#the antibiotics didn't do much but that's to be expected after a month+ of having the issue untreated I suppose

[foreignobjecticus]

Rapidly going from vaguely not wanting this root canal to fucking do it do it NOW.

[allbark-no-bite]

i would’ve married you.

icemav x reader (wc. 2.4k)

summary: It had always been Maverick. It had been Maverick long before you met Ice and would continue to be Maverick until he took his last breath.

warnings: severe angst, mentions of cancer, vomiting, character death

authors note: for all of my followers, i know this isn’t something that i would usually post but i’m immensely proud of it. this is for all of my Icemav Topgun people out there

————————————————————————

You watch as he cinches his belt one, two, five times. But you didn't have to watch him dress to know how much weight he had lost. The gauntness of his cheekbones could have told you that. He could have told you that. But he doesn't. And neither of you talk about it.

He just trudges tiredly out of the bedroom, running a hand through his frosty hair as he passes through the door frame. It seemed as though out of all the loss you had expected to come along with chemo, both the tumor and his hair were insistent upon staying.

Tom had the kind of hair that one would expect a man aging into his thirties to have: still relatively thick, however dulling in color, and ever threatening to see it's final days. Except it had looked like this for the past ten years. So had you expected the chemo to finally push the bleach damaged strands over the edge? Yes. Were you surprised when it didn't? No.

Along with his steel cut jawline and the soft roundness that his high cheekbones had given his face, it worked for him. He seemed to be perpetually never aging, stuck between a spry young cadet and weathered admiral.

"Where are you going? You have an appointment today." You watch, unamused and arms crossed as he moves through the house, gathering his things.

"No, I have to go into the office today. I'm already behind on too much paperwork," he corrects, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Tom has never been a coffee person, but these days he's totaling a minimum of two cups a day. That's not counting whatever he has while at work. It splashes onto the counter in his haste, but either he's moving too fluidly to notice or just doesn't care.

Normally his carelessness would have ticked you off, and you'd tell him off for the mess, tired of having to mother a grown man in his own home, but you're trying. Trying to be more gentle—be more patient. There is this tremendously guilty feeling that occurs when you yell at someone with cancer. Cancer. You hardly ever even say the word aloud.

It had started out as a persistent ear ache. Something he had chalked up to years of flying. He took antibiotics and that seemed to take care of the pain for a while. Then came the difficulty swallowing, followed by swollen lymph nodes, and finally the cough. It was the cough that he couldn't manage to shake.

"You can't keep missing treatments," you say, even though he knows. Sometimes you think it's worse that he's well versed about his condition. The first few weeks after finding out, he would come home, shower, and spend hours reading books that detailed symptoms and various treatments. Those hours bled into long anxious nights where the bedside lamp never turned off and neither of yourselves slept.

He knows what every symptom means; when it's good, when it's really bad.

Ice is already almost out the door, tugging on a coat that he snatched from god knows where, his combat boots shoved on haphazardly on his feet. His blonde hair is mushed from sleep, cowlicked on one side and only serving to add to his disheveled state. It's longer now, longer than it has been in a while. He'd always kept his hair cropped short in the time that you had known him, but now it was just long enough to stick out over his ears and brush the back of his neck.

"I agreed to do this shit as long as it didn't interfere with anything. It worked for a while but now I'm done. You knew the agreement."

The agreement. The agreement that you and Ice had settled on nearly ten months prior, back when he was just starting chemo—what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He hadn't wanted to undergo treatment. Hadn't wanted to endure the debilitating side effects that would come as a result. The doctors had given him a couple more years if he chose to do nothing. They'd make him 'comfortable' as they called it, and he could carry on with his duties until he couldn't. It was a guaranteed death sentence.

The chemo gave him a chance. You'd begged him to at least try. It was worth a try. Eventually he had given in under the condition that he would do the treatments until they started affecting his job. Your hope was that the chemo would stave off the disease long enough to buy him more time until then. At ten months, the tumor had shrunk in size, but Tom was feeling the effects of the radiation. He was nauseous more often than not and it was rare that he kept anything down. His joints stiffened and along with that came constant fatigue. The mouth sores were probably the worst development.

"That's not fair. You feel like crap because it's working," you argue, but it's like talking to a brick wall. He's not listening, tuning you out as he grabs his keys. He's been looking for an excuse to quit and it seemed as though he'd finally hit his breaking point. "If you skip again, everything so far will have been for nothing. You'll be right back where you started—"

His hand sliding off the doorknob, Ice turns to face you. He releases an exasperated sigh, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The crease between his brows seems to have become permanent these days. "The stupid appointment will be here when I get back. You will be here when I get back. My career, this opportunity, will not."

"You don't mean that," you whisper, fighting the tightening of your throat, but you don't even believe yourself when you say it.

For a fraction of a second, he at least has the decency to look guilty. Ice pauses in the doorway, his mouth opening then closing as he decides against whatever he was going to say.

"Tom...," you begin to please with him, your voice cracking, but the front door had already slammed shut.

A text comes from Slider later that day.

You need to come get him.

Had you received such a text twelve months ago, you would have assumed that Tom was being an intolerable ass and that the team was at their wits' end with him. These days he hardly even has enough energy to walk from his desk to the door, let alone raise any sort of hell like he used to.

It seems foolish to miss that kind of thing, but you do. You all miss the normalcy of it.

When you make it to the base, it is buzzing with life. The tarmac is lined with rows of aircraft and men, both returning and awaiting takeoff. Given today was the first day for new recruits, it wasn't unusual for things to be so chaotic. You find Viper behind his desk as usual, phone pressed to his ear. Upon spotting you, he covers the receiver and mouths 'bathroom'.

You find him in the one behind the showers in the locker room. He's braced over the sink, heaving. Maverick is there. Maverick is always there.

The brunette pilot is standing beside Ice, a hand on his back to steady him as he retches. Maverick's leant over, murmuring something into his ear, only taking note of you standing in the doorway as he straightens. He nods in greeting to you just slightly, a grim look in his green eyes.

You'd long ago become accustomed to the idea that Ice was not purely yours. The navy owned him first and foremost. That was sworn in oath and inarguable. But anything after that became a little less clear. There was Maverick, and then there was you.

But you knew that.

When you had first met Ice on a night out at the bar, you were completely and hopelessly swooned by his charm, convinced that you'd just met the love of your life. And then you met Maverick and realized that was never going to be true.

It had always been Maverick. It had been Maverick long before you met Ice and would continue to be Maverick until he took his last breath.

Knowing first hand that Tom doesn't like being crowded when he's like this, you wait until he straightens before making your presence known behind him. He doesn't even flinch at the feel of your hand on his back, and you take that as a bad sign. Usually he'd bristle defensively, snap at you that he could handle it on his own. You know his anger comes from a place of fear—fear of being vulnerable, fear of dying.

His face is pale and tired looking, even more so than usual. You press the back of your palm to his forehead but find that he's not unusually warm, which is good. His flushed cheeks and watery eyes must be from gagging.

Maverick now stands a few paces away, hands clasped together behind his back. He's always kept his distance when you were around, held back by not only his respect for you but the laws of the navy. One wrong move at the wrong place at the wrong time would have himself and Ice dishonorably discharged. Their careers would amount to nothing.

If it hadn’t been for DADT, you don’t think Tom would have chosen you. Had the government allowed it, he would have put an engagement ring on Pete’s finger instead of yours. You probably wouldn’t even be a part of his life. And you carry around a lot of guilt because of that. It’s been one of the most selfish things you’ve ever done, agreeing to marry Tom. But at the same time there’s a part of you that doesn’t feel guilty at all because at least that it meant you got to spend your life with him.

Tom was the love of your life, but you weren’t his. Tom loved you, he genuinely did, but he wasn’t in love with you. That was reserved for Maverick.

Tom sucks in a ragged breath, one that hurts your own chest, and a fit of coughing follows it You’re afraid you’re going to hear that cough and it’s painful sharpness for years to come, but what you’re even more afraid of is the day you don’t. You swallow the knot in your throat and pet a hand through Tom’s hair, tenderly brushing it away from his eyes.

The reality of the situation is beginning to hit you, and there’s little you can do to keep the tears from your eyes. Once he stops chemo, there’s no telling how much more time he has left. It could be a couple weeks or it could be years, but regardless, he’s done fighting.

“Pete,” you begin, your throat tight. The brunette pilot’s eyes shoot towards you, his eyes reflecting a look of surprise.

In all of the years that you had known him, he has always been Maverick to you, maybe even Mav on the rare occasion, but never Pete. That had been your way of distancing yourself from him, the man who your fiancé so fondly referred to as his wingman. It was hard to look at Maverick as a friend and at the same time, your fiancé’s lover.

“Pete, take him home, would you?” You ask, finally able to get your words out again.

Maybe he’s not sure if he’s hearing you correctly or he’s just genuinely confused, but Maverick tilts his head, his green eyes lit with confusion. “I don’t—”

Tom’s eyebrows furrow, mimicking an expression similar to his wingman’s when you slip off the engagement ring on your finger and enclose it in his palm. “(Y/n), what are you doing?”

With your heart in your throat, you engulf Tom in a hug. From a combination of him not expecting it and his considerably lighter frame, he has to shuffle a few steps back to accommodate for your sudden weight. Once recovered, his arms tighten around you. The weight of his embrace is overwhelmingly familiar, and it doesn’t hit you until now how much you’re going to miss it. You snuggle your face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in like how you used to when you first started dating.

You hear him struggling to swallow, but eventually he finds his voice. “I would have married you,” he says, his voice sounding full of regret. What he means is, even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, even though he wished things could have been different, he would have still walked down the isle and said ‘I love you’ and meant it. He would have loved you regardless.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you pull away just enough to see his face. “I know, Tom. I know you would’ve.”

And as much as it breaks you to release him, you step away from him for one final goodbye. Turning towards the man standing a few feet away, you open your arms for him, crushing Maverick in an embrace. “Take care of him, okay?” you manage, your words muffled by the leather of his bomber jacket.

“Of course ,” he promises.

“I know you will. You always have.”

——

Six months later, you get a phone call from Maverick. Tom had passed in his sleep last night. The call was brief, Maverick could barley get his words out, but he just wanted to let you know before the navy contacted you. They do around noon that day and you help make arrangements for the funeral.

With Tom being an admiral, they make it into a whole production, something he would have hated but secretly been proud of. It a very emotional day, hearing the fighter jets fly by and seeing all of yours and Tom’s friends.

You intend to slip in and out, but as you’re leaving, Maverick catches your eye in all of the chaos. It’s good to see him. He looks to be holding up okay despite the situation. There’s a gold band on his ring finger that wasn’t there before. The sight tugs at your heart a bit because you want to know how long they got to be married, if they went to the courthouse or if they had a ceremony on the beach like Tom had always wanted.

That’s the thing about love.

Even if it wasn’t you and Tom in the end, you still loved him, probably always will love him.

And that was fine.

All the love you had to give was his to keep anyways.

[thuviel]

I'm 1 week post op!

I had top surgery last week aaaaaaaaah!!!! FINALLY! It took so many years, so many delays, so many disasters that it felt like it would never happen. But I fucking made it! I got double incision mastectomy with nipple grafts. Gonna document the recovery a bit too if it's helpful to anyone c: So this is how the first week went:

Day 1

The most pain I had was immediately upon waking up, but after a while the nurses gave me more morphine and it was chill. I'd still rate the pain around like badly twisted ankle level pain, not too bad

Extremely sleepy, couldn't keep my eyes open for more than a few moments and slept pretty much the whole day

Got discharged from the clinic 3 ish hours after surgery

I didn't have drains, just a tight compression wrap around my chest

Day 2

Pain level was still very chill as long as I took my painkillers regularly

Biggest challenge was doing stuff without using my chest muscles or extending my arms much, going to the bathroom was the most difficult

Used both morphine and paracetamol this day

Eating and drinking was fine, just smaller portions at a time

Day 3-7

By far the worst days of recovery so far

Back and neck pain from weird sleeping positions was becoming more annoying and bothersome than the actual surgery wounds

I had some bleeding on day 3, the left nipple bled through the bandages and all the way to the compression wrap. I contacted the clinic but it wasn't a concerning amount of blood and it stopped on its own pretty quickly

I stopped with the morphine and just took paracetamol, which I decreased over the days as the pain levels went down

By the end of the week I started to get a tiny bit more movement in my upper body, still not extending my arms but things didn't feel as tight immediately when moving and doing stuff with my arms

Turns out I was allergic to the antibiotics they gave me, so I dealt with some horrible symptoms these days. It's not usually part of recovery but good to look out for in case it happens to anyone else too. I got very sleep deprived, could't sleep more than 1-2 hours at a time. I would wake up feeling extremely warm (but no fever), really nauseous, weak, heart beating fast and hard, terrible headache, sometimes feeling like I couldn't breathe properly. I only slept 3-4 hours per day. Also had some diarrhea and acid reflux. I was very weak and shaky, getting weaker and more dizzy as the days went on instead of getting better. Luckily I could stop taking them on day 7, which is when I learned I was allergic to them lol

Day 7

I had my one week appointment where they took off the innermost bandages and removed the sticthes keeping the gauze stuck to my nipples. Nurse said things were healing well, some swelling but not too much. My left nipple had gotten a bit less bloodflow and looked much darker, like a burned pepperoni. Nurse said it's not unusual and it still looks okay, it should regain bloodflow and improve on its own in the coming days

Got to take a full shower for the first time after this. It was terrifying af to have water and soap run over my very fragile looking newborn nipples lol, but it felt so fucking good to be clean

I could also take off the compression wrap and clean it which was a blessing bc that thing was disgusting by this time. I have to keep wearing it 24/7 for the first month but can take it off briefly to clean it

Despite the terrible antibiotics reaction, the recovery has been less difficult than I thought tbh. I expected worse. By far the most challenging thing for me personally is having to ask for help with every tiny little thing ^^' But already seeing such a flat look with my shirt on in the mirror is amazing!

[meditating-dog-lover]

Skin - emergency (graphic)

My hands were pretty dry all of today. At night after washing them I got pretty itchy and almost developed a flareup. Thankfully I was able to calm it down and relieve it by washing my hands under hot water (bad habit but it was an emergency). I applied Cerave healing ointment on my problem areas (hands, wrist, neck, mouth, and ears) and went to bed at around 11:30.

Then I woke up at around 12:30 with some itchiness on my mouth and ears, mostly my mouth as I felt some oozing on the corners.

I applied zinc oxide cream to relieve the discomfort, but I felt like I needed something stronger. I did end up itching my ears and they started to bleed and ooze.

It felt like ants crawling on my skin. Anytime there's a sensation of that, along with oozing upon itching, is a sign of staph. So I applied the tacrolimus and antibiotic on it. I know I'm treating the staph internally, but I'll probably benefit from doing so externally.

I did feel very uncomfortable, and the oozing causes even more itchiness. I applied this mix on my right thumb which has a lot of cuts. But I know I'll feel better after this. Thankfully it's not a case where I felt a sudden need to slather the tacrolimus on my hands. In fact I didn't, just a bit with the antibiotic mixed in right on my thumb that has cuts.

I have a red patch on my wrist and neck. These are no longer itchy and there is no open skin or oozing/bleeding. So I'll just let those heal on their own, and I did apply the Cerave healing ointment onto it. As long as those don't ooze then I'm happy.

I know healing is not linear and will flare up here and there. As long as there is a net positive - I will get a flareup here and there, but after applying some topicals it will recover quickly and won't be as inflamed as it was in the winter.

I've looked at pictures of my skin from last year. I remember having inflammation, but it wasn't this bad. I really don't know what triggered it to be this bad. I really do not want to live the rest of my life like this either. This is no way to live.

People who have healed themselves said it took 6-12 weeks, so really 2-3 months. So I'm not going to expect everything to heal by week 4 (next week) even though some of the supplements are a 4 week (~30 day) supply.

So yeah I had some flaring, it's okay. It's been worse in the past. With topical application it should recover by tomorrow. The fact that there is inflammation and infection externally means that I can benefit from sort of anti-inflammatory (not steroids) and anti-bacterial topical. I might even consider applying more antibotic to my ears because it looks and feels like impetigo. Kind of like when I had a (sorry tmi) skin fungal infection and kept on applying ketoconazole. So I'll see how the topical antibiotic can help here and there, even if the anti-inflammatory isn't extremely necessary. Afterall my condition is due to bacterial imbalances/overgrowth, which is what's driving the inflammation. I'm just a bit worried about longterm antibiotic use because it can cause resistance and kill good bacteria. But in my case it can be helpful.

So like I said I'm on week 3, almost a month. I'm really going to need more like 6-12 weeks on this, but I'll see with my doctor 2 weeks from now. Overall there is a net positive where my skin is clearing up, and the inflammation and flaring is occasional. It's not perfect but it's much better than January-March.

Update: my ears stopped itching, my mouth is still itchy but I'm not sure what ultimately caused it as my mouth is usually not this inflamed. I'll even consider applying more tacrolimus and antibiotic to these spots when I wake up tomorrow.

[anon-e-has-a-tmblr]

5 years.

So much has changed in these 5 years that has passed. On ine hand it's been a long time but on the other, it feels like it always was like that.

Since I haven't spoken at all about in the recent years, and given a lot of people are now runing into the shenanigans I cause, I guess a recap is a good thing. Yknow, reflecting on years past, what changed and what stayed the same, and of course - what I did and what I'm yet to do. All under the cut

All physical changes that could have happened occured within the first 6 months. Even though I was shaving before for a while, within a month enough facial hair was growing on my cheeks that I actually felt like I should be shaving. However, quickly I discovered that I actually like having a beard, so coupled with lockdown laziness I just stopped shaving. Fat redistribution I noticed a bit later, when I decided that daily walks would be a good thing for my health and sanity. This realization came to me when I saw that my (back then) new trousers fit me better, whereas the couple of pairs I had since my days in the army were falling off me.

The mental changes, as much as you can call them that, happened seemingly overnight. The first thing I noticed was a burst of energy, I no longer was fighting to get up, and I could keep going for longer before I felt like I jeeded to rest. One thing that I'm glad that never happened was, a burst in uncontrolled emotions. I feared, that since during my teenage years I was so emotionally unstable and having bursts of unccontrolled rage, secind puberty will cause a resurgence of that destructive rage. And to my pleasant surprise - I felt a sense of calmness and content. A feeling of everything being just right, all things considered. And that feeling surprised me.

I also had a sudden burst of hunger, but that's expected with all types of HRT, and within a couple of months it resolved itself.

As of medical intervention beyond medication, I only underwent top surgery. In my case, this was a 2-in-1 deal: conplete double mastectamy, chest reconstruction surgery with a nipple graft. In my case, the doctors werent sure my nipple would survive, and I was mentally prepared to have a 3D tattoo of them in case they don't. Thankfully jot only they survived, I had full sensations and almost full function merely 3 weeks after the surgery. And as a bonus, their color changed to a healthy pink, which is only a bonus. I did have 1 complication, a very common one in all torso surgeries, and it is a gaping of the insitions. I had the gape under my left armpit, and it took about 6 weeks to close fully. It thankfully never got infected, and since I was covering it with a clean gasa and using an antibiotic cream as long as the doctors told me, I didn't have any further comolications. Pain-wise, my entire recovery was somehqat painless. Partially because of my rediculously-high pain tolerance, and partially because it just so happened to not be as painful. Feeling how the whole area is draining was very vile though. Do not recommend lol

As of bottom surgery: although I do have bottom dysohoria, for now I don't olan on getting one. Not only we don't do it here, it costs os much koney and has so many complications, and at the end of the day it wont give me the ability to have biological kids. So for now I stick with silicon prosthetics and hope they dont fall off xD

In my personal life, I finished my degree and got a driving license, on a motorcycle after learning the hard way that I can't physically drive a car. My ankle just doesn't aprove of such activities. I'm still yet to start working full time as an archaeologist, but that's entirely due to the places that employ archaeologists not recuiting new workers at this time. And I know I'm not the only archaeologist stuck in this madness. So for now, I work where I live, doing my best to not overwork and also have a little bit of time for myself and my hobbies.

In these past 5 years I also became more religious. After top surgery I felt like I'm ready to enter community life as a man, only to be faced with a religious dilema that cannot be solved, yet. So far, I have found only 1 person even talking about people like me with more than just "yall are heretics who are blasphemous for even trying to be a part of the religious community", and he only gave his opinion that there might be an answer. A different source that I did read (despite being targetted towards married people only) says that in some cases, just lying about your transition is the best course of action, but even then there are some stuff that I will never be able to do. And I'm fine with that. And because of this religious debuckle I'm hesitating to go on dates and eventually find a spouce.

Here's hoping for 5 more years of prosperity, and beyond that - god is greacious, so much can change and I just flow with what's given to me.

And I promise, I will find a religious answer to this entire situation. There must be. I'm not the only one, despite our small numbers we are enough to have at least an akgnowledgement that we exsist. And even if it takes me a lifetime, I WILL find a concrete answers, whatever that may be. And no, "there is no answer" is unacceptable.

[dollsonmain]

Ok, so, yesterday...

A full hour after my scheduled appointment time, the doc finally came in.

The whole appointment was just some talking and planning. I wonder how much that's going to cost... (my hospital bills are now up to about $12.5k... If I can get That Guy to agree to $500/month that's already two years).

First stone removal is next Tuesday. I almost feel bad for That Guy having to take so much time off of work to drive me around. But only almost.

That's the smaller stone in the left kidney (I think I said lefty had the bigger stone before? it's the smaller one). He said that when he installed the stent he pushed the stone back out of the ureter and that, in addition to the IV antibiotics, improved function.

Left kidney WAS in minor distress when I got to Hospital A, but by the time I left Hospital B, my bloodwork showed both kidneys working exactly as they should.

The larger stone in my right kidney isn't attached to anything and is just spinning around in there. He expects that to take at least two surgeries to remove.

So that's three more surgeries.

He also said the stents will stay in for about another week after, so 4 surgeries because he didn't install stents with external strings that could be pulled out in the exam room. He has to go in AGAIN with little clamps to remove them.

Apparently doctors do that when the stents need to stay in for a while.

I am struggling with the stents. I have to have the hot bear on constantly.

He did say I can do whatever I want and the only problem I should have with the stents is more blood. Granted, as bad as I feel, I'm not going to be getting up to much. Going to focus on chores for now until all the surgeries are over, and then get started selling stuff again. Luckily I have a nice, big backlog of stuff so won't need to buy much to sell for a while.

I am dreading the expense of these surgeries.

Going to be on the phone today because I need to call and pre-something for the surgery (talk to anesthesiology about stuff??) and call financial assistance.

I need to complete my application for medicaid and then ask a bunch of questions about how to apply the fees I've already been billed and the pending other surgeries to whatever financial aid they can give me.

-

The doc also said I have a lot of calcium in my blood which might have caused the stones, and he thinks that could be a hormonal problem. I was looking it up and it's a thyroids thing, the solution to which is "surgery to remove the glands that are cancerous" like..... ok......

I mentioned it to That Guy and also said "That's something a GP would have caught." because he's not given me the opportunity for regular medical care all this time.

I'm sure that every time I'm like "You've neglected this facet of my care." in his mind he's thinking "You should have had a job and taken care of yourself all along." and that's not incorrect.

I DID have a job and amazing 100% coverage healthcare until he moved us away from my job.

-

While I was waiting for the doctor to finally come in my mom was trauma dumping on me via text.

Her mom died long before I was born. She said it was because her step-dad at the time denied her health care (she needed blood pressure meds) and beat her regularly. The day she died she was beaten.

She also said my brother had been giving her trouble all this past week threatening suicide, saying he's not eaten in 4 days and living in a tent.

I can imagine going through that and then getting a text from me like "Hey, mom, I almost died!"

I had to explain to her that That Guy wasn't denying me medical care, he's just stupid and really did think that the answer to supposed sepsis was urgent care and not the ER.

[haberdashing]

for some reason tonight i keep thinking about how deeply weird my medical history is

not primarily in a chronic illness sort of way, mind you. what chronic illnesses i have are fairly minor and unrelated to most of this. and not in an accident-prone way either: i've only broken a bone once in my life, and that wasn't until my late 20s!

but like

"thyroid issues?" "does that time i got diagnosed with an overactive thyroid in high school and went on medication for a few months count?"

"history of anemia?" "yeah, again, high school. ooh, i wonder if those could be related?"

"your heart rate's awfully high, did you know that?" "oh yeah, that's been an issue for a while now. at least since high school. yep, high school again, heh! but two different cardiologists a decade apart told me it's fine so i guess it's no big deal, right?

"okay... any recurring infections?" "well all throughout childhood i had what was like pinkeye but chronic. turns out it was herpes. in my eye. eye herpes. but it's been a few years now since that's popped up! oh, though i did have a yeast infection last time i checked, and i'm not sure if that ever went away..."

"when's the last time you went to the hospital?" "uh, does the top surgery place count? probably not, how about after i broke my leg? because before that i think it was when i was in the ER the night before my high school graduation, but like, that's a while ago"

"do you remember the last time you threw up?" "well i have this thing where sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night and my stomach hurts and i'm overheated and i just kind of lay in the bathroom for the better part of an hour until i puke... that only happens every few months though, not that big a deal"

"uh, have you had issues donating blood?" "oh yeah, you wanna know about the time i threw up, the time i passed out, the time my blood didn't flow right, or the time i almost got rejected for iron levels? probably not that last one, that's boring, and we covered the anemia already..."

"issues with nosebleeds?" "not lately, but when i was a kid i got them all the time!"

"touched your own blood lately?" "look, i like to pick at scabs sometimes, okay?"

"any medical devices in your body? metal implants?" "well after i broke my leg they stuck a metal plate and screws in there so now i'm a cyborg!"

"low... testosterone, it says?" "yeah, weird one, heh, seeing an endocrinologist about that next week actually"

"you were on vitamin D- a prescription amount?" "yep, i was low on that too! might still be, but at least now i'm not on the horse pills for it"

"any issues with headaches, stomachaches, random body aches?" "well the metal plate in my leg aches a bit after a lot of walking. but headaches happen a lot too. especially when it rains. i'm like a living barometer!"

"your heart rate's awfully high, did you know that?" "oh yeah, that's been an issue for a while now. at least since high school. yep, high school again, heh! but two different cardiologists a decade apart told me it's fine so i guess it's no big deal, right?"

"ever had an mri, cat scan-" "oh yeah, looked into my headaches when i was a kid, went through the whole drill"

"ekg, holter monitor-" "and those were for the high heart rate!"

"lumbar puncture?" "headache again! that one honestly wasn't as bad as i expected. though that's not saying much."

"it says here you had… MRSA?" "oh yeah, heh, funny story. antibiotics cleared it right up, but i almost didn't go to the doctor. i mean, who wants to talk to the doctor about a literal pain in the ass?"

*doctor throws clipboard into the air*

[saentorine]

-When I was 14, just after a blood draw to check my white blood cells during the process of figuring out my appendix had ruptured several days ago 🙃

-At a Red Cross blood donation event in college; I came in still wearing my winter coat because I didn't expect to pass the hematocrit minimum (I never had before) but then I DID, and while I was standing at a computer answering all the "Did you sleep with a donkey in Central America in the 1970s?" screening questions, I must have locked my knees or overheated or something because one moment the computer was repeating the question for a third time and I was wondering why I wasn't answering, and the next moment I woke up on the floor. But these events are the best place to pass out, full stop; someone was on me immediately and helped me get to a safe place to rest and brought me juice and snacks. 10/10 would recommend. I just felt super dumb for passing out without ANY proximity to a needle 😂

-During my first followup bloodwork after being diagnosed with Celiac disease. After 6 months I had only barely began to recover, I was still significantly underweight, and my body was NOT prepared for a blood draw of 5 vials after a 12-hour fast. I went out during the draw, came to on the floor where the phlebotomist had put me to recover, and then kept going in and out repeatedly for the next several minutes. It was very scary because I had driven myself there and I didn't have anyone I could easily call to take me home. I needed to get some sugar and sustenance in me but the lab site only had water on hand and were like "idk there's a vending machine up a floor from here" but no one offered to walk with me or go and bring me anything despite my inability to sit upright for more than a minute. It took me almost an hour to feel capable of walking up a flight of stairs on my own to buy a Coke, slowly drink the whole thing, and carefully drive back home. 1/10 do not recommend. I told my doctor to NEVER schedule me for a fasting blood draw in the same batch as so much other blood, wtf. -During another procedure with a needle not long after that, probably because of the memory of that experience.

-When my cat was trying to eat the button on my pajamas while I was asleep, mistook the pinkie finger of my hand trying to push her away, and bit completely through the nail just above the cuticle. I screamed, felt it bleeding, went into the bathroom to see the damage, and ended up on the floor. After dressing the puncture, I almost passed out again walking back to my bed. (In the morning I called my doctor for antibiotics).

Feel free to tell me more about it

[kevma]

Name: Kevin Ma Occupation: Attendant at Retrocity Age: 28 Sexuality: Pansexual Species: Human Hometown: Port Leiry, Oregon Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: Chaotic, resilient, generous, insistent, sarcastic, open-minded

Biography (tw: chronic illness, mentions of parental death)

Growing up in Port Leiry as a human is a bit of a strange experience, but not in any way that Kevin knows how to articulate. From an early age, he simply accepted that there were unexplained things in the world and trying to dig for answers about it caused more issues than they were worth. He'd grown up hearing the local legends and stories from his cousins and parents. It was fun, particularly around Halloween, but he's never given much more thought to it beyond that. If people want to go around claiming that they're witches, then he's not going to tell them they can't.

But it did spark a desire for Kevin to see what else was out there. He was looking for the stability and certainty that never seemed to be present in Port Leiry. There was always just something unsettlingly off. New York City on the other hand felt exciting but familiar through books and movies. Kevin really found himself while at NYU, growing more comfortable in who he was outside of his family and their expectations. He made friends who encouraged him to go beyond what he thought himself capable of, and Kevin began to see a future himself that was more than just returning home to take over his parents' business one day.

Kevin couldn't even call these the best-laid of plans, but they are inevitably derailed when he gets sick during his sophomore year. At first, he just thinks it's the flu, a chill settling deep in his bones with an ache he can't quite shake. But then he starts to feel fatigue that never seems to go away, and finally he drags himself to the campus medical center. He thought they would give him some fluids, prescribe him some antibiotics, and send him on his way. What began instead was a four-month process of being in and out of hospitals, having tests run with inconclusive results, and more questions than answers.

He returns to Port Leiry two and a half years after he leaves it, moving back in with his parents and taking a year off to stabilize his condition. It's not like the movies, where there's a firm diagnosis and doctors magically know what to do. Instead, it's a series of frustrating steps, trial and error until he finds a routine and regimen that works for him. He's not strong enough to leave home again, so he enrolls at Tideview, finishing out his degree in computer science while trying to find yet another path to follow.

His father dies just as he's graduating, and it feels like yet another sign to get him to remain in Port Leiry. Kevin gets the job at Retrocity initially because he's one of its best customers. And when Galaga goes down right as he's about to get the high score again, he wants to learn how to get the machine working again. When he's not exchanging tickets for prizes or tinkering with the out of order machines, he's often playing the games himself, equal parts a hobby and a way to keep his motor functions in shape.

Wanted Plots / Connections

The Devil - Kevin is sick, with a chronic illness that greatly impacts his daily life and has thrown more than one monkey wrench into his life goals. While he currently doesn't know about the supernatural, that secret will come out eventually. It would be easy to tempt him with vampirism or the werewolf bite, or maybe even a magical cure or a hunter's tattoo, if he can figure out something worth offering.

The First Love - Kevin struggled with his sexuality as a teenager, and didn't come to terms with it until he was away at college in New York City. This person would have gone to high school in Port Leiry and is male/masc-presenting. The relationship would've been secret, and Kevin would not have been open to labeling anything, which led to an eventual falling out when they went their separate ways for school.

TBA

[ijumpedacrossforyou]

I wrote and rewrote and revised what I wanted to say, initially without any intention of actually sending it to him. I'd planned to post it here to get it out. But then I had a meltdown as I spent half the day trying to get my antibiotic prescription and realized (somewhat incorrectly) that I'd be finished on Valentine's Day (I got the math wrong and took my last pill the morning of the 13th; I was technically free to start safely having sex [lmao] again the 14th). Her birthday. I told him how tragically ironic that was.

I also told him I didn't expect him to start hooking up with someone so soon after I'd ended things, that it wasn't fair to hold it against him but it bothered me and he should understand why (he'd said it ate away at him to think of my being with someone else... I asked him if it ate away at him to be with someone else). Because, as I told him, I thought some of the things he'd done and said over those few months indicated that he still wanted to be with me. I told him why I slept with someone else - we were in the same position we were in the last nine months, not seeing each other, barely speaking, except I didn't think he wanted to be with me then, and I was (and still am) so hopelessly in love with him that I thought it would help me move on. I told him I couldn't understand why he'd continued to pursue me after that, but I kept letting him because I thought it all meant something. Otherwise, how I could have gotten this all so terribly wrong?

He replied a full week later. He knew there was nothing he could do or say that would take away the hurt he'd caused me, but he was "so fucking sorry." For everything. For bringing me into his fucked world and train of thought. He'd never been taught how to express himself properly, and he struggled with saying what he was feeling, but he never wanted to see me unhappy, he royally fucked that up, and he wanted me to know how tremendously he cared about me and how he had no idea how he'd ever be able to show me how much, but he was just really sorry about all of it.

I didn't know if I wanted to reply. I took a few days myself. Agreed it was all fucked. Told him I regretted a lot of the decisions I made to keep his peace, that I (((hoped))) I would never sacrifice my comfort again, and hopefully he's learned how to express himself better through all of this. I thought that would be the end of it. I was expecting it to be. But he texted me today.

[iamramonadestroyerofworlds]

if you do look at pics of phalloplasty and think "oh no! that doesnt look like the dick I want to have!"

You're allowed to feel that way! you don't have to want any particular thing done with your body! You're allowed to wish you had the option for a more cisgender-appearing penis. You're allowed to look at results and the surgery process and possible complications and think, 'thats not for me!' That said:

Many pictures online of phalloplasty (and most other surgeries) are from very shortly after the surgery. even once they're at the point where the stitches are all out, the swelling has all gone down, they've had all their follow up visits, surgical sites like this will continue to change at least slightly for a while as scars fade, skin tone evens out, etc.

Phallo is very often a multi part surgery. First they come in and build you an entire new body part, then they give your body time (could be months!) to fully rest and heal, then they come back to do secondary procedures they didn't do the first time (adding implants for example) or change some aesthetic details (changing the shape of the head, for example) or fix minor issues from the first time around. Some people are happy with the basic package, so to speak, but if you're concerned about phalloplasty not looking right, make sure you're looking at photos from people who have had all the steps that they plan to do. Sometimes you see 'results' images from procedures that are literally still half-finished.

I don't want to get into some of the things people say abt phallo results bc i think it can be pretty hurtful to people who have had or want phallo to hear their genitals referred to that way, but what I think a lot of people are getting at is, i guess i would say texture, how the skin connects to the tissue beneath and how much of it there is, and if that's your priority than thats your priority! If phallo looks too smooth to you please do check out meta results though, that may look more like your ideal penis.

"complications" does not mean death or permanent disfigurement. complications can mean: difficulty peeing, small amounts of unexpected bleeding, larger amounts of unexpected bleeding, more scarring than expected, loss of or slow recovery of sensation, infection, or even just 'it came out looking kinda wonky but there is absolutely nothing wrong with it'. What happens when you have complications? you go to your surgeon and say hey! this thing that you probably warned me might happen seems to be happening. Or they notice during the surgery that something has gone slightly wrong. Or whatever. And they prescribe antibiotics or keep a catheter in longer or do a very minor revision surgery later or whatever it may be.

so to follow up on the previous point, yes phalloplasty has a high rate of complications. mostly what that means is that if you get phalloplasty, its going to be a longer process than something like, say, top surgery. There will be more steps to the process overall as they continue to check in to make sure there are no serious complications, and to handle the little things as they come up.

people be fucking normal abt ftm bottom surgery challenge.

[ozma914]

A CAT Scan Is Nothing To Sneeze At

I'd planned reruns and pre-written blogs until the Haunted History project was finished, but I popped in to tell everyone the source of my constant head pain and sinus infections has finally been isolated.

It was in my sinuses.

Maybe I should be more specific. Various allergy/sinus/head doctors have poked and prodded me for years. A sleep study revealed I do, in fact, sleep. My allergy tests showed I was, indeed, allergic. To everything. I even had surgery to unclog a lower part of my sinuses that seemed to be causing the trouble. Still, in recent months the pain became sometimes debilitating, although I think I did a pretty good job of hiding it. Witnesses may disagree.

While typing this I realized I should have taken a medical leave from the fire department, for all the good I've done the last couple of years.

What a headache.

"You expect me to sleep with this thing on?"

I found out after we got Beowulf that I was allergic to dogs, but refused to give him up. Now that he's passed you'd think maybe it would get a little better, but instead my sinus infections kept on coming and the headaches got worse and worse. The truth is, many days in recent months the headaches were so bad I was incapable of doing much of anything ... but I could still write, so I told myself it was all good.

It wasn't.

So the allergy doctor suggested a CAT scan. I patiently (because I'm the patient) explained to him that would be bad, as one of my worst allergies was to cats. I hugged Beowulf every day, but if I came within a block of a cat I ended up looking like patient zero in a zombie outbreak.

A brave photographer caught this assassination attempt.

Turns out I got my dander up for nothing: CAT is an acronym, which stands for ... um ... something medical. Not only that, but it took all of five minutes, and the doctor would be waiting to show me the results right after.

Only the doctor was called away to unplanned surgery, and I had to wait a week and a half. Just to let the imagination simmer a bit.

When I finally saw him, Doctor Herr, who's a he, didn't even bother poking and prodding much. "Your two uppermost sinuses," he explained, "are completely blocked. Nothing can get out, and that's where your sinus infections have been hiding."

My sinuses were constipated.

Dr. Herr (who's a he) didn't explain to me how the infection itself got out, but maybe it has a special pass. In any case, we could try another course of the same antibiotics that didn't work last time, or he could go down to Doc's Hardware, rent a roto-rooter, and dig that sucker out.

That's not exactly the way he described it.

"Dude, I may be a doggie angel now, but I can't protect you from a mad doctor with a post hole digger."

So at the end of September I'm going under the knife, and also under the needle and the drill, and possibly the hammer and chisel. It's more major than my other sinus surgery, but Dr. Herr (who may be a her, I didn't ask) told me if he drills through to my brain, he'll just switch to reverse. Maybe I'll come out of surgery able to speak Latin, or play the violin. Or play Latin violin music.

Hope to see you at my first concert.

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Remember, whenever you don't buy one of our books I get a nosebleed. Save the Kleenex.

[raspberryconverse]

So back in January, Lola got an infected toe (see footnote on this entry). We thought she fell in one of Mable's holes, but the x-ray didn't show any broken bones, but it was an infection, not a tumor because it responded very well to antibiotics. After the $800 visit (which my spouse actually paid for, even though Lola is my dog, because I didn't have that much in savings*), my spouse suggested we get pet insurance for her. She's old (10½), so it'd be better to get her covered now before her health starts to decline because of age.

Well, that was a total crapshoot.

First off, the insurance company found in one of her vet records that she was an American Staffordshire Terrier and determined that meant she was not, in fact, a mixed breed dog (even though she totally is and is actually only 23% AmStaff) and they decided to raise the premium on her policy by about 50% unless I get the vet to send a letter saying that she's not (there was also a miscommunication because my spouse talked to the vet about it because phone anxiety and offered to write it and just have them sign and fax it over, but I didn't know my spouse was expecting me to do it because they said "we" have to write the letter). Now, I got an email saying they did a review of her vet records and are basically not going to cover a whole bunch of shit, including anything dental related because she has tartar buildup. So IDEK what I'm paying $150 a month for now.

I didn't even want to do the insurance thing in the first place because they tend to be expensive and not cover anything worthwhile, but I trusted my spouse and signed up for the plan they found. Now that I've found out it isn't going to cover anything, I've wasted at least $500 on premiums that could have gone to more important things. My spouse pulled their typical, "It's all my fault, I'm a bad person" deflection they always do when I get mad about something they did/said and that sent me off the deep end. I really lost my shit after that. Like hysterical sobbing.

But here's the kicker: I was eating lunch at the table and my spouse asks if I took my medicine today.

Oh, fuck no.

I can't even begin to go into how fucking insulting that question was. Like, I'm upset, so I must have forgotten to take my medication, right? You've got to be fucking kidding me.

"Well, I was just trying to make sure you were ok."

"No, I'm not fucking ok! I haven't been ok for a long time and I can't fucking doing anything about it because I can't get my fucking blood pressure under control!"

God, I really fucking hate myself.

Oh, and my spouse also offered to give me the money I spent on premiums for this shit insurance, but that doesn't fucking help with anything because it's still money lost. At the end of the day, it's still money that went to a scam of a company and no towards, IDK, a new screen door or something. Whether it came out of my account or my spouse's is irrelevant because we're supposed to be a team. I mean, my spouse's bonus is going towards stuff we need for the house. They don't have to spend it on that, but they're going to. So whether I paid it or my spouse did just doesn't matter because we still need to try to use both our incomes to pay for things that need to be done. Money I lost is still money that could have been put elsewhere.

*I also have my Petco credit card as the main payment method on our rewards account, so I actually had at least $800 put on my card towards cat food and litter in the last year without my spouse reimbursing me for it, so we determined we're even when it comes to that. Basically, Lola is my dog, Meeah is my spouse's cat and Mable is both of our responsibility. I got Lola before I met my spouse and I never wanted a cat, but Mable was a joint decision. Plus, we don't have all our money go into our joint accounts to allow us autonomy, but we do both throw extra money in there if we need it for something.

[dzpenumbra]

11/26/22

Today has been a pretty low-key day. Nothing really went as planned, and it all kinda worked out. So, I guess a kinda... neutral day? After yesterday, I'd call that a huge win!

Me and the cat got up around noon, I got her fed, killed a little time until her med time and got her all set for the day. Then I hit up the general store. After packing up most of my food and shit yesterday, I'm kinda letting myself be okay eating shitty easy pre-made food. It's very alien to me, I've been cooking pretty much every meal for several years now. But it has definitely been saving time, and comfort food is good right now. So I got some mozz sticks and some chicken tenders and some Monsters so I didn't have to make coffee or anything. Not like black coffee and mozz sticks pair very well... but I digress...

I got... my motherfucking raw opal today! And half of my shipment from Amazon, the beeswax (for wooden beads), more really good quality hemp cordage, and more Nag Champa Superhit since I've been running low. But... the opal! It's so pretty, it's... stunning, really. I get why it's so hard to find. The pieces were a bit smaller than I was expecting, but there are three of them. They're gonna take a bit of cleaning up, but I'm really excited to get to those soon. I'm pretty sure they're softer than what I'm used to working with, so they should clean up pretty quick. Very exciting!

I fired up Rimworld and watched some videos while eating. I was planning a later shower, but when I wandered into the living room I got completely distracted and started cracking more quartz rocks I had left over. My justification: I won't be able to do this at my new place. So... I mean... it makes sense. And goddamn is it work. But like... I was just going to smoke and hop in the shower and ended up spending 2 hours on the floor cracking rocks. It payed off, got some good pieces, but this ADD shit can just throw off your whole flow sometimes. =/ So after, I went out and smoked. And then fired up the shower and started sorting the bathroom counter and it hit me - "damn, I really should shave my head again. It's been a while." So I turned off the shower, actually took apart my headclippers and sharpened the blades for the first time ever. Yep. I actually did that. I went "dude, I have diamond sanding pads right over there, just run the blades over them a few times and you'll be good". And boy was it a good call. Got a nice new haircut, then got showered up.

My mom texted, she was checking in after Thanksgiving dinner. My nephew was sick again and he's on antibiotics. This poor kid just can't catch a damn break, he had heart surgery twice in like the first 5 months of his life, it's been really fucking with all of our heads. I can only imagine what it's like for my brother and sister-in-law. Like, my heart goes out to them. He's going to be fine, I'm sure, it's just like... come on! Give the kid a break! I haven't gotten to visit him yet, but I'm moving about 30 minutes away from them so I hope to get to know him very well and reconnect (connect) with my brother and sister-in-law very soon.

I got food all set, started packing up the bathroom cabinets, got most of it done. Just remembered the mirror has a cabinet, I'm going to have to empty that too. God knows what's even in there, I never open the thing. Then the rest of the night was sorting through a plastic set of storage shelves that hasn't been sorted through since... probably around 2000-02. It's been a bit emotional. Very mixed emotions.

I just finished the bottom shelf which was completely full of pieces of Warhammer models. Like to the brim. I was very into Warhammer for a bit, around freshman or sophomore year of highschool. It brought back a very distinct but distant memory. The kind that I remember very clearly that it happened and fleeting details of it, but I think my mom remembers it clearer than I do. I remember exactly when I stopped playing Warhammer, when I stopped making Warhammer models. I had a project for art class, the only art class I took in highschool. As far as I remember it was one of those end-of-the-semester choose your own project things. I was very inspired to do a diorama of different Warhammer figures, but sorta Frankenstein'd together into new creatures. Like an orc warrior with a boar head. I guess they call those kit-bashes. But yeah, I just really felt pulled in by that, inspired, and really excited to be able to share this passion of mine in an artistic environment where it would be appreciated. And I really could've used some more encouragement to paint them, because I really did have a talent with that and no one really nurtured that, or even really acknowledged it. The art teacher failed me, like failed me out of the class. I feel like I'm making this up because stories like this sound too fucking bullshit to be true but for real, I am a professional artist of over 15 years, with a Bachelor's in Acrylic Painting and I failed high school art class. Oop! Here's the kicker! So on my senior year of college, my old highschool art teacher came to work at my college as a part time teacher. Yikes, was that fucking awkward running into her in the hallways...

So that was a pretty tough memory to uncover. And I'm still working through it. I want to keep the kit pieces. They are completely untouched, it was like unearthing a tomb or something. I had an idea to make a mosaic-style piece where it's all the kit pieces but if you stand back really far it makes a really realistic, impressive image, you know? And call it "This Is Not Art".

That led me here. The shelves are now empty, except the one with all the Warhammer kit pieces and I don't really know where to put them, there are a lot. So I guess I'll get to it in the morning.

Not a ton left to do for the move, pack up my electronics, my art stuff, break down my electric drum kit (which I might do right now just to get it over with), finish the bathroom, and... the big one I've been putting off...

Figure out what to do with all my dog's old stuff. That one is really hard.

See... I'm learning this about myself a lot lately, it makes me very different from most others but it's always been part of me. I think I might be an Animist, of sorts. I really don't like throwing things out, it feels wasteful. I can see in my head a vivid picture of the journey this object is taking, through it's perspective. It goes into a bag, into a truck, into a processing center probably, then carted off to a dump where it sits there forever. It's this whole "out of sight, out of mind" thing that I feel like I just compulsively can't get past, like my brain just goes there. So, sorry in advance for the tear-jerk moment, I look at my recently deceased dog's favorite toys. Then I see them in a dump, rotting in a pile of trash. And it makes me cry. It makes me cry a lot. And I don't want that. I don't want that for my dog, and you know what, I don't want that for the toys. I think the toys deserve a better "life" than that. They deserve to bring a dog joy, it's literally what they were made for.

It makes me very upset how wasteful people can be, and how they arrogantly scoff when you bring it up, and peer pressure you to do the same, and all just because they are anxious or picky or too lazy to learn how to fix something. It's upsetting and a bit embarrassing. But I'm not going to get too deep into that. This mentality of trying to honor and preserve the memory and significance of objects is something that means a lot to me, but has made me a bit of a hoarder. It makes moving very difficult. So that's kinda where I've been with it.

I'll see what I can get done tomorrow, I'm still not sure if this is going to be one or two more trips. I will need to figure that out soon, but I luckily have some more packages coming on sunday and monday, so I have a good reason to pace myself and live out of boxes for a while. Plus, the only people I know at the new place - the Manager and her Assistant - are out of the office until Monday, so if I need noob help like "how do I do Doordash at an apartment complex with keyfob entry? Do they need to page me or something?" "Can I get groceries delivered?" "Where's a good place to eat?" "Will you be my friend forever?" You know, normal stuff like that. I'm going to have to wait until Monday for that anyway. So maybe it's better for me to take it slow and make a bunch of noise while I have the freedom to do so, and get back into the moving groove at the beginning of next week. That's kinda my running plan, we'll see how it plays out.

[igotubabe-blog-blog]

September to Mid-October

Summer was good. but this Fall has been a tough, darker, sobering couple of months.

This may be a surprise, but I've decided to go in to hospice, and am about a week into it.

The change? September into October hit us with one crisis after another. First was devastating constipation I spent about ten hours one day battling. Utterly exhausting. The next day I needed to go to the hospital for an emergency catheter, because I couldn't pee.

A couple weeks later I had devastating diarrhea, that drained me of most of my energy. The next day I had to go to the hospital because I couldn't pee, and needed another emergency catheter.

A couple weeks later, Inga told me I needed to go to the emergency room because my blood oxygen was super low (she typically checks my vitals like three times a day). I said no, she said yes. So we called for an ambulance.

She was right: a couple hours later I was delirious with pain and getting IVs with antibiotics and painkillers. I was a mess. Turned out to be a combination of RSV and a UTI. I largely had recovered the next day. The hospital (Shady Grove) was so good I asked them to keep me for another day (which I NEVER do). And they said ok. The RSV really knocked me sideways.

Keep in mind I had stopped taking the chemo during this, probably in late September.

Montgomery County emergency teams are excellent. This last trip, I was too week to climb in our own car, so they came and got me.

Each of these events takes time to recover from. I'm not a normal guy: I'm a guy who's been battling cancer since 2019. I've had four major surgeries on my spine, 41 days of radiation (I'm proud to say my friend's cancer group thinks that is legendary), and been on various chemos for over a year.

These two guys have been so essential to us for years. Terrible pictures of both. Nils(L) is a physician's Assistant and is keeping watch over me until I can get out of the hospital (I haven't time to complain about the transport service the hospital uses). Bryan (R) is a former colleague and awesome friend who lifted me out of bed. Lifted me into our car, and got me out of the car, close to midnight, to get me home, because after 10 hours of waiting, transport still hadn't shown up. Legendary friends, who have been there for us more times than we can count.

Each event chips away at you. You're a little less strong, your mind works slower, I struggle to find simple words, I've been twenty-five pounds underweight for years, my legs stopped being able to hold me up.

Inga and I were talking about everything after, and when I would go back to chemo treatments. Maybe after this next weekend?

My answer was I didn't want to go back on chemo. And she understood.

After well over a year on different chemos, none of which stopped tumors from growing (though clearly slowed them from growing, but also caused their own problems) I didn't want to dive back into a circus that was depriving me/our family with a Dad who slept all the time. The catheters prevented me from returning to aquatherapy, one of my most joyful activities. Then after the last hospital trip, I had lost the strength to transfer into the wheelchair. That meant I was bed-bound. I couldn't go into the living room and interact with the boys. I couldn't get myself to the bathroom anymore. Doing any kind of PT exercises was very limited in the bed.

CURRENTLY

So here I am, at home in a hospice hospital bed that I can sit up or lay down in. Emmanual comes in three days a week to give me a shampoo and bath. He's awesome. And nurses who come in once a week. But there's def a bit of: here's your mechanical bed and some heavy duty meds and ...you're on your own. We were expecting more.

Word has been getting out, and we've seen an increase in visitors. I don't know how long that will last. Inga can only do so much. Lukas has a cold he's been unable to shake and Inga spent over two hours on hold trying to get an appt(!). When she brought him into the office, they told her she had to call to get an appt. Just insane. And I can't play with him because he's sick. I have paperwork to do (financial stuff + +) and have limited energy before I need a nap (I still sleep a lot).

If we're unable to meet or talk with you -it's not because we don't care, it's because we have limited bandwidth. Thanksgiving will come soon. Both boys have birthdays in December. Christmas, then New Years. I am hoping to make it into 2023. Tumors have shown us before that they can grow quickly. We don't know what will happen, when.

I have gotten incredibly generous emails from friends abroad. A phone call with a college friend I haven't seen in 28 years, though we have talked online occasionally. Amazing how easily chats with old friends go. That has been nice.

MOM

Just to add some goodness to this post, my sister Tracy was able to visit mom in Vermont this Fall, and to her credit, did mom a lot of good while she was there. Thanks for being there for her sis. I love you!

We have love for all of you following this, and for those rooting for us and supporting us in various ways. Thank you so much for all you've done(!). We love you back!

#love #friends #toddtacklescancer #fiskFamily

(11/13/22)

[missymurphy1985]

There's Something About Kate (Cillian Murphy X fem!OC) - Part Ten

Warning - angst

More Here

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton @jardinsecos @bitchwhytho @gypsy-girl-08 @queenofkings1212 @look-at-the-soul

"I'm on the pill, so unless you've got something I'm gonna need antibiotics for - we're all good," Kate laughed as she pulled herself up from her knees and lay on the sofa.

Cillian moved to sit under her legs and sighed in relief, stroking her knees and shins softly.

"Only had sex with one woman before you, and she'd only had sex with me. I think we're good."

"Two for me. Jack and that prick from before you. But I got screened a month ago."

"I can't believe he hit this once and didn't come back for more... Fucking idiot."

"Hey! There's more to me than this," she waved her hands down her body in mock-annoyance, making Cillian chuckle.

"Will you stay tonight?"

"Do you want me to stay?"

"It'd be nice to have you there when I wake up."

"Then I'll stay."

************************************************************

Kate stayed Thursday night, and as much as Cillian was happy for Ava to stay home on Friday, she was eager to get back to school - something about the dinner being fish and chips and she didn't want to miss it.

So Cillian took her Friday morning, and Kate stayed in the house tidying up after breakfast. He'd told her to leave it but she did it anyway so it was done before he got home. Her phone ringing interrupted her as she was loading the dishwasher. Seeing her work number on the screen her heart lurched in her chest, thinking about her patients. There's no other reason someone would call on her weekend off.

"Miss Turner?" The voice on the other line was new to her.

"That's me - is everything okay?"

"My name's Tara, I'm calling from HR. I'm sorry to have to tell you this over the phone but we've received a complaint about you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There's been a serious allegation made against you regarding your conduct while taking care of a Mrs Lucy Murphy last year that we need to investigate. We have no option but to place you on gardening leave until we've completed our investigation."

"My conduct? What about it?"

"We've had an allegation of an affair between you and her husband during your time with the family."

"What? You have to be kidding me?"

"You are in a relationship with Mr Murphy now, though, are you not?"

"That's none of your business!"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"You'll take that as 'none of your business'!" Kate snapped.

"Miss Turner, our calls are recorded, I suggest you watch your tone."

"You have no evidence of any misconduct throughout my career as a Macmillan nurse. None at all. You're basing this on malicious rumours online!"

"We've received a number of calls regarding you staying overnight at the house while Mrs Murphy was in hospital. You were seen leaving the house in the morning."

"Not once did I sleep in this house while Lucy was alive."

"You're there now, are you?"

"Don't put words in my mouth."

Cillian walked into the room at that point, concern written all over his face as he flicked the kettle on and stood back against the counter.

"Are you telling me I'm suspended?"

"Yes I am. With immediate effect."

"I expect to be paid in full throughout this pointless little PR stunt."

"Call it what you like. You're not to see patients or come to head office during the course of your suspension. You will be paid in full. Any work related items must be returned to us until our investigation is complete and a decision made."

Kate knew she couldn't argue, simply hung up the call and fell onto the chair at the dining table in stunned silence.

"They can't... They can't do this to me.. that job is my life Cillian, I can't..." She was babbling, she knew that, but she couldn't control it. Her whole body was shaking as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Hey, come here, it's okay..." He tried to soothe her, kneeling down beside her and stroking her arms.

"It's not okay!! That job got me through the hardest time in my life and now it's gone!! Because I had the audacity to feel something for someone, the nerve to actually want to be happy..."

He looked to the floor and sighed, feeling his heart break but feeling no other option.

"I can't do this to you."

"Do what?"

"I can't ruin your life like this, I've done enough damage."

"Don't. Do not do that..."

"The only reason any of this happened is because of me. Because I made a move on you."

"A move I wanted you to make!"

"A move that's going to destroy your career!" He stood up and paced the kitchen. Mixed feelings of both anger and hurt rolling around his chest.

"Don't do this, Cill, please..."

"I can handle my reputation being tarnished. I never gave a fuck about any of that shit anyway. But I can't stand by and let them take you down with me."

"Then stand by me and we fight it together?"

"They'll just keep coming for you! You've been suspended Kate, that shit stays on your record!"

"Then the damage is already done and there's nothing I can do about it, so what's the point in us breaking up now?!"

"I don't want you hurt because of me.."

"I'm not hurt because of you. I'm hurt because of stupid people who don't want either of us to be happy. I'm hurt because there's some horrible people out there that are hell bent purely on making good people feel bad."

He sat on the chair opposite her and clasped his fingers together. His eyes on hers, he felt so torn. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to support her and fight with her. He knew that's what she wanted too.

But he'd damaged her so much in such a small space of time. A suspension on her record permanently - regardless of the outcome, he knew that would have massive consequences on her career path. He saw Kate stand and leave the room, he didn't know how long he'd been silent for, but clearly it was too long. She wasn't sticking around for a response.

He still hadn't moved by the time she'd come back downstairs, fully dressed, with her bag and coat. She looked at him, he looked at her.

"When I said I was here for you, I meant it. Every word. But if you can't do this, at least have the decency to tell me now so I'm not wasting any more of my time."

He wanted to stop her leaving. He wanted to run after her after she'd left and drag her back, spend the day how they'd planned - walking on the beach, picking Ava up and heading to dinner at Attico, Ava's favourite Italian.

Instead, he did nothing. Just sat there like an idiot and let her walk away.

If being with him would cost her her job, her career, then what other choice did he have?