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miracleonice87 · 4 years

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I’ll Take Care of You, part two

a Tyler Seguin fic

a/n: this one’s from Peyton’s perspective. back in the fall when I first started writing fics again, I wrote part one in first person, which I don’t really do anymore, but I’m keeping that consistent for this one. read part one here first if you haven’t already.

tw: fainting, mention of miscarriage/loss of pregnancy/infertility/periods

“Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for this to occur with first pregnancies. It happens more often than you might think. It certainly doesn’t mean you won’t ever be able to have a baby. My rule of thumb is to let couples try to get pregnant again naturally for one year without any intervention. Then, if you’re still having difficulties, you can come back in and we can talk about other options.”

It had been eleven months since my doctor had spoken those words to Tyler and me following the miscarriage that had nearly broken us both.

Those eleven months had seen us try again and again each month with no success. I tracked my body temperature and ovulation cycle each and every day before even leaving bed. I’d completely removed alcohol and caffeine from my diet and monitored everything I put into my body, controlling every single factor I could possibly control.

And yet, on the thirteenth day — the unluckiest of days for multiple reasons — of each month, like clockwork, my period arrived. If Tyler was at home when it happened, I simply left the bathroom with a sorrowful shake of my head, curling into his waiting arms as he comforted me silently, holding me close, disappointment weighing heavily on us both. If he was on the road, I texted him only a “🔴” symbol, indicating that my monthly visitor had shown up unwelcome yet again. He replied each time with an, ”I’m sorry, sweetheart,” though he had nothing at all to apologize for.

My patience and determination, along with Tyler’s, were wearing thin. It was feeling more and more impossible to keep the faith — more and more unlikely that this would happen on its own.

I had all but given up hope.

But then...

The eleventh month arrived, and the thirteenth day of it came and went with no sign of my cycle. And then the fourteenth day. And then the fifteenth.

And with that, the smallest sliver of hope glimmered from out of the darkness in the depths of my heart.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to get too excited. With Tyler on a road trip to the East Coast, I barely slept those three nights, tossing and turning and wondering if I should take one of the numerous tests stuffed in the bathroom cabinet.

On the sixteenth, after Tyler had already left for morning skate, I decided it was time. Though I knew I couldn’t do it alone, I also couldn’t stomach the thought of waiting for Ty to return — let alone the thought of seeing his disappointment in the event of yet another negative test.

Thankfully, though, the sixteenth was a Friday — the day that Fanny, Klinger’s fiancée, and I had long ago set aside for morning yoga in my home gym. Fanny, now six months pregnant herself with her and John’s first baby, would arrive at 10 a.m., and I decided that that was as good a time as any to find out what was next for Ty and me — we would either finally start the family we’d always wanted, or it would be time for a different approach.

After greeting one another and stretching over small talk, Fanny carefully broached the topic that I had brought to her, heartbroken, so many times in the past year.

“So how have you been feeling?” she inquired gently from the mat next to mine, bending to the side for a new pose. “Are you on your cycle?”

From where I stood with my arms extended straight out, my face turned away from hers, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and pondered what to say next.

“Well,” I began before clearing my throat, “That’s, um... I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

You pivoted to face Fanny, her pretty eyes now wide as saucers. Slowly, she stood up straight.

“Stop it,” Fanny whispered incredulously, joy etched in her expression.

I shrugged a bit. “I’m late,” I admitted softly. “But only by three days. And I haven’t taken a test-“

“Peyton!” Fanny warned through her giggles, hands finding her hips. “You have to!”

I smiled, appreciating my dear friend’s excitement for me while still feeling the familiar tightness of anxiety in my gut.

“I will,” I promised. “I seriously told myself I was gonna wait to do it while you were here. I couldn’t do it alone and I... if I’m not... well, I just can’t bear to see Ty’s reaction again…”

Fanny nodded solemnly. “Oh, sweetie. I understand,” she assured. “Maybe after we finish up? Or not. I mean, we can do it whenever you feel ready.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling overheated and attributing it to my frayed nerves.

“God, is it hot in here?” I asked, unzipping my lightweight jacket and throwing it aside, still fanning myself though I now wore only a sports bra and athletic shorts.

Fanny frowned, looking at my reflection in the mirrored wall in front of us. “No, I feel fine,” she said.

I tied my ponytail into a high bun to get the hair off my neck, noting a faint ringing in my ears as I placed my feet in position on the mat once more.

As I reached down for my toes, the ringing grew louder, and I suddenly saw stars in my vision.

With trembling hands, I wiped the sweat from my now-dripping brow and stood straight up, but apparently too quickly, as the room around me quickly fell from focus, darkness taking its place.

“Fan... I-I don’t feel good...”

Alarmed at the weakness of my voice, Fanny turned to face me and gasped.

“Babe, oh my god!” she exclaimed — the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

_____

The next thing I heard as I came to was my husband’s voice, which sounded distant and faint. I moaned, squinting at the bright fluorescent lights above me as I realized that I was lying on my back on the floor, with Tyler’s face inches above mine. I opened my eyes slowly and heard him draw a deep breath, announcing, “She’s awake.”

I felt him cup my cheek tenderly as I offered a weak smile.

“Hi,” he breathed, relief heavy in his tone. “Hi, sweet girl. You scared us pretty good.”

“What happened?” I asked, confused by the hoarseness of my own voice. I moved to prop myself up on my elbows, but Tyler gently pushed my shoulders flat once more.

“Shh, shh, hey, don’t get up,” he instructed. “You passed out while you and Fanny were working out. Do you remember that?”

With a furrowed brow, I nodded. I saw Fanny standing behind Tyler, covering her lips with her fingers as she stared at me nervously.

“Oh god, Fan, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, still feeling weak and shaky.

Fanny shook her head and took a couple of steps forward, standing over Tyler’s shoulder. “Babe, no, don’t apologize,” she insisted. “I was just worried about you. Tyler came in the door just a minute after it happened but I had already called 911. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

I nodded, my eyes fluttering closed once more. “That’s okay,” I said softly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door upstairs, and Fanny hurried up the steps to answer it. I rolled my head to look at Tyler, who stared down at me with deep concern.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he promised, pushing some hair from my still-damp forehead. “We’re gonna get you checked out and see what’s going on, okay?”

I nodded as I heard footsteps coming back down the stairs, and two paramedics followed Fanny to where I lay, still on my yoga mat.

“Hey there,” one of them smiled. “I’m Maria, and this is my partner, Chris. You’re Peyton?”

I nodded as Maria knelt beside me, opposite Tyler, with Chris placing a medic kit on the floor next to him.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Peyton,” Maria said kindly. “How are you feeling right now?”

I cleared my throat, attempting to blink the fog away.

“Not as bad as I did a few minutes ago,” I half-joked. “But I still feel shaky, and hot.”

Maria nodded, pressing the stethoscope to my chest.

“Can you tell me what you’ve had to eat and drink today?” she asked.

“Um... I had two cups of coffee, a yogurt... and some water during yoga,” I replied.

“Okay,” Maria said as Chris took my pulse, with Tyler holding tight to my other hand and watching their every move. “Any history of fainting before this?”

I shook my head. “No, never,” I said.

“Any blood sugar issues? Diabetes, hypoglycemia?”

“No, nothing.”

“Are you currently on your period?”

My cheeks warmed. This certainly wasn’t the way I had planned to tell Tyler of our latest development.

“Um, n-no,” I admitted sheepishly, glancing at him. I could see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind even as he watched the paramedics instead of me.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Maria asked gently as she folded her stethoscope into her bag and reached for a blood pressure cuff.

Shit.

“Uh… actually, yeah.”

Immediately, Tyler’s head snapped toward me.

“Wait, what? Really?” he inquired, joy exuding from his whole being.

I simply shrugged, beaming. “I’m late.”

A small, knowing smile crossed Maria’s face. She wrapped the cuff around my arm and began to squeeze the pump.

“Okay, well, that could be the reason,” Maria noted. “Sometimes when you’re early in a pregnancy, your body might not be getting all the extra rest and nutrients and hydration it needs. It happens sometimes, and often, it’s no big deal.”

I nodded, reaching for Tyler’s hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said with a scrunched nose. “I just didn’t want to get my hopes up, let alone yours.”

Tyler brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he told me with a shake of his head. “I get it.”

I smiled gratefully, and Maria removed the cuff from my arm.

“Your blood pressure is a little low, which doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “Again, this can happen. Just to be safe, I wanna take you to the hospital for an EKG and monitor you for a bit, and we’ll do a pregnancy test there too, okay?”

I nodded, looking to Tyler for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” he said, knowing exactly what I needed to hear. “I’ll be right there with you.”

_____

One ambulance ride later, with Tyler beside me and Fanny following behind in my car, I had arrived at the emergency department and was being poked and prodded and hooked up to a plethora of monitors. A cardiologist soon confirmed that everything was fine with my heart, and my pregnancy test was then the only result that hung in the balance.

I sat propped up on pillows in the hospital bed, Tyler standing at my side as we waited in silence.

Out of nowhere, tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to swipe at them without Tyler noticing — a futile attempt. When he heard my faint whimper, he stepped closer and gathered me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“Hey, hey,” he spoke softly. “What is it, baby?”

“I’m scared, Ty,” I whispered, head buried in his chest. “Whether it’s positive or negative. I’m just scared.”

“I know, babe,” he replied, slowly caressing my back. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too. You’ve been through hell.”

“We’ve been through hell,” I corrected, sniffling as I looked up at him. Tyler nodded and smoothed his thumb along my jaw.

“We just have to believe that everything is gonna work out this time,” he told me as he kissed my forehead. “Good things are coming, Peyt. I can feel it.”

After several more minutes, my nurse, a sweet woman named Beth who spoke with a thick Texas accent, entered the room holding my chart. I could actually hear my own heartbeat in my ears, this time not because I felt faint, but because I was overwhelmed with anticipation.

“Well, Miss Peyton…” Beth began with a smile. “Congratulations. You’re gonna be a mama.”

I let out a sob and covered my mouth with my hand immediately, and Tyler choked out a breathless laugh. His hands grasped my face as he kissed me firmly.

“You hear that? We’re having a baby,” he whispered, eyes glossy with tears. “God, I love you so much.”

I giggled excitedly. “I love you, too, baby daddy,” I replied, causing Tyler to chuckle, too.

As Beth looked on with a grin, she wrote a few things down on my chart, then said, “Congratulations, you two. I’ll give you some privacy. Peyton, honey, we’ll be back around to check on you in about half an hour, okay?”

I nodded, tears streaking my face. “Yes, yes, thank you,” I spoke. “Thank you so much.”

With a kind nod, she left the room, pulling the sliding glass door closed behind her.

Before the door was even shut, Tyler’s lips found mine once more, his fingers holding my cheeks reverently. Eventually, I pulled away for a breath.

“You were right,” I told him, nudging his nose with mine.

Still completely giddy, he asked with a smile, “What was I right about?”

I reached a hand up to work my fingers through his curls. “You told me good things are coming,” I reminded, voice quivering. “You were right.”

Tyler was overcome with emotion once again and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. For the longest time, we stayed that way, embracing with only the sounds of soft, happy cries filling the room.

_____

eight months later...

“Are you the most handsome little man in the whole wide world? Hmm? I think so,” Tyler spoke to the tiny baby he held in his arms. “I think you’re just the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled from my hospital bed, feeling more exhausted and more in love than I ever knew I was capable of.

“And it’s a good thing you look like your mommy,” Tyler added, smirking at me before kissing the baby’s forehead — our baby’s forehead. “Uncle Jamie is gonna say that too. Yes, he is. I might as well beat him to it, huh?”

I chuckled, patting the mattress beneath me and gesturing for Tyler to join me.

“Bring him back over here,” I pleaded. “I miss him already.”

Tyler hummed knowingly and rose from his chair, carefully cradling the baby in his arms.

“I know,” he said. “I miss him, too, and I’m literally holding him. How is that possible?”

I smiled. “Because having kids means your heart walks around outside of your body,” I spoke, kissing our boy’s chubby cheek as Tyler took his place on my bed. “That’s what my grandmother used to say.”

He nodded. “You’re damn right,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel it already. I never knew it was possible to feel this way, Peyt. As bad as we wanted a baby, as much as it hurt when we lost the first one...” Tyler choked up as he spoke of the loss we’d experienced now almost two years ago. After a pause, he continued. “I still just never thought it would feel this incredible.”

I curled my hands around his arm and kissed his bicep. “Me either,” I admitted airily. “I’ll never forget the pain we felt then. And that baby will always be our first. But this... this is the best day of my life.”

Tyler beamed, wrapping one arm around my waist while cradling the baby to his chest with his other.

“So, are we decided on this little man’s name?” Tyler asked as I touched the baby’s pouted lips, making us both giggled at his expression.

“I think so,” I confirmed, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Are you still thinking what I’m thinking?”

Tyler looked down at me with hooded eyes, full of adoration, and nodded. “If you’re sure,” he spoke.

I’d been sure for a few months now, since the first day that I allowed myself to browse a baby name book, still riddled with fear of the unknown, while also waiting expectantly and with hope for our new journey ahead. I didn’t get far, only to the B’s, when I found the perfect name... one that meant blessed.

As I peered down at the boy in my arms, no name seemed more fitting than that one I’d whispered into being long ago.

“I’m sure,” I replied confidently. I cradled the baby’s head in my hand and pressed my lips to his forehead. “Welcome to our world, Bennett Tyler Seguin,” I whispered, overjoyed and humbled to finally have the privilege of having a son to name not only for his daddy, but also for the precious, long-awaited gift he was to us.

“Our boy,” Tyler whispered reverently.

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crystalsmentalhealth · 3 years

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Talking about the Brattleboro Retreat in Brattleboro, Vermont

I recently spent two weeks at the Retreat and wanted to share my experiences both good and bad about it.

I arrived at the Retreat in mid-June of 2021 after a four day stay at the Emergency Department of my local hospital. Originally I had not wanted to go to the Brattleboro Retreat because it was such a big campus and I equated that with busy and loud and impersonal. The Retreat would challenge my assumptions.

Getting There

I didn’t drive myself. As I said I spent four days in the ED of my local hospital and so I arrived via ambulance. The ride was stressful and nauseating. I was already stressed and nervous and the mountainous winding roads did absolutely nothing to help. I didn’t lay in the stretcher, but sat in a back-facing seat with no arm rests and with a blood pressure cuff around my left arm.

The trip took about an hour and except for a few questions from the person riding in the back with me, it was spent in nearly complete silence, which again, did nothing to help my nerves. There was no reassurance or even light conversation.

My Arrival

When we got there, they grabbed my bags for me, probably because I wasn’t allowed to have them yet, and with one person before me and one person behind me, lead me up the stairs to the admissions office. We were met at the door by an admissions person and I was dropped off like an Amazon package. The ambulance personnel left and I was officially at the Retreat.

I was first led to Security. They dropped off my bags with Security, and asked me to empty my pockets. I had none and told them such. Then I was led to an exam room where the woman who was with me found a gown that would fit me and held it up in front of her. I was then told to strip completely. I balked, but obeyed. First went my shirt, then my bra, then I stepped into the gown. Then with that covering me, I wiggled out of my pants and underwear. She gave me a pair of hospital pants to put on so I wasn’t completely bare. Then I was shown a chair and given a pair of huge grippy socks to wear. One size fits all, I guess.

After that the lady took my blood pressure, my pulse, and checked my oxygen levels. Then she took my temperature. My clothes and shoes were sent to Security with the rest of my things. I had off-brand crocs as shoes so I had no idea what they needed to check for, but off they went.

After the clothing change I was led to an office. I felt so awkward standing in a grey hospital gown, blue hospital pants, no panties, and those huge grippy socks, in front of two nicely dressed office personnel. They let me have a seat and the questions and paperwork began.

What was my insurance? Did I know about the extra inpatient days allowed? Who was my primary care physician? My therapist? My psychiatrist? My case worker? Did I have an Advanced Directive? What are the addresses? Did I want a male or female provider? There were so many questions!

Then it was sign here, and here, and here, and here, and here.

After that I was given a green folder that said Welcome to Tyler 2 which contained various information that I would need during my time there. My patient Bill of Rights, how to file a complaint or grievance. That sort of stuff.

Then it was off to another area and now they wanted a urine sample. I had already done two at the hospital and really didn’t need to pee, but I tried. I assume it was for a drug test, but I have no real clue.

Then I was sent off to another exam room, this time for a full physical. She asked me all about my medical history, whether I was having normal bowel movements or not, all about my diabetes, my family history (cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer, heart disease, cancer, kidney failure, cancer), she even checked my reflexes. The ARNP that examined me had the neatest notebook. It was electronic and I was fascinated by it.

(At the time of writing this I’ve only been home for two full days and I still have a very clingy cat who is currently laying on my left hand so if you catch a typo that kitty has caused me, please let me know.)

After the physical I was given one outfit to wear back, sans bra because my bra was underwire, and I was sent to a seat to wait to be sent to the unit.

The lady who watched over me offered me something to drink while I waited and when she offered milk I took her up on it. Unfortunately it was 1% milk, which I really hate, but hey, milk, so I drank it while I waited.

I didn’t have to wait long. Before long a Security guard and a nurse from the unit I would go to came down and led me down one corridor, in one elevator, through a cafeteria, up another elevator, and finally I was on the unit.

Tyler 2

The first thing I noticed when I got on the unit was that the bedrooms were singles. Yes! I hate sharing my bedroom in hospitals. At the worst, I’d once had to share with three other people stuffed into a two person bedroom. Two poor souls had had to sleep on cots. So I was very happy to see that I would have my own room.

I was shown into an interview room for yet even more paperwork and questions. All this is the business of the psychiatric hospital and it comes at the literal worst time of your stay, the beginning. When you’re scared and your nerves are raw, and your mental health is at it’s worst.

A three question questionnaire was first. Why are you here? How can we help? What are your coping skills? Depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation. I don’t know. Reading and journaling.

Then there was a check list of things that helped when I was feeling bad. I was fascinated to see that laying down in my room was one of the options. Most hospitals I had been in forbade that, with some going so far as to lock the doors to the bedrooms during the day so people didn’t sleep the day away. It was a pleasant surprise, and I checked that off along with a few others that I felt applied.

Then, the nurse, and we’ll just call her Rose, asked me if I was hungry and told me that they always had sandwiches on the unit and that the kitchen which held milk, orange juice, flavored water, cold water, hot water, coffee, teas, and various snacks was open 24/7. I declined both sandwich and snack.

Finally, I was left alone for a couple of minutes and I had a moment to just breathe. It was a Thursday according to the giant whiteboard that had the day’s schedule on it. Most of the groups were over with.

A little bit later a bag was brought up with my clothes and another with the few things I was allowed to have: my Bible; two coloring books; two books (A Street Cat Named Bob and A Wrinkle in Time); my toothbrush, my hair brush, and my composition notebook; were given to me. The clothes I wasn’t given yet. I was told by a nurse that because of COVID they washed everything that came on the unit whether it was clean or not and I would get my clothes once they were dry.

I was then shown my room. Number 219 was to be my home for the foreseeable future. It was a fair sized room, the walls painted hospital blue, the floor had boring brown patterned tiles, There was a plastic chair, a twin size bed with a single pillow, and brown blanket, and bottom sheet. There was no flat sheet.

There was a set of built in shelves and a small alcove with an unbreakable mirror and large shelf where I put my green folder as well as my other personal belongings that I was permitted to have. I hung around in there for a few minutes before wandering back out and awkwardly looked around.

It was soon 8:30pm and Rose, who was my nurse that night, offered me my bedtime medications. I accepted and went to bed.

The Schedule

I slept fitfully that night. I was scared, they checked on me every 15 minutes, and it wasn’t quite dark when I went to bed. I woke up obscenely early the next morning, which is very unusual for me, but I attribute it to the uncomfortable mattress, the lack of my comfort item; a stuffed cat named Fat Cat that I sleep with, and the fact that my room had a double window that faced directly East. The sun rises at about 4:45am right now, so it woke me up at around 5:30am that morning.

I wandered out, thinking it was much later than it actually was, since it was fully light out. I sleepily blinked at the analog clock and tried to decipher it. Inwardly I groaned at the time. To kill time, I awkwardly wandered around the unit again, and I think I laid back down for a little while.

Eventually I left my room again and it was 7:30am. Shift change. I can’t remember who my nurse was that morning, but by 8am it had become quite the busy place with the morning nurses, the mental health workers, the social workers, and the group leaders milling about the nurses station.

I noticed that the whiteboard had changed with the day, and so I glanced at the Friday schedule.

8am - Breakfast 9am - Community Meeting 10am - OT Movement 11am - Psychotherapy 12pm - Lunch 1pm - Courtyard (yellow level) 2pm - OT Activities 3:30pm Shift Change 4pm - Courtyard (yellow level) 5pm - Supper 6:15pm - Game room/small courtyard (yellow level) 7pm - Wrap Up 8pm - Free Time 9pm - Relaxation 10pm - Phones/computer/TV off

Yes, we had a computer. Some guy we’ll just call J tended to hog it, but so long as it wasn’t group, before morning shift change or after 10pm or 11pm on Friday night and Saturday night, anybody could use it. Of course Facebook and YouTube were blocked, but Vimeo wasn’t. Can somebody please tell me the difference between YouTube and Vimeo?

I didn’t really go to groups that first day, and I was on Red level, so I wasn’t allowed outside even if I had wanted to. I did however see the Social Worker, a very nice woman we’ll just call M. and my doctor via ZOOM, Dr. L.

All of the staff was really nice to me, and the unit, which at that point had a census of 19, was actually fairly quiet for the most part.

When 8am hit, and the breakfast trays arrived, I asked where I should go to eat. I was told I could eat on the porch, the day room, or in my room. Eating in peace alone in my room. Yes, please. I took my tray, got a carton of milk, and walked down the hall to my room.

When I pulled the lid off my plate, I discovered eggs, home fries, and a corn muffin. I also had some fruit. I cautiously tried the potatoes and found them to be quite good, but couldn’t eat anything else so I took my tray back.

I hovered awkwardly around the schedule board until somebody brought me a chair.

Then it happened. My stomach began churning. I went to the nurses station and told one of the three nurses that I had a bit of an upset stomach and could I have something for it? She looked up something and told me I could have some Tums. She sent me to the med window and used some fancy machine to dispense the Tums. I stuck them in my mouth and chewed. I swallowed. It was then that I knew I had made a mistake. I literally felt the Tums hit my stomach, felt my stomach cramp, and then I was vomiting.

After that experience and the cleaning up thereof, I got my morning meds at around 9am, and soon found myself back in the interview room, this time with a nutritionist. At least I think that was Friday. It could have been Monday. Regardless, I talked to her about being sick (it wasn’t the first time, I had gotten sick back in the ED as well), my lack of appetite, my diabetes, the medication for diabetes I was on (2000mg of Metformin and .5mg of Ozempic). She gave me some information the nutritionist I had talked to from my doctor’s office had already given me, then ordered Glucerna for me three times per day.

Glucerna is the diabetics version of Ensure for those of you who don’t know.

I slept a lot that day, and I’m pretty sure I refused lunch and maybe supper. They checked on me - and everybody else - every 15 minutes, but otherwise didn’t pester me.

The next day, of course, started the weekend. I can’t remember the exact schedule for the weekend, but it was far, far more boring than then weekday. There was just Community Meeting which I wandered into but didn’t participate in, a couple more courtyard opportunities than on the weekdays, more free time, Wrap Up and Relaxation. Relaxation happened at 9pm, but I already considered that bedtime as that was when I got my bedtime medication.

Sunday was just a repeat of Saturday with one bright exception. Sunday Sundaes. At around 2pm we got ice cream with sundae toppings that we could have on it. I don’t think I got it that first Sunday, but I can’t quite remember.

Monday doesn’t bring any particular memories except that that’s when I started attending a group here and there.

Meeting Nathan

Then Tuesday came, and I met Nathan. Nathan was a Psych intern who is now no longer there, so I’m not afraid of using his name. Nathan did 11am Psychotherapy, but had been on vacation the week before as well as Monday. I liked him instantly. He spoke quietly, thoughtfully, gently, and never pressed for answers if the person didn’t want to or couldn’t.

At first, we only spoke in group, but after one group disintegrated into chaos he ended it early and offered to speak to me one-on-one. The one-on-one time I got with Nathan, which eventually became every weekday, became the best, most helpful part of my stay at the Retreat. Some of his questions were hard. They were either highly thought provoking or brought on strong emotions, but he was very skilled in not pushing too hard and always bringing me back to the present if I got too lost in the past.

I think I opened up more to Nathan in the week and a half that we spoke than I ever did in the two years I’ve seen my normal therapist.

The Nightmares

I’ve suffered from nightmares for a very long time. In my nightmares I’ve been raped, had my home invaded, seen demons, had my parents stolen away by a dragon (that one happened twice. Same stupid dragon too.), been kidnapped, been chased around Wal-Mart by paramedics with a stretcher, and so on and so forth. The nightmares I suffered at the Retreat were something else entirely.

The dream I remember most, and let me list off some trigger warnings real quick: blood; abortion; abuse; infant death; decomposition; bad parenting; bad medical professionals, was about this young woman who tried to do some sort of home abortion that got botched. She went to the hospital and they sent her strait to surgery where they cut her open with no painkillers or anesthesia. The baby was tiny, but healthy and viable, so they took her out of the young woman’s womb, and haphazardly stapled the woman’s abdomen back together.

Then the dream began to focus on the baby, but not in linear time, but rather in snapshots. In the first snapshots the baby was fine. Pink, perfect, beautiful little girl dressed in frills. Then the next day’s photographs and the baby’s face was turning black in places. The next; her eyes turned murky and there was more decomposition. Mind you, while she’s decomposing, she’s still alive. Then her little fingers turn black and fall off, and it continues like this until the fifth day when the baby finally dies.

The mother, who was recovering from her own trauma, couldn’t have cared less about her baby.

The nightmare turned weird after that and I don’t remember what happened next, but I continued to have vicious nightmares during my stay there.

Dr. L tried to treat them with Prazosin. but I found that it made my nightmares more vivid. Then she tried to get me in a deeper sleep so the dreams wouldn’t wake me up, but that only got me caught in the nightmares and unable to wake up.

We never did figure out how to ease the nightmares and keep me asleep at the same time. Right now we’re trying a higher dose of Gabapentin, also known as Neurontin. I guess we’ll see how it works out.

Strange Characters

There were some...interesting characters at the Retreat. There was one guy who we’ll call J. You may recall him from my complaints about him being a computer hog. He suffered from delusions of grandeur and I believe psychosis. One time I was in the open area near the nurses station he began staring at me suspiciously. Then, after a couple of very awkward moments he asks me, “are you an Imperial or a Rebel?” I told him I had no idea what he was referring to. Miss J who was sitting near by goes, “she’s an imperial, she’s a good girl.” Then J nods and says “I know she’s my sister in Christ, so she must be good.”

I still have no idea what he meant by Imperial or Rebel. Is it a Star Wars thing? If so I thought the Rebels were the good guys. I’m so confused.

Miss J was a homeless woman who had been there for nearly nine weeks. She was very nice to me, but she mumbled a lot and I had to keep asking her to repeat herself.

M was a strange old lady. She would sit at the nurses station and laugh and laugh and laugh as loudly as she could, then all of the sudden she’d be declaring one of the housekeepers an angel on earth and how he should be protected and how everybody else was basically garbage. She eventually got taken out via ambulance.

A was another strange woman. Having been there since May 27th, 2021, she was there involuntary, She talked to herself a lot, drank loads of coffee, walked in and out of groups, and was best buddies with a woman who liked to be called Rabbit, as her real name, the same name as A, triggered her. A and Rabbit were thick as thieves and fed off of each other’s chaos.

Rabbit liked to sing at the top of her lungs when she was happy and when she was angry she would file a grievance, announce loudly that Obama was her father and that you (the nurse she was screaming at) aren’t her boss. She was nice enough to me, but I went out of my way to be as non-intrusive as possible.

Then there was D. D was 30-years-old, claimed to have 12 children. D was volatile, a substance abuser who enjoyed “a drink, some weed, and some coke”. Pretty sure she didn’t mean the soda. D had a shadow who had to write down what she was doing every five minutes. I don’t know exactly why, for the most part, volatile or not, she was pretty chill. She dressed provocatively and the first time she spoke to me it was early morning and we were on the porch.

She asked me why I was there. I told her depression. She asks my why I was depressed. I admitted that there was a lot of trauma in my past. She tells me she’s been (tw:rape) raped all her life, and then proceeded to tell me that I shouldn’t be depressed because I was pretty and thin. Now. I’m smaller than D was, because I’ve never had children, let alone 12 of them, but I’m 5′3″ and 210 pounds; thin is not an adjective I would use to describe me.

She then proceeds to tell me that I needed a better bra. I was wearing a soft low support sports bra, so yeah, my chest area was very un interesting. I told her I was just wearing something I could sleep comfortably in. She told me to shop at Victoria’s Secret for some better bras and I’d feel great.

After that, D decides to mention the gray in my hair. She says “you should get extensions to make your hair long and pretty, or better yet, shave your head and wear wigs. It’s what the black girls do.” She then went on about how wigs could really look good and how I’d have so much fun with it that I’d forget all about being depressed and how there were some sites where you could buy some good wigs for really cheap.

As I recall, I was fairly unresponsive during her spiel and walked away as soon as it wasn’t rude to.

The Really Bad Day

I don’t recall exactly what day it was, time blurs for me on a good day, and I wasn’t having any good days while I was at the Retreat, but one day was really bad.

TW: Suicide TW: Self-Harm

I was really, really suicidal, and I told the nurse I was talking to that. She asked if I had a plan, and for the first time I really did. I told her I would wait until right after a check - remember we got checked on every 15 minutes - then I would take a pair of my pants and wrap them around my neck and strangle myself.

Then she asked if I intended to follow through with the plan. I wanted to, I really did, but I also didn’t want to cause trouble, and that’s a huge issue with me, so I told her no. And that was the truth. I was suicidal, I did have a plan. I had a detailed plan actually. But I didn’t really intend of following through.

As you might expect, she had to report that to my doctor. Dr. L. spoke to me about how I was feeling and later, about five minutes after I had gotten on the computer to use Duolingo to distract myself, (See, I was using coping skills.), the nurse I had spoken to, and who I liked quite a lot, came to me and said that Dr. L wanted them to temporarily confiscate my clothes and take the sheet and blanket off my bed. It was to be replaced by blankets that couldn’t be ripped. Nurse E told me it wasn’t a punishment, it was a safety precaution, but I was so embarrassed and felt punished. I was allowed to keep the weighted blanket they had let me borrow, and my pillow, but other than that they took every bit of fabric in the room.

I don’t know if it was a good move or not. I just know that I wanted things back to ‘normal’, as though anything in a psych hospital could be normal, but the next day I lied to Dr. Lambert and told her I was feeling better. She said I could have my stuff back, but for some reason when I asked a nurse later on, she told me that there were no orders about it from Dr. L.

I asked again the next day and was finally able to get my linens and clothes back. I even got an extra pillow, for which I was very grateful for as my original pillow had been quite flat and hard.

The Road to Discharge

I was originally supposed to have been released on June 29th, a Tuesday, but I had to admit to Dr. L that I just didn’t feel like I could be safe at home yet. Not to mention that we were still trying to deal with my nightmares and sleep issues.

Dr. L and M, my social worker began giving me assignments to do. I was to fill out a safety plan, which I did. M had me write a letter to my regular therapist about the changes I needed her to make to improve our sessions. I am terrified to read it to her, but I really need to. I was given a huge stack of DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) information and worksheets to fill out, Nathan had me write something about a cousin of mine who had passed away due to an overdose of Fentanyl, and so I wrote her a letter telling her how much I missed her, how I was angry she was gone, disappointed that she couldn’t tell me she was back on drugs, how I was angry at her mom for getting her hooked on drugs in the first place, and ways I could have helped if she had just let me.

Meanwhile, people found out that I could make things out of the Model Magic that they had in the Contraband/Sensory room. I made I can’t even remember how many cats for people. I also made roses, and one dragon.

I was also writing dark poetry, just trying to purge my dark thoughts and get them out on paper.

Nathan continued to have one-on-one therapy with me each weekday, even if he only had half an hour.

I was meeting with my social worker daily, which they normally didn’t do, but when she realized that I wouldn’t go to them if I needed something, she decided to head it off, and meet with me, even if it were only a couple of minutes, each week day.

Finally, we decided on a day. Friday, July 2, 2021. I was so nervous, but so excited to come home and see my furbaby, Loki.

When the day came, I dressed in the nicest clothes that I had brought, which was a pair of elastic waist jeggings and my pink Cat Mom t-shirt which everybody loved. I only went to one group that day, and that was Psychotherapy, and I had my meeting with Nathan. I had one last meeting with Dr. L. and my social worker. My nurse that evening gave me my treatment plan which had my diagnoses. (Major depressive disorder, severe; Borderline Personality Disorder; and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Just as supper arrived I got the word that my ride was there.

Final Thoughts

Being at the Brattleboro Retreat was a difficult experience, but it was also a positive experience. In the beginning I was mad I wasn’t at the place where I had wanted to go, which was the Windham Center, but by the end of my first week there, I had decided to make the best of where I was. I didn’t like all the nurses, I definitely had my favorites and those I dreaded, not that they were ever mean to me, but I’m not sure, there’s just people you don’t like, you know?

I was on a great schedule while I was there. I was up no later than 8am and went to bed around 9pm, I ate at specific times. I got my medicine at specific times, and that routine was very comforting. Did I keep to it when I got home?

No. It’s currently 12:26 in the morning and I’m working on this still.

I’m still drinking my Glucerna, no matter that it costs me $40 a week for three a day, but I just don’t want to eat. Oh, I nibble. I’ve eaten some chocolate graham crackers and sipped on a 20oz Vanilla Coca Cola over the last four days. I just don’t eat.

I learned, while I was there, that it’s okay to speak up, to take up space, to have a voice, even if it’s quiet, I learned that it’s okay to get angry or ask for help. I can ask people for what I need. I don’t know how well I’ll be able to apply what I learned, but that’s always the hardest part of learning any new skill.

I know that this has been a huge amount of reading, but I wanted to give you a detailed example of what a psychiatric hospital is like. I hope that it informs you and I hope that if you’re heading to a psychiatric hospital or treatment center that maybe after reading this you’ll have less fear and anxiety because you have some clue as to what to expect.

I would also like to let my readers know that these are just my personal experiences in an American psychiatric hospital. I have no idea about British hospitals or European hospitals or even hospitals in other parts of the United States. My experiences in hospitals in Florida is a stark contrast to my experience in Vermont hospitals. I find Vermont’s response to medical care and psychiatric care in general is substantially better than Florida’s. I’ll do a post on that later.

Ask for help. Take up space. Use your voice.

National Suicide Hotline: 800 273-8255 Crisis Text Line: Text START to 741741

By the way, if you need me to tag another trigger word, please just send me a message and I’ll edit the tags to take your trigger word in consideration.

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pizza-soup · 4 years

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Sorry I've been missing in action.

Long story short I got very injured at the labs, but I've been making a fast recovery. For the more detailed, graphic version, you can read below. Warning: Mention of hospital, blood, car accident.

As I mentioned, I got really injured at work beginning on February 21 at around 9 PM. It was during a routine check at some of the sites, one in particular needed our higher clearance because there had been a breach at a fence that past week, so I, and two other guards went to check out any tampering of the fence again. They say it might be vandals but a lot of them say it was some kind of large animal. The road to those sites are a single path through the woods, lit with a few lights, no curves, just a flat road with a hill on one side. It hadn't snowed that week either, so no fear of ice or anything. It was just a routine jeep trek.

It happened so fast. Our vehicle was knocked over, I'm not even sure how, but we were rolling in the dark down a hill, hitting trees. I remember the shouting, holding fast, and the glass. I remember crawling toward a tree and trying to sit up against it or maybe I was put there by the other guard, Dolores, I remember her telling me to stay awake. I asked her if I was dreaming. It didn't feel real. I asked what was happening to me because I couldn't move right, everything felt so slow and muffled. I passed out by the time they got us into the medical ward. I don't remember them putting me in a gown or putting in an IV. I woke up later, I buzzed the call button out of fear and pain. My whole left side was throbbing. A nurse was relieved I finally came to. She gave me pain meds and called the doctor in.

I was told there had been an accident, that much I already knew, but no one was killed, just injured. I lost a lot of blood, my uniform was soaked in it and they had to cut it off me. Part of the metal from the door frame folded in and pieced my left shoulder and I had minor cuts on my hands and arms from the glass. My blood pressure dropped so low they were scared my heart might've stopped. I was given blood, hooked up to a lot of things and I would have to stay under watch for a few days. There was a lot of tests they needed to do to figure out just how bad my injuries were.

For the next few days I was just sleeping, I couldn't sit up without feeling dizzy. I had to lay semi flat, my blood pressure was still very low. My left side was still throbbing and the stitches itched. A lot of bruises developed from being tossed around like I was, mostly on my arms because I was shielding my face and head. My minor glass cuts stung while batheing. Nurses came in every few hours to check my vitals, help me use the restroom, shower, help me eat, ect. I got so tired from the smallest things. I couldn't call anyone, my phone was in my locker. I finally got someone to help me call my brother to tell him what happened. My brother was naturally scared, he thought something happened to me and he was sad to know he was right. He wanted to see me, but he couldn't, I was in the medical ward on lab property. He wanted to call our mom to tell her but I told him to wait, there was a possibility that I might be transferred to a local hospital where they can visit me, and I didn't want her panicking and trying to drive up here in bad weather. It's best she waited til things cleared up.

After the first week I was transferred to a local hospital after getting a bunch of tests done. No brain trauma, no broken bones, no blood sugar issues or thyroid problems. I could sit up in bed by then and eat on my own. I still couldn't walk very well without feeling really dizzy, again, low blood pressure. A lot of minor bruises were fading away. I never had my anemia officially confirmed, but they confirmed it and had me take daily iron and placed on a blood building diet in the new hospital. I was tested for covid, I came out clear.

My brother and mom visited me daily, and the other doctor said I was recovering really quickly, that gave us a lot of hope. I could be out of there by a few days, though my blood pressure was worrying her. Seems it wasn't so much the blood loss, but that it might have been an underlying condition already linked to my untreated anemia. She would get the in-house dietitian to include a bit more natural sea salt to my iron rich diet, as well as tell me what I should eat at home and that I need to drink a lot more water than I normally did. This is a problem I've had for awhile, I forget to drink enough water. The doctor warned me I better remedy that immediately especially with low BP. My mom was already taking notes. She really wanted to just take me home already. I really liked her being there, I'm not that shy about my body, but I honestly felt better having my mom bathe me and comb my hair instead of strangers doing that. She was also a lot more gentle around my stitches and bruises.

Eventually I did come home, I still needed a lot of rest and help getting out of bed. I had to fight the urge to clean house, help with groceries, ect. I'm so used to being self sufficient. I felt so frustrated that just walking around the room would tire me out, when I'd hike for miles just a few months ago. I was tired of sleeping and sitting down. But there wasn't much else I could do. I did a lot of origami, my bro got me a coloring book, I watched a lot of movies, took my iron -which is nasty btw-, ate meals that were saltier than I normally would prepare but my taste buds would have to adjust. I was happy my new diet included a lot of fish though.

I did have some close calls. I really thought I could stand up in the shower instead of sitting, and wound up calling for my mom to help me up after collapsing. I collapsed again when I was trying to cook dinner for myself. My face, according to my mom, was drained of color and my breathing was shallow. I felt so dizzy and nauseated. She nearly wanted to call the hospital again. My bro said I was pushing myself too hard and I always had a problem with not asking for help. That I needed to learn to stop being so damn stubborn and rest. To anyone else, that sounds harsh, but he knows me way too well, probably better than our mom. I do have that problem, I do push myself too much. After that, I decided to be more patient with myself. I was sick and might be sick for awhile.

This week I'm doing a lot better. I can do my daily things now, I even went to get groceries and take a little walk to the river. But I can't over do it, I can't stand up or walk for too long, and I can't lift anything heavy, otherwise I get bouts of dizziness and need to sit down. The pain isn't as bad on my back anymore though it's still very sore, my arms, especially my left side, have a dull pain. I can't sleep on my back and left side, only my right and on my stomach. A lot of the cuts on the back of my arms and hands have scabbed over, minor bruises are gone but major ones on my shoulder and neck are still pretty dark and tender. I'm still finding glue spots on my chest and stomach from the medical tape and the EKG patches they put on me, but a bit of lotion is taking it off. My stitching, according to my mom, is definitely going to leave a pretty bad scar above my shoulder blade, but it's fine. My body has a lot of scars here and there from close calls, but I consider them ' Marks of Life'. They're proof I survived and thrived.

It'll take time for me to really feel like I'm back to normal. My mom refuses to go back home until I make a full recovery. She hasn't tended to me like this for a long time, mainly because I rarely get sick. I trait from my dad's side. We don't get colds or flus for years, no history of cancer, heart issues or diabetes, and his family usually remain active to their elderly years, not to mention our graceful aging. My dad used to say it was our native blood, we're just built tougher. The only thing that could kill us is getting injured like this. God, he'd be so worried about me though. I remember how he'd fuss over me when I skinned my knee as a child or got my allergies. If he was alive, he'd probably refuse to let me do anything out of bed, but then that's exactly what I should be doing anyway.

I got a report on the other guards health yesterday. Dolores and Elijah. She was the least hurt out of all of us, just a dislocated arm, mild whiplash, and some really bad glass cuts on her chest and arms, she's home recovering with her husband and kids. Elijah was the driver and got knocked unconscious with a bad concussion, his entire left arm was sliced by glass and metal, he lost a lot of blood like me and is recovering just as slow as I am. He opted to stay in the lab medical ward because he doubts his roommate can care for him at home, he's on a lot of pain meds, so he sounded distant on the phone. I think out of all of us, he's going to take the most time to recover. I told him I'd pray for him and if he wants, I can visit. He appreciated that a lot. I thanked Dolores for helping us that night, she was the one trying her best to keep us alive and sent the distress signal on our ARK devices so they could find us in the dark. Without her, I think we would've bled to death.

God, it feels like a distant nightmare. I still can't figure out how we were knocked off the road like that. Something hit us out there and it was strong. I felt the impact in the backseat, but I didn't see it. Dolores says it looked like a bear, but bears aren't that strong. Eli says he saw horns, so maybe a bison. Bison are that strong, especially against a little jeep. The incident is still under investigation. The lab is also very concerned about how this happened. It's possible the same thing that hit us, has been tampering with the fence.

One less thing to worry about is the hospital bill, the accident happened on lab grounds, everything is taken care of through them, probably because they don't want to get sued. They are giving us another two weeks before we report back in to the doctor for another round of tests and physical tests, as well as check to see if my stitches were still secure. Our return to work solely depends on our results, we may not be able to come back until late April. They really want to be sure we're okay. Because I'm an 'Ophanim' aka Tier 3 guard, I'll also be given a mental test before being hooked back into Selene. They just want to be sure there's no cognition issues and I can sync properly to her. I may have to do a refresher since I've been away for so long, but I'll worry about that when it comes.

Well, if you read this far, thanks. I hope I didn't scare you all too much. I am doing a lot a better though, I promise. I'm getting stronger everyday, though activity on this blog will be slow. Send me some prayers, good vibes, whatever. I'd really appreciate anything. Hope you've had a good month, better than mine hopefully.

#Update #medical trauma #accident tw #injury tw #daily update

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mrssfl5509 · 4 years

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This is the story of one of the greatest trails in Chicago Illinois. Three young boys and an obsession with the “perfect crime”. I will be writing and interesting my thoughts and feelings about this story while researching and writing this story. This is not a story I wrote from imagination, this horrific tale is based on a true story beginning when….

Nathan Freudenthal Leopold Jr. was born, November 19 1909. He was the son of a wealthy Jewish German immigrant. During his earlier days, Leopold was bullied in school and had a very hard time making friends. However, Leopold had extreme intelligence and sped through school at an expeditious rate, (Yassss, you boys gooo!!!). Due to which gave him quite the ego. He became cocky and felt he could do whatever he pleased because he was smart and wealthy. (not what I meant Leopold).

Unfortunately, it isn’t said if he showed any aggression (I could almost find nothing about Leopold’s behavior as a child) until he was 12 when he was allegedly sexually abused by Governess, mathilda. (ew) Later his family moved to Kenwood, (a suburb in Chicago), where his educational development continued to increase rapidly. By the age of fifteen years old, Leopold was attending the University of Chicago. (Proud). In 1920 while attending college as a law prodigy, he met Richard Albert Loeb. Better known as “Dicky”.

At this point of the research I was stunned! I mean college at 15? That kid is crazy smart. I felt as if Leopold was the victim based on his childhood. I wondered what role Dickie would play.

Richard Albert “Dicky” Loeb was born, June 11 1905. He was the third of four sons of a wealthy Jewish lawyer. (so basically everyone in this story is hella rich.) Loeb was also filled to the brim with knowledge. He skipped several grades through school and began attending the University of Chicago at only 14 years old. (How? All i wanna know is how?) As a child Loeb was fascinated with crime and it is said he showed more sinister sides of himself. He would fantasize about committing crimes and even made a fantasy life as a criminal master. Loebs favorite fantasies consisted of arson and theft.

Okay, but how did no one see these red flags!? At 14!?

In 1921 he transferred to the University of Michigan. With a spotty education track and also suffering from an addiction to alcohol, Loeb became the youngest graduate in the history of the University of Michigan at the age of seventeen.

At this point reading and having to write that made me extremely sad. The boy was doing great and to hear about someone so young having to go through such a rough part of life, it made me feel disappointed and sad for Loeb.

After graduating from Michigan, Loeb returned to Chicago and renewed his friendship with leopold. Leopold and Loeb became even better friends but had a very rocky relationship. Loeppold was said to have contemplated killing loeb for a breach of confidentiality. (Leopold, what? At this point i felt as if leopold was the killer instead of the victim because who is so heartless to seriously think about doing that to someone?.) That was until Leopold became obsessed with Loeb and it was in no way a secret. ( by “obsessed” I mean REALLY OBSESSED). The two quickly became inseparable and had a sexual relationship. Leopold being obsessed with Loeb and Loeb being obsessed with crime it was only a matter of time before they crafted what Loeb yearned to be the “perfect crime”.

So obviously I was shocked because I thought Leopold was the victim. I never expected Loeb to feel the same about Leopold and I was definitely wondering who was the victim of these two truly evil young boys.

Leopold would commit petty crimes and thefts in exchange for sexual favors from Loeb. Together the two planned and put together their intentions. After months of planning, Leopold and Loeb decided they were to Kidnap the son of a wealthy family, hold him for ransom, and throw him off a moving train at a designated spot. (i thought it was a mess and they were still gonna kill the kid). Neither Loeb nor Loepold had wants to murder their victim (I figured Loeb being obsessed with crime would make him want to) but they wanted to minimalize the possibility of being identified. Ready to take action the two young boys sought out a victim. They settled on Bobby Franks. Who was 14, a Student at Harvard school for boys, and a son of a successful Chicago businessman. Not to mention Richard Loeb's neighbor AND distant cousin!

On May 21 1924 Leopold and Loeb began preparations, renting a Willys-Knight automobile and covering its plates. Closer to 5 o'Clock Bobby began walking home when Loeb lured Bobby into the car to talk about a new tennis racket. With Franks in the front passenger seat, ( I thought it was odd that Franks got into the front seat instead of sitting in the back with Loeb.) the car's tires squealed as they fled the area. Loeb quickly reached around the seat to muffle Franks’ mouth while hitting him repeatedly in the head with a chisel. Dragging Franks into the back seat, (stuffing a cloth in his mouth), and covering him with blankets Leopold suggests getting dinner. Unable to move, dying, or already dead, lay Bobby in the back seat of the rental car.

This part of the story makes me extremely sad, only 14 and your life taken by two other boys.

After eating and ensuring Bobby franks was dead Leopold and Loeb began stripping his clothes off and pouring hydrochloric acid on his body. (They said it was to make the body less identifiable. They did a horrible job.) Having trouble hiding the body leopold takes off his jacket to “maneuver” better. After hiding the body in a cement drainage culvert the two young boys fled back to leopold home where they called Bobby's parents demanding 10,000 dollars in ransom. Telling lies to the boy's parents about him being unharmed they sent ransom notes. The plan was to have Bobby’s father get into a taxi and go to a specific place to put the money. However, the boys were running a little late, when the ransom notes arrived with the taxi cab Bobby's father was finishing a call with the local police department. Bobby Franks’ body had been found.

So these two idiots left a foot hanging out of some shrubs they used to cover the entrance of the culvert.

Leopold and Loeb wanted money, but received only questions when police found a pair of Leopold’s sunglasses next to the body. They were traced back to Nathan Leopold and the boys were arrested may 31 1924 at the ages of 18 (Loeb) and 19 (leopold) years old.

Throwing their lives away at such a young age and how do you find it in your heart as a child to kill someone?

July 21 1924 the Leopold and Loeb trial began with Clarence Darrow as the boy's lawyer. ( yea yea the famous Clarence Darrow that's the one.). Darrow's goal? Save the boys from the death penalty. The boys were questioned on the stand, Loeb Confessing first followed by Leopold. Both stories matched up to the only one point in the case. Who killed Bobby Franks? reading and writing about this part confused me. Neither boy would confess, but if Loeb wanted to be known getting away with the “perfect crime” why wouldn't he confess and let everyone know?

With both boys blaming each other, Leopold begged Loeb to admit to killing Franks. Unfortunately for Leopold, Loeb responded with “mompsie feels less terrible than she might, thinking you did it and i'm not going to take that shred of comfort away from her”.(I thought this was so evil of Loeb to do to Leopold. It amused me.)

Clarence Darrow suggested a traditional insanity defense by Switching the boy's pleas from “not guilty” to “guilty”. (this way the jury couldnt try them on two separate charges for the death penalty. Their plan was if one didnt work try the other and get the death penalty). Darrow did indeed wave the death penalty for the boys. Ultimately the boys were sentenced, September 10 1924, life + ninety nine years imprisonment. Served in stateville penitentiary. Leopold was released on parole in 1958. He later died of a diabetes related heart attack at the age of 66. (This also amused me, why would they let this guy out?). Loeb served his whole life in prison, dying on January 28 1836 at age 30. Loebs death was ruled a homicide from 58 inflicted wounds from a razor attack by a cell mate. (The reasoning for the attack was never found as far as my source applied.)

The story of the death of Bobby franks and Leopold and Loebs murder was fallowed and read all across Chicago and stunned the entire city. This horrific tale almost ever got justice, however the universe avenged Franks and fortunately Leopold and Loeb were punished for their hideous actions.I hope u were interested and enjoyed reading todays IN MY WORDS!!! Thank you for reading!

- MrsSFL5509

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theinfamousdoctorf · 5 years

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So I’m finally back...

Those few who know me personally will be aware that me and @theoverworldqueen have purchased a small rural house together. <3 It’s taken the better part of a year to make it happen and several months apart while I negotiated a transfer with my job and she logged work history in the place we were moving too for the mortgage requirements. [So we were apart for several more months then we‘d planned on. ;_: ]

It took me almost two months to pack our household by myself, and several days to actually load the truck. The ‘friends’ who had promised to help us move faded away when they were actually needed, and I had to utilize some local kids who received cash and some friendly neighbors who were paid in furniture [that didn’t fit in the truck] and booze.

When the day came to actually leave, I still had no volunteers to drive the truck because none of my friends could get time off work. [I had to drive my car with our eight cats inside.] The only people available to help were my parents.

The exact people I was moving to get the fuck away from.

My mother refused to do any driving because the big truck was ‘too scary’. My pathetic excuse for a father, [from here on called jackass], would be doing all of the driving. Despite the fact that he’d just had several toes removed for diabetic reasons. My mother planned the route, later I realized she not only planned it with a paper atlas rather then choosing the fastest route via Google, [because she didn’t know how to use the app and wouldn’t ask for help] but also planned a very circuitous route in a vain attempt to avoid driving through any mountains. [Because they are also just too scary.] So we start driving. A 26 foot Budget rental truck with a small horse trailer on it, and my car with me and the cats. Before we even got out of Texas, the horse trailer hit a bump and lost a wheel. It was then dragged about a mile while throwing an ocean of sparks where the metal edge was grinding against the asphalt. This was because it happened on a narrow highway with no breakdown lane. I barely managed to avoid getting hit with the wheel that flew off as well. We sat in a parking lot all night waiting for a tow driver who basically told us the king nut flew off and it was totaled. I had a partial mental breakdown and had to abandon most of the things I’d packed into the trailer. The truck was already stuffed up to the door and what little I saved was jammed in my car and thrown on top of everything else in the truck. The cats were riding in a pair of pop-up zippered tents and were pretty mad by this point. My car stank of piss and fear pheromones.

And then we drove, and drove and drove. Keep in mind that my destination was Washington state and I was coming from Galveston TX. It should have been a 2 and a half day drive with a stop to sleep each night. Around the third day I demanded to see the map and realized she had sent us across the widest part of Texas and New Mexico before turning north. There was a lot of arguing. Especially because I realized jackass was a terrible driver. So I had no choice but to watch helplessly as this colossal asshole drove a truck rented in my name, with nearly all my worldly goods inside, over every fucking curb, bumping it up and down and weaving all over the road. He hit a call box outside a Jack in the Box, he scraped a parked truck, he hit signs at more then one gas station and skirted far too close to the pumps with the back end of the truck. I went beyond the reasonable limits of human stress.

The cats destroyed the zippers on the carriers and I was forced to just let them roam the car. First panting in the heat and then huddled freezing as we got further north. [I had them all in little safety vests and that kept them mostly calm, pro tip.] On the fourth night jackass drove into a truck stop and then behind it. Up an unlit dirt road that said ‘dangerous blasting area authorized access only’. He then turned around several times and went back down to the truck stop where I blocked him with my car. He and my mother were having a screaming match because he wouldn’t explain what he was doing or why and wouldn’t stop doing donuts in the restricted area when she told him too. I lost my shit. I screamed in his face and when he didn’t respond, I grabbed his horrible scraggy beard and then his throat and repeated myself. I took the keys and went to try and get some sleep in my car. [With so many animals in tow I couldn’t get a hotel room and really couldn’t leave the car unattended at all. So I hadn’t been able to properly shower in days. Plus I’d forgotten to bring a spare pair of shoes and my sandaled feet were red and freezing.] The bastard has always tried to make my mother choose between me and him. He’s a psychotic manic depressive on a whole rainbow of medications. He’s a misogynist who really wanted a son, plus a racist and generally stingy and awful person. A running argument revolved around his insistence on cutting my lawn three times a week with the mower blade on the lowest setting so he was just killing anything green and kicking up dust. [My mother is pure enabler, always apologizing for his terrible behavior and gaslighting me like I’m over reacting.] He’s literally alienated so many people where I was living that I’ve lost out on jobs because he insists that I’m the terrible one and trash-talks me to everyone he meets. So we finally get back on the road.

In Wyoming I tried to get some sleep at a rest stop and someone hit my car and busted out a tail light. Several times we almost run out of gas because her planned route avoided any cities in case there was traffic. At this point I have a massive rash under my bra and just take it off.

On the fifth night we arrive in a gas station in Idaho. I go to pee and come back outside to find jackass laying on the ground with three people hovering over him. I inform my mother that he fell and go back to my car. So emotionally dead at this point I don’t feel anything.

I am informed that jackass has broken his hip.

I’ve spent most of my life praying for him to die, so that part doesn’t touch me. The part that ripped my heart out was that my mother told me that I’m now ‘on my own’. She is going to the hospital with him. She left me in a freezing parking lot with eight cats in a car and a giant moving truck with all my things in it. Terrified and heartbroken I call my girlfriend Lie. She is eight hours away and leaving now to come rescue me. She’s bringing our friend Ashley as well. So I huddle in the car with the cats and try to sleep. After several hours I get a text from my mother telling me to bring her luggage and such to the hospital. At this point I’m furious. I tell her I will not do that. She says I will. I stop responding. In the morning my rescuers arrive and we begin the long final limp over the mountains. I get several more messages threatening me, trying to shame me for just ‘moving on without them’ and ‘not caring if your father dies’. I was instructed to deal with my own problems like an adult. So that’s what I did. At that point the rental truck needed to be returned and I hadn’t even arrived yet. My job was waiting on me to show up the next day for orientation, and she’d basically wasted all the time I’d budgeted for unloading the truck. There was no way in hell I was going anywhere to give either of them anything.

But we did finally get here. The Budget guy sent me his ex-wife who happily took some cash in exchange for unloading the truck with me, and we finally got rid of the thing. Unfortunately my car overheated from all the punishment it took and it’s currently non-functional. My job gave me a little extension so I’m using the time to get our household set up again. My Etsy shop [https://www.etsy.com/shop/PatchworkLaboratory ] is still on vacation for the moment because the previous tenant didn’t like mail and just didn’t have a mailbox, but it should be up and running again soon. My other site is still good though if you’d like some funky cloth and want to throw a few dollars towards me fixing my car. [ https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/infamousdoctorf] I’ve got a paypal attached to [email protected] as well. It’s going to be hard financially to keep all the bills paid, but I just couldn’t stand being near my abusive family anymore.

In conclusion. Take your giant cockroaches, fire ants, heat waves, and hurricanes; and go fuck yourself Galveston. Have fun with my awful relatives.

WA is home.

#patchworklaboratory

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infinitydoublevenus · 6 years

Text

I need help. Does anyone know what this most likely and/or certainly is?

I had a really bad breakdown the other day... Not the emotional kind, physical. I don’t know what was going on.

I had asked my mom to make me some coffee so I could stay awake since I spent half the night binge watching Kulipari: An Army of Frogs in one sitting. This is normal for me to ask because I’ve drank coffee before and never had any problems. I asked for peppermint flavoring, a peppermint stick and cereal marshmellows in it so she put them in the drink. I drank it rather fast, but I do that with literally every drink that I like. It was warm when I drank it if that information is needed.

I was halfway through my coffee, laying down sideways on the comfy soft couch in the living room when I started coughing and hacking really hard. This has happened before, particularly in the winter. But here’s the thing: this was worse than any time it had ever happened before.

I was coughing and hacking and it sounded like a barking cough, my breathing was rapid and I felt like I was going to suffocate because I was struggling to inhale and exhale. The left side of my chest tightened and felt as if there were a great pressure on it.

This went on for several hours until the coughing died down. Then I started coughing and hacking again and I started hacking up a whiteish-clearish mucuous. I know that sounds gross but that’s what happened. It was more than I usually ever cough up, like a mini waterfall of the stuff. It had been stuck in my throat and was what had been blocking my breathing.

The thing is, I don’t know how I could have possibly produced that much mucuous. The breakdown just came out of nowhere, it was sudden onset. I hadn’t been coughing much earlier in the day so this was very surprising to me. The prime suspect at first was my coffee, but I don’t know of any ingredient that could cause that. I’ve been staying up at night a lot but I’ve done that for years and nothing like this has ever happened. I had a blanket on me that was warm, so it couldn’t have been the cold and I don’t think it was the humidity. I stayed in the cold van later for about an hour and my cough went away instead of getting worse so I doubt it’s the winter chills.

The coughing was dry and rough and it was painful on the throat. My throat became dry and hurt like hell while the breakdown was happening. I tried to tell my mom what was going on but I had lost my voice. It was so hoarse that it was squeaky. I struggled to even get a word out. I think it might have even been temporary laryngitis. It took several hours for my voice to come back after the mucuous had been cleared. My breathing was whistly the whole time.

Does anyone know what could have caused this? I have a dog, but I’m not allergic to most animals, especially not beagles. My dog has lived with us for several years and nothing like this ever happened, so it couldn’t be an allergy to her dander. My family has a history of shitty conditions but I don’t know about any respiratory stuff being passed down, it’s mostly heart-related things. Or brain related. I haven’t been exercising but I rarely do too much of that and again this has never happened before. Like I said, it came out of nowhere. I recall having what was probably bronchitis at least once last year, but this was twenty times worse than that. I haven’t been around cigarette smoke at all recently so it couldn’t have been caused by nicotine. My immune system isn’t particularly weak as I rarely get sick as far as I’m aware so I don’t think it has to do with that. I am vaccinated against influenza but last I checked it’s still flu season and my state, Virginia, was at Widespread level, with multiple outbreaks in different areas. My dog isn’t sick so I couldn’t have picked it up from her and my parents show no symptoms whatsoever.

I looked up conditions that can cause said symptoms. The closest matches seemed to be either a URI, asthma or bronchitis. URI’s are more common in older people. I’m only 19, it’s more common among my age than children, but much less common in those under the age of 40. At least according to Google anyways. I’ve looked at everything I can. I doubt it’s bronchiolitis but it could be bronchitis.

I’ve asked my mom to take me to a doctor but she just told me to drink more water even though I repeatedly told her this is worse than usual for me. She thought I was just dehydrated. I severely doubt that is the actual case. If it was asthma, then I feel I’m lucky to be alive right now. An inhaler or even just medicine would have been useful in that case.

I don’t want to have to have an expensive procedure either. My parents are still paying off the mortgage on the house and paying to take care of the dog (and me, since I’m unemployed and don’t have an apartment/house of my own yet nor am I confident enough to move right now). They also probably have high electricity/Internet bills since I use the computer/phone both during the day and late at night. I do take breaks and I’m working on using a screen less at night so I can get more sleep. We’re middle-class, we’re not so poor we can’t afford treatment, but we’re not rich or upper-class either. My dog had to have surgery on her neck a few years ago and if treatment for this is too expensive we won’t be able to afford something like that again if anything ever happens to her. My dad also has to pay for his diabetes medication & my medicine for my heart and my 20-gram serotonin reuptake inhibitors that I take for my OCD and spiraling anxiety. I can’t give away how much my dad earns nor do I even know. It’s probably enough for treatment but preferably nothing above $800.00. I can’t have any treatment that involves strong magnets or way-too-much pressure on my stomach due to the presence of my pacemaker. If it helps, the reason I have a pacemaker is complete fetal heart block. I might be able to have an X-Ray though.

I’ve heard asthma can cause red itchy skin sometimes. When I scratch an itch it leaves red sometimes bumpy marks that burn and itch. But since they follow my finger’s tracing of the skin it makes me think it’s probably dermatographia. Given how understudied said condition is, it could be common to be accompanied by asthma as well, maybe? I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.

Can anyone help me figure this out? I’d love to know just exactly what the actual fuck is happening to me. I’ve heard certain respiratory situations can be lethal if not treated.My throat is still all mucous-y and dry but I’m only ocassionally coughing now and it’s not nearly as bad. I panicked so much yesterday I thought I was going to die and nearly fainted out of sheer terror. That’s probably just my anxiety, but if it helps it helps.

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dsudis · 6 years

Note

Dira do you think that in light of the one year anniversary, we could get a little snnipet of the next All the Burning Hearts in Hell installment? You know.... to carry us over the long drought :))

Sure! I’d been thinking I should do this anyway, and I’m 30k into writing the next story, so… A chapter is a snippet, right?

Slavefic #6 picks up exactly where The Sacrifice Play left off, so you may want to reread at least Chapter 9 of The Sacrifice Play if it’s been, say, a year since you read it.

When Steve had been lying still and quiet for a little while, he found his ears attuned to Bucky’s breathing. He winced when he recognized the sound of it: carefully even and shallow, without the slightest accompanying sound of movement. That was Bucky in pain, or lying awake in the night trying not to give himself away.

Steve had always figured, when he lay in camp listening to Bucky breathing like that, that he was remembering the factory at Kreischberg–his imprisonment, and that table Steve had found him on. Now that Steve knew what Bucky had survived, he couldn’t help wondering if it was more than that keeping Bucky awake at night–had he felt himself changing in slow motion the way Steve had changed inside Howard’s Vita-Ray chamber? Had he known what Zola did to him, or had he been left to wonder?

Would he ever remember enough of those nights to tell Steve what his nightmares had been, or had other nightmares long since blotted them out?

After an agonizing three-quarters of an hour, the sound of Bucky’s breathing changed to something even more familiar. The softness of sleep, real sleep, which Steve had heard in his ear and felt against the back of his neck more times than he could count. He fell into something like a doze himself, lulled by the sweetness of it and the sudden release of tension.

When Steve had been lying stilland quiet for a little while, he found his ears attuned to Bucky’s breathing.He winced when he recognized the sound of it: carefully even and shallow,without the slightest accompanying sound of movement. That was Bucky in pain,or lying awake in the night trying not to give himself away.

Steve had always figured, when helay in camp listening to Bucky breathing like that, that he was remembering thefactory at Kreischberg–his imprisonment, and that table Steve had found himon. Now that Steve knew what Bucky had survived, he couldn’t help wondering ifit was more than that keeping Bucky awake at night–had he felt himselfchanging in slow motion the way Steve had changed inside Howard’s Vita-Raychamber? Had he known what Zola did to him, or had he been left to wonder?

Would he ever remember enough ofthose nights to tell Steve what his nightmares had been, or had othernightmares long since blotted them out?

After an agonizing three-quartersof an hour, the sound of Bucky’s breathing changed to something even morefamiliar. The softness of sleep, real sleep, which Steve had heard in his earand felt against the back of his neck more times than he could count. He fellinto something like a doze himself, lulled by the sweetness of it and thesudden release of tension.

When a distant sound woke him,there was a second when he didn’t know where he was, only that Bucky was near.Was it their day off, precious hours wasted drowsing in the park? Were theynapping in camp ahead of a night raid?

He opened his eyes and saw thepotted plant and the skylight, and recognized the soft pad of approachingfootsteps. Stark–Stark the younger. Tony.

Steve got silently to his feetand strode out of the bedslaves’ quarters, shutting the door noiselessly behindhim. He reached the doorway of Stark’s bedroom when Stark was only a couple ofsteps away.

Stark stopped short. He wascarrying a tray of food in assorted bite-sized pieces, including a little bowlof some kind of rainbow-colored bon bons, and for the barest instant he lookedsurprised to see Steve there. Steve held up a hand and stepped out into thehall, pulling the door shut after him.

“He just fell asleep, maybeten minutes ago,” Steve said softly. “The worst of the headachemust’ve passed, but I don’t think he’ll be ready to eat until he wakes up onhis own."

Stark looked past Steve, as ifThreetoo might materialize behind him, and said, "The worst ofwhat headache.”

“Oh,” Steve said.Right, he’d only recognized it himself from seeing how dark Bucky had made hissleeping area, and the plant, and what he’d heard. “Yeah, he… he made itpitch black where his bed is, and I could hear him being real careful drinkingthat juice, like he felt sick, so I figured… sick headache. I had a bunch of‘em when I was a kid, for weeks after I got my bell rung real hard in a fight.He hit his head yesterday, didn’t he?”

Steve felt a little sick himselfas his memory answered his own question with the sick sound of Bucky’s headhitting the floor of Stark’s lab.

“Sick headache,” Starkrepeated, shoving the tray in Steve’s direction as he rubbed his eyes with hisfree hand. “Migraine. But it didn’t start yesterday, did it? JARVIS, howdid we miss this? The other day, he asked for dark–”

“He felt sick first,sir,” JARVIS pointed out. “The headache appeared to follow after. Hehas made his sleeping area artificially dark twice before, but there was noreason to conclude that he was experiencing migraine symptoms."

"But now there is, so is he?Was he?” Stark demanded. “Did we–” Stark focused sharply onSteve again. “You’re sure he’s sleeping? He’s not lying there in pain?”

“I mean, I can’t guaranteehe hasn’t woken up in the last two minutes,” Steve said, gesturing to theclosed door. “But I know he fell asleep maybe ten minutes ago. Hisbreathing changed. Relaxed."

Stark stared at him for a coupleof seconds, utterly still, and then shook his head and turned away, muttering,"Right. You know the sound of his breathing. Of course. Okay. JARVIS, checkwith Cho about migraine options and what we can do without her physicallyexamining him. And tell me the second he pushes the curtain back.”

“Of course, sir,”JARVIS assured him.

Stark didn’t seem at allreassured. He took a couple of abortive steps, one direction and then theother, obviously worried about Threetoo and not knowing what to do with himselfwhen he couldn’t help.

Steve was familiar with thefeeling. He raised the tray of food into Stark’s eye line and said, “I’mguessing this was your lunch as well as his?"

Tony stopped, narrowing his eyes,and said, "I know for a fact that he did not have a chance to tell youit’s your job to make sure I eat. And it’s not your job. Or his.”

“Okay,” Steve saidagreeably. “But there’s this food that’s gonna go to waste, since–"

Steve stopped short, experiencinga weird retrospective recognition as the words I know you’re notgoing to feed this to him if it’s not fresh occurred to him. Theblueberries DUM-E had brought to him, a carton discarded half-full. All theones left had been crushed or oddly shaped or otherwise imperfect. And Steveknew that Bucky liked blueberries. He was willing to bet that Tony knew it,too, and only gave him the best.

Stark ran a hand through his hairand then nodded, gesturing toward the stairs to the lower level. "Yeah,okay. I want the actual story on you and him–and, hey, medical history. Youknow his?"

"Uh,” Steve said.“Well, up to 1945, I guess. Roughly.”

Stark raised his eyebrows, butdidn’t ask any more questions until they were down in the kitchen, the tray onthe island between them. Tony waved Steve toward a stool, so he perched therewhile Tony paced around, fetching drinks and napkins and setting the dish ofbrightly-colored bon bons pointedly to one side before he picked up a crackerfrom the tray and popped it into his mouth, waving at Steve to follow suit.

“So,” Tony said.“From the beginning.”

“Well,” Steve said,building a tiny cracker-and-chicken-and-cheese sandwich from the tray. “Myfolks were enslaved in exchange for passage from Ireland in 1916…"

He expected Tony to get impatientand tell him to talk about Bucky, or the war, but Tony just nodded, watchinghim intently and continuing to eat, so Steve kept talking between bites,explaining that his mother had been pregnant with him when his father waskilled in the Great War and was emancipated as his death benefit. He told himhow Bucky’s family had been better off, how he and Bucky had lived only a fewblocks apart but in subtly different worlds, since the Barneses’ flat had beenquite a different place from the tenement apartment Steve shared with his ma.

"I always knew where I washeaded,” Steve said. “Ma didn’t like it, didn’t want that for me,but… times were hard, and me being sick a lot didn’t make it any easier. Butwhen Bucky was sixteen, he suddenly just started talking about doing the same,and that–he didn’t have to do that. But I… I was already crazy about him,and he made it sound like an adventure, like we’d…"

Steve shook his head. "So Ididn’t argue. And I didn’t realize until after we’d done it that he… he wascoming with me because he felt the same way I did. Then it was too late for usto–"

Steve glanced at Stark, who wasfrowning into midair and rubbing a piece of cheese into fragments between histhumb and finger, and did not explain about the cock-lock.

"Well. We saw each other asmuch as we could, but service didn’t leave us much free time. And then thewar… Buck got put down for the slave draft right away, although they didn’ttake him for training until the middle of '42. Me, I kept trying to get myselfon the list, but no dice. I was 4F, unfit.”

That got Stark to look at him,his gaze raking meaningfully up and down as he chewed another cracker. Stevedid not blush.

“Before Dr. Erskine andHoward got involved, I was five foot four, maybe a hundred pounds dripping wet.Asthma, family history of diabetes, TB exposure, touch of heart arrhythmia eversince I had scarlet fever as a kid. But they had this experimental program, andDr. Erskine decided that I was the perfect test subject, so…” Steve madea little ta-da! gesture at himself.

“So that’s how you got intothe war,” Stark said. “But Barnes was already in the 107th by then,straight infantry. Already deployed?”

Steve nodded. “I, uh…Erskine was killed by a Nazi agent–HYDRA, their deep science division–and noone could replicate what he’d done. They sent me to a lab for a while to studyme, what the serum actually changed and all, see if they could find a way to reverse engineer it. No luck, and Iwas stuck there until Howard pulled me out and started bringing me around tolook good in uniform for whoever he was doing deals with. He brought me alongto Europe, into Italy when he went to meet up with the SSR brass there, andthat’s how I found out most of the 107th had been captured by HYDRA’s own shocktroops. The ones taken were mostly slaves. No one was planning on rescuingthem, and Bucky was… unaccounted for. So I, uh… I convinced Howard to dropme into Austria to go find them."

Stark stared at him. "Dropyou…”

“From a plane,” Stevesupplied, although he had a feeling that that wasn’t really what Stark washaving difficulties with. “I mean, with a parachute, and some prototypegear. That was part of why he brought me along, to model and test some stuff hewas developing for the Army."

Including the ridiculouscombination thermal underwear and partial body armor which Howard had insistedon getting up in a gaudy American flag design, but Steve wasn’t going todescribe that to Stark if he could possibly avoid it.

Well. There was the silver liningto Bucky’s amnesia, because God knew otherwise he would probably remember everyinch of that outfit in loving detail and would feel no compunction indescribing it. He’d had a funny fascination with it, even after Howardredesigned it into something Steve didn’t have to cover with fatigue pants anda leather jacket to be halfway decent in public. He’d bitched from time to timeabout the hazards of Steve’s anti-camouflage, but he never actually lobbied forSteve to change to something more practical.

Stark had his head in his hands,and Steve dragged himself back to the point. "That’s where–I think thathas to be when he–he got… changed. So he survived what happenedafterward.”

Stark’s head jerked up at that.“He wasn’t…"

Steve shook his head. "Asfar as I know, the US never tried again after me. Howard sure hadn’t draggedalong his Vita-Ray machine to Europe. But Bucky had been taken away from theother prisoners–they said the ones who got taken away never came back, but Ifound him. Strapped down on a table. I think… Zola. Arnim Zola, one of thetop HYDRA scientists, he’d–I think he’d done something to him.”

Steve had known the least part ofit: that Bucky was cock-locked, after that. He hadn’t pressed to know what Zolahad done beyond that, and it was obvious now that that had been by far theleast of it.

“Even at the time, I had anidea there was something, but I never… we didn’t talk about it, and he saidhe wanted to stay in, wanted to come with me and keep fighting HYDRA. The SSRput us on that directly, a strike force that just went after HYDRA bases anddestroyed them however we could. Behind enemy lines like that, it was better tosend slaves–at least if we got captured by regular army, we had someprotections under the Geneva Convention, more than free soldiers. ObviouslyHYDRA didn’t care about that, but still better us than anybody else. We weretrying to capture Zola himself when Buck–when he fell. But he survived, whichmeans…”

Stark looked away. “Yousaid… as a sniper, you said…"

"Yeah,” Steve said,swallowing hard. “Yeah, I think… I never fought beside him before Zolagot him, and I didn’t really know what a normal sharpshooter was like. But Ithink he… he was really something special. So maybe that was… a sign, and Ijust didn’t get it.”

There was a little silence. Steveforced himself to eat another few tidbits off the tray, thinking of rations andBucky’s lean and hungry look during the war, smoking all of Steve’s cigaretterations as well as his own. Had he been starving then, the way Steve would onnormal rations? Had Steve been letting Bucky go hungry while he wolfed downtriple rations in front of him?

“Bone density,” Starksaid. “What about–bone density? Dr. Cho noticed something about his bonedensity that made her realize he needed the same stuff as you to beanesthetized. What was that about?”

Steve frowned, thinking about theway Bucky had held his rifle. Recoil couldn’t have done what the shield did,could it? But then… she’d been working on what was left of his left arm.Whatever impacts that had been taking must have been after.

“My hands,” Steve said,showing Stark his palms, as if it would be visible. “I, uh… I hadthis… shield. And I used to throw it, catch it on a ricochet–” Stevestruck the palm of his left hand with the side of his right, demonstrating.“It hurt like hell at first. I got better at the angles, but… apparentlymy bone density is a lot higher right there, too. My body adapted."

Stark nodded, snagged a couple ofcubes of cheese and slapped them into his mouth. "Okay. And the anestheticthing? Tell me whatever you know about that, in case we need to tinker aroundgetting him a headache remedy.”

“Well, my metabolism isapparently four times faster than normal?” Steve offered. “I, uh… Ihad to have minor surgery once, at Alamogordo. Howard figured out how to keep meunder–of course, that was ether gas, I don’t think they use thatanymore?"

Stark thankfully didn’t ask himwhat the surgery had been, just started questioning him about the ether.

Threetoo woke up feeling groggyand halfway between sick and starving. Everything was dark and warm and…soft, and for a moment he thought that he could just snuggle in and go back tosleep, and then the memory slammed into him like–

Like a fire extinguisher,knocking him flat.

Steve. Hismaster had brought Steve to the penthouse, to be his second bedslave, forThreetoo to train. Instead of doing anything useful, Threetoo had been seizedwith the punishment pain, worse than it had ever been, so bad he could hardlystay upright. He had begged off immediately, and left his master to show Stevearound, to get him settled.

Threetoo’s mind’s eye suppliedvisions of Steve kneeling by his master’s feet, his master gently explainingthat he was safe here while feeding Steve his lunch, running his fingersthrough the dark gold of Steve’s hair and running his hands over Steve’sperfectly smooth skin. For a weak, cowardly moment Threetoo considered hidinguntil he provoked his master into coming to find him, but he rejected thatthought as soon as it formed.

This was Threetoo’s project, as much as his master’s. And if his master was pleased to have Steve,pleased to touch and talk to him and teach him, then that was all to the good,because his master would be happy, and Steve would be safe and good.

Threetoo tugged his curtain back,letting in what turned out to be less light than he expected. That wasn’t bad,and even if it was, he was going to go and find them and help teach Stevewhatever he needed to learn, no matter how badly it hurt.

Before he could even climb out ofthe pillow box, JARVIS said, "Please stay where you are, 32557038. Mr.Stark is on his way to speak to you.”

Threetoo winced, curling down,and the throb in his head that had only just died away started up again.

“Hey,” his master said,only seconds later. “Hey, sweetheart. On a scale of zero to ten, with zerobeing "doesn’t hurt at all” and ten being “I cannot move or signbecause I am in so much pain and I need urgent medical care or I mightdie,” how’s your head right now?“

Threetoo raised his head to lookat his master, mentally assigning ten to the otherwiseindescribable experience of the day before. He raised two fingers.

"Mm, two means you onlynotice it when you focus on it. Is that right?”

Threetoo raised a third finger.

“Okay,” his mastersaid, smiling a little stiffly and settling a warm hand on the back of hisneck. “Thank you for telling me that, Threetoo. Good data. I’ll get you acopy of the scale so you can assign numbers consistently going forward. Before,when you came in here to lie down, what number was that?”

Threetoo winced. His mastersqueezed gently on his neck, rubbing firmly with his thumb and finger.“Let’s say nine is 'can barely move or think because of pain’ and eight is'pain is so severe it’s hard to think, talk, or listen, and very hard to moveor do anything else.’ Do I need to describe seven?"

Threetoo shook his head the tinybit that his master’s grip allowed and signed, eight.

"Eight is a lot,” hismaster said quietly. “Eight is way more than I ever want you to feelwithout telling me about it, because eight means we should be doing everythingwe can to make it better as soon as possible. I mean, I’d like to be doingsomething about three right now, but Dr. Cho says all she can do reliably atthis point is make you unconscious, so it’s probably overkill for athree."

Threetoo stared at him. Hismaster hadn’t actually asked him a question, so he technically didn’t have toreply. That was a good thing, because he had no idea what to say.

"Have you been havingheadaches that get really intense, that make it painful to see light? Make youfeel sick? Maybe cause other weird effects? Make you feel too cold or hot, orsee lights in your peripheral vision, or…"

Threetoo nodded slowly.

"Okay,” his mastersaid. “I wish you would have told me about that, but to be fair I didn’tthink to ask. Those headaches are called migraines, sweetheart. They happensometimes if you’ve had a head injury, which I think you probably had evenbefore yesterday. They also happen sometimes just for no reason. Lots of peopleget them, and I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to make sure that they don’thappen at all, but we can at least get you some pain relief when they do happen,even if it’s only making sure that we help you go to sleep right away when itgets bad. Being in pain isn’t good for you, it’s just like beingpunished–"

Threetoo’s lips parted, his handtwitched, and then he looked sharply away.

His master’s hand tightened, thenwent back to the slow, rhythmic rubbing.

"Threetoo,” his mastersaid quietly. “Look at me, please.”

Threetoo dragged his gaze up tohis master’s, trying not to tremble, trying not to even breathe. His masterlooked tired again, the way he had yesterday, and nearly as unhappy.

“Threetoo, sweetheart,project number one,” he said softly. “Did you think you were beingpunished?”

Threetoo closed his eyes andnodded.

What else could it mean? Itwasn’t an injury–he hadn’t known about migraines untilhis master told him–so it had to be a punishment, didn’t it? Masters could dothings from far away, through chips and… and other things.

“Threetoo,” his mastersaid, his voice very quiet and small now. “Did you think I was punishingyou by making your head hurt like that? And not telling you why, or what youdid wrong, and talking all the time about not wanting to ever punish you, andpunishing you anyway?"

Threetoo squeezed his eyes shuttighter, feeling them sting with tears, and shook his head hard. He raised hishand to sign no, and then–because he knew his masterneeded good data–I thought maybe. At first. But you said. So I knewit wasn’t you. Because you wouldn’t.

"Okay,” his master saidquietly, and there was a press of lips against his forehead that didn’t stopthe throbbing in his head from rising into what was probably a four.“Okay, I… I’m glad. But… who did you think was punishing you? Or wasit just… cosmic punishment, floating around randomly?"

Threetoo swallowed. He hadn’t thoughtabout it, really, but… he hadthought–believed–known–that the pain was punishment,even while he knew his master wouldn’t inflict pain on him. And no one else wasauthorized by his master to do so; no former master held that power over himany longer.

And that only left one personresponsible. One person who had access to him and definitely had no right tointerfere with his master’s goals by inflicting pain on his master’snumber one project.

Me, Threetoosigned, before falling back to the safety of referring to himself bydesignation instead. 3-2. 3-2 punished. 3-2 knew 3-2deserved.

"Oh–” his mastermoved, and then his arms were around Threetoo, drawing him up out of thepillows and into his master’s lap, cuddling him close against his master’schest. “Okay, so. On the one hand–I really really don’t want you to dothat, Threetoo. Even if you know you’ve done something wrong, even if it seemsreally bad, I… I don’t want you to hurt yourself, not in any way, ever. Okay?Because I want you to heal and get better and be safe. Right?"

Threetoo hid his face against hismaster’s chest, nodding. He did know that. He did, and his stomach was a stone,his whole spine and skull ablaze with tension and pain because he knew he haddone what his master didn’t want.

"And on the other hand, andthis is the really important hand right now–” His master’s actual handstroked down his spine and back up to the nape of his neck, then down again.

“I need you to remember thatit was never punishment, Threetoo. It was never anyone’s fault, includingyours. Especially yours. Even if you thought you were punishing yourself–itwasn’t punishment, and it wasn’t your fault. It was just a fact about your bodythat we didn’t understand yet. But it’s not your fault.”

Threetoo didn’t want tocontradict his master, but…

He raised his hand, enough sothat JARVIS could see it if not his master, and signed, Occurrencenot random. Correlated to infractions.

“Mm,” his master said,still petting up and down his spine. “Well, hey, guess what, correlationdoes not equal causation. That’s science, baby. I’m not gonna ask you to layout for me what infractions you think you’ve been committing, but whatever theywere, I bet your migraines also correlate with you being stressed because youthought you did something wrong. Stress, worry, that cando a lot of things to your body. Raises your blood pressure. Brings onmigraines, sometimes, if that’s what your body’s predisposed to."

Threetoo leaned against hismaster, and breathed, and felt the pain and tension subsiding under hismaster’s touch. That had happened before–his master had touched him gently,reassured him, and if the pain–the migraine–was only justbeginning when he did it, then it might stop. Because he stopped being worriedwhen his master touched him. Because it was early enough in whateverphysiological process made up a migraine to short-circuit it. Sometimes hismaster’s touch didn’t help: when the pain was already very bad. When theprocess was too far along.

Not a punishment. Just a fact.Just his body.

Threetoo signed, Oh.

His master laughed a little."Yeah. Oh. Hey, what’s your plant doing over there? You want it back onthe shelf before you have your lunch?"

Threetoo nodded against hismaster’s shoulder, and his master stayed still for a moment before gentlypushing Threetoo to sit up on his own. His master got the plant and brought itto Threetoo, and Threetoo waded through the pillows and set it back up on theshelf. When he came back to the edge, his master was holding a lunch tray withsomething new on it–little irregular balls, something dark studded withrainbow-colored bits like candy.

"Yeah, I see you eyeing thesweets,” his master said, sounding amused. “One of the cooks madethose up for you special to help you get blueberries and maximum calories atthe same time. And in honor of you having such a rough day yesterday. You wantto try one? It’s got blueberries in it, but it’s not an actual blueberry."

Threetoo nodded, curious andfascinated. A treat–from his master, but also from someone other than hismaster. Someone he’d never met, who was supporting his master’s project, andcared that he’d had a rough day.

It was sweet, and the rainbowsprinkles were a little crunchy, but it was chewy and tart, too, a burst ofintense flavor. Threetoo showed his master his upraised thumb.

"Good, well, the rest ofthem are for after you eat some protein,” his master said firmly, andThreetoo nodded obediently and settled to the work of being fed.

Rogers wasn’t just outside thebedslave’s room, where Tony had barely managed to scrape him off after hefollowed Tony upstairs. He’d told himself, in the fraction of a second he hadto think about it before he was wholly focused on Threetoo, that it was good toknow he would have a chaperone for this.

Clearly that hadn’t lasted long;he reran the conversation in his head, trying to work out what Rogers wouldhave heard, as he walked out of his bedroom and looked around. He was nowhereobvious.

“J?”

“You may want to check theguest room."

Tony rubbed his eyes, feelingstupidly exhausted for a moment. Whatever was going on with Rogers, he didn’twant to deal with it–but Tony had taken responsibility for him, and Rogers wasa mistreated slave too. He deserved to be looked after, and Tony had separatedhim from everyone else who could do the job. It was necessary, in order tomaintain the illusion that Tony was inflicting some suitable correction uponhis would-be murderer, but it meant that Tony was the only person left to dothis.

So. He would do this, obviously.

He tapped at the door of theguest room, and opened it a few inches when there was no answer.

It was nearly as dark inside asThreetoo’s bed, but he heard a soft rustling of clothing: Rogers getting to hisfeet. "Mr. Stark? Did you need me for something?"

"Uh, not really,” Tonysaid, but he pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped into the dimroom. Rogers was standing in one of the near corners, where he might not beimmediately seen from the doorway. “Were you… hiding?”

Rogers shrugged stiffly, lookingaway. “Seems like I shouldn’t let him see me, don’t you think?"

"No, it’s good–”Rogers flinched, turning half away with his head down and shoulders up, andTony stopped short.

Clearly Rogers had heard at leastpart of his conversation with Threetoo, and if he heard any of it at all, he’dhave heard the part where Threetoo was at an eight on the pain scale earlier.When Tony thought he was having some kind of programming-tension-freakout whichwas, in reality, an excruciating migraine. Probably still caused by the stressof pushing at his programming, and therefore by the sight of Rogers.

“Okay, maybe we should becareful how much he sees you until he gets used to you, but that doesn’t meanyou have to hide in a dark room. He’s napping again, for one thing, and JARVIScan help you avoid him if you really need to. God knows there’s enough space inthe penthouse for the two of you not to see each other.”

Rogers shrugged stiffly. “Isthere somewhere else I should be, Mr. Stark?"

Tony pressed the heel of his handto his brow, trying to push back his own incipient headache. "Jesus, youlive in my bedroom and I have to use your first name at least to Threetoo. Callme Tony, all right?”

“Tony,” Rogers echoed,mechanically, dutifully. “Thank you."

Tony shook his head, turningaway. "Okay, right, stand around in the dark if you–” He’d made itjust to the threshold when Rogers spoke behind him, his voice expressive nownearly to the point of desperation.

“Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony froze.

“I–I don’t think I saidthat, before,” Rogers went on. “But I tried to killyou and I’m so sorry. I would have–it was wrong. I know I was wrongabout you. I knew that already, but listening to you talking to him–you’re sogood with him. Not just kind; you know how to help him. I couldn’t do this forhim like you do, I…”

The rush of hideous sinceritytrailed off, and a second later Tony managed to snap out of his horrifiedparalysis.

“Well, hey, not everyone canbe a billionaire playboy genius with a heart of gold,” Tony said in hismost careless style. “Don’t beat yourself up just because you’re not asgood as me, no one is. JARVIS, lights.”

The lights came up, and Tonywalked out without looking back to see the results of his words, or the refugehe’d deprived Rogers of. He was too desperate to get back to his lab and findsomething, anything, to scour away the sound of Rogers being every bit aswrongly grateful to him as Threetoo was–and without the excuse of whatevercombination of brainwashing and brain damage had madeThreetoo who he was.

It had been barely more than aday, and he’d already managed to break Rogers from a berserker bent on freedomor death to… this. Apologizing to the man who made the StarkChip.

This was why he didn’t meet theslaves he was involved in rescuing. This was why he definitely didn’t move them into the penthouse. And this was why he neededto get Threetoo more attached to Steve than to his master as fast as humanlypossible–so he could get both of them the hell away from him. So he could stopcorroding them just by being who and what he was anywhere near them.

“J, see if you can get athousand liquid calories into Threetoo in the next four hours? Things to do.Places to be."

Anywhere but here.

1. The pain scale Tony is teaching Threetoo is this one. I figured Threetoo would have an easier time processing something that focused on how pain affected his functioning than a subjective measurement of his own suffering.

2. The blueberry bonbons are 100% the ones @rubynye sent me last summer around the time I was writing this chapter, so if you are jealous of Threetoo’s dessert, ask her for the recipe!

#fic #Anonymous #wip #mcu #all these burning hearts in hell #slavefic #threetoo

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thewellzine · 5 years

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An excerpt from a proposal for a documentary project about my grandma

By William Page

“For here is the truth: each day contains much more than its own hours, or minutes, or seconds. In fact, it would be no exaggeration to say that every day contains all of history.”

Kei Miller, Augustown

I’ve come to understand my maternal grandma, Rosa/Ray Arrington Simms, as a determined and meticulous documentarian. The oldest of seven children of one pocket of a large but tight-knit Wilson, NC-based Black family (the Arrington clan), I think she was motivated by a sense of responsibility for preserving in some way the moments she shared with the people she loved—her grandparents, great grandparents, and elders; her parents, Hattie and Edward/Bud; her siblings, Gerry, Joyce, Willie, Roy, Brenda, and Lisa; her husband, Joe; her daughters, Wanda and Kim; her grandchildren, me included; and many aunties, uncles, first cousins, second cousins, cousins removed, play cousins, nieces, nephews, and those kindred of unspecific or undetermined relation. I doubt she felt confident that anyone else would.

In the years before her various chronic ailments—heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, etc.—slowed her down and ultimately confined her to a bed, I recall her usually having a Polaroid camera within reach, either around her neck or on an end table or on the mantle. They weren’t fancy—the ones I remember most vividly were plain, plastic, and gray. I have one of the last and can’t bear to let it go despite the fact that it doesn’t work anymore. But when she had it and it did, the loud click and the burst of light and the sound of the drawer sliding out and withdrawing let me know that she was working—during holidays, family reunions (also holidays), cookouts, graduations, yard sales, functions, situations, etc. I felt lucky when she let me do the shaking.

The photo albums that fill the bookshelves and drawers and closets and the space under the beds in her house are heavy with the instant prints, many of them browned and faded by the years. On the back of most are a few words in her wispy handwriting—sometimes the date or where the photo was taken, and sometimes who’s in it, and sometimes what age they were. Some of it is in her shorthand, and many of the folks pictured are identified with nicknames only—we use a lot of them (I’m Dougie or Boo). The photos alone are treasures, but to have this written record feels almost unbelievable.

My grandma died on April 30, 2018. Not long after laying her to rest and with an unmistakable heaviness, we began the process of going through the things she left behind. My grandpa wasn’t at all interested in keeping much around. Maybe he thought it would be too hard to be confronted with daily reminders of his wife of fifty-nine years and, thus, her absence. (He’s not the type who would readily admit this.) Either way, not long after, in a cabinet under an end table beside the couch in the den, we found fifty planners, one for each year from 1967 to 2017. To some extent, my mom knew of them—towards the end, she was sometimes the one to buy them (and, as I learned later, she secretly embellished them with notes as a kid towards the beginning). Still, she says that she didn’t really know exactly how my grandma was using them or to what extent. And to me, they were completely new.

We learned that my grandma had kept fifty years of notes, a record of many of her days and how she spent them (at least in part) and things she needed to remember and minutiae. For example, I know that on January 22, 1967, a troop that included my mom and my aunt had a total of $0.41 in their treasury. (I feel like I remember my mom telling me that my grandma led an off-the-books Girl Scout troop, but I’ll have to verify.) On February 5, she picked up a “picture book” of some sort (she did this regularly throughout 1967). On the same day, my grandpa owed my mom $1 and my aunt $2. My grandma’s brother Roy owed my mom $3. On April 23, my grandma’s grandma turned 75.

I realize that these planners aren’t a complete or exhaustive record, but what is? I do imagine that they’ll provide a cool window into my grandma’s day-to-day life. I hope that they’ll help me better understand the lens through which she viewed and kept track of her family, her life, and the world around her. I look forward to spending time with them—my grandma’s parting gift.

#black #family #archive #grandma #documentingfamily #william page

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geekade · 7 years

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Little House: Revisiting a Childhood Classic

To a girl who grew up in the 90s in New Jersey, the Laura Ingalls Wilder’s America, with her family constantly and directly affected and impeded by their environment and at times struggling just to survive, is an alien one. But in another sense, it is a very appealing picture. The Ingalls family were one another’s only entertainment, often only company, and though we often picture old-fashioned families as very stern, the Ingalls’ story is one filled with song, laughter, and love. Irecently reread this series after about a decade and a half, and it was a totally new experience. I engaged with the characters in a way I didn’t think would be possible, considering differences in time and lifestyle, and while I was reading, I felt like I was a member of the Ingalls family.

The series begins with Little House in the Big Woods, which takes place in the Big Woods in Wisconsin. This book centers around the Ingalls homesteading, and is probably the ‘coziest’ of the books, as it doesn’t touch as much on the dangers and difficulties of survival as much as the other books do. Laura, her older sister Mary, (and their baby sister Carrie, included in the story though chronologically not born yet), alternate playing and helping around the house, sometimes combining the two, and spend their evenings being entertained by their Pa’s fiddle and vivid storytelling. While living in Wisconsin, the Ingalls were near their cousins and grandparents, so we also get a glimpse into what it was like visiting family and hosting social visitors in this time period.

Growing up, this was my favorite book in the series and has had a massive influence on who I am as a person. I love gardening and homesteading-related hobbies. I love to sew. I hope one day to own enough land to grow the majority of my own produce, and to preserve and store it as the Ingalls did. But more than the influence it had on me, I treasure the impressions it left me with as a child. The lively family in this story is nothing like how they appear in photographs - stern, and grayscale, their clothes restrictive and mouths tight. The young Ingalls family read just like any other family - loving, interdependent upon one another, and truly pleased with their lot in life.

Little House on the Prairie, technically the third book and the namesake of the TV series based loosely on the books, was the second book that I read during my re-read. I chose to omit the books centering around the childhood of Almanzo Wilder because when I initially read the series as a child, I had no idea they even existed. (I plan to follow up with them in future.) Little House on the Prairie chronicles the events of 1869-1870, in Kansas, where the Ingalls moved, following rumors that the nearby Indian Territory would soon be settled. Moving in a covered wagon from the Big Woods, the Ingalls suffer a number of hardships that come in as a stark contrast to those in the first book. One such is the “fever n’ ague” that the family comes down with (later identified as malaria) which puts them out of commission while a neighbor, Mrs. Scott, cares for them along with her own family. Mrs. Scott is one of a few companions of the Ingalls family in this book, another being Mr. Edwards, a bachelor from Tennessee, who later on plays “Santa Claus” for the children. At great risk to themselves, the Ingalls’ neighbors weave into the story by helping them through times that the Ingalls mightn’t have gotten through on their own. In 1870, the government announced that the land would not be open to settlers, and so the house that Pa Ingalls built on the land, and all of the work he’d done tilling the field came to nothing, and the family packed up to move East, closer to ‘civilization,’ where the girls could get educated.

I have to say, this particular re-read was the most incongruous to my memory. I may have conflated it with the following book in my mind, but the easy laughter and confidence of the Big Woods book is gone in this one. Pa Ingalls comes across as a more imposing, decisive character; moving his family from place to place on nearly no notice. Though the trek certainly was fascinating, and brings back old memories of playing Oregon Trail, I didn’t enjoy this book nearly as much as I expected to--ruined by my own memories and ideas about it, I guess. One thing I will say is that I grew an unexpected and truly fierce love for Jack the dog, though. Jack is the Ingalls family companion, and though he squares off against mountain lions and bears in the Big Woods, his protectiveness and stalwartness along the trail to Kansas is incredibly endearing, and his near loss is heartbreaking. (In real life, it wasn’t a heartbreaking near-loss, but an actual loss, and Jack didn’t journey from Kansas to Minnesota with the Ingalls.)

On the Banks of Plum Creek is what I had been expecting from Little House on the Prairie: community, family, adventure, and history, all within the setting of an untouched landscape in Minnesota. Living in a pre-“built” dugout home near the banks of Plum Creek, the Ingalls begin working on their wooden, above-ground home, while also gathering wild grass as hay for their horses and beginning again to till the land. Mary and Laura also go to school for the first time in this book, and the infamous Nellie Oleson is introduced. Nellie, I think, is a more infamous TV character than in the book, where she comes across as your average schoolyard bully, but Laura makes you hate her either way. Nellie is a shopkeeper’s daughter from New York State, and she makes sure everyone knows it and how many advantages it's given her. Rubbing her considerable wealth in everyone’s face, Nellie hosts a “town party” and invites the “farm girls” to join, almost for the purpose of flaunting her resources. Laura’s resulting jealousy inspires her to host her own, more fun party later in the year.

Unfortunately things take a turn, and a swarm of Rocky Mountain locusts literally wipe the traces of the Ingalls’ entire year's work from the earth, leaving them in debt, without food, and a little later, trapped by a snowstorm. Pa goes missing just before the blizzard, and is gone for two days before the blizzard lets up and he can make his way home--apparently having been trapped behind a hill only a few hundred yards from home.

Gosh this book was exciting, and immersive enough to get me saying “gosh.” As Laura ages and the Ingalls’ lives become more and more complicated, the story reveals more about America’s past and the private lives of citizens in the late 1800s than I could have imagined. The humanity and relatability of these characters is something I never would have applied to the early settlers of America’s farmland if I hadn’t read them.

The following book, By the Shores of Silver Lake, follows the Ingalls’ life in De Smet, South Dakota and introduces the fourth Ingalls child, Grace, as the baby. With ‘baby’ Carrie now getting a little older, she is responsible for helping around the house like Laura and Mary were, and is a more apt playmate for Laura as time goes on. However, this book opens with the surprise that Mary has gone blind from her illnesses previously mentioned in the other books, along with a bout of scarlet fever. (Mary’s blindness was later theorized to be due to a thyroid disease, and diabetes that plagued the entire Ingalls family.) Along with Mary’s sight, in this book, we lose Jack, a device Laura moved to this story to help signify the change from childhood to young adulthood. Jack’s peaceful death the day before the family’s long journey to South Dakota is sad, but they give him a wonderful last day filled with his favorite foods and games.

We gain some insight into Laura’s story-telling ability when Pa tells Laura to “be Mary’s eyes” and Laura becomes responsible for describing to Mary the many sights of their new home, and the move, and even the train that the family takes and its passengers. The train is also an exciting part of this story, and begins the relationship throughout the series between the train’s advancement, and America’s encroachments over unsettled land. Pa Ingalls even gets a job working for the railroad company as a paymaster, and the family is able to winter in the surveyor's house, making friends with the local Boast family and hosting workers and pioneers. The Ingalls home became almost an inn during that time, making the family a great deal of money by charging 25 cents for meals and board overnight, and thus begin saving to send Mary to a college for the blind that their former Reverend told them about on a visit. This story is the first to truly engage in the technological advancements and travel capabilities of America’s settlers. The Ingalls not only get visits from family, but make friends and see old ones as they travel across the country, settling in different states.

In The Long Winter, we not only get a true scope of the hardships faced by a family genuinely on their own as far as resources go, we also begin to get a sense of the small-town communities we know to be a big part of American culture today. Shops, inns, and homes begin to crop up in the area, and the Ingalls family winters in the center of town, to be closer to the train as well as the shops and fellow homesteaders. We also first meet Almanzo Wilder in this story, who in the fictionalized account was pretending to be 21 (actually 19) in order to lay a claim to unsettled land, but in reality was closer to 23 (Laura was 13.) Laura and Carrie attend school as often as possible, but are hindered and ultimately stopped entirely by successive blizzards which bury the town and make the roadsimpassable. Food dwindles and even the innovative methods of stretching their stores fail the Ingalls eventually. The blizzards continue for 7 months, and many throughout the town go without food until Almanzo Wilder shares his seed-grain with the locals, and the trains finally thaw, delivering a Christmas barrel of supplies and donated clothing to the weakened Ingalls’ home.

Despite being one of the shorter books, The Long Winter was certainly drama-packed, and at times I truly was scared while reading it, but ultimately I felt it could have been rolled into Little Town on the Prairie. Undoubtedly one of the most formative times in Laura’s life, this book was one where Laura began to really seize on adulthood and responsibility, often talking about protecting her younger sister Carrie, who’s discussed as being a sickly child (despite going on to be quite athletic in her adulthood). Little Town on the Prairie, however, is less focused on hardship and more focused on economy. Laura gets a job sewing for a shop in town in order to pay for Mary’s college education. When she’s let go, the family tries to sell crops, only to have their harvest destroyed by blackbirds. Finally, selling a cow for the money, Mary gets ready to go off to school with Pa and Ma escorting her, leaving Laura, Carrie, and Grace at home.

Again demonstrating her responsibility, Laura leads her sisters in the fall chores, leaving the house sparkling for Ma and Pa’s return. Nellie Oleson befriends the new schoolteacher, Almanzo Wilder’s sister, whose father is on the school board and who had consistently clashed with Nellie in the past, and turns her against the Ingalls girls. The younger students rally behind Laura and torment the new teacher, halting lessons essentially until Nellie joins in the bullying of Ms. Wilder and she eventually leaves. The new teacher helps Laura to achieve her teaching certificate, which Laura wants only to earn more money for Mary, and not because she wants to be a teacher (which she makes clear she does not). Around the same time, Almanzo Wilder begins walking Laura home from church, which Laura seems not to fully understand, but comes to appreciate. At the end of this book, Laura is offered a teaching position in a nearby town, and she prepares to move away from home for the first time.

I have to say, the minute Almanzo enters the story as Laura’s suitor, I began to get giddy. Laura’s narration seems almost willfully naive about his romance attempts, and I found myself rooting for their relationship hopefully, despite knowing that in reality, the couple were married until Almanzo’s death at 91. This feeling intensified in the following book, as Almanzo became Laura’s only rescue from her teaching position and boarding situation.

The book These Happy Golden Years starts out miserable, with 15-year-old Laura being driven by her Pa out to the teaching position from the previous book. Laura boards with the Brewster family, who, unlike her own family, allow animosities and arguments not only to surface, but to come to light in front of her. Mrs. Brewster begins with the silent treatment, but rapidly progresses to shouting at Laura, her husband, and anyone who will listen to her. Eventually, Laura wakes up to the sound of the Brewsters arguing because Mrs. Brewster was standing over her sleeping husband with a knife and he woke up. Almanzo Wilder, fond of Laura and having gotten permission from her Pa, appears each weekend to take Laura home. Throughout the season, Laura proves to be a good teacher; eventually gaining the respect of her students (some of whom were older than she was) and completing her school term, earning $40 for Mary’s college fund. When Laura returns to town, however, Nellie makes a move on Almanzo.

I have never hated anyone as much as I hated Nellie Oleson while reading this book. Nellie, in previous books, boasted about getting whatever she wanted from boys, often flirtily stealing their candy and gifts for other girls, and frequently mentioning that she wanted to go for a ride with Almanzo Wilder and his beautiful horses. Nellie gets her wish, and Almanzo takes her along on a few of his rides with Laura. Laura is eventually able to trick Nellie out of these rides by urging the horses to go faster and scaring Nellie out of repeat trips. Shortly afterwards, Nellie moves back to New York State due to financial hardships, and around the same time, the Ingalls are visited by a relative. Laura’s Uncle Tom, Ma’s brother, comes bearing tales of a terrifying trip to try to mine gold in the Black Hills. Laura later takes a short job helping a family with housework on their homestead, returning for a summer visit from Mary, and to attend singing classes with Almanzo. On their last day of class, Almanzo proposes to Laura, almost casually, and she accepts. On his next visit, he gives her a garnet ring with pearls, and her first kiss. A few months later, Almanzo finishes building their house, and asks if Laura would mind a quick wedding, so that his mother and sister don’t take over and host an enormous one. Laura agrees, and the two are quickly married by Reverend Brown, have a wedding dinner with Laura’s family, and settle into their marital home.

Maybe it’s the effect of having my own schoolhouse love in my life, but Almanzo and Laura’s three-year courtship took my breath away. In a time where most girls are more restrained, Almanzo admires Laura’s bravery and sense of adventure, and while she doesn’t admit much of her own admiration, Laura behaves possessively of Almanzo almost from the start. When Almanzo and Laura kiss for the first time, and Laura tells her parents about her engagement, I was just about jumping with joy, which was really embarrassing, because I was on the subway. It’s impossible not to feel caught up in their love, which is another thing that confronts expectations about old-fashioned families and courtships. Sure, there were fewer fish in Laura’s sea, but it’s obvious from the first time they walk home from church together that Laura and Almanzo were right for one another--just enough thirst for adventure and freedom, just enough seriousness and responsibility. Laura doesn’t want to be a “farm wife,” but promises Almanzo a few years of ‘trying it out,’ hence the title of the next book, The First Four Years.

The first four years of the Wilders’ marriage do not go very smoothly. Almanzo becomes briefly paralyzed, a condition which would continue to hinder him throughout his lifetime, and the environment and loans take their toll on the family’s resources. Much of the material in this book is more adult-oriented than the other books, but not by much. It was never finished by Laura, or edited by her daughter, Rose Wilder Lane (one of the founders of Libertarianism), but was found by Lane’s adopted grandson and subsequently published, and thus is less poetic and polished than the other books.

Unfortunately, the first crop of wheat the Wilders raise is destroyed by hail, and Almanzo mortgages his homestead claim. What they grow on the claim helps to pay for some of their debts and supplies, and Rose Wilder is born in December following Laura’s confusion at her own illness, which turned out to be her first pregnancy. Almanzo and Laura both get diptheria, and Almanzo subsequently struggles with physical disability. As he can no longer work all of his land, they sell their claim and move to their first home. Heat destroys their next crop, but they stay afloat with a flock of sheep Laura invests in. Hot winds destroy the harvest the following year as well, and their son is born in August, but dies a few weeks later, unnamed. At the end of the story, their house burns to the ground, but the story ends on an optimistic note, and the Wilders move to Mansfield, Missouri, where they lived out the rest of their days on a successful dairy farm.

While I was disappointed by The First Four Years because I’d hoped Laura and Almanzo lived joyfully together ever-after, it was incredible to see how the young family faced their struggles. While Laura’s family was never far off, while they lived in South Dakota, the Wilders were ultimately independent during this time, occasionally trading help with neighbors and family. I was also a little bummed to find out that the (to me) infamous Rose Wilder Lane was actually Laura Ingalls Wilder’s daughter, but even this brought some revelations. Most of the struggles that the Wilder family, and to a certain extent the Ingalls, faced were made worse by government intervention, or lack of government protection, and it’s easy to see how Lane could have gotten the impressions on which she based her ideology. As a story arc, including The First Four Years in the Little House series makes it somewhat anti-climactic, with no real solution for the problems set up by this book, and no sequel, (after Almanzo’s death, Laura stopped writing) this story, for me, is a bit of a downer. However, knowing the historical fact of the Wilders’ happy lives together and the joy which Laura expressed and received from sharing her stories with the nation brings the tail end up again. Rereading these books felt like going on Laura’s adventures with her, and particularly from the perspective of a young adult, framed the incredible courage and strength of will put forth by my peers of over a century ago. It was a unique experience capable of being shared by anyone, which in my mind, is exactly what Laura meant to do--bring the entire world into her little house--and she succeeded.

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p3ac3l0v3mus1c · 6 years

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“How many times are you going to put yourself through this?” “I knew someone that went through years of treatments and when they stopped trying it finally happened.” “When is enough enough?” “Why spend so much money to have a kid when you can adopt one?” “We care more about you and your health than a baby.” “God has a plan.” “You just have to stay positive.” “It will happen when it happens.” “At least you have your health. There are worse things in life.” They say that infertility is common, that so many women go through this process just like me, so you’d think that the sensitivity in people’s comments would have adjusted accordingly. I cannot be the only woman tired of hearing these comments constantly. We see mantras and inspirational quotes all the time about never giving up on something you want, but women are told daily by friends and family to give up on their dreams of having a baby. We are told daily not to compare apples to oranges, and yet we are told to trust someone blindly because someone they knew once had a different experience. It’s crazy to me how many people think they know any better than a doctor which has studied this field for years. Adoption. How is that always everyone’s answer for everything? I’m not at all saying that it’s not a good option, but it isn’t for everyone. They’ve made adoption so expensive and tedious to accomplish, sometimes it is just as expensive, if not more so than these treatments to have our own child. But not only that, look at all these people offering up adoption as they post selfies with their babies, and they ooh and awe over how much their child looks like them and acts like them. Does it make women that experience infertility so horrible for wanting that? What, because we can’t have our own how dare we do not jump at raising a child that may grow up to long more for their biological parent than us? Isn’t that terrifying? What about the horror stories we hear about parents who are set to adopt and fall in love with this child, but another biological family member comes to claim the child? And can I say I am so sick of people telling me they worry more about my health than a baby? Seriously, do you think a doctor would allow me to keep going if they felt my health was in danger? If I stop now, my mental health would be so far into shambles; it may be better that I keep trying because at least then I know I haven’t given up. This journey sucks, and anyone going through the process will obviously have good days and bad days. We will have days when we want to scream and cry, and there will be days that we are positive and anxious. It’s silly to think anytime there is a bad day we should be told to quit or worse, “you can’t be negative.” That is unrealistic. Everyone has a bad day, and if you don’t allow us those emotions, we will explode. I know firsthand that if you don’t let yourself cry sometimes, you’ll find yourself screaming in the kitchen over two tablespoons of parsley.

So that’s my rant, let’s go back and start this story from the beginning. It’s June 2016, I am 25 years old, been married about eight months and I’m laying in a hospital bed being told I am having yet another miscarriage. At this point in my life, I am young, thinish and relatively healthy but yet here I am looking at my sixth miscarriage. The nurse in the emergency room tells me there is no reason someone my age should be having this much trouble getting pregnant and tells me to reach out to my OB/GYN. So I schedule an appointment to get everything checked out. My husband and I go to the doctor, later that month, and get all kinds of tests done. He has to fill a cup, and I have to give a bunch of blood and have a pelvic exam. Once it’s all said and done, I am basically told I am too fat to carry a child because of my family’s history with diabetes but no worries, my husband is “as fertile as they come.” So I think to myself, “no big deal! I can lose weight, that’s easy enough.” So I do, in just five months I drop nearly 60 pounds (mainly by cutting out the multiple liters of mountain dew I was drinking daily). I feel great, and I am totally confident that we will have a baby now because that was my only issue…or so we thought. So we go back to the doctor, and she’s impressed by how much weight I have dropped. She wants to start me on some hormones, and a timed intercourse schedule to ensure we get the results we are hoping for. Spoiler alert, the medications she put me on cause weight gain, and I put on a ton of weight pretty quickly. So now I am eating right, and working out constantly but these medications just continue to cause me to “balloon up” as someone so eloquently pointed out to me and naturally this is causing me a lot of stress. But we proceed forward with the medications, and we get pregnant! Yes, we went in for our first beta test to check our HCG levels and were told we were pregnant! But the fun part about HCG levels?

The doctor wants to see them double every 48 hours, so two days later we go back, and sure enough, they had plummeted. Now all of a sudden they’re telling us we are going to miscarry again. We go through the whole process multiple times over a year with the same result every time. It starts putting a serious strain on our marriage, and my mental health. Naturally, everyone at this point is telling us it isn’t worth trying anymore but giving up was not an option for us. So I started doing some serious research, and come to find the treatment we’ve tried over and over again is not recommended more than two to three times at most. Angered by this information, I needed a second opinion, and I began researching fertility clinics in the area.

It’s now August of 2017, and I’ve stumbled across Spring Creek Fertility. On their website, it had mentioned a doctor referral, but I was dead set on seeing them, so I sent them an email explaining the last couple of years and requesting an appointment. They agreed to see me, and we set up my first appointment. I was filled with hope once more. After my first appointment, we ran all kinds of tests to see what was going on. Here starts the laundry list of problems, none of which was my weight. We were told I had a deficiency in all kinds of important vitamins and methyl folate. Easy enough, take a few different vitamins and swap out some of the failed hormones for different prescriptions, we were filled with excitement and all but planned for a baby because surely with all of these adjustments we were going to have our baby finally. December of 2017 we started our first intrauterine insemination (IUI) cycle. With this cycle we were instructed to take a shot of ovidril in my stomach, it was the first time we had to do our own injection with the fertility treatments.

I was so nervous, but I remember thinking the shot would make it a sure thing so I took a picture of the shot beforehand and sent it to my closest friends with the caption, “finally the medication that will change my life.” Boy was I naïve. Just days before Christmas we went in for our first beta test. I took the whole day off of work so I wouldn’t miss the phone call with results. I took the day to pamper myself and relax. I was filled with joy! I had taken multiple pregnancy tests at home that showed a positive result, and I was just waiting for them to call and say “you’re pregnant!” I waited all day impatiently, checking my phone every few minutes and finally they called and said my numbers indicated there may have been a pregnancy, but there isn’t one now. They apologized like everyone does when they’ve just given you bad news. “I’m so sorry, do you have any questions? Okay, so sorry.” I was devastated. I couldn’t understand how it was so hard for me to get pregnant and stay pregnant. I thought the doctor said all I needed was some vitamins and a little push. What the hell?

We decided to take a break from all of the worrying and ovulation tracking; maybe time was all we needed. So from for the first seven months of 2018, we took a break. We went to parties, concerts, festivals, the ocean; you name it. We just needed to take a break from devastation, but by May I was itching to try again. I felt like we were running out of time because I wasn’t getting any younger and my health wasn’t getting any better. I called Spring Creek and asked what our next steps would be. They suggested in vitro fertilization (IVF) as our next steps. After some research, this seemed to have the highest success rate and be the most expensive option. I called our insurance to get all the information, and we began saving and looking at loan options. Come July we had a few thousand dollars’ worth of meds and a page long schedule of appointments. But like before, our hope was restored, and we were confident that this would be it. I found an IVF support group on Facebook and read so many success stories of first time IVF patients. SURELY THIS ONE WAS IT. We followed every guideline to a T. Like clockwork every day we’d drop everything to take shots and monitor or levels closely to make sure we got everything right. I had to drive down to Dayton three times a week for nearly a month, but it would all be worth it when I finally held my baby. Every ultrasound and blood work came back great; we were filled with optimism.

We had our egg retrieval; they retrieved 20 eggs! Later that evening the doctor called and said 12 of the 20 eggs fertilized, and while we felt a little uneasy about losing eight eggs, we figured 12 was still great. Five days later, the doctor called and said that only three of the 12 eggs fertilized made it to blastocyst. Essentially this means of the 20 eggs they retrieved, only three of them became usable embryos. Naturally, I was terrified by this news. Out of 20 eggs, only three of them made viable embryos? Would the three that survived even be good? We did everything right, and only three made it. But, everyone in the world reminded me, “it only takes one.”

Here comes August of 2018. Transfer month. Now starts more meds, more injections, more appointments, definitely more stress. But wait! You can’t stress, how dare you stress? Don’t you know stress won’t help anything? Sure I do. But tell me how anyone in the history of the world does not feel any amount of stress while spending their life savings on a medical treatment which makes their hormones go haywire, makes them feel sick and tired, and only have a success rate of like 40%? So, “don’t stress,” is a nice sentiment but it helps no one. If anything it just pissed me off and added to my stress. Google is a bitch, by the way. For the love of God, stay off of Google by any means necessary, it will do nothing but intensify the stress and anxiety of this whole process. But ‪August 29th‬ finally came, and we headed to Spring Creek to transfer our embryo. Dr. Groll told us everything looked perfect and went perfectly and it was perfect. We were so thrilled. We were officially pregnant until proven otherwise (PUPO). Every day after that point every little twinge, and tingle must’ve been a symptom, or so they devil google lead us to believe. I became obsessed with peeing on home pregnancy tests starting just five days out. They were positive, so bring on the joy and excitement. You would think, after the bout with the IUI home tests that I would’ve learned, but again let’s revisit the explanation of stress and hormones.

September 10th, 2018: beta day. I took the whole day off of work, I knew from last time that I would not be able to focus on anything but my phone. I drove to Dayton to get my blood draw, and then off to Columbus I went. I stopped to visit my mom’s grave (because doesn’t all of this journey sound like so much fun without a girl’s mom?) and went to lunch with a friend. The entire time I stared at my phone. Every time it rang, I jumped. I was hoping that they’d call while I was with my friend because somehow my excitement turned to worry and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be a good phone call. But hours went by, they didn’t call, and I needed to head home. I made it about a half hour away from the support of a friend, and my phone rang. My levels were not good. It was happening again. What in the actual eff? I cried the entire way home and cried even harder when I got home. Why wasn’t anything working?! At this point, people and “friends” were literally telling me that I “signed up for anguish.” I did not sign up for anguish. I was already anguished; I signed up for hope and faith and a miracle. Why was that so hard for my “people” to support?

A week later, I went in to see Dr. Groll, and he explained what he felt went wrong. He made some adjustments to our treatments and pretty optimistically said let’s move forward for October. I felt like it was really fast, but if the doctor who I had found through research to be one of the top-ranked doctors in the country thought we should move forward then who the hell was I to question him? So we prepared to start over in October. Now, to backpedal a little bit, I mentioned earlier that I had joined a support group on Facebook. Through this group of 70,000 plus members worldwide, I found a girl going through the same part of this process AT THE SAME CLINIC and she and I were scheduled for the same day in October. This was a massive weight off of our shoulders. It was a wonderful experience to feel like I had a partner in all of this, someone who knew exactly what kind of crazy was going on in my head, stomach, and ovaries. This cycle was so much easier, every time I felt unsure or negative, I messaged her and vice versa.

October 23rd, 2018 rolled around, and I woke up so excited to meet my fertility buddy. I wasn’t even nervous about the transfer anymore. I felt like it was a good thing. Maybe staying out of my head would help. When Sean and I got to the clinic, she was there all looped up on the Xanax the clinic had prescribed us each to take. Hugs were given, pictures were taken, and stories were exchanged. Almost forgot we were there to transfer another embryo. Sean and I were called back to a room, vitals were taken, and yet again, everything went perfect. The embryologist had us laughing as we saw a “spirited” embryo dance around prior to the transfer and we left the clinic feeling overwhelmed with love, both from finally meeting our fertility partners and seeing a good looking embryo. Let the two-week wait begin. This time I made it till 8 days past the transfer before I caved and peed on a damn home pregnancy test. What was wrong with me? Again, all of my tests were positive, and I was filled with impatience and joy for my upcoming beta test. The morning of the beta test, I drove to Dayton and waited outside the clinic for them to open. I was the first one there. I was so excited because this one would somehow be different. My partner showed up, nearly in tears. She was positive she was going to start her period, and this would be it for her. Her doubts weighed heavy on me. For her, this was her last shot. She was ten years older than me, and this was her last embryo. I ended up more concerned for her beta result than mine, and I think that actually helped me. The clinic called and I could hear the nurse smiling through the phone. “You’re pregnant! You’re definitely pregnant!” I was floored. This one took, and I knew it would. I waited and waited for my partner to message me her results, I didn’t want to exclaim my good news until I knew she was okay. Finally, I asked her, and wouldn’t you know it; she was pregnant too! It was a miracle.

That night, Sean and I actually went out to celebrate our wedding anniversary, and we were on cloud nine. I remember making sure to order a virgin daiquiri because would you look at me, I am pregnant! A few days later we both went back for another beta, and my partner messaged me that her numbers were fantastic; she was still pregnant. Clearly, we were in this together, so I danced around with excitement while waiting for my good call, but it never came. The clinic called, and the nurse started the call with, “it’s not good news. I’m so sorry.” What the hell? Why? What do I have to do? Let the tears ensue. We are now down to one. One left. “It only takes one.”

A couple weeks later I go yet again to see Dr. Groll. He again suggests we roll right into the next transfer. I don’t know. At this point, my family and three of my closest friends have repetitively told me to stop trying. “Don’t waste your last embryo.” “How many times are you going to put yourself through this?” “ why don’t you focus on the family you have and getting your weight under control?” No one believed that I could have a baby. The people I sought as my greatest support system had lost all faith in this journey. I sat at home and cried most nights, went through a lot of beer. Several nights I drank till I blacked out, and one day I went to the hospital and told the nurse that I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of harming myself. I felt alone and defeated. But we had one stinking embryo left.

December 17th, 2018: transfer day. We went in for an operation and secretly transferred the last embryo while we were there. The most significant difference, I had lost all faith in this process. I literally felt no excitement at all because in my head I had convinced myself that everyone else was right and I just wasted my last embryo. But I followed all the rules, and I waited to test and on December 26th, 2018, the day before beta, I took the day off of work to lay at home and have a total meltdown. I at this point told some of my friends that I had transferred my last embryo and I sobbed as I told them that it was all for nothing because this one did not work. Damn hormones, I was literally hyperventilating with fluids flowing from all orifices on my face because I was so sure we spent our savings and time and hopes on a pointless journey. The next morning I drove to Dayton for my blood draw. I waited for my call, fully expecting the bad call. The clinic called and the nurse sounded very neutral. This was unusual. “Marya, your HCG was a 10.10. We consider anything over a 10 a pregnancy, so you are pregnant, but we are going to stay cautiously optimistic.” Cautiously optimistic. What in the hell does that even mean? How do you tell someone to stay optimistic but cautious when it comes to whether or not they’re going to be a parent? I told my husband that we were pregnant, but I wasn't holding my breath, but to my surprise, he was so sure this one was it. He is never sure; he is always on the defense! Maybe it felt different for him? Four days later I drive back to Dayton, and we do more blood work. It was New Years Eve so I was busy as can be. I came home and started doing housework, successfully keeping my mind off of things. At this point some of my friends and my fertility partner is messaging me asking about my numbers, noticing how late it was I called the clinic. Did I miss the call? I got their “after hours” voicemail. I lost it. How could they close without calling me? So now I am pacing back and forth through my living room, calling the clinic over and over. Finally, they call, turns out they had closed, so they shut their phones off, but they were still calling patients with their numbers. “I’m so sorry sweetie; your number went down.” SHIT! I knew it. “Your number was 18.8.” Wait…I asked what the number was again; she said 18.8 and I explained to her that my number four days ago was 10.10. I heard papers shuffle in the background, “you’re right, but in four days it should’ve at least doubled. It doesn’t look good sweetie, but we will stay cautiously optimistic and continue meds.” Freaking cautiously optimistic. At this point I am irritated. I am bummed out by my numbers, and I decide to turn to that support group for stories of hope. I posted that I was worried about my numbers being so low and that my doctor told me to be cautiously optimistic and asked if anyone else had a similar story which ended successfully. The responses were horrifying. Multiple women commented that there was no way this would be a viable pregnancy. They told me it was a chemical and they were shocked my doctor had me continue meds. I was in tears. Sean yelled at me to get off of the group, told me what good is a support group that shoots down any desperation of hope. At this point, I am waking up every morning and peeing on a home pregnancy test. The goal is to see the test line darken every day.

So each morning I would pee in a cup, and dip my test strip and then wait for it to dry so I could tape it to my test page and compare. Every day it looked a little darker. Sean continued to proclaim his confidence in this cycle. January 2nd, 2019 I went in for more blood work. They called, my number was 31 even. It nearly doubled, and can you guess what they said? Cautiously optimistic. I was so annoyed; my number almost doubled in 48 hours! Why did we still need to be cautious? Why couldn’t they just tell me it would all be okay? But we continued on, peeing daily on the strips and praying it kept rising. January 7th, 2019, I went in for more blood work. The clinic called and told me my number was 136. Surely a job that great means we are safe, but they said they really wanted to watch us closely and you guessed it, stay cautiously optimistic. So we wait four more days and do more blood work, all thee meanwhile peeing on the strips and seeing that line just get darker and darker. At this point, even I am positive it will all be okay. The lines are dark as dark can be, and my number has been steadily rising. Sure enough the clinic calls and my number is 282.4 and we are ready for our first ultrasound. Now at this point, my number is low but the doctor is thinking it was just late to implant because my number lines up with about a week behind where I should be. Sean is already proclaiming that it is a boy because “he is a grower and not a show-er.” Hope is restored. We are so happy and excited to see the baby, we are literally just counting down the days at this point. I couldn’t wait to hear the heartbeat. We’ve come so far, at this point we are nearly 8 weeks pregnant. I had started seeing a bunch of ads on Facebook for a heartbeat monitor, you know because they tailor those ads to whatever you’ve been doing online and I’ve already told you that Google is the devil and I apparently have no self-control. So one of my pregnant friends and I get to talking about those apps and how they couldn’t possibly work but she tells me that her doctor recommended an app that actually does work but usually not ‪until 9-10‬ weeks. No will power remember, so I download the app and I am messing around not expecting to hear anything. I’m just sitting in my living room with my phone against my belly, listening to a whole bunch of static scream through the speakers and all of a sudden I hear a fast galloping sound. I stop moving my phone and look in surprise, the phone is registering a heartbeat. I am losing it. Now the 16th couldn’t come fast enough.

What seems like an eternity later, it’s finally the morning of our ultrasound. Sean took the day off because he did not want to miss this. We were 100% convinced we had already heard the heartbeat so we weren’t even nervous, just anxious to see our little bean. So Julie, the nurse practitioner, comes in and starts the scan. We sit silently as she looks all over the uterus with a look of concern growing on her face. I look at Sean, he is just staring at the screen intensely with a blank expression on his face. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest and I try to swallow what feels like a bowling ball. Julie stops the scan and says she needs to go grab Dr. Groll from an egg retrieval he was doing to have a look. As she walks out of the room, I look at Sean. He just sits silently and motionless. I am fighting back tears, because everything is going to be okay, maybe it’s just too early to see anything. Dr. Groll comes in and starts the ultrasound, he scans the uterus slowly. The silence in the room is deafening. After a forever long silence, Dr. Groll says, “it looks like we have the gestational sac here in the middle of the lining. I think that is the fetal pole there, but it’s kind of hard to see because we have some fluid around it. It’s measuring really small, but it might just be a little late to implant. Let’s just get another HCG and stay cautiously optimistic. We will do another ultrasound ‪next Monday‬ but we will really need to see some growth by then and we should ideally see a heartbeat by then.” Cautiously. Freaking. Optimistic. I am so sick of that phrase. Cautiously optimistic sounds like don’t get your hopes up but we know you’re going to. Later that day they call me and my HCG is 694. Still going up, what the heck baby? Why are you scaring me like this? I felt like I had no control over anything. I pretended I was not scared, because Sean didn’t look scared. Everything is fine, we are still cautiously optimistic so I am not frightened or worried. And yet, while making dinner I ripped Sean’s head off about not having two tablespoons of parsley. Parsley, a spice that mainly adds color, and I ended up sobbing for an hour over two stinking tablespoons.

Four days later, I decided to go do something for myself and get my nails done. The day before we had a blizzard, so first I must spend 40 minutes wiping my car off. Once my car is wiped off, my back is a little sore but I ignore it and get into my car to leave. My car won’t budge. So I get out and grab a shovel, I flip the shovel over and use it to kind of kick some snow off the back tires. I am not dumb enough to actually try and shovel. As I am kicking away this snow, a sharp pain starts in my left side and follows up my back. I try to stand up straight, maybe I moved funny. The pain gets worse. At this point I am now in tears and reaching for my phone to call Sean. There is no way I am making it inside. I am currently laying down in tears, hyperventilating because the pain is intense and I am confident this can’t be good for this pregnancy. My husband tries to get me to the emergency room, but our cars are still stuck. He calls an ambulance, and now the panic is real. I have EMTs trying to give me pain meds, I’m yelling that I am an IVF patient and I don’t want meds. They keep asking how pregnant I am and I am explaining the situation, but they won’t really listen. After hours in the ER, they’ve taken urine and performed an ultrasound. The doctor comes in to tell me that I must be miscarrying because my HCG has gone down to 1039. I told her my HCG was previously only 694 so 1039 would be going up, but she says well we didn’t see anything at all on the ultrasound so you’ll need to follow up with your fertility doctor to check for an ectopic pregnancy. We were pissed. First of all, what about my back? I still couldn’t move on my own, and really if you’re concerned about an ectopic you don’t just send me home.

The next day we saw Dr. Kantitis, Dr. Groll’s partner, he wanted to do an ultrasound and check on the growth of the baby. Within seconds he found the gestational sac, and it looked bigger. He said it was still small but it definitely looked bigger. We felt relieved. We didn’t need more blood work because the hospital tested that the night before, but he said we’d check again ‪in 3 days‬. Somehow I felt like that tiny bit of growth reassured my faith that it would all be okay. We’ve now made it 8 weeks and our number is still going up, the sac got bigger, through every hurdle in 10 weeks, we prevailed. This would not be different. At this point all of our naysayers were calling the baby a little fighter, and telling us not to lose faith. January 24th, 2019, Sean was unable to get off of work, and so I went to the ultrasound alone. I told the nurse that it would be characteristic of my kid to wait till daddy can’t come to make waves. She chuckled and told me she really hoped that was the case. Dr. Karnitis walked in, followed by another nurse. She is one of my favorites, and she comes in with a supportive pat on the back before the scan begins. He starts the scan, and slowly pans across the uterus. “Oh no,” he pauses, “oh no this does not look like good news.” I am still staring at the screen, I am not going to cry. “Your husband was very interactive, that’s very good. He was very observant of the growth of our sac. I’m going to print him a picture of our sac here. It has gotten visibly smaller. The baby probably died a few days ago, but your uterus looks beautiful. I think it’s trying hard to hold on to that baby and protect it.” I made a comment at this point, but I couldn’t tell you what I said. I think I kind of blacked out. Debbie, the nurse, walked over and hugged me and told me she so sorry. Everyone is so sorry. I felt a teardrop against my face, and I prayed they didn’t see it because that would be the give away that I had stupidly gotten my hopes up, but they must’ve seen it because Dr. Karnitis reached to hand my the tissues and just kind of looked down at the floor. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Your uterus looks perfect, we got that formula right. That uterus is ready for triplets. I’m sorry, you did everything, but sometimes the embryo is just not good.” At this point I am full blown crying, and I really just want to get dressed and leave, but now I need to go do blood work. I carry the ultrasound picture of my dead baby with me to the lab to get my blood drawn. I am trying not to make eye contact with anyone because I will not allow myself to cry in front of anyone else. They cannot know that I wasn’t cautious with my optimism. HOW THE HELL DO YOU STAY CAUTIOUS WHEN YOU’VE PRAYED FOR A CHILD FOREVER? I leave the clinic, and text my husband. He says he's so sorry. Everyone is sorry. I’m tired. I just want to go sleep.

On my way home, the roads are terrible but I am driving without caution. Since I am so bad at caution. I am driving and a truck in front of me in going so slow, there is no way around and I just start screaming. Now I am crying and screaming, and I pass a cop and notice I’m definitely going over the speed limit. So I slow down, I take a breath, and I just sit in silence the rest of the way home. I thought I was driving to work, but somehow I ended up at home in the shower. I had already showered that morning, but I needed another one I suppose. I laid in the shower until the water was cold, and for some time after. When I got up, I toweled off, and walked to my bedroom. I woke up three hours later. I took another shower. Our last embryo was dead inside of me. I felt dead inside of me. I don’t want to face anyone. I still don’t. Because when someone hears that I am mourning the loss of a child, yes even at 10 weeks pregnant it is a loss of a child, the questions and opinions will start. “How many times are you going to put yourself through this?” “I knew someone that went through years of treatments and when they stopped trying it finally happened.” “When is enough enough?” “Why spend so much money to have a kid when you can adopt one?” “We care more about you and your health than a baby.” “God has a plan.” “You just have to stay positive.” “It will happen when it happens.” “At least you have your health. There are worse things in life.” It was another 6 days before they were ready to schedule the d&c, but the day before my appointment while at a concert I sat alone in a public bathroom stall covered in my own blood because I began to pass the baby on my own. I panicked at the sight of what looked to be legs and feet. I sat sobbing in a bathroom stall, unsure of what to do, who to talk to...why is it that with infertility, women must suffer alone in silence or face all these insensitive comments and questions?

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bloghealthinterventions · 4 years

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Episode #11 The Plant Based Diet "Prescription"

Hello again! This is the podcast show notes section of Health Interventions For Your Practice! The topic at hand is the plant-based diet.

I truly do not believe that the answer to everything is pharmaceutical based. I also believe that we have gotten so far off track that it’s going to take extreme measures to turn things back around. Just look at our patient population. They are getting sicker and sicker. The comorbidity rates are climbing, as are the obesity rates. The inflammation that is brewing inside of us from our poor choices and environmental exposures is contributing to our current state of health or lack thereof.

One of the ways that you can reduce inflammation, lower blood pressure, treat diabetes and hyperlipidemia without medications is by adopting a plant-based diet. It is actually becoming more mainstream to adopt a plant-based diet. Which is making it easier to find more plant-based options at restaurants and grocery stores. Which makes it easier to have this conversation with patients.

The plant-based diet is not one that everyone is going to want to participate in. I am completely aware of that. I am also aware that you were going to get objections about giving up meat and animal-based products in the beginning. I have been able to have patients agreeable to trying this for a few days per week or having only one meat-based meal per day. There are many ways to help implement a more plant focused diet into your patients’ lives.

There are many views on plant-based and many objections to plant-based nutrition. And there are misconceptions about a plant-based diet. Almost anything can be taken from good to bad, depending on one’s interpretation. Some of the misinterpretation that takes the plant-based diet from good to bad is actually what is perceived plant-based in the lay community. Some have adopted the view that just not eating meat or meat byproducts constitutes as a healthy plant-based diet. Not really so. Often, they are still consuming high amounts of sugar, saturated fats and other processed by- products from processed foods.

So here we go... into the plant-based world.

I’m going to start with the benefits of a plant-based diet, how to do this healthfully, some of the things to be aware of in a plant-based diet and how to start the conversation with your patients.

Just like most everyone else, I once upon a time scoffed at the thought of not eating meat or animal-based products. How can I go without dairy? How could I ever live without cheese? How could I possibly get enough protein?

After doing some research on plant-based diet, I decided to get on board. I have a very strong family history of diabetes, hyperlipidemia and heart disease. I do not want any of those diagnoses for myself. I also like to practice what I preach as you know. I cannot ask my patients to do some thing that I have not tried myself. I like to be able to experiment with myself or very close family members to monitor outcomes and safety. And also, to be able to give real life tips. What did I have to lose anyway? If it didn’t work out, if I felt terrible, if my labs didn’t show any improvement, it was only me that had to suffer.

Well......, guess what happened?

I have lost 25 pounds without even trying! I am never hungry; I do not crave anything. I do not feel deprived. I feel better, I sleep better, I have more energy. My skin is clearer, and I recently drew a lipid panel on myself. My total cholesterol was 194, my HDL 95, triglycerides 33 and my LDL 67. I wasn’t sure that those numbers were actually possible! My previous cholesterol was 194, triglycerides 115, HDL 80 and LDL 91. My glucose from 99 to 87. TPO antibodies from 15 to 0.

For full disclosure, I will also admit that I have not been participating much in exercise lately, as I’ve been a bit busy with this new adventure in podcasting and online training program production. Which, I Feel has been a wonderful trade-off for a short period of time. I tell you this so that you know my numbers were not skewed by my exercise or some crazy relaxing, stress-free lifestyle. I AM a practicing provider you know. And we are currently in the midst of the Covid pandemic, which makes any practicing provider’s life a bit more insane trying to keep up with the guidelines and adjustments in everyday practice.

I am sure that many of you have seen the Netflix shows and documentaries on the plant-based diet by now. Many of them are pretty good at getting the general population to stop for a moment and think about what they might be eating, but shortly after they watch the show they go back to a normal regimen. And that is where, once you have learned some of the benefits, hopefully you will be able to give it a try yourself and encourage your patients to continue on a plant-based diet and support them.

Dr. Dean Ornish is one of the Pioneers in developing protocols for using a plant-based diet and other lifestyle modifications to reverse heart disease. The evidence is very clear of all of the benefits associated with reducing the intake of meat and animal-based products. Heart disease CAN be reversed with a plant-based diet! I will save the soapbox of some of these things for future episodes, specifically one on dairy products. I don’t want to get on too much of a tangent with you. I want to introduce this to you slowly, so that you may consider doing the plant-based life yourself and having that discussion with your clients with a little bit of knowledge of what to be mindful of.

A plant-based diet is one that consists primarily of food from whole plants. This includes vegetables, fruit, nuts, seeds, legumes and whole grains. There are many variants of the plant-based diet out there, including vegan, vegetarian, lactovegetarian, ovo-vegetarian, Mediterranean, and I’m sure many more.

I am not trying to label specifically or get into those details, I am purely interested in giving you the overview of a solid plant-based nutritional program for your patients, that focuses on the vegetables, nuts, seeds, legumes and whole grains.

The Benefits:

High fiber intake is inevitable if done right. This will show benefits by decreasing inflammation, increasing bowel regularity, clearing a fatty liver and stifling insulin surges. The outcomes from this include lower glucose levels, lower cholesterol, lower blood pressure and weight loss. Fiber is also great for increasing satiety.

A well-rounded plant-based diet will increase general health and wellness with the increased intake of phytonutrients. Phytonutrients are best gotten from our food, rather than from supplemental forms. Phytonutrients are known to be powerful antioxidants and anti-inflammatory agents to help fight and prevent cancer, chronic illness and to boost the immune system. And I think we could all use a little immune boost right now.

Wait! Did I mention weight loss? Did I mention that was one of the major benefits of adopting a plant-based diet?

A Few Considerations…

When one is doing a plant-based diet, they must still be very aware of what they are eating. You have to be sure to include certain nutrients that you may not get in abundance from all plant-based foods. Iron and B12 are two of the most commonly depleted nutrients on a plant-based diet. If you are aware of this, you can adjust your diet accordingly. Vitamin B 12 can be easily gotten with nutritional yeast, which has a distinct taste, referred to as cheesy. It can be sprinkled onto foods. I like to put it on my spaghetti squash, topped with tomato sauce and then nutritional yeast. A few other sources of iron include cashews, kidney beans and black beans, as well as spinach. So again, a well-rounded plant-based lifestyle can still include these nutrients you need. One of the modules in the wellness and weight management course that I offer is dedicated to phytonutrients, micronutrients and essential elements we require for optimal functioning.

Now let’s talk about the interpretation of, or some misconceptions of, a plant-based diet. A plant-based diet is high in nutrients. It is high in a variety of food sources that come from plants. A true plant-based diet DOES NOT include French fries, pastries, pasta and other chemically processed foods or food like substances. I have seen many say that they are plant-based that still inhale everything but meat without regard and are still perplexed at how they could be gaining weight and not getting control over their chronic diseases and still feeling extremely fatigued. That is not the intention of a plant-based diet. A plant-based diet is meant to be filled with good wholesome vegetables, legumes, grains, fruits and unprocessed food sources. It Does not include cheese, which is very high in saturated fat and comes from animals. There are vegan cheeses that are made from cashews and nutritional yeast. I have tried some of those. Some better than others, but I just choose not to even go that route. I save the calories.

How to start the discussion with your patients…

When you start a discussion with your patients, you may get a lot of kickback. Especially if you’re in a place like me, where we were raised on Home cooking, with meat and potatoes required at every dinner. And with grandmas trying to make you fatten up a little bit.

As a side note, I’m not sure how many of you have a grandmother like this, but when I was growing up, mine kept a can of lard under the kitchen sink that she cooked with! Looking back, I am not sure how I live through that experience. I ate fried eggs in it every morning that I stayed with her, and it was used for gravy making and soup making to add flavor. I have to laugh about it now or I would probably vomit. I’m not sure how she lived to be 83, but she did. My theory is that she was a hard-working woman that never sat down to rest much and had eight children to chase after. I can also still see her using a sickle to knock down weeds on an embankment in front of her house every summer. That would definitely burn off a few extra calories, decrease stress and maybe ward off ill effects from that can of lard.

Ok, back to discussing the plant-based life with your patients.

The plant-based discussion is one worth having with patients. If you start by asking what they typically eat in a day, to see where they are on the scale of carnivore, you’ll have a pretty good idea how much work will be involved with this discussion. Review the benefits of going plant based. If they have multiple comorbidities, or is they are chronically fatigued or trying to lose weight, they may be willing to implement the strategy.

If they have IBS symptoms or chronic constipation and you discuss with them that increasing their fiber through a plant-based diet May help to regulate their bowels, they may be more willing to implement the strategy.

If they have chronic pain or fibromyalgia, that cannot be attributed to anything diagnostically, they may be more willing to implement the strategy.

If you’re about to add another medication to them to better control their diabetes, cholesterol or blood pressure, they might be willing to implement the strategy.

If all else fails, have a discussion with them about sexual dysfunction. It is well documented that sexual dysfunction, most commonly erectile dysfunction, may be attributed to early cardiovascular disease. The arteries in our body are not selective to the effects of atherosclerosis and buildup of lipid Plaques. All of the arteries are being clogged up with saturated fats that come from meat and animals-based products. Dr. Ornish has shown that this could be reversed with a plant-based diet. There have also been studies to show that there will be a significant improvement in erections and sexual function with the adoption of a plant-based diet. After this discussion, they may definitely be willing to implement the strategy.

I have many ways to get my point across to patients. Or, maybe I should say to help them get what they need and want in a persuasive and effective manner. Remember, when you speak to someone from THEIR viewpoint of health, you’ll get a whole lot further in your conversations. If you are speaking with a gentleman that is suffering from erectile dysfunction, whether that dysfunction be from medication side effects or from physiologic disease processes, they are willing to listen to you about how to restore and improve function.

So how do we start the implementation process?

I start with, “can you decrease your red meat to once per week?” then, I move into “can you decrease all animal-based consumption to three days per week?” And then I asked them to pay attention to how they feel on the days that they didn’t eat meat.

On the days that they are not eating meat, I have to prepare them for what to eat and how to modify their usual intake so that they aren’t hungry, and they feel like they aren’t being deprived.

There is a lot of flavor in a plant-based diet. There’s food to eat. You’re not being deprived to be on a plant-based diet. You can substitute many things for meat.

I find it best to give examples, so they know they are not going to struggle. I have already mentioned to you that I use spaghetti squash instead of pasta, nutritional yeast instead of Parmesan cheese. How about black bean tacos? Instead of hamburger chop up black beans or don’t chop them up, depending on preference, season them with taco seasoning, as you would hamburger, heat them up and top them with your usuals, minus the sour cream and cheese of course! But you can use salsa and jalapeños. Maybe spinach instead of iceberg lettuce to add to the nutritional value. I have done the same with burgers. Using black beans or kidney beans, chopped up, adding in seasoning, some ground flax for additional fiber and omega fatty acids, pat them into a burger shape, put them on the grill or fry them in olive oil or avocado oil. There are many many ways to make substitutions!

I do offer a patient-based health interventions program that includes an online weight program loss for them. I do weekly videos of how to prepare meals for weight loss, from a plant-based standpoint, that are posted on the health interventions Facebook page. Feel free to utilize this for yourself or for your patients.

If you have been listening to the podcast or follow me on social media or my website, you know that I do offer a weight management program that you can implement into your practice right away that focuses on nutrition, lifestyle and modifiable factors. And that course covers a wide range of topics the attribute to overall health and wellness. It isn’t only about nutrition and what medication you can prescribe to make someone lose weight.

I believe you need a full program and that we need to re-educate our population to bring ourselves back to a healthier place. This weight management program can very easily be 100% plant based and you will learn further how to modify the plant-based diet into a keto form to get them to lose weight rather quickly. This is followed by a transition into a maintenance form of the plant-based diet that still allows for adequate amount of protein, healthy fats and high fiber carbohydrates without gaining back any weight. Once you are able to learn and perfect this, you will see energy levels sore The Inflammatory state their body is constantly in When on a diet high in animal-based products Will drop significantly with a plant based diet, as will the fatigue. The program does include a downloadable recipe guide with recipes that you can give to your patients, including a plant-based meal plan to get them started. If you’re not interested in doing the whole program, but maybe have been intrigued by some of the phytonutrient discussion today, I will make that course available for you as an individual module. Just go to the notes from this episode on the website nphealthinterventions.com for access. you can also go to healthinterventions.com/phytonutrients for details on how to get that.

I hope that I have been able to help you understand a bit more about the benefits of a plant-based diet and how to start the discussion of that with your patients.

Have a great week! May it be filled with many Health Interventions!

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binglesbanglesbabies · 6 years

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Pcos, an ovarian mass and laproscopic surgery. Part 1 pre op

LONG POST! I apologize, but I decided to post this for anyone facing this same procedure, because if you're like me you're going to do your research and there are LOTS of scary things posted out there and LOTS of outdated information. Also, I’ve held nothing back, too many women are afraid of talking about their health without skittering around uncomfortable symptoms or unpleasant issues.

Anyone that follows me elsewhere (like IG) probably already knows that about December 20th 2018 I went to the er because of kidney stones. (I knew I had them, having had them before, but the er doc had to rule everything else out, so an abdominal mri was ordered, where it was discovered that in addition to many small kidney stones in both kidneys I had a 7mm stone (that later turned out to be 9-10mm, but that's a different story) just outside my left kidney and a 9cm (about 4 inch) mass on my right ovary.

So then a super long period of waiting to have my kidney stone problem resolved before I could get the mass removed began (also a story for another time).

FINALLY on January 24th I saw the obgyn about the mass. Let me just note here that every body and everybody is different. So the symptoms and issues I lay out from here on may or may not affect you. You may also tolerate pain better than I (I'm a wuss) and I had JUST gone through kidney stone surgery the DAY before the appointment and week before the surgery, and had a stent placed running from my left kidney to bladder, so again, may cause fun changes. Also due to my pcos I AM overweight, carrying most of my weight in my stomach, which may also cause different outcomes based on your body shape/size.

So the appointment went like this: Jan 24th

Obgyn was running extremely late due to a delivery. Took over 2 hours before I could be seen, but fearing my risk of ovarain torsion or other problems and having had to wait so long to even get looked at, I was afraid to reschedule, as the next appointment would be many weeks out.

Resident comes in to see me after a couple hours. We run through my symptoms. Now, as I explained to her, I work outside most of the year, and have a family history of multiple various and wondrous genetically inheritable diseases, in addition to not having insurance for 10 some years. (Thank all the powers that be for the Virginia expansion of medicaid for 2019) so most of my symptoms I blew off for one reason or another.

For me, the pcos symptoms and mass symptoms can get a little criss-crossed but they go something like this: I've had problems with my period since I was 13, the first time was the period that never ended, I became anemic from too much blood loss. They put me on a month's supply of birth control, told me it didn't give me licence to sleep around and if I wanted more I would be subjected to pelvic exams by big scary, hairy men, all of which was terrifying to a 13 yr old, and no help whatsoever to identify a cause. Since that time, there's been the fun missed periods, or periods that last for a month to 6 weeks, I've gone 6 months without a period and had 2 or 3 within the same month. The cramping has gone from none when I was a teen to "curl up in a ball and die" in my late 20s/early 30s. When I was 15, I began being pre-diabetic and gaining weight uncontrollably. It was discovered I also had a fatty liver and despite my insistence to the contrary, I was accused of heavy drinking. I also began asking my doctor about my excessive body and facial hair, as the bullying was becoming intolerable. She merely told me to lose some weight and it may decrease the hair and that women in the area I was living commonly had hormonal issues such as excessive hair, so not to worry about it. I was put on metformin to control the pre-diabetes/weight gain. No further tests were ordered. I stopped going to that doctor, and soon after we lost insurance, and I "aged out" of Medicare before we knew it was an option. Next on the pcos/mass brigade hit list came the "pms/pregnancy symptoms", you guessed it, around my period, my breasts would be tender, I would need to urinate more frequently, moodiness increased 10 fold, bloating/weight gain in the abdomen, the fun stuff. As the mass grew I began to have some incontinence issues. Sneezing/coughing/laughing meant losing some urine. Bowl movements became difficult and painful. Both of these were easily passed off as "hereditary disease problems" (IBS and fahrs or similar). There was frequent pain in my right groin and side which I passed off as pulling something while working. My stomach continued to grow even as the rest of me thinned down a bit in the spring/summer/fall due to the manual labor. After getting the mri results back and talking with my urologist (because of the kidney stones) a lot of this stuff started adding up to mass symptoms.

After telling the resident all this, the obgyn finally showed, we ran through the same things, and the first mention of pcos was FINALLY brought up. She asked if I'd ever heard of it, and I told her I'd long suspected I had it but at 15 wasn't even sure what it was called. Years of research on my own led me to believe I probably had it but had no doctor or insurance to confirm. She said a few more tests would confirm it and thus I was sent off for a transvaginal ultrasound (or as I like to call it, being machine raped) to check mass size and position and look at my other ovary. Mass was huge and had "blown" my right ovary, necessitating the removal of the mass, ovary and stem. Left ovary is/was covered in cysts.

I pushed to have both ovaries removed. Obgyn would only take right one due to "early onset menopause" if both were removed. Bonus, to control my pcos, they would have to put me on birth control, which can cause, guess what, all the same symptoms of early onset menopause like bone loss, weight gain, moodiness, and hormonal imbalance. She asked when I wanted the mass removed, and I said the sooner the better, so we scheduled it for Jan 28th. She affirmed I probably had pcos based on the cysts on my left ovary and other symptoms.

#laproscopic surgery #laparoscopy #laparoscopic surgery #pcos #ovarian mass #large ovarian mass #ovarian mass surgery #large ovarian mass surgery #laparoscopy ovarian mass #laparoscopy pcos #surgery

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chump-stain · 6 years

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My Grandmas

In 2018 I lost two of some of the most influential people I have had the luck of knowing in my life, in the short span of about 2 months. I could go on and on and on about how 2018 has effected me and how I’ve learned a lot more about myself and the working minds of others, but that’s for another time. This short story will be about my two grandmothers; Patricia(my mothers side) and Jewel (My fathers side) both whom I had lost earlier this year 2018. This will be about their impact on my life and a bit of reminiscing to go along with it.

Let’s start off with Jewel Davis, (mostly known as ‘Mimi’ to those she meets lol and has been Mimi my whole life.) A kind hearted, hard working mother who did her upmost to make sure that everyone in the room had a smile on their face, and boy just her presence and her sheer joy she always carried with her was enough to lift your mood and spirits almost immediately. She was the kind of person that didn’t see race or religion, she didn’t yell, she didn’t nag, all she wanted out of you was to make you smile :) Now Christmas has always been a wonderful tradition I have enjoyed to the fullest every year of my life and every year we’d get together at Mimi’s house for Christmas dinner and whatnot, and Mimi would gather some cookies and milk and carrots and lay them outside every year and tell all us kids that “the cookies and milk are for Santa and the Carrots for his reindeer!” And Christmas morning would come and half the cookies and carrots would be eaten and the milk half drank in an attempt to make Santa clause seem that much more real. 😂 she was just that kind of cheesball and It was her doing that kept that Christmas joy and warm, fuzzy feeling in your tummy all the time. But besides the Holidays this woman LOVED to travel and see landmarks all around Az ranging from Ghost town Jerome Az, to Camping In deep north Az and all around the world if she ever got the chance, and a lot of the time her and my Grandpa( aka my ‘Giddo’) would take me and my Twin brother Richard along for the ride. It was her who opened my world to the world and all its natural beauties... if it wasn’t for her I don’t feel i’d have taken to traveling or wanting to see the rest of the world like I want to do now. To me, Mimi was one for the most beautiful beings any of us could have had the pleasure to know, and it was gut curdling and heart wrenching to have to watch her go through lung cancer like she did. To see a Woman who had given her all in life not only for herself but for others as well, only to then be delt a terrible hand is beyond me. Kind of makes you feel as though it doesn’t matter whether you’re a good or bad person, we all are delt the hand we are given and that is life. It was after Mimi passed when I started to question “God” and the way that he/she/it works, but more on that later. Christmas is approaching fast and this will be our first year without our beloved Star of the show and quite frankly, I am pretty nervous.

Now Patricia Crisostomo (mostly known as Grandma 👵🏻) is my moms mom and before we get into her, I think it’s worth mentioning that my mother was very young when she had me and my twin brother (age 14).That being said we moved around quite a lot when I was young. From what I can count we went to a total of atleast 13 different elementary schools (with some middle schools here and there later) before hitting high school, suffice to say that we didn’t really have a secure ‘home’ other than that of my Grandmas house. Whenever my mother would be hard up for money or just needed to save more money, we’d move back in with Grandma and all would end up fine for the most part. Now grandma Pat wasn’t as outgoing or even as kind sometimes as, who I consider her counterpart Mimi. But she was Goofy 24/7, loved music and she liked to indulge in a little mischief here and there, telling me that the V8 tomatoe juice in the pantry was actually blood and that she was a vampire who kept her stash in the pantry😂 and even by playing favorites with the grandkids on purpose as a fun way of getting us to do chores. Ultimately though it was her love for her family and heart that drove you to love grandma pat unconditionally. In the face of conflict she would never turn you down if she had anything to do about it. If you needed a place to stay, food to fill your belly, or just a good conversation well grandma was the person to go to, and I found myself confiding in her for most of my life. It was no secret my grandmothers health was wailing down on her as the years passed... in one year she had both of her knee caps replaced so she could walk again, the next she was getting a pain reliever implanted in her back because she just couldn’t handle it, and then there was the pills.... My grandma suffered from diabetes and took a surplus of pain pills at an attempt at living comfortably, but in the end my grandma seemed more doped out than a crackhead sometimes. I’ve been through some pretty traumatic events throughout my life but This, this was by far the hardest thing I endured. Everyday coming home from work and making sure my grandma hadn’t fallen asleep at the wheel of her motorized Chair, because there was always a risk of her running into something or falling out of the chair, or painful trying to get her back into her bed while she sobs and cries that she “wishes and wishes” she couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Me too grandma, I wish I could have taken that pain away from you by the press of a button but alas, all I could do is be by her side as often as I could. Grandma Pat passed away sometime this July, and I wasn’t there. I thank god I wasn’t there because only two months prior in may, I had lost Mimi! and seeing her would have only made things much worse for my Psyche at the time. Despite that I am happy for her though, I am happy she isn’t in pain anymore and that I will get to tell others her story. I mean if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t be here so, my love for her is as big as a lifetimes worth of memories.

Fast forward into December and here we are! I can now say without a shadow of doubt that the “god” people believe in with the power that stops evil in its tracks is non existent. History has made that much clear with war and famine, and poverty and illness. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that there is no god, or that this world is such a bad place, because it is not. My grandmothers taught me to love any and all others unconditionally, whether it be family or friends, or even just a random person you met on the street. You never know what they have to go home to so please, treat others as you yourself would like to be treated and above all else, put your all into your passions and what you love about yourself. Do not cave into anyone’s wants or try to mold yourself into something that you are not. Be yourself and only yourself. Travel, eat good food, dabble In the mischievous, break hearts, fall in love with others. Knowing my grandmas has taught me that life is too short, and that if we really do only get one chance at this shit, we better live it tf up before it hits us like a train moving at its fastest. I’ll end this off today with a quote I once saw on a Japanese oven mitten that weirdly enough, speaks more knowledge than most people I’ve known over the years.

“To be myself, in a world that constantly tries to paint me as something or someone else, is my greatest achievement.”

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angrybelieverconnoisseur-blog · 6 years

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"Phoenix Arizona Cheap car insurance quotes zip 85017

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