engineered, salvaged from a shipwreck.

PETER LYNNE: Yeah, that's not all, though. There's also a symbol which is a stylized chevron V which I've seen before in one of Van Ark's labs.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: So have I, on Dearg.

PETER LYNNE: Oh yeah, just a classic isle of Doctor Moreau shipment full of engineered animals. Yep, sure, why not? That sounds just like his sort of science.

JANINE DE LUCA: Indeed. More questions only General Bakari and Red Scorpion base can answer, but these mountains are a diversion from our route. We'll have to continue south on foot and hope we can keep to our schedule. With luck, we can still make the rendezvous with Mohammed Boujettif, Miss Spens’s contact.

Come along, people, there's no time to rest. We cannot miss our only chance to get into Red Scorpion. Van Ark created these creatures. Who knows what other far more dangerous work he may be attempting, especially with access to large quantities of the red fungus. It's clear our mission is even more vital than we believed.

~

[youllallriseintheink]

A Symphony of Nightmares, part 2.

I hope you guys enjoy this. I hope it’s not too similar to The Draw of The Pipes. Sorry it’s so long- I might split it in two for the AO3 version.

---

It was three weeks after downing the ink, and Sammy felt like hell. He supposed that it was just the ink doing whatever it had to for it’s cause, but right now, it seemed to want to give him stabbing pain in his head and tie his stomach in knots. It didn’t used to be this bad- he used to just feel like this, or least, almost this bad- after eating. Now- well, he’d have trouble keeping anything down. He would have gone for medical attention a week ago, and had run the idea by Joey, but Joey said that if he did that, they might be able to figure out their secrets. Sammy supposed he was right.

Sammy’s mind was swimming. Did this song he was writing even make sense? Sammy then realized that he was writing musical notes over the ordering form he had been filling out before he spaced out. If not medical attention, maybe he could use a day in the infirmary.

There was a knock at the door to his office. It was Norman. “Yes?” Sammy asked weakly.

Norman brushed hair from his eyes and allowed himself to take in Sammy’s appearance. He looked so tired and sick that it hurt to look at. “Sammy,” Norman said in a serious, genuine voice. “Can you meet me after work?”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you seriously about something.”

“Why can’t we do it here?”

Norman peered over his shoulder, closed the door and whispered, “I suppose we could, if you think it’s safer. Will he be okay with it?”

Sammy glared at him with all the force he could muster. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I can do whatever I want.”

“Okay. Promise me you’ll be there. Here’s my address.” He handed Sammy a sheet of paper. “Right after work, okay?”

“Fine,” Sammy sighed. He was too tired to make fight out of it. Norman turned to leave. “Wait,” Sammy said. “Do you see faint words on the walls here? Like ink that couldn’t quite be scrubbed off?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.” At least now, Sammy could be sure that he wasn’t seeing things.

Shortly after Norman left, Sammy went down to the infirmary for the rest of the day.

—-

The bastard stole his keys! Sammy wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but Norman had taken the keys right out of his pocket. Well, Sammy might have skipped meeting Norman otherwise, but now he had no choice. So, he followed the address and ended up on Norman’s doorstep. Norman opened the door before Sammy got the chance to knock.

“Come in,” Norman said gravely.

“Give me back my keys,” Sammy growled.

“After. Come in.”

Sammy obeyed. Norman’s house was nice enough, he supposed, although the wall with dozens of photos of people taped to it was disconcerning. Sammy even saw a picture of himself on it. Without even looking at him, Norman pointed to an armchair. Sammy sat down in it, and Norman disappeared to the kitchen and came back a second later with two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Sammy.

“What are you doing?” Sammy asked.

“Making you comfortable,” Norman answered.

No, you’re not, Sammy wanted to say, but he settled for giving Norman a weird look.

“Sorry, I’m not good with new people. But anyhow, I wanted to talk to you because I know you’re in a relationship with Joey Drew, and I’ve seen that you’re not half yourself lately. How is he treating you?”

“Fine,” Sammy snapped.

Norman got up and pretended to swing at Sammy. His fist ended up almost a foot from where Sammy was, but Sammy ended up curled into a whimpering ball, his hands protecting his face and his coffee sprayed across the floor.

“I don’t think you’re fine.”

“You know what? You’re making a ton of assumptions, here. Joey is the best thing that ever happened to me! Maybe my dad beat me, and that’s why I cowered like that. Maybe I’m just jumpy in general. Maybe you’re just that freaky! Ever think of that? You can’t prove anything! And even if you could, why would you care?”

Norman sat back down. “Sorry. Can I tell you why I care?”

“Will you give me my keys back afterwards?”

Norman sighed. “So, the reason that I care is that I think I saw my best friend go through the same process. You’re familiar with the finance manager, now that you’re in his office, right?”

As a head-of-department, Sammy had had a few run-ins with the finance manager over the years, but hadn’t bothered to learn his name until they’d switched offices. “Toby?”

“No, the one before him. Grant Cohen.”

“Don’t know him.”

“Well, he was also in a relationship with Joey Drew. I remember how happy he was when Joey finally made it official. He thought all he was to him was a toy. After that, though... well, I could sense things were going wrong, but I never said anything. I watched Joey treat him like property, and I never said a word... Months later, he gives me a call at eight at night, asking to come over. He shows up with cracked glasses, a bloody nose, and a hand-shaped bruise across his face. I was with him when he made that phone call to break up with Joey and give his two weeks’ notice. Honestly, I thought giving him that much was too much, but Grant wanted the severance package. Well, he disappeared less than two weeks later, and I was left wishing that I’d said something before it escalated like that. And now I’m looking at this small, scared, worn-down version of Sammy Lawrence who’s also in a relationship with Joey Drew, and this time I don’t want to keep my mouth shut.”

Sammy was in silence for nearly a minute. “Joey never treated me like a toy,” Sammy mused. “From day one, he treated me like someone who he really respected and wanted in his life. And he would never hit me in the face. I wonder what Grant did to deserve that...” he was just thinking aloud, but now Sammy realized how insensitive it sounded. And yet, Norman, didn’t seem offended.

“I never said your relationship was exactly the same. And you have bruises, Sammy.”

“I- what?” That couldn’t be right. Joey hadn’t beaten him in over a week. And yet, Sammy looked down and saw that his arms were covered in dark splotches, like there was a black substance trapped under his skin. He started hyperventilating. “This isn’t from Joey.”

“Sammy...”

“No, it’s worse. It’s ink. Joey and I downed ink together.”

“Ink? How are you even alive?!”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s not deadly. Just... just a little toxic. I don’t know what it’s going to do to me, Norman. Joey and I are supposed to go through this together, but it’s making me so sick and I-I’m scared.”

Norman came over and hugged Sammy, hoping that he’d stop shaking. “Shh... it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

After they separated, Sammy said, “Listen, Joey isn’t going to kill me. But... maybe he is a little toxic. But he’s given me things that you can’t even understand. And I think I can take him. I think I can take,” Sammy looked down at his arms, “this.”

Norman wasn’t sure what to say. This was all so much weirder than he’d thought. “Well, I can’t make you leave him. But if the toxicity ever gets to be too much to handle, just know that I’m here, alright? Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you.”

“Here’s your keys.”

—-

Right after the run-in with Norman, Sammy had been annoyed- mostly at himself for being so weak and selling out his partner like that, but also at Norman for putting him in that situation in the first place. Over the next few days, though, he began to think he had the right idea. Those three days had been rough- Sammy was spending almost as much time resting in the infirmary as he did working. The inky “bruises” were growing. At home, Joey was good about handling things around the house while Sammy rested. He’d been sympathetic to Sammy, since, for some reason, downing the was barely affecting Joey at all.

“I guess the ink just has different plans for us,” he’d said, “I guess we’ll just have to trust the process. Trust that it knows what’s best.”

Sammy wanted to trust the process. Wanted there to be a point in this. But he was also scared. His last straw was when he first noticed the veins extending from his bruises turning black. The thought of those painful areas spreading all over his body...

The morning four days after Norman’s intervention, Sammy got up at four in the morning and slipped out to visit the emergency room, where he was taken in, stripped down, and observed by a flurry of doctors who had no idea what was wrong with him. One nurse carefully pierced one of his “bruises,” which looked more like ink-filled warts at this point, and took the substance in for analysis, as well as taking a blood sample.

“Well, there’s enough... ink, or at least a biological substance with the appearance and scent of ink, in your body to kill a dozen men through ink poisoning,” the doctor said. “We should really test this further.”

“No!” Please, just treat me.” Sammy pleaded. Joey would kill him if the public found out the truth.

“But you could have some underlying issue. And this... ailment... has never been seen before. What if it’s contagious? Researching it would be a matter of public health.”

Sammy wanted to cry. “I beg of you. Just treat me the best you can. You can’t use me as a test subject without permission, right? If you can’t treat me without tests, I’ll just have to leave.”

The doctor gave him the most sympathetic look. “I suppose if it’s between that and treating you the best we can, we’ll treat you, if you’ll sign a waiver. So, here’s what we can do. We can burst the skin deposits with a sterile needle to get the ink out, then flush the areas with strong antibiotics. We’ll also have you take some oral antibiotics. Then, we’re going to have to put you through blood transfusions. My guess is that it will take ten hours a day for three days to get your blood healthy again. There’s a whole lot of gunk in it.”

Sammy froze. Three days. How would he hide this from Joey? “Oh, okay. Let’s do it.” He’d figure that out later. He needed treatment.

Sammy was taken to another room, where nurses burst the inky tumours. It hurt. But having less ink in him was a relief- all that built-up pressure under his skin had been painful. After that procedure, it was late enough in the morning that Joey would be at work, and Sammy went out to make two phone calls. The first was to Joey Drew.

“Joey, it’s Sammy Lawrence,” he began cautiously.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? YOU’D BETTER HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS OR I SWEAR TO GOD THERE WON’T BE ANYTHING LEFT FOR THE DOCTORS TO SEW BACK TOGETHER.”

The response was about level with Sammy’s expectations. “I do have an explanation. My aunt is sick, and I went to the Michigan hospital to see her. I got the phone call about three and a half hours ago, and I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. No, I’m sorry for assuming the worst, and about your aunt. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Alright. I love you. Bye. And uh, it might be a few days before she recovers, or, you know...”

“Right. Take care.”

The second phone call was to Norman’s place.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered. Of course, Sammy realized. Norman would be at work.

“Hey. It’s Sammy. Did Norman tell you about me?”

“You’re the one who’s in an abusive relationship with Joey Drew?”

Sammy sighed. Norman really had no respect for privacy whatsoever, but he wasn’t in a position to reject his help over that. “It’s just a little toxic. But, yeah. And I need help. Could I have a place to sleep tonight?”

“Sure,” she said in the warmest voice.

“Thank you.”

It was about 8:30 when Sammy was through with the blood transfusions that day and had arrived at Norman’s home.

“Thank you so much,” Sammy said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come here. I need to be gone from Joey for three days, and my old apartment is already on the housing market. I can call my brother about tomorrow night, but...”

“Woah, hold up,” Norman interjected. “You’re going back to him?”

“The problem isn’t our relationship. I’m just getting some medical attention that he wouldn’t approve of. That’s all. Here, here’s where they were doing blood transfusions on me.” Sammy showed them the pinprick on his arm.

Norman looked at Sammy with pity, a look that he was rapidly getting used to. “Okay. You can stay here tonight, and tomorrow night, too. Have you had dinner yet?”

“I’m good. Look, I’m really tired. Can I...?”

“Of course. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

Before Sammy went to bed, he took a good look in the bathroom mirror. No wonder people were giving him all those pitying looks- he looked like he belonged on the street. His hair looked bristly and was stained with ink. His skin was stained as well, and was covered in sores, a couple even on his face, from bursting the ink tumours this morning. He hadn’t eaten in over a week and hadn’t eaten normally for some time before that. Maybe that’s why his skin looked so sickly pale. Maybe he really should eat something for his health’s sake. The crazy thing was that he didn’t even feel hungry- whatever the ink had him destined for, it must have wanted him to be immune to starvation.

The ink... it wants something for me... why am I messing up its plan?

In bed, Sammy tortured himself with that question. Why was he going against Joey like this? They were supposed to handle this, and whatever the ink brought them, together. And how on earth was he going to explain the medical bills to Joey? And the burst tumours? The thought of Joey’s fists coming down on all those tender sores until they bled, Joey shoving his fingers into them as punishment... it made Sammy want to run away. Thankfully, Sammy was very tired, so it wasn’t long before he was asleep.

Two days later, it was time for Sammy to go home. He showed up at eleven pm. “Hey,” Joey said gently. “How was it? Did your aunt recover?”

Sammy was pretty scared, so he went with the option that would explain why he was upset. “No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It was nice for you to have us pay some of her hospital bills.”

Sammy’s eyes went wide. Did Joey actually think that’s what they were? “Yeah... ha ha.” Sammy walked past him. He was going to leave it there, but he couldn’t. He turned back to Joey. “Please don’t hurt me! I was desperate, alright? I love her!”

Joey looked genuinely surprised. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I mean, I wish you’d contacted me about it, but it was life or death!” Joey spread his arms, “Come here.”

Sammy returned the hug. Joey started stroking his hair. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know it’s late, but do you want to get wasted? It’s Friday, so we can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Could Sammy even drink anymore? It had been a while since he’d tried.

Sammy fetched a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. Cautiously, Sammy sipped from it. It went down fine- no sputtering on it, no disgust with the taste, no stomach ache. In that moment, Sammy realized that despite the recent blood transfusions, he felt healthier than he had since shortly after his infection. Maybe he really was all better.

“Someone’s happy,” Joey teased. Sammy then realized that he was wearing a big, dopey smile.

“Would you call me crazy if I said I feel better than I have in weeks? Come on, let’s make love, already!” One more thing he’d been too sick to do until now.

Sammy immediately regretted that as Joey began unbuttoning his shirt. The ink sores- he’d forgotten about the ink sores. “Wait. Stop. I changed my mind!”

It was too late, though. “Sex can wait,” Joey said darkly, his eyes focused on the sores on his chest, “but this shirt is coming off.” After undoing the last button, Joey threw the shirt to the side and circled around to look at his back. “Reach for your back. I want to see how far you can reach.”

Too scared to do anything else, Sammy obeyed. There was a long, horrible silence before Joey pushed Sammy onto the floor and held him down by his shoulders. “Explain the wounds.”

Sammy started sobbing.

“EXPLAIN THEM DAMNIT! DON’T MAKE ME MAKE YOU!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Sammy exclaimed between sobs. “I was so sick! I just wanted-” Sammy was cut off by a punch to his genitals, followed by several more to his chest and stomach. Joey was sitting on his legs, so he all he could do was cover his face and hope Joey would wear himself out eventually.

When Joey was finally finished, he was panting from anger and exertion. “I can’t believe you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I messed with the ink’s plan for us. We were supposed to face it together, and I failed you. I’m so sorry.”

Joey laughed. “If that’s all it were, I’d be happy. I didn’t know that the ink was going to make you this miserable. I don’t like seeing you like that. No. What you did was jeopardize our secrets. Imagine what’s going going to happen now that some hospital knows about the supernatural ink!” Joey’s fists curled. “We could both go to jail! I oughta-”

“Joey, wait! The only problem is a hospital finding out? Well, that’s good, because I never got help from a hospital. My sister is the one who helped me cut them off, honest! So it’s okay. It’s all okay, right?!”

“Oh! Oh,” Joey got up off of him. “Yes, of course it’s okay. I’m sorry about all that. Do you need some ice?”

Sammy nodded. After Joey had fetched him the ice, they made love and then turned in for the night. It had hurt thanks to all the bruises and wounds, but Sammy felt like he owed it to Joey for all of the trouble and lies. And as much as it hurt, it was still better than being ink sick. At least that was over.

—-

But it wasn’t over. The ink might have been removed from Sammy’s skin and what was left of his circulatory system, but nearly all his internal organs were gone, eaten, disintegrated. That’s why he was able to drink without a problem- there was no esophagus to reject the wine, and no stomach to ache. The ink was still deep inside of him, growing.

—-

The middle of the next afternoon, Sammy was still in bed, and Joey decided to check on him. Maybe he was taking the death of his aunt harder than it had seemed, and if so, Joey figured he ought to be there for him.

“Hey, Sammy. You up?” he asked to a completely-covered Sammy. No response. He tried shaking him gently, but again, no response. With his hands on him now, Joey realized that Sammy wasn’t breathing. He tore off the blanket to reveal the absolute horror beneath.

It was Sammy, alright. Same blue eyes, dead still and with ink and blood coming out of the sockets, leaving trails over purple skin. It was as though there were only an inch of human left overtop of the ink. Less in some places, where those dark tumours had returned. He even smelled like ink. Though still in a trancelike-state, Sammy reached weakly for the blanket. It was at this moment that Joey realized that Sammy was as cold as a corpse.

“Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry that I did this to you.” And Joey was. He’d had the perfect partner- one who had loved him despite knowing everything about him. And he’d let his insecurity, his lust for control, ruin him. If he could have chosen between having Henry back at his side or taking back the moment when he’d had Sammy drink that ink, he wouldn’t have hesitated to save Sammy’s life.

Joey spent the rest of the day caring for Sammy the best he could- feeding him soup, giving him hot water bottles and blankets to keep him warm, cleaning him up when he coughed up ink, keeping him company. For a little while, Sammy seemed to perk up a bit, and even tried to speak, though his voice was incomprehensibly thick with ink. By nightfall, though, Joey was convinced that Sammy was gone.

Joey gathered Sammy up into a plastic garbage bag, drove him to the studio, and left him in a supply closet in the very basement where Joey was sure no one would find him.

—-

The next thing Sammy was aware of was how cold he was. He reached for the blankets, but his hand found plastic. “What?!” Sammy said aloud. “I can- I can speak.” Somehow that surprised him. He stood up from the untied garbage bag and immediately stumbled on his own feet.

Where am I? ...This looks like the ink machine. How did I get here?”

All Sammy could remember was a delirious haze of laying in bed and Joey doting on him. Suddenly he remembered the last thing Joey had said to him.

“It’s gonna be alright. Remember all those magical nights we had together, running around in the woods, trying things we shouldn’t, getting drunk, talking about our passions, acting them out? We had so much fun. I’m gonna give you some time to think about everything else you appreciated in life, alright? But I’ll be here until the very end. That’s a promise.”

Sammy quickly realized that that was how you spoke to a dying man. Was he dead? He didn’t feel dead. On extremely unsteady legs, Sammy dragged himself off to a reflective metal surface. His feet and lower calves were like unmoving stumps on the ends of his legs. Inky blackness dominated his torso and had spread up his limbs and neck. Trying to touch his nose, Sammy realized why he was so unsteady- he could no longer move the parts of him that weren’t ink yet. The only reason he could even speak was the ink he had spat up and infected his mouth and jaw with earlier.

There was nothing for Sammy to do but sit down and watch the last of his humanity fade away. Watch and bawl tears of ink until his eyes were gone. Watch as ink was excreted from his remaining pores like sweat, engulfing his flesh. Joey had promised to be there for the end of his life. Maybe he’d even meant it. Joey had meant all his promises, really. All those promises to stop abusing him. But in the end, Joey was just a little too toxic to follow through.

—-

The following evening, Joey came down to the giant ink machine. It would be hard going on with this without loyal partner, but duty called.

Then, as he was making his way to the inner chamber, Joey nearly tripped over something unexpected: a somewhat muscular humanoid made of ink, curled up in fetal position on the cold metal floor. All of his subjects were supposed to be locked up! How could this have happened?! Unless...

“Sammy...?”

Sammy turned his head to Joey and nodded, whimpering.

Joey picked Sammy up in his arms. “You’re alive. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you... but I’ll think of something. That’s a promise.”

A part of Sammy wanted to reach down Joey’s throat and poison him with the ink that made up his body. A bigger part of Sammy thought that anything was better than staying trapped in this cold, metal dungeon. After everything he’d gone through, he wanted comfort. He wanted warmth. No matter where it came from. Sammy wrapped his arms around Joey. This might be a little toxic, but it was all he had.

[tcfkag]

Spoonie Life: My Last Week (fun with complications)

So, I’m having a really rough week. It feels like literally the second I get a break from one thing or a handle on another, then another thing pops up. I never get a break and it is exhausting. And sometimes it just makes you feel so alone because even those that support you - and I have a hugely supportive community of people in my life - just can’t understand. I’ve been feeling increasingly depressed and anxious and alone and my therapist does not have any availability to see me...possibly for months. So I wanted to just write up everything I’m going through because sometimes that helps but also because hopefully some of you may have gone through some similar things (esp. blood clots and ovarian cysts) and could give advice and/or just support. 

Here’s a (not so) short summary of shit that’s been going on lately (in list form because why not). Don’t feel like you have to read it all. I know everyone has their own things going on. But I just needed somewhere to vent and while I shared some of this on FB, I also feel freer to be honest and just fully disclose how hard this is for me here. Sometimes that’s one good thing about this hell site - less reason to self-censor and try to sound positive/hopeful/happy when I really truly am not.

Last Monday (the 15th), I finally finished three months of IV antibiotics I was on for an intra-abdominal abscess (an infected collection of fluid that was right underneath my diaphragm which meant that, for a while, it hurt to even take a breath). 

Good news right? Stopped it about a week ago which is awesome because the antibiotics were infused two hours x three times a day (i.e. six f*cking hours a day that I was connected to an IV bag).

But, I knew I would need a follow-up CT scan that was scheduled for this past Wednesday....and who knew what that would show.

Towards the end of last week, I started feeling very tired all the time. And then my physical stamina just suddenly....decompensated abruptly. I would get tired doing anything. Monotasker and I went to the grocery store and halfway through, I had to sit down (or risk passing out). After a few minutes, I told him “we need to get out of here” so we rushed through the rest of the basics we needed. And then while he checked out, I sat on a bench near-by. My heart was racing, I was out of breath, I was dizzy and light-headed, and just generally felt like I had run a 5K. 

The first couple times this happened I thought “well, maybe I’m out of shape, I *haven’t* been working out at ALL lately. But then I remembered, it was what - a week ago that I attended NYCC where sure, I got tired sometimes and had to sit down once in a while, but it was nothing like this. And I knew that fitness doesn’t decompensate like that....it’s sad that when confronted with such a serious health issue that my first reaction was to just....blame myself. Right away.

So last Sunday (a little over a week ago), I went into the ER to get checked out. I hoped it was something SIMPLE, like dehydration or maybe my anemia had gotten worse or low levels of some kind of electrolyte imbalance. Anything that could be handled in a single evening. Three guesses about whether that was really the problem (though if you’ve followed me for more than a hot minute, I’m sure you know that the right answer is...because of course, NOTHING is ever simple).

At the ER, they decided to do the CT scan I was supposed to have that Wednesday just to make sure there wasn’t anything they were missing. And while the abscess they had been treating was largely unchanged (so they are going to stop the antibiotics), they also found that I had a blood clot in my pelvis. This is my third blood clot but the other two (a DVT in 2008 and a PE in 2015) were both post-surgical. This is my first blood clot that happened “spontaneously”. The admitted me to the hospital for about 48 hours and put me on a heparin drip until they could get a blood thinner arranged to release me and send me home. 

A few observations and factoids about blood clots and their treatment for those who are interested.

People with Crohn’s Disease and Ulcerative Colitis (i.e. IBD) are more prone to blood clots. If you have IBD (or any autoimmune disease actually), you should be aware of this risk and know the signs of blood clots (esp. after surgery) and make sure to take preventative measures like standing up to walk around on long flights.

 Traditionally, blood clots were treated with the blood thinner warfarin (Coumadin is its brand name). It takes a few days to get to the correct level in your blood, so you have to be on injections of another blood thinner Lovenox (twice a day, at home, injected yourself) until your “INR” reaches the right level in your blood. While on warfarin you have to have regular bloodwork to check your INR - every few days at first, then weekly, and if you’re on it long term the tests become less common.

This is very challenging for me - after ALL the health issues I’ve had, my veins are completely shot. Even basic blood work is a challenge.

There is a newer genre of blood thinners out there called DACOs - you’ve probably heard of them (they include Xarelto and Elliquis) which are better for a couple reasons, I guess, but the main one for me is the lack of required blood thinners. Three guesses on whether my health insurance approved them? NOPE. They sent me into pre-authorization hell (which frequently means “nope never going to happen” but in this case I hope means “well if your doctor pushes hard enough, we’ll give in eventually).

Question: has anyone gotten one of the DACOs approved? Is there anything specific that you had to prove? How did it end up working out?

If you are someone who menstruates, just be aware - going on a blood thinner can cause your period to start early (mine started less than two days after starting them - at least a week or two early) AND it will make your period longer and heavier. 

P.S. - the GYN I saw yesterday said that Xarelto would make that even worse which leads into a later part of this post, but basically she said it was really important that I get my IUD replaced if I was going to be on Xarelto long term.

Since this is my third blood clot, it may mean that I will have to be on blood thinners permanently, which I’m not looking forward to AT ALL. Because really, do I need another medical complication? The answer is no. No, I do not. WHICH MAKES THE NEXT PART OF THIS POST IRONIC.

So this is the part of the post that I could actually use some advice on. 

So for a while, maybe as long as a year, every CT or MRI I’ve had has included a note from the radiologist saying that a benign ovarian cyst was seen on the scan (or sometimes it was called an “inclusive cyst” from the ovary into the peritoneal area. It would sometimes “recommend follow up with a GYN”. Okay....fair enough.

When I asked my GI and my PCP about it a long while ago (maybe even two years ago), they both sort of just said “sure you should see an OB-GYN about that at some point” but really didn’t follow-up on it. And then time passed because I had a LOT of other health issues that took precedence.

Sometime nine-months to a year ago, I started having pain in the area where my rectum used to be, especially when I was sitting at my desk at work. There were days it was so bad that I could not sit directly on my butt at all and had to constantly find different positions. And on those days, I would frequently also have pretty severe pain in my pelvis. For months I basically ignored it...again, I have chronic pain and I had bigger fish to fry. Again, it got put on the back burner. Until one day it was so painful I was crying at work. So I called my PCP who also called my GI and he looked at my scan and said “it’s probably that cyst, you should see a GYN....” Still no urgency (and my PCP even said “I don’t know i it’s that - sometimes doctors like to blame cysts when they just don’t know what else is wrong.”) Again and again, this cyst was acknowledged but treated as no big deal - a nuisance to be dealt with eventually.

Side note: at no point in this did my PCP or my GI bother to ask me about pain with sex, despite that being a somewhat obvious question.

So nine months ago (or so), my PCP finally did get me a referral to see someone in the minimally invasive surgical OB-GYN office. I called to make that appointment and was told “you cannot see a surgeon until you’ve seen one of the GYNs” so I got an appointment for several months later with a GYN in the office. 

Then, I had to cancel two different appointments with her because I kept being sick and/or in the hospital...and of course, each new appointment was two-three months later. 

So my appointment with the GYN (who was lovely) was yesterday. She told me that my cyst (which is in both the ovary and the peritoneum) is now the size of a GRAPEFRUIT! It is almost certainly to blame for the pain I get sometimes in my (former) rectal area and the pain I have when I have sex. She said that even if it’s “benign”, if it’s symptomatic like this, I shouldn’t have to live that way. For the first time, I had a doctor who I felt like was taking this issue seriously even though it wasn’t related to my IBD and was “just” a lady issue. (Though to be fair to my PCP, she has taken it seriously in the past, but it’s just not her specialty).

This GYN also said she’d be willing to take me to the procedure room and sedate me to put an IUD in, whether I have surgery or not because I had such a bad experience getting it last time!!! I really loved that she took my concerns about that seriously. Bless her.

So the (very extended) upshot is that I made an appointment with the minimally invasive surgeon who I was supposed to see SIX-NINE months ago (who, amazingly enough, had an appointment available MONDAY) and I may need to have another surgery to take care of this cyst. This cyst that wasn’t always the size of a grapefruit....but years of being told that it was benign, to “check it out” eventually, and having all of my other health needs take precedence has now left me here. With a huge cyst that has ruined my sex life and is starting to seriously impact my everyday life too.

TL;DR? I have TERRIBLE LUCK. ESPECIALLY this week. And I’m just feeling absolutely overwhelmed, lonely, and frustrated. And if you’ve had experience having surgery for an ovarian cyst, especially one that’s “including” on something outside the ovary, I’d really appreciate your thoughts on the procedure and whether it helped and was worth it.

[minttoy]

Daylight (Ch 3)

CHAPTER THREE

Summary: “She spent so much time counting her days. Finally, she sees her future clear as daylight.” - Linhardt helps Lysithea survive more than the war.

Pairings: Linhardt/Lysithea

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

----------

Weeks later, she’s still flipping through the days. Some passages are easier to read and few of them trigger difficult memories. It’s a blessing she cannot recall most of the things written in these pages.

Lysithea must look particularly haggard this morning, because Professor Hanneman waltzes into the room and starts the day with a peculiar joke.

“Are you and Linhardt married, by any chance?” he asks, a smirk dancing on his lips.

She’s tired and has no energy to vehemently deny it. “No.”

He’s hardly fazed. “Engaged, perhaps? Promised to one another?”

She shakes her head. “Neither.”

“Oh, but there’s something there, correct? The two of you seem to enjoy each other’s company.”

She does not remember Hanneman being this nosy. Perhaps Professor Manuela has been rubbing off him. “There is nothing between us,” she says, the words rolling lazily off her tongue. “We are not married, nor engaged, nor promised. We don’t talk about kids, or money, or growing old together. None of that.”

Poor logic at its finest, but she’s willing to admit it escapes her temporarily.

“Can I safely assume you two are not sleeping together?”

She startles, spilling a portion of her teacup as she brings it to her lips. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm.” He scratches his beard. “I suppose not.”

Lysithea hisses as she registers the burn from the still-hot tea water.

“Is there a point to this?” she inquires, holding back none of her irritation. With a sleeve, she wipes off a stain from the front of her shirt.

He shrugs loosely. “Perhaps.”

His response incites a harsh glare from the girl, but it does not last long. She reaches for her handkerchief across the table to pat down her skirt.

“This is highly inappropriate, especially from a man of your stature. I would appreciate if you were more respectful and unassuming of my relationships,” she says distractedly. “We share common goals and interests. There’s nothing beyond that.”

The suggestion was never meant to sound romantic, but she realizes in hindsight how it can be interpreted as such. Hanneman knows it too and raises her a brow.

“Linhardt is my apprentice and I know him very well,” he starts. “Believe me when I say I have never seen him more committed to anything than he is to you, my dear.”

She peers up at him briefly, and then back down to the soiled handkerchief in her hands. It’s easier to focus on other things when her face is flushed pink.

Hanneman continues, “I know what it takes to renounce one’s nobility – I’ve committed the act myself a long time ago. You give up almost everything. The people you call family, inheritance, prestige and status, the place you consider home, even a bit of yourself...” He shakes his head solemnly. “…it’s unfortunate. Despite all of that, at the end of the day, you are still the selfish one.”

Her gaze is trained to the wooden table, but she’s listening.

“My point is, I am certain Linhardt sacrificed much to be here.”

She blinks twice and looks up. “What are you insinuating?”

Her inquiry is blunt, but it’s not meant to accuse or invoke tension. The entire exchange has her squirming in her seat, even if he’s only protecting him.

“I am simply curious of his motivations,” the older man explains, meeting her gaze. “That boy is difficult to inspire and persuade, and I’ve seen it firsthand. I thought maybe you’ve done something to fuel his sudden ambition.”

She narrows her eyes. “I always assumed he took this up on his own volition, but I’m also willing to admit it’s a little far-fetched. If you’re wondering about monetary incentives, I’m not paying him or doing him any favours.”

“I never even wondered such a thing.”

She considers the idea once more. “…is it something I should be thinking about?”

“Heavens I hope not, or I would be sorely disappointed,” he scoffs.

“So what is it then?”

“You tell me.” Hanneman arches a single brow and presses further, “You said yourself the nature of your relationship is strictly business. Nothing personal beyond your collegiate partnership. Isn’t that right?”

Lysithea processes the complicated thought and attempts understanding for herself, wondering why this conversation keeps circling back on itself. The reason she keeps finding herself here.

Why do I feel like running.

She crumbles underneath his sharper gaze. “…that’s right.”

He leans back in his seat. “What’s your take on it?”

The question lingers.

“I don’t know,” she tells honestly, after a pause.

Silence envelopes them briefly.

“My apologies, child. I don’t mean to push you.” His gloved hand goes to her shoulder, and when she chances a second glance, his gaze is visibly softer. “It just warms this old man’s heart to see two of his students here at the monastery. There hasn’t been this much excitement since…well, a long time.”

She sighs, “Do you have to be so meddlesome?”

He feigns an affronted expression. “Can you blame a researcher for inquiring? I was simply…stating my observations, if you will. Did it come off as imposing? Forgive me.” His lips tug to a small smirk under his moustache. Unapologetic, despite what he says. “I admit. Occasionally I delight in wishful thinking. You see, Linhardt reminds me of my younger self. Fascinated with crestology, how it shapes the world’s foundation and transforms the individuals within it. Regrettably, I missed things because of it. The more I devoted myself to research, the more other dreams slipped further from my reach.”

Lysithea frowns and raises a brow.

“Before I pass from this world, it would give me great gratification to know he pursued such dreams. This applies for you as well, actually. Chase your ambitions, but don’t skip on life. You should get married, take care of each other, and have children. Research is its own reward, but I believe there are greater, more joyful things in life. Take this as advice from your old teacher and mentor.”

“Your advice is oddly specific,” she points out.

He laughs, characteristically barky, but jolly nonetheless. “I expect an invitation to your wedding when it comes.”

She breathes a lengthy exhale and loses her patience. Hasty, she downs the remainder of the hot tea and gathers her papers in her arms.

“That’s enough. I am done indulging in your strange and improbable fantasies–”

“Improbable? I beg to differ.”

“–I have little time as it is! We need to get back to work.”

He smirks at her attempt at scolding. Young, impulsive and puppy-like. A coping mechanism, he realizes. He indulges her anyway, gathering a portion of her file and adjusting his monocle.

“As you wish, my dear.”

----------

Lysithea is in the middle of bookmarking old texts when she hears it. A small gasp, barely even an audible breath, in the midst of the crest analyzer’s machinal sounds. She peers to the side to investigate the small commotion, observing the subtleties in Linhardt’s bare expression.

“What is it?”

He swallows hard and stares with furrowed brows. “This sample, it’s…crestless.”

His lack of energy casts a measure of doubt, but she strides over anyway. Wordlessly, he hands her the glass slide containing a drop of her blood and she runs it through the analyzer herself.

She waits.

Nothing.

No symbols appears before her.

No Charon.

No Gloucester.

No crest.

The blood is pure.

She feels her stomach drop. Her knees grow weak. She pans over to green-haired man, who jots down notes with a nonchalant flair. For someone who just reached his first real breakthrough, he is severely lacking in enthusiasm. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion.

“What does this mean?” she asks.

“It means we’re moving in the right direction,” he says blandly, not looking up.

She blinks at his aloofness, wondering what goes on in that tired and brilliant mind.

Linhardt finishes writing, flips the book shut and yawns into his hand. He finds her muddled expression.

“I’m not satisfied just yet,” he explains quietly. “On the bright side, it seems the formula I used on this particular sample yields promising results. I’m willing to test it on others to ensure it has the same effectiveness.”

He’s withholding himself, it seems. Saving the joy until the work is finished.

“I could draw more blood,” she offers, matching his tone.

He gives her a sheepish frown. She hides bruised arms under her sleeves.

“Please and thank you.”

She turns on her heel, and he catches her wrist when he realizes what she’s doing.

“It can wait until later. You’re tired,” he says. “I have to compound the serum again anyway, which will take time.”

He offers her a smile and she returns it.

----------

The three of them continue to work on this breakthrough. Linhardt, after studying the entirety of her file, is approaching the research with a medical lens. It’s apparent her crests were introduced like toxins to the bloodstream. She either rejected the virus and died, or survived the implants, forcing her crests to co-exist in one body. He intends to remove it the same way, coming up with a formula to dissolve her crests, akin to an antibiotic treating bacteria and disease.

Hanneman almost forgets he’s a proficient healer, well-versed in medicine and its properties.

That’s how they got here. Linhardt sitting on a chair, visibly pale and nauseous, hesitating to offer his arm. He was the one who suggested it – he and Hanneman offering their own blood to the cause, and hoping the recipe can eliminate their crests as well.

“I’m ready. Give me your arm,” she says.

“Please be gentle. The sight of blood makes me uncomfortable.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been working with blood for several months now.”

“That’s different. I dislike watching it spill from the body, especially my own. I should add that needles are frightening as well.”

She gives him an annoyed look, hoping it’s enough to get her message across.

“Do you want the sample or not?”

“I do.”

“Then get over it. It would have been done by now if you stopped whining.”

He takes another deep breath, closes his eyes and finally stretches his arm. As she rolls his sleeves up, another thought flashes and he whips back the limb.

“Linhardt!”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t poke hard. I’m lightheaded as it is.”

He’s pouting, the most childish he’s become as of late.

“If you stay still, it won’t hurt as much.”

He gives her a suspicious eye.

She decides to change tack, softens her gaze and bends down so they’re at eye level. “Hey, I’m good at this, remember? It’ll be quick. You can trust me. I’ve done it on myself several times already.”

The reminder is stinging and leaves with him little choice and room to complain. This time, he offers his arm without another word.

The process is seamless and efficient, just as she promised. His veins stand out against his pale skin and he doesn’t tense when she rubs alcohol on it. He looks away and holds his breath when she punctures his skin. For him, it seems like an eternity until the needle is finally removed, and replaced with the pressure of her fingers. He lets out a long sigh of relief, and sinks down in his seat as if he’s been through a terrible ordeal.

He finally has the courage to look up and finds a smirk on her face.

“What?” he asks.

She removes her gloves and pats his head like she’s proud of him. “Such a good boy. I knew you could do it.”

He scoffs, “I am not a child.”

She laughs, and tips her head to a box on the nearby table. “I got you sweet pastries from town as a reward. Do you want it or not?”

He lights up, betraying himself. He doesn’t think he’s enjoyed her company more. “Yes, please.”

----------

The next step is obvious: a trial.

They’ve agreed to everything so far, but now there are three branches of thought.

Linhardt prefers to experiment with other crest-containing blood samples, reasoning they lack a sample size worthy of definite conclusion.

Hanneman insists on keeping the research between the three of them. This experiment will not be approved in the eyes of people in power, except maybe Edelgard herself.

Lysithea is growing increasingly impatient. Many months have passed since she’s made the monastery her second home and she pushes for the trial herself.

After much hesitation and few heated debates, they agree to one trial. The infirmary is turned upside down. It takes an entire day to prepare the room and concoct the mixture. Beds are moved, shelves restocked and the space is nearly emptied. A plan is devised if things go awry and her body rejects the serum. They don’t have the luxury of test subjects, Lysithea being the only one.

For all the irony in the world, the procedure is alike to blood reconstruction surgery itself. Linhardt admits he took inspiration from the mages to devise the method.

“If you have discomfort, I need to know. You have a penchant for acting stronger than you feel,” he says rather bitterly.

She stops poking around her arm for a vein and glances at the green-haired scholar. Unusually tight-lipped, rigid features on his face and posture incredibly stiff. He’s handling his instruments with a chaotic energy, revealing a side of him that hardly surfaces. He’s irritable and exasperated, which is far from his usually lax demeanor. She’s only seen it a handful of times.

“You agreed to this,” she reminds, matching his tone.

He still cannot look her in the eye. “Not willingly.”

“Don’t start with me,” she warns, keeping her voice low. “We fought about this already.”

He shrugs with nonchalance, and from her perspective, it’s kind of infuriating.

“Hmm. I still think we should wait,” he says, just for the sake of reminding her.

She tries to smile, but it comes off sarcastic and phony. She wonders how apparent it is how much she wants to pull her hair out right now.

“Too late,” she says, knowing how petty it sounds. “It’s happening today.”

“You can still back down. I won’t blame you,” he offers again.

She shakes her head and counters with a firm and decisive, “No. I won’t do that.”

He heaves with frustration and finally looks down at her. She meets his intense blue glare with as much defiance she can muster.

“You’re being impossible. I’m starting wonder if you’re doing this to spite me,” he delivers harshly, in a way he’ll probably regret later. Afterwards, he mutters some excuse about retrieving something from the lab and leaves the room in a matter of seconds.

In the deafening silence that follows, she stares down at the floor, heart suddenly weak and eyes glassy. Her breath is shaky as it comes out. Just as she expects, the feeling of scorn quickly fades into nothing, leaving a pained and bleak disposition in its place. She rubs her eyes before she crumples into a sobbing mess. These recent spats all end the same way. Her coming up empty, instead of angry.

“This will mean nothing later,” Hanneman reassures, suddenly beside her. “Both of you are stubborn. You only fight because you care for each other. If it helps, try to remember what got you here in the first place.”

Her breaths even out slowly. “…I don’t want to fight anymore.”

He shrugs. “You have to work it out somehow. Waiting is safe, but there’s no use dallying and delaying progress either.”

“Am I being unreasonable?” she asks in a whisper.

Hanneman sucks in a breath, and contemplates for a moment.

“It’s…difficult to say. I’m sorry, child. I don’t have all the answers.”

They resume in silence. She tries to pretend it never happened and connects herself to the machine. Linhardt returns a few minutes later, all traces of hardness on his face gone.

She tries not to look his way, except when he stands in front of her.

Their expressions mirror each other; remorseful and apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers first.

She shakes her head. “It’s my fault. I’m the one pushing you.”

He dismisses it with a shrug. “We’re in this together.”

It eases few of her worries, enough to breathe easy. He gestures for her to take a seat so he can prime the infusion. She obliges without complaint.

“Tell me if you feel anything.”

“I will.”

After what seems like an eternity, it finally starts running. Linhardt gives her a quick onceover before taking the seat beside the professor, opening his book for notetaking.

Somehow, it feels like her last day on earth. She’s waited and dreamed of this since being told her days were numbered. Lysithea shakes her head, tries to throw off the memories.

Fifteen minutes in, there’s a sting in her arm where the needle is located. She tries not to hiss at the pain, but it becomes difficult to hide.

Hanneman sits up, the first to notice. “What’s wrong?”

She grits her teeth. “My arm is sore, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Linhardt stands, puts away his notebook. “We should stop it.”

“No! I can take it. This is–”

She stops as an abrupt, sharp pain sears the nerves up to her shoulder. It’s burning all of a sudden, and flaring with heat and spasm. Lysithea doesn’t scream, just a gasp and a choked-off cry, but somehow that makes it worse. She winces and folds in on herself.

He stops the machine and disconnects the tubing. That alone eliminates the sharp edge of the burn, but leaves a throbbing cramp in its wake. She collapses backwards in her seat, arm splayed limp beside her.

He’s giving her a look or reprimand, but as far as admonishments go, it’s a gentle one.

“Lysithea. This isn’t about being brave or strong. We only have one shot. If something happens to you, all of this would be for nothing,” he lectures softly, bending down to inspect for bruising or damage.

Hanneman hums in agreement and rises to stretch his arms. “The boy is right. Do not feel inclined to work beyond your limits. Our situation is risky enough as it is.”

She has no reason to get defensive. As far as she’s concerned, this is what she needs to hear. Beside her, she spies the faint glow of light. His magic is familiar to her now. She knows the feel of it: languid, light and listless. It induces a drowsy aftermath and she’s passed out from it before. It’s the work of his crest. Before she succumbs to its effects, she peers down at her partner.

“I really thought it would work,” she whispers, fighting the wave of exhaustion casted by the spell.

His gaze is surprisingly soft. “We’ll have to rework the formula,” he says quietly. Biting his lip, he casts his gaze down to her arm. “There’s a caustic burn on your skin. I’ll heal the nerves as best as I can, but I’m not sure about the scarring…”

She shrugs loosely. “It doesn’t matter.”

He says nothing back, watching as she enters a trance, wilting and slowly yielding to slumber.

“Can you be here when I wake up?” she asks, fighting off another yawn and blinking heavy eyelids.

He tilts his head to one side at the inquiry.

“Okay.”

It’s the last thing she hears before her vision goes blank.

----------

She’s plagued by nightmares, not waking until she’s seeing red and a silent scream is somehow working its way up her throat.

She lunges up from her bed, clutches the material in front of her chest and finds herself breathless. Her back is drenched with sweat and her hands are shaking. She stares blank at the window pane, catching sight of clouds filtering the light of the stars and moon. It casts a dark shadow upon the monastery and the surrounding forests. Slowly, the nightmare leaves her.

After that, she sighs. Lysithea looks down at her arms, one of them sporting an ugly reddened bruise and the other hooked up to a tube. Her gaze lazily flits upwards, finding herself linked to an assortment of fluids. Her head throbs wildly, more so than the fresh burn she acquired from the trial.

She’s alone, but hears the soft whirring of machinery across the hall. Mustering the strength to go, she drags the pole along with her and stops at the front of Hanneman’s office.

“You shouldn’t read in the dark,” she pipes up quietly. “It hurts your eyes.”

Linhardt startles and jerks lightly in the dim candlelight. He inhales deeply, and snaps his book shut.

“You should go back to sleep.”

She shakes her head. “Maybe later.”

He eyes her curiously, a long blue stare. “A nightmare, then.”

She shudders, and then absently presses her fingers against her throat where there’s a pulse. A cold shiver runs up her spine. Linhardt watches idly, staring into her eyes with question.

“It’s odd. I used to have nightmares about ghosts in my room, showing up late for class, or losing my teeth,” Lysithea starts softly, ignoring the constant thrumming in her head. “Nowadays, they’re more about feeling lonely, or losing control, or dying.”

He raises a brow. “Are you scared of dying?”

“I guess so,” she says, mild annoyance seeping through. She purses her lips, then shifts her gaze to the bookshelves. “It’s strange. I was going to die in those dungeons, and the only reason I didn’t was because I was so determined to see what life I could have outside of it, even if it meant surviving my crests. Gosh, I wanted to live so much, and still ended up dying.”

She says it with a hollow lightness, as if the whole thing can be a laughing matter. And then she’s shaking her head and rubbing her face.

“I’ve been counting my days ever since, and I’m sick of it. I’m so hopeless, and bitter, and lonely, and yet…I am still so, so terribly scared.”

Linhardt gazes with a rare tenderness. No words come to mind, so he says nothing.

Inevitably, there’s a long pause.

She drops her arms and unclenches her fists. Her expression is weary. “Do you have nightmares?”

He nods. “Occasionally. Mostly they are bloody visions of war – I wake up thinking I’m still in the throes of battle. To cheer myself up, I imagine myself lying down on a field of grass, in a place where I’m free to sleep, fish, or eat sweets whenever I please.”

She chuckles softly, “That sounds just like you.”

“Does your head hurt? I can help.”

“No, not right now. That magic of yours is like a sedative, and I…” She inhales and picks at her fingers, unsure how to say it. “I’d rather we just…stay, even for a short time.”

The air is so quiet and delicate she wants to bask in it. The lighting is dark, atmosphere thick but not stilted, and the whirring machinery drums like white noise. It’s just the two of them, but the silence is easy and comforting. They’ve let go of their posturing a long time ago. This is the most peace she’s felt in months.

This is what she means to say, even if he doesn’t get it.

He nods, and she’s grateful. Moving her metal pole in front of the sofa, she settles herself comfortably beside him and curls her legs underneath. He brushes off her earlier protest and picks up his book again, reading against the dim candlelight. Eventually she caves and tugs at his sleeve. Wordlessly, he settles the book in the middle so she can read for herself. The rest of the night is filled with silence.

He understands enough.

----------

[bucky-on-a-bike]

Unexpecting (1/?)

Super soldiers don’t get stomach bugs. No one believes you when you tell them you’ll be fine in a few more days, so your loving husband Bucky makes you go to the doctor. Turns out, you’ve got a parasite.

Words: 1,771

Warnings: I think there is a little language. But honestly, when have I written something without language?

Thank you Anoni for the idea and for being so kind! I’m so excited to see where this takes us! I know I said this would drop tomorrow, but I just couldn’t wait. 

Part 2

      Duck, dodge, punch. Weave, jab, miss again. Try not to puke. Left, right, right, duck. Down, slide, “NAT GET THE BUCKET!”

      Retching sounds filled the gym as you threw up for the third time that morning. You  groan as the convulsions stopped and you sat back, brushing loose strands of hair back away from your face. Nat bent down and offered you a cold rag for your forehead and neck.

      “Rough morning, huh?” she asked. Nat sat down beside the bucket, facing you. She put her hand on your head to check for fever, but pulled away with a shake of her head. “No fever. You’re eyes aren’t glossy…you’re cheeks are red but you’ve also been sparring for a good while. I’d ask about a stomach bug but you super freaks don’t really get sick.”

      “Well, maybe. I could be sick. I don’t think I need to worry about it though, ‘cause I’m sure it’ll pass soon. Maybe its food poisoning?” You asked.

      Nat raised her eyebrows at you. “Y/n, honestly. Food poisoning? For a week and a half? You might be super, but you’re super dumb. Go see Bruce or go to the clinic, please.” She paused to glance at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting in ten. Can you to get where you need to go?”

      You rolled your eyes and stood up. As you reached down to give her a hand up you said, “Hell fire, I’m not dying. I’m just a little nauseous this morning. It’ll pass and I’ll be fine.”

      “Go to the clinic. That’s an order.” Her tone left no room for argument, but her ranking compared to yours left her no leg to stand on as far as orders go.

      “I’ll get where I need to go, I promise.” Nat left the room and you headed for the bathroom to wash out the bucket. Once the bucket was clean and you had showered, you headed to your room. The place you really needed to go.

. . . . .

      Bucky was walking to the door to leave when you walked into your room. “Hey, baby. You headed to training?” you asked as you wrapped your arms around him. “You look good.”

      “Thank you, honey. Actually I’m headed to a briefing with Steve. We’re trying to get all the info together and in line for a mission coming up. Stevie can’t sign off on a job until he has all the information, you know.” Bucky chuckled, wrapping his arms around you tighter. He kissed the top of your head and paused. “Y/n…were you sick again? I can smell it on your breath.”

      “Wow Bucky, you can just tell me my breath stinks. I’ll go brush my teeth again, no biggie. Enjoy your meeting.” You slipped out of his arms and towards your bathroom but he caught your hand.

      “No ma’am. That’s not a real answer. You were sick and you don’t want to tell me. I’m going to call Bruce and ask him to come down here to check you out since you refuse to go. I can’t miss this meeting, but you need to see him. Do not, listen to me, do not leave this room until after Bruce comes to see you. I’m worried about you, babe.”

      You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Fine, Buck. I’ll go see him. Don’t call him away from the lab, that’s unnecessary. I’ll just go. If it’ll get you and Nat off my back, I guess it’s worth it.”

      “It’s been a week and a half. Go see him. I’ll see you in a few hours, my love. Please go get some answers.” Bucky kissed you and held you close, running his fingers through your clean hair. “I love you too much to see you be miserable when I know help is right around the corner. I’ll bring dinner back with me. I adore you.”

      “I adore you more. See you later babe.” Bucky let go and left, leaving you with your thoughts. You could just take a nap and tell him you went to the doctor, but he would find out. It really wasn’t worth the hassle to skip it. You changed into some comfy clothes and prepared yourself for an unpleasant meeting with Bruce.

. . . . .

      You walked into his lab to see him leaned back at his desk, staring off into space.  Gently tapping on the doorframe, you walked far enough in that he could see you without getting up.

      “Hey, Bruce? Can I ask you a favor? I haven’t been feeling so great. I was wondering if you could do some tests or something to figure it out.” You smiled softly and shrugged. “If you’re too busy, that’s totally cool and I’ll find someone else to do it.” Like Mr. Sandman. I’m sure a nap is all I need, you thought.

      He sat up and nodded. “Nat called. She said you would be coming to see me today. Would you mind having a seat over on that table and filling me in.” He gestured to a doctors table in the corner of the room. As you walked across the room, you smelled his tuna sandwich and your gut lurched. You dashed for the nearest trash can and dry heaved over and over. Once the wave of nausea passed, you wiped your mouth with a tissue from your pocket and stood back up.

      “Could you please cover your sandwich? I’m a bit nauseous. Have been for a while now. That’s actually why I’m here. I’ve been nauseous, typically in the morning hours. I’ve got headaches in the afternoons, and I’m a bit constipated. I’ve also had cramps and I’m really tired all the time. Bucky and Nat think I have some sort of stomach bug, but I’m not really supposed to get sick I thought. At least, I haven’t since the serum. I just want to know if I can take antibiotics for this or if I have to wait it out.” You heaved yourself up on the table and looked at Banner, waiting for some scientific revelation and answers.

      He looked you up and down, and then crossed his arms and leaned against the cabinet. “When was your last cycle?”

      “That’s not really relevant, is it? It was…at least a month ago. I should probably start in the next few days. Maybe it’s just period hormones. That’s probably it, so no need for tests and stuff. I’m just gonna go back and lay down for a while.” You moved to get off the table and Bruce put up his hand, signaling you to stop.

      “It could very well be that, but let me run some blood tests to make sure you don’t have something serious or something I can give you medicine for. Can you chill out with me for about thirty minutes to run some stuff? You can lay down on my futon if you want to take a nap.”

      Your shoulders drooped and you held out your arm. “Take what you need, Doc. I’m here to make Bucky happy and get Nat off my back, and if I leave now you’ll be all over me too.”

      Banner grinned and nodded, and then got to work. After he filled a couple vials, he led you over to the couch and gave you a blanket. “Here. I’ll wake you up when I’m done.” Before your head could hit the cushion, you were asleep.

. . . . .

      “Y/n, wake up. Wake up, we need to talk.” The tone of Bruce’s voice sent a cold chill down your spine. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. He was standing in front of you with a few papers in hand.

      “What do I have? Strep? Flu? The plague?” you joked, trying to get him to smile.

      “No,” he said as he rolled his chair in front of you and sat down. “You have a parasite.”

      Your eyes got as big as saucers. “A parasite? How bad is it? How do we treat it? Where did I even get it from?”

      “It’s not the worst thing in the world. It will feed off of the nutrients you’re getting from your food. It’ll make you nauseous and your back hurt, and maybe your feet will swell. Really, there isn’t much we can do about it. It’ll come out in about… eight months I’d say. And as far as where you got it from,” he said, a smirk spreading across his face, “I think you have Bucky to blame.”

      “What? What the hell does that mean? How did Bucky give me a parasite? Why aren’t you worried about this?” You stood up and began to pace. You were freaking out. How could he be so nonchalant about a parasite? “Bruce, I can’t live with a parasite. What can I do about this? Does Bucky have them?”

      “Bucky certainly does not have one and will never have one. If he does, we will have several other things to discuss. Here, just look at your chart.” He passed you the stack of papers.

      Highlighted, about half way down, were the results from one of his tests.

      PREGNANCY: POSITIVE

      “Bruce. This is not funny.” You sat down heavily and rested your free hand on your flat stomach. “I can’t have kids, Bruce. The doctors told me I couldn’t.”

      He shrugged and stood up. He moved the chair and bent down to give you a hug. “Congratulations. You’re going to have a miracle baby. I won’t tell a soul, and I deleted the tests. You’ve got the only proof in your hands. I wanted you to be able to tell people in your own time.” He straightened back up and helped you to your feet. “I think you should go take a nap in your own bed now. Do you want me to walk with you there?”

      “No,” you said in a dazed voice. “Here. Take these papers. Burn them. I don’t want Bucky to see them on accident.” You dropped the papers to the ground before Bruce had a chance to grab them and you shuffled out of the office like you were in a trances. What just happened? You never thought you were going to be pregnant, so you never used protection. You had no idea what Bucky was going to think about this. “I’m pregnant,” you whispered as you opened the door to yours and your husband’s room. “I’m actually pregnant. What now?”

TAGS: @buckysberrie, @100acresofwood, @whatsbetterthanfantasy, @dracodormiensnunquamtitillandush @bellenuit45, @ificouldhelpyouforget, @38leticia, @thisisthelilith

[arthurs-wife]

Holy shit I love that concept of Arthur being in the future with reader and having them cure Arthur’s TB. If its not too much to ask, would you please have a part two? I wanna see our cowboah healthy and happy again qwq

(i absolutely went overboard again and i am so bad at time travel plots)

For the past three months the only thing you could think about was that damn cowboy. At work, at school, in the drive thru, you kept seeing his face in your mind. You kept seeing the blood spattered on the ground as he coughed, hoped to god the antibiotics worked and that he didn’t succumb to the easily curable disease.

Today you found yourself again at the greenway, stuck in your car listening to that stupid song you had put on for him that completely blew his mind. You parked here everyday after work, you ate your dinner here, studied here, peed in a Gatorade bottle here. That last part wasn’t true but you felt like it sometimes.

It paid off. Three months to the day he disappeared you looked up and saw the air break apart on the other side of the field.

“Shit,” you muttered.

It was so far. You started your car and threw it in gear and sped off across the greenway, knowing full well how stupid you looked.

You could swear it was getting smaller and smaller as you approached it and finally you sped through it, letting out a yell and scrunching your eyes.

When you opened them it was desert, a large tree looming to your right and a house directly in front of you.

“Oh shi-”

CRASH.

It was only a few seconds but your airbag had deployed and your head was already throbbing. The front of your car was smoking. You looked around and you were most certainly not at the greenway anymore.

“What the hell?”

You looked around, searching for the voice and finally you saw a group of men come around the house and stop at the sight of your car.

Groggily you opened your door and stumbled out.

“Y/n?”

You looked up and there he was, stronger than he looked three months ago. He had put on some healthy weight and changed out of his 2019 clothes, but he was still gloriously Arthur and gloriously alive.

You threw up and passed out.

When you came to, the first thing you saw was a bright blue sky, a lone bird meandering across it.

“Where the hell am I?” you asked, sitting up and holding your head.

“Whoa, girl,” Arthur said, putting a hand on your shoulder and easing you up, “quite a crash you had there.”

You looked up at him, it took a while for you to focus but there he was, a deeply concerned look in his eye.

“I was starting to believe you weren’t real,” you laughed, sitting up and crossing your legs.

“Course I’m real,” he muttered, handing you some water. You took it and downed it in one go.

“You’re feeling better?” you asked.

“Thanks to you,” he smiled.

“You didn’t answer me,” you said, “where am I.”

“Pardon me,” he said, pushing himself up and helping you to your feet. The house around you had seen better days, its roof caving in and walls so thin you were surprised they could hold themselves up.

Outside was hot but dry, tumbleweeds blowing in the distance.

“Welcome to New Austin.”

“I’m in fucking Texas?”

“That what it’s called in your day?” Arthur asked, leading you to a campfire about 50 feet away.

“What year is it now?” you asked, “1899?”

“1907.”

“Why did I jump so far ahead?”

“You’re asking me why whatever God there is up there opened a portal and sent you back to some arbitrary time?”

“Fair enough.”

You reached the campfire and saw three men sitting around it.

“Y/n, this is Charles, John, and Uncle,” he introduced, pointing to them all as he spoke. You nodded to them. “Fellas, this is y/n, the lady from the future who saved my life.”

They all stood up and looked at you like you were a ghost.

“How is your stagecoach?” Charles asked, gesturing towards your car.

“Uhhh,” you looked back at your car, still stuck in the house. Suddenly the house collapsed on it, banging wood through your windshield and covering it further in debris.

You winced.

“Not too good.”

You turned away, unable to think about how you’d fix it when you got back home. If you got back home.

“You all live out here?” you asked, clapping your hands together.

“For now,” John said, “we had to tear down that house back there so we could build a new one on it. Guess you helped us with that.”

“Glad to hear it,” you chuckled.

“It’s been several weeks,” Charles said, sitting back down and pouring coffee, “we can’t seem to scrape up enough money to get it going.”

“So like, what do you all do?” you asked, sitting down with the rest of them.

“Odd jobs,” John said, “I do some bounty hunting every now and then.”

“Bounty hunting?” you said excitedly.

“It’s pretty dangerous,” John said, leaning back, “but I can usually get the job done quick.”

“Don’t you have Sadie on most of your runs there, slick?” Arthur said, taking a sip of coffee.

Charles and Uncle stifled a laugh.

“She ain’t going with you anyway,” Arthur said, tossing his coffee cup across the fire, “she’s coming with me to do a grocery delivery.”

“Oh my god I got sent over a hundred years in the past to be a GrubHub driver?” you rolled your eyes but stood up with Arthur anyway.

“Do you have Skinners in the future too?” Arthur asked, leading you to his horse.

“We have skinheads,” you mused.

Arthur hopped on his horse and held out a hand for you to climb on the back, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“You don’t need to do all that, now,” Arthur mumbled but didn’t protest any further.

“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” you said, “it’s scary.”

“Never ridden a… what the hell do they teach y’all in the future?”

“Calculus.”

You could hear Arthur roll his eyes as you set off down the road and into the dinky town of Blackwater.

You waited as Arthur hitched his horse to a pole and the grocers loaded a wagon with groceries. It was amazing seeing how life worked a hundred years ago but god damn it was hot and boring.

When they were done, you and Arthur climbed up onto the wagon seat and set off.

“So this is what you do now?” you asked after about 15 minutes.

“I supposed,” he replied.

“Weren’t you like an outlaw or something?”

“I was.”

“What happened?”

He grunted and looked the other way. Finally he spoke.

“I used to run with a gang out here,” he said, “but a job went bad and we fled east. Long story short we got betrayed and had to go our separate ways. Don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t cured me.”

“You seem to be doing alright now,” you said.

“I only got back together with John and the boys a few weeks ago actually,” he pointed out, “said he needed help with the ranch so here I am.”

“What about the person who betrayed you?” you asked.

“Long gone,” Arthur shook his head, “haven’t been able to find him.”

You pulled off the main road and onto a side one, a squat, log cabin coming into view. Arthur stopped the wagon and hopped down so you followed suit.

“Mrs. L/n!”

You looked to him immediately.

“Wait, who are we delivering groceries to?”

Arthur pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read.

“Marjorie L/n.”

“Holy shit,” you whispered as the front door opened and out came your great-great grandmother, toddling her way towards you.

“Are you from the grocers?” she asked timidly.

Arthur heaved a sack of flour on his back and approached the porch.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, “my name is Arthur and this is y/n, my assistant for the day.”

“Only there’s been some men crawling around the past few days,” she said, taking a seat in the chair on the porch.

“Have there?” Arthur asked, coming back out sans sack of flour. She pointed somewhere around the house.

Yes,” she said, “oh there’s one now.”

You and Arthur spun around to see the bushes shake. He took the rifle from his back and pressed it into your hands.

“You see anyone, you shoot,” he said quietly, “I ain’t too intelligent on the specifics of time travel but I don’t see any good comin’ out of you dyin’ here.”

“I don’t know what-”

“Just point and shoot, darlin’.”

And he fled into the bushes.

You led your great-great grandmother to the door and turned around to see a man approaching your wagon. He spotted you and made for his gun.

The blast wasn’t as loud as you thought it would be but your ears still rang and you smelled gunpowder and saw a wave of blood blossom from the man’s chest. He fell back to the ground and you turned away, pushing Marjorie inside, closing the door behind the two of you.

No more than a minute later Arthur burst through the door.

“Y/n, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you brushed him off, “we’re fine. Did you get the guy?”

“I heard a gunshot.”

“He’s out by the wagon.”

Arthur strode to the window and peeked out.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he started.

“We’re fine, really,” you assured him, handing his rifle back.

Arthur finished unloading and you spoke briefly before he came to collect you. Marjorie saw the pair of you off.

“What did you say your name was?” she asked as you mounted the wagon.

“Y/n,” you told her, knowing full well that was your great grandmother’s name and your grandmother’s middle name.

Back at the ranch, Arthur helped you down off his horse. The sky was turning dark quickly and part of you knew it was time to go home.

“I’m sorry our simple grocery trip made you kill a man,” he said rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m not,” you said, “that woman was my great-great grandmother.”

Arthur looked shocked.

“Glad you know how to shoot a rifle then,” he laughed.

The rip in space appeared again, this time completely engulfing your car. As it disappeared you took a step towards it but Arthur grabbed your hand.

“Take care,” he said.

“You too, cowboy.”

You stepped through and the Florida sunshine hit your face, unaware that any time had passed at all.

[natkat-140]

Ankle Update!

So here’s an update about my ankle fracture. I had some issues with my incision opening up into several small wounds that got infected. They were very superficial but didn’t look great. I received antibiotics and some ointment and that’s basically resolved now.

I had some blood work done through my endocrinologist and found that my vitamin D level is like, 12, which is incredibly low and definitely contributed to me breaking my ankle. It’s not helping me heal to be that low, so I’ve been ordered to sit in the sun for 30 minutes every day and to take 10,000 IU of supplemental vitamin D daily for the next 3 months.

As far as mobility, I am able to walk pretty well with my boot on and no crutches or cane. I can go up and down stairs (slowly) but I can’t stand or walk for very long periods of time. The longest distance I’ve walked is probably from the Nord’s parking structure at the Irvine Spectrum to The Cheesecake Factory and back. That same day I went grocery shopping, and by that evening my feet and legs were throbbing and aching. Even my good leg gets super achy and sore from compensating for the bad one. 

I’m still not at the point where I can walk without my boot, though. I try several times a day but can only manage to hobble a few feet before losing my balance and relying on my crutches or furniture. I can stand on it fine and my ankle doesn’t really hurt, but my heel, foot, and toes are primarily the issues. They are super stiff and weak which isn’t good for mobility or balance. Even my calf muscle is really flaccid compared to the other one. I take off my boot when I sleep, so I’ve been relying on my borrowed scooter (thanks Arsha!) to take me to and from the bathroom or kitchen when I wake up in the middle of my sleep.

(See how much smaller my calf is, but then my ankle and foot are still swollen.)

I was supposed to go back to work this week (Oct 2nd) but at my appointment with my surgeon last week I informed him of all of the above and he extended my leave for two more weeks. He also FINALLY ordered physical therapy (which I had previously asked for 3 times!) so I started that today. My therapist took one look at me trying to walk without my boot and said “yeah… you’re gonna need a lot longer than two weeks.”  

He took measurements and compared one leg to the other. He wants to try to work with me for at least 6 weeks depending on my progress, and ideally we’d meet two to three times a week. Unfortunately I was only approved for 6 sessions, so we’re only going to meet once a week and most of my recovery exercises will be done at home. A lot of them are exercises that I’ve been doing since day 1 - moving my foot back and forth, side to side, spreading out and curling my toes, pushing against the floor, etc. I have some to do with resistance bands which should be fun. He also gave me exercises for my core, hips, and knees because apparently my boot has thrown off my gait (the boot is like wearing a 2 inch platform). 

Since I broke my right ankle, I can’t drive. At least not safely. I just don’t have the control in my foot to make small or quick adjustments. I’ve been relying on family, friends, and a lot of uber drivers to get around, but I stay at home most days. I still can’t stand in the shower lest I lose my balance and slip (good grief I don’t want to do that) so I’m continuing to use a shower chair. Household chores are still pretty challenging and I need help often. My dad has been an absolute angel during this time. My main issues recently have been regarding carrying things up and down the stairs, so he’s had to help with groceries and taking out heavy trash like cat litter. I also don’t have in-unit laundry, so I need help taking my laundry down the stairs and back up when it’s done. I eat a lot of microwave meals and sandwiches because I can’t stand for too long to cook, and also I don’t know how to cook lol. I occasionally Doordash but my neighborhood is gated which means I have to go downstairs and walk to the front to pick up the food, so I only do that when I’m reeeally craving something and in a good place physically.

One of the things that sucked a lot about my lack of mobility was that my therapist (psychologist) has an upstairs office and it was suuuper hard for me to go upstairs by myself until a few weeks ago. I didn’t go to a therapy session for over 2 months during a time when I felt I really needed it. The techniques I learned in previous sessions really helped a lot, and I was able to get myself through the worst of it, even though I wanted to talk to my therapist sooo badly. By the time I was able to see him I kinda forgot what I had wanted to talk to him about and had to actually think back to it. I’m in a much better spot these days, but I’m still continuing to see him.

I want to be able to walk.

I want to be able to drive.

I want to be able to take care of myself.

I want to be able to work.

I can’t do any of those things yet, but I am making progress.

[savingmyguts-blog]

A month ago, I went on a blind date. My first blind date. Not only was it my first blind date, but it was also the first date of ANY kind that I had been on in years. That was actually why I told the friends setting us up that I didn’t want to know anything about him beforehand; I knew if I let myself think about the person, and thereby the whole world of dating, I would talk myself out of it before I even got to meet the guy. The date went well - like, unbelievably well. I can’t believe that was literally just 35 days ago, because I am truly crazy about this guy. I haven’t found one bad thing about him yet - until tonight. 

For context: I have Crohn’s disease. It’s an inflammatory bowel disease, and I would tell you its symptoms, but one of the wildly frustrating parts about this disease is that there’s no one-size-fits-all symptoms list. 

But back to tonight. It’s 9pm. I’m still at work, because I started a new job three weeks ago and have been putting in a lot of hours trying to figure it all out. I’ve had diarrhea and stomach pain day long. So my positive energy tank is already running on fumes when I get a text from my new, amazingly wonderful boyfriend. It says “I’m listening to a podcast that is super interesting about gut health and I thought you might enjoy it.” 

Great. Another asshole who just heard about Crohn’s disease five seconds ago is about to ~cure me~ by telling me to drink some kombucha. Whyyyyyy? Why is he ruining everything by trying to fix a problem he knows nothing about? Why do people do that? 

But, like I said, I really really like this guy. Everything about him feels so good. It doesn’t connect that he would be that person, that that would be his intention. So I ignore my brain’s massive eye roll, finish up at work, and decide to hear what the podcast has to say during my drive home. 

In the thirty minutes of this three hour podcast that Dr. Rhonda Patrick was talking about gut health, here’s what she covered:

LDL proteins transport cholesterol to your cells, and the cells use the cholesterol to repair themselves. The LDL actually slices off a piece of itself to give to the cell for this process, and what remains of the LDL is transported back to the liver to be recycled out. 

There are over 100 trillion bacteria in your gut. The majority of this is healthy bacteria, converting the food you eat into energy for your body. Your gut is also the place in your body with the highest concentration of immune cells. 

The bacteria and the immune cells (white blood cells) are kept separate in your gut by the gut barrier, which is made of mucin (similar to mucus.) 

When the gut barrier becomes compromised, the immune cells begin attacking the bacteria in your gut. As the bacteria is killed, it releases endotoxins. These endotoxins bind to the LDL that has sliced part of itself off to give away the cholesterol. This prevents the LDL from transporting back to the liver, so you just have LDL proteins covered in endotoxins stuck in your system. Your immune system recognizes all these lumps of endotoxins floating around and sends more white blood cells to fight and kill them. But it doesn’t work, because the white blood cells aren’t actually fighting bacteria like they think they are - they’re fighting LDL proteins that have bound to the endotoxins let out by the bacteria killed off in your gut when your gut barrier broke down. So you’re left with several things: a broken down gut barrier, a lack of healthy bacteria in your gut which means less energy being converted from food (and more room for unhealthy bacteria to take over), all these endotoxins just stuck in your gut/bloodstream, and too many white blood cells being produced. None of those are good things. 

People with IBD will often notice mucin in their bowel movements. The gut barrier is literally breaking down and just exiting your body on a regular basis. To make more mucin and build that gut barrier back up, your body needs energy. When you don’t have a functional gut barrier, it’s a lot harder for your food to be converted into energy. Circle of death. Eating more fermentable fibers will create more short chain fatty acids in your gut which is what converts your food into energy. On the opposite end, when you eat food with a lot of refined carbohydrates, the saturated fat increases your body’s production of LDL proteins - which is not good, when you have endotoxins binding to all your LDL. 

Kombucha feeds/energizes your gut cells so they can keep producing mucin for your gut barrier to strengthen.

A few years ago, she took a baseline sample of her poop and sent it off to be sequenced, to see what bacteria was and wasn’t present in her gut. Then she took “VSL #3 with sachets” probiotic every day for 30 days, and sent her poop off to be sequenced again. Huge increase in the amount of healthy bacteria in her gut (she didn’t specify how much) as well as a reduction of the amount of unhealthy bacteria. There are at least 25 studies that show effectiveness of this type of probiotic in treating IBS/colitis. 

The reason she became so interested in gut health and was sequencing her own poop, etc., is because she had inflammatory bowel issues for years following an MRSA infection. Her doctor gave her three rounds of antibiotics, and when the infection still came back again, she decided to treat it herself without antibiotics. She got rid of the infection for good by using garlic/grapefruit seed extract/teatree oil/something else I had never heard of. But the damage to her gut from three rounds of super-antibiotics wrecked her system for YEARS. When she sought treatment for it, gastrointestinal doctors diagnosed her with neuropathy and suggested SSRIs and anticonvulsant medication. She refused. They never asked her about her diet, her medication history, nothing. She said “if I was a dummy - I shouldn’t say it like that - if I were a person who listened to authority, who just did what my doctors said, I might be stuck on a bunch of pointless medicines right now and would never have returned to a healthy gut.” 

Do you know how much of that information I’ve been told throughout six years of being treated for inflammatory bowel disease by the “best, most-recommended” gastroenterologist in my state? 

None of it. 

None.

Of.

It.

When I asked if I should try drinking kombucha/taking probiotics, I was told “you could, but I don’t think it will help you. Your main concerns lately are acid reflux and diarrhea, and those aren’t the big symptoms of an unhealthy gut, so I don’t think that’s your problem.” I tried it anyway, but halfheartedly and with no guidance, and gave up faster than I should have. 

I’ve noticed the mucin in my bowel movements for years, but the ONLY poop-related question I’m ever asked during visits is if I can see blood in it. 

I too have had multiple experiences with MRSA infections and had to take round after round after round of antibiotics until it went away... the most recent time being a mere two months ago. TWO MONTHS AGO I got a staph infection in my eye, and now, four rounds of antibiotics later, I’m in the middle of a “flare up.” 

My gastroenterologist has never asked about my history with antibiotics. When he asks about my diet, it’s never a conversation about healthy foods that might help or how different foods are interacting with my malfunctioning gut. It’s always just “these specific foods have been known to cause more pain, are you avoiding them?”

Eight months ago, I had a colonoscopy. There were no ulcers in my colon this time. He saw inflamed areas throughout my colon, but not general/total inflammation throughout the whole thing. What he actually said when I woke up was that if that had been his first/only look at my colon, he wouldn’t have diagnosed me with Crohn’s disease. So what does that mean? Am I just in remission? Do I not have it? If I don’t, what DO I have, because I’m obviously not healthy? His only answer was “I don’t know. we’ll just have to keep watching what happens and treating symptoms as best we can.”

I feel a strange combination of excitement and fury. why is htis podcast the first time this connection has been made for me? when i asked lydia about kombucha/probiotics and she said it wouldn’t help me. dr. lievens has never once asked about that, looked at my medication history, nothing. and he’s supposedly the best! i love “aha!” moments and this feels like one, but why the fuck is it just happening now? 

Right now, I am just overflowing with questions. Every angle I think of it all from, I end up with six new questions and the list just keeps growing. But I also want to find out the answers. Which is more than I can say for my life lately before this.

Sorry Zach, you are still amazing and just like everything else about our relationship that seems to defy what’s supposed to be happening, that bubble has un-popped.