#this blog supports mother medics everywhere

[jeewrites]

Hold Fast | Ch. 2 SBD & Cinnamon Rolls

Series Master List

Rating: M for language, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

Summary: Frankie works out at Pope's Gym with his bff Pope

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday! Bit of backstory about reader, Frankie gets a glimpse into reader's powerlifting world, meet some OCs. And as always, thank you to my beta @bloviating-vy, although I messed with it later so all errors are my own, lol.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: no y/n, reader gets a nickname, swearing, yelling, discussion about food, reader is a powerlifting girlie in her late 30's described as short and she has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar called Redfly's, Pope owns a gym, reader's mother is a menace, an OC is fatphobic, some Frankie POV

<<prev chapter next chapter >>

One of the hobbies you picked up after you broke up with your fiancé — ex-fiancé — was baking. Chase always complained that everything you cooked or baked made him fat. You both shared a sweet tooth, but he was adamant about keeping the house sweets-free, fat-free, fun-free. Christ, he had gotten so militant about so many things. So fucking suffocating.

He didn't start out this way when you first met in college. He was sweet and driven, focused on getting into medical school, like you were. Your first real relationship. But somewhere between medical school, residency, and supporting him through his fellowship, he became increasingly neurotic and controlling. He started yelling, first about things, then at you. Why can't you do anything right? Why are you friends with her? Who is he? Why are you texting him? Why do you act like a child? You're going to wear that? That outfit makes you look like a whore. He started bragging about what a big bad surgeon he was going to be and how lucky you were to be with him. The larger his ego grew, the smaller you felt. It took you too long to realize the college boy you fell for no longer existed.

Now, every Friday night after a long day, you'd go home, throw on some tunes, and bake to decompress from the week. There is something calming and meditative about the process — measuring, mixing, and kneading — resulting in a desired outcome that pleases you, delights you. Sometimes you even liked to get experimental with the flavors from your childhood. You could watch whatever show you wanted while you baked: wholesome comedies to cringe-worthy reality tv, without a judgment to be heard. Peace. You finally had peace.

Despite the long days at the group practice, it was nothing compared to the 80-100 hours a week you'd pull working at the hospital. Did you miss teaching the next crop of residents? Sure, but you love the newfound free time you had to do things for yourself, things that interest you. You needed a break and a break from working in the same building as Chase. The hospital just wasn't big enough.

The hospital rumor mill had cranked into high gear when you caught him sneaking out of a call room with one of the OR nurses, scrubs rumpled, hair mussed. It's like you were living in a fucking episode of Grey's Anatomy. And he had the audacity to raise his voice at you in the middle of the hospital in front of what felt like everyone. You stopped wearing your engagement ring (thank fuck) and Chase started blatantly hooking up with any of the staff that were ready and willing. Of which there were a lot. You were done with the hierarchy of the hospital, placing surgeons at the very top, over-inflating their otherwise fragile egos. You were over the whispered judgements questioning Why would you leave a surgeon? What was wrong with you? Between the long hours and hushed whispers everywhere you went, you wanted — no, needed — a change.

You joined a group practice with some former residency friends across town and moved into a small one bedroom apartment until you could decide what your next steps were. It helped that Pope's Gym was halfway between home and work now, so you settled into a more sustainable routine of working, lifting, and exploring hobbies and interests long neglected since college. And Chase. And more recently, giving the whole online dating thing a spin after over a year of pouring back into yourself, rediscovering who you are now in your late 30's.

Sometimes it felt like going through a second adolescence, rebelling against the expectations Chase and your parents caged you with, to fit their very specific idea of who you should be as a wife first and physician second. Always serving a role, being a pretty object, but never a person. At the first opportunity, you sold the stupid black Audi that Chase had insisted you buy because all of the other physicians owned the same fucking one. He also insisted on an automatic because he couldn't drive stick. Now you zipped to work in that sporty blue WRX STI that you wanted in the first place, windows down, singing loudly and off key to the radio, free as can be.

It still hurt when you ended things, but it hurt a lot less than you thought it would. You realized the end really began when Chase left for his fellowship out of state and you noticed how much happier and free you felt when you were on your own. Why didn't you miss him more? Why didn't you miss him at all?

And yet, it didn't stop you from saying yes when he proposed. A big flashy proposal in front of both your families. You remember feeling frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of a car driven by your mother. Your mother's voice in your ear, You won't do better than a surgeon. Not with your looks. Not with those thighs you inherited from me. So you said yes and floated through the rest of the celebratory evening weighed down by the most obscene diamond ring, smiling and nodding like a robot while you drowned on the inside. Saying and doing exactly what you had been taught to do as the eldest daughter. Appease. Please. Live for everyone else. And don't rock the fucking boat.

Frankie couldn’t remember a Saturday when he had sweated so much. When is Pope going to get a proper A/C system for his gym? It'd been a week since Frankie met you at Redfly's and Pope had finally convinced him to come in for a workout despite his excuse that he had Gabi that weekend. I'm sure your mamá would love to spend some time with her nieta, Pope had pressed.

Which is how Frankie finds himself, curls dripping in sweat, looking up at Pope's crotch as Pope hands off the barbell for him to bench. Fuck, he’s out of shape. And getting old. Pretty sure he could hear both his shoulders creak under whatever weight Pope had shoved onto the bar. He grimaces at how he is going to feel tomorrow.

As he finishes his set and sits up, Frankie catches a blur of lavender and black greeting Benny and beelining to one of the lifting platforms near the entrance of the gym. It was you.

“You can quit starin', Fish, she’ll be here at least 2.5 hours. It’s her SBD Day,” Pope ribs. "You text her about dinner yet?"

"Um…" Frankie pauses before choosing deflection. "Uh, what's SBD?"

"Jesus, Fish, it's been over a week," Pope chides.

"I mean, we've texted a bit," Frankie mumbles, getting up from the bench and turning to face away from you, one hand cupping his neck.

"Squat, bench, deadlift," Pope responds.

"What?"

"That's what SBD stands for," Pope grunts, laying back on the bench to complete his set.

"She's going to do all three in one workout?!"

"She's planning to compete this year, so yeah," Pope unracks the barbell on his own as Frankie just stands there dumbfounded. He was beat just benching with Pope this morning.

He takes another glance in your direction as you wrestle your knee sleeves on and flop dramatically on the ground when you finish. As other members filter around your platform, you greet them like old friends with that warm, beaming smile of yours. Even the perpetually furrowed brow woman doing tire flips in one corner of the gym breaks out a smile when you arrive and wave at her. Frankie had noticed her shirt first, a deep red t-shirt with cut-off sleeves that read "STRONGER IS HARDER TO KILL" in aggressive black text.

He could watch you lift all day. The way you set up for your squat with mechanical precision. Your entire body language changes with a flick of a switch. You could be casually chatting with another person, but as soon as you walk up to the barbell and click your belt in place, you are methodical, intentional, focused. When your hands touch the barbell a streak of aggressive energy swirls around you as you swoop under the barbell and set your feet, left foot, then right. Two deep breaths and brace. A flick of your ponytail over the bar. Back tight against the bar with an assertive lift-off. Right foot back, then left. A brief pause. Then squat. Loading into your lower body with control. High knees. Weight midfoot. Driving up into each rep. Rep after rep. Pause. Re-rack. The switch flicks back when you lever off your belt and you're giggling again about something with someone until your next set. Rinse and repeat. It is fucking hot.

"C'mon Fish, top set," Pope prods, bringing Frankie back from his reverie with a groan. "If you get a move on, maybe we'll finish in time for you to offer your spotting services to her when she gets to her bench."

Frankie hustles.

As he spots Pope for his top set, he notices a toned, blonde man with a garish tan approach you as you stand to do another set. Instead of greeting him with your usual smile you gave everyone else, he sees your entire body tense at the man's approach. Frankie couldn't hear what Blondie is saying to you but you cross your arms, hands gripping your upper arms as you move to the edge of your platform, giving you as much distance as possible from the guy. You shake your head twice to whatever Blondie says.

This guy makes you uncomfortable, Frankie thinks to himself, paying rapt attention to the interaction. He loses himself in thought wondering what the story with Blondie is, if you had dated him before, or...?

Pope's grunt snaps his attention back to his friend as he helps Pope re-rack the bar.

"Who's the guy?" Frankie asks, tilting his head towards your direction. Pope glances over before he shrugs and responds, "His name is Michael? Mike? Kind of a bro."

Mike seems to have finally gotten the hint and stalked off. You stand there for a moment before glancing around the gym wondering if anyone else saw the interaction. Your eyes fell on him and Pope, lighting up before mouthing hi and giving Frankie the sweetest smile and small wave. Frankie felt his cheeks flush as he smiles back and looks down at the weights he had been removing from the bar.

"Fish, why are you taking all the weights off? We still have backdown sets!" Pope rolls his eyes. "Focus, cabrón."

As he and Pope work through the backdown sets that seem to take fucking forever, Frankie keeps a sharp eye out for Blondie in case the man decides to bother you again. Everything seems to have gone back to normal, as you finish your squats and adjust the rack for bench. Frankie notices a sudden shift in the gym's energy. Energy amping up as it seems like everyone is watching you more intently than he is. What the fuck is going on?

"Oh shit, it's time," Pope says, snapping to attention and moves towards you. "Let's go, don't wanna miss out on..."

"I thought we had one more set?" Frankie asks as he follows behind Pope.

"SNACK TIME!" bellows the woman in the aggressive Harder to Kill shirt who now stands next to you.

"Descend like locusts" drifts through your mind as you dig out two enormous Tupperwares of baked goods. Thank God for powerlifters and their appetites, otherwise your co-workers would complain about all the sweets you brought to the office. You didn't need that kind of negativity around such a delicious act of love.

Snack time became gym tradition on SBD Saturdays, usually between squat and bench. This week you made fluffy cinnamon rolls, a batch of regular flavored rolls with a light icing and an experimental batch of ube flavored rolls with delicate coconut icing, making them a delightful purple dressed in white swirls.

"Fuck, these are so good," Pope groans before taking another large chomp out of his purple cinnamon roll.

You see Frankie standing behind Pope, glancing around, bewildered at the crush of powerlifters crowding your platform to grab a treat. You manage to squeeze through the throng of biceps and quads to reach him.

"Saved you half of each," you smile up at him before proffering up your baked treats. He seemed surprised you thought to save him some.

"S'good, so good," he groans between bites. "S'not too sweet either. I really like that."

"That's why we call her Sweets," the furrow-browed woman says as she walks up to you and Frankie. When Frankie gives her a confused look, she explains, "It's the highest praise she gives for dessert, not too sweet."

"Ah yeah, no one really calls me by my name," you explain with a shrug. "Everyone just calls me Sweets, honestly." Frankie nods with comprehension, shoving the rest of the roll into his mouth as if to give himself an excuse to avoid talking.

"Frankie, this is Chloé. Chloé, Frankie," you introduce the two of them. Chloé gives you a meaningful look before grunting a nice to meet you at Frankie. When she gives him an extra firm handshake you inwardly roll your eyes.

The first time you met Chloé, she immediately sized you up, trying to not-so-subtly find out if you were interested in Benny. It made sense since you had just squatted him in front of the whole gym to get him to shut the hell up. It could have been interpreted as a sweet pick-up move (if you thought so yourself, although you hadn't tried it on someone you actually wanted to pick-up, pick-up yet). As soon as you snorted that yes, you thought Benny was hot, but no, absolutely not your type, Chloé released her arched brows and decided you were okay, or at least not mortal enemies. She even offered some valuable insight into the idiosyncrasies of Pope's Gym and its members.

You soon learned that her fierce demeanor and myriad of furrowed expressions ("Yeah, I'm aware. My mom reminds me all the fucking time my face is going to get stuck like this if it hasn't already.") protected her thoughtful, kind, and sweet interior. Her broad shoulders, taut muscles, long single braid down her back, and aggressively worded shirts struck an intimidating image. You won her over once you plied her with snacks you kept in your gym bag. Premium snacks, every powerlifter's dream.

"Why are you sharing the good stuff," she asked, a skeptical arched eyebrow appearing once again.

"Us girlies gotta stick together," you reason. "Plus, who else is going to listen to you gush about Benny's abs?"

You both bonded over training cycles (fuck volume week, you can't count higher than 5 in the gym), training on your cycle (uuuuugh, just gut me now), creative ways to consume enough carbs (you both loved to bake and began swapping recipes at an alarming frequency), Benny's abs, and Pope's ass (dares may have been made to try and bounce a quarter off it). Chloé definitely had an enormous crush on Benny, but adamantly put her foot down when it came to dating anyone from the gym. Not gonna shit where I eat or something like that.

You treasured your friendship Chloé, the way she understood the highs and lows of training, didn't care you were basically a pariah in your family, and didn't give a flying fuck about other people's expectations. When you eventually shared why you moved to this part of town, how you ended up at Pope's Gym, and why you broke off your engagement, she looked you dead in the eye and congratulated you, "Sounds like that was a close call."

It made sense why she is now giving Frankie the once over, although you suspect it would take a lot longer and more than a few choice snacks to get Chloé to view Frankie without reservation. You appreciate how protective she is of you now that you are two peas in a powerlifting gym. Despite her own reservations about dating someone at the gym, she mostly kept her opinions to herself when you had mentioned going to have drinks with Benny's friends, including Pope's best friend.

Of course she was the first one you told the next morning as you warmed up for your workout — how the evening went, how you finally tried literally picking up someone you wanted to pick-up, pick-up, and your surprise when it worked. At the end of the night, Frankie had insisted on walking you to your car where he asked for your number with heat creeping up his neck before getting promptly distracted by your car. Wow, I've always wanted to drive one of these! Did you know they make some of the best rally cars? Oooh and it’s a manual! You may have suggested if he was lucky, you’d take him for a ride one day as you slid into the driver's seat. Before you even got home, your phone pinged with a message from him asking if you'd let him know when you got home safe.

"Just... be careful okay?" Chloé pressed, concern creased across her brows this time. "If Frankie starts working out here because he is the owner's best friend, you're gonna have to deal with some awkward shit if it doesn't work out."

"Good thing I have you as back-up," you teased back, earning you a Chloé shove of annoyed affection.

Frankie knows he's really in trouble now.

Between the glare from the serious looking woman, Chloé, shooting you pointed looks after you introduced the two of them, and the fluffiest, softest, most delectable cinnamon roll he's ever eaten in his life, he's either going to die getting strangled by Chloé when he eventually fucks things up with you or he's going to die of diabetes. Because Christ, you can bake too? How did you get the roll so light and fluffy? And just the perfect level of sweetness? Is that coconut in the icing on the purple cinnamon roll? Frankie loves sweets, but hates things that were so sweet it made his literal teeth hurt. Somehow you had managed the perfect balance of sweet. A fitting nickname, Sweets.

He peers around for the tupperware you brought, hoping a cinnamon roll may have escaped the locust of lifters that had descended just a few moments before, but the box is picked clean. It's then Frankie sees Mike grousing as he picks up and slams the container onto the floor.

"You didn't save one for me, Sweets?" he says, indignant words laced with outrage.

Frankie watches you flinch and move, putting as much space as you can between yourself and Mike.

"Fuck off, Mike." Chloé bites back, stepping in front of you.

"Even the new guy got one?" Mike jerks his head towards Frankie.

Frankie steps forward in line with Chloé and furrows his brows, hands clenching and unclenching. Who the fuck did Mike think he is?

"Yeah, well, I like him more," you push back, voice unsteady, staying partially hidden behind him and Chloé.

"What the FUCK did you just say bi—" Mike snarls, stalking forward just as Pope and Benny come up behind him. Benny clamps both hands on Mike's shoulders, staring daggers into the back of his head.

"Time to take a walk, buddy," Pope instructs, as Benny steers Mike around and marches him in the opposite direction. It takes Frankie a moment to realize he'd also moved, putting himself between Mike and the two of you, ready to protect. He drops his arms before turning back towards you.

Eyes wide, you release a long, shakey exhale and roll your shoulders away from your ears. After a moment you move to slide an arm around him and Chloé. "Thanks for having my back," you say to the ground. He can still feel a slight tremor in your arm before you drop them.

"Mike's such a fucking douchebag," Chloé huffs, glaring in the direction Benny and Pope had gone with Mike to before looking at Frankie with a flicker of appreciation before resuming her usual scowl.

"Wasn't gonna let him touch either of you," Frankie hesitates, "Know you're both strong women that can handle shit, but he's got at least 30 pounds on either of you. Wouldn't be ok just sittin' back if I could do something 'bout it."

Your eyes shift around him, glancing to make sure Mike hadn't suddenly come running back, before looking up at him, eyes still wide, before thanking him again. "Yelling... freaks me out. I — I don't... handle it very well sometimes." Chloé eyes you like she knows a lot more behind what you're talking about.

Frankie's unsure of what to do next. He wants to pull you to him, hold you, promise you you are safe and he won’t ever let Mike or anyone touch a hair on you ever. He longs to soothe the terrified expression off your face, wants to know what else made you so afraid besides what happened today. He isn’t good at many things, but Frankie knows he is built to protect the people he cares about, always making sure all the guys came home to their loved ones, safe. He wants to be the one who cares about you, protects you from anything that could hurt you, even if you are capable of standing up for yourself.

You take a few more slow deep breaths, staring at the entrance of the gym, before tearing off your squat shoes and knee sleeves. A switch flips and you're back to lifting mode, focused and determined, setting up the rack for your bench.

Frankie thinks he catches Chloé rolling her eyes when you shyly ask if he'd stick around and spot you in a few sets. "Absolutely," he breathes, delighted at the excuse to stay near you.

"Look," you continue, all business. "My top set is going to get real grindy, the bar might even come to a total stop, but don't touch the fucking bar unless it goes back down, okay?" you look at him over your shoulder waiting for confirmation before you lie back on the bench.

"Yes, ma'am."

<<prev chapter next chapter >>

Notes: nieta = granddaughter; cabrón = asshole

🙏🏽 Thank you for continuing to read! Your comments and reblogs have been giving me lifeeeee! I'm still bad at tumblr and new to tags/warnings, so if I missed something please let me know. Planning to post every other week since I have a lot of travel coming up.

I am open to constructive feedback but please be gentle with this baby powerlifting writer, yeah? I might be able to squat you, but I'm a big ol' softie.

Taglist is open: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held @littlemisspascal @burntheedges

[junjiya]

I am Malak, a medical student from North Gaza. Our home has been destroyed, and we have been displaced more than 20 times seeking safety, but danger is everywhere💔. During this journey filled with suffering, I lost my brother Moataz, who was martyred while trying to fetch water for us😢.

I want to escape this hell to save my family and continue my medical studies. I have created a donation campaign, and any contribution, whether by donating or sharing the story, means a lot to me. Your support could be the light in this dark tunnel🍉🙏.

hi, of course. I have also shared this on my other blog @enkiooo.

everyone, please share and donate what you can. here is the link to the campaign.

"My name is Malak, I am 18 years old, and I am a medical student."

"My dad is Abdelhamid Dader, who used to work at a water station, and my mother is Mona Alanqar. I have siblings named Shahd, Moataz, Moatasem, and Fadel."

Our house was burned and destroyed, forcing us to move 20 times in different areas in northern Gaza. My father was injured and couldn't receive the necessary treatment due to a lack of medical supplies and the difficulty of travel. My 15-year-old brother Moataz was killed by a missile while trying to fetch water, and my younger brother was injured in the same incident and also couldn't get proper medical care."

"We spent all our savings, and now we cannot provide the basics of life as famine chases us in the north. My mother and younger brother contracted hepatitis due to pollution, poor nutrition, and lack of healthcare."

"My dream is to complete my education abroad, get the necessary treatment for my family, and live a dignified life like other human beings."

I am praying for you and your family.

[winchesters-favorite-girl]

Flatline-Part Eight

A/N: Jensen and his sixteen year old daughter get into an argument before she goes out for a night with some friends. A few hours later, Jensen gets a call that is going to change his family’s life forever.

Word Count: 1,790

Warnings: Swearing, hospital setting, panic attack

Masterpost

Support my Blog

“This food blows.” You stated as you scooped up some of the soup in front of you before letting the liquid slide off of the spoon.

“That’s not very nice.” JJ said from her spot next to you on a chair as she continued to flip through her book, looking at the pictures.

“Yeah well, you’re allowed to eat real food. I’ve been eating this hospital crap for over a week and it sucks.” You replied, glaring over at your little sister before throwing the spoon down onto the tray in front of you. “I just wanna go home.”

“‘M sorry sissy.” JJ told you, putting her book down before walking to the bed, “Mama packed PB&J’s for me, I can go grab you one if ya want.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile with her words; the first time you’d smiled since waking up. You woke up eight days ago and had been miserable ever since. There was constant pain, the food was terrible, your family never gave you a minute alone. Your entire world had changed while you were sleeping and you weren’t doing a good job coping with it. The doctors weren’t sure you’d ever walk again and all they’d do is talk about the different surgeries you had ahead of you and the months of rehab.

The latest surgery you had was yesterday, they operated on your shoulder and your hip which meant your pain level was high. You were miserable and irritable but your family insisted on someone being there with you every minute. Currently your mom and dad were in a meeting with the doctors where they were making a long term care plan for you; which was great but would be better if they included you.

“Thanks for the offer kiddo but I bet Doc Johnson would flip out if he found out I ate real food.” You explained to the four year old.

“Hmm, here, lemme help feed you. Shoulder must hurt.” JJ said before trying to climb onto the bed with you.

“No JJ, I’m fine, I can feed myself.” You told her, trying to prevent her from getting on the bed with you but your movement was restricted due to all the IVs you were hooked up to.

“No, I wanna help. It’s what sissy’s do.” She exclaimed as she managed to tumble onto the bed, rolling into your hip that had been operated on yesterday. 

You let out a shout of pain as she tried to move away from you which only resulted in her causing you more pain, “JJ STOP!” You cried out as tears rolled down your face from the pain.

“What’s going on in here?” Danneel questioned as she walked into the room, her eyes going wide at the scene in front of her, “JJ what are you doing?” Your mother rushed over to the bed to pick her up so that she wasn’t hurting you anymore.

“Y/N where does it hurt?” Your RN Julie asked as she moved the blankets off of you so she could check the bandaging on your hip.

“Everywhere.” You cried out, “Why doesn’t anyone understand? Everything hurts.” You explained.

“I’m sorry sweetie, I’ll give you something for the pain once I check your sutures to make everything is intact.” Julie spoke softly.

“JJ I told you, you have to be very careful by Y/N. She’s really hurt and she has to be still in order to get better.” Danneel said to her young daughter.

JJ hid her face in Danneel’s neck, “I just wanted to help her get better.”

“Oh honey,” Danneel rubbed JJ’s back, “I know baby, I know.”

“Your stitches tore,” Julie told you with a sad face, “I’m gonna have to get a doctor back up here to fix it and then I’ll clean you up. I’m gonna get you some pain meds first though, kay Y/N?”

“No,” You spoke as tears rolled down your cheeks, “It’s not okay! Everything hurts, they left a kid in here with me and she fucked up my already fucked up body. I just wanna be better and for everyone to leave me alone but I’m never gonna be okay again apparently an-and-and-” You wanted to continue on but couldn’t. Your breathing was getting heavier and you found it difficult to breathe, “Wha-wh-hap.”

“It’s okay Y/N, can you try to take a deep breath for me?” Julie asked.

“What’s going on?” Danneel demanded, she now stood next to you while still holding JJ in her arms. You quickly reached out to grab onto her hand and she was fast to grip it back.

“Y/N take a deep breath.” Julie requested again before looking at your mother, “She’s having a panic attack.”

“Ca-can’t.” You tried to speak but couldn’t.

“It’s okay Y/N, I’m gonna help you okay?” Julie stayed calm before hitting a button the device she was wearing, “Call Monica Smart.”

“Calling Monica Smart.” The machine spoke back, a moment later another voice was on the line, “Hey Julie, what’s up?”

“Can you bring me some Prozac to 55?” Julie asked her coworker.

“Course, grabbing it now. Need me to get anyone?” The other nurse asked.

“Could you call Johnson and let him know 55’s having a panic attack, he’s gonna wanna check on her.” Julie stated.

“Got it, be up in a sec.” Monica replied.

“Okay Y/N my friend’s gonna bring up some medicine that’s gonna help calm you down. I’m gonna put the oxygen mask on over you to help some but remember everything’s okay. It’ll all be over in a second.” Julie let you know.

“You’re gonna be fine baby, just keep trying to take some breaths.” Danneel tried to help.

“Got it,” Monica said as she walked into the room and handed it to Julie.

“Okay Y/N, this medicine is gonna make you feel better. You might fall asleep but when you wake up you’ll feel better and I’ll have the stitches all cleaned up.” Julie explained to you.

You nodded your head as you struggled to breath, soon you felt your heart rate slow down as well as your breathing. Before you knew it your eyes were beginning to shut.

When you woke up it was dark outside, letting you know you’d been asleep for hours. Your head felt groggy from the medications but you could still make out your father’s figure sitting on the chair next to your bed.

“Dad?” You said, your voice somewhat scratchy.

Grabbing his attention he looked up at you, “Look who’s up,” He stated, putting his phone down before shuffling his chair to be closer to you, “How ya feeling?”

“Like crap.” You mumbled before slamming your head back onto the pillow.

“I’m sorry kiddo, I don’t know what we were thinking my letting JJ stay with you alone. We thought she’d be more careful but we still shouldn’t have done it. She just misses her big sister time.” Jensen told you.

“It’s whatever.” You replied quietly as you closed your eyes, not wanting to continue the conversation.

Jensen looked at you with worried eyes, “You slept through dinner, want me to go grab ya something?”

“No.” You stated flatly before turning your head so you weren’t facing him, “Just wanna go back to sleep.”

“You hurting babygirl? We can try to get you some more pain meds if you need them.” Your dad asked, standing up so that he was looking down at you.

You nodded your head, ��Please. I just want it all to stop. I don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

Jensen placed his hand on your head, wanting to run his fingers through your hair, something he used to always do to comfort you, only he couldn’t due to your hair being a mess from not being able to shower for so long.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I wish there was more I could do.” He told you.

You felt tears begin to well in your eyes as you realized how helpless you are, “I wanna go home. Please.”

Jensen felt the guilt begin to rise, he had no control over what happened to you and not being able to help his child was killing him on the inside, “I’m sorry babygirl, but we can’t go until the doctors say it’s okay. You have a lot of physical therapy ahead of you and we wanna make sure you’re as healthy as possible before it starts.” He tried to explain but it fell on deaf ears.

“What’s the point of you having all this money if you can’t use it to help me get better?” You questioned him, tears rolling down your cheeks with anger in your eyes.

“Y/N-” Your father tried but you wouldn’t let him speak.

“I’ve been hooked up to machines for weeks, I can’t walk, I haven’t showered, I-I have a freaking tube shoved in me since I can’t pee. Everything hurts, I’m not comfortable, I-I-I just wanna go home. I just want things to go back to normal. I want my bed. I want my dog. I want my life!” You shouted before the tears began to pour, “I-it-it’s not f-fai-r.”

Jensen was quick to lower the rail on the bed before carefully getting in next to you, avoiding wires and your sore sports he gently pulled you into him, wrapping you in his arms. You grabbed onto him like you were two years old again and afraid of a storm.

The pair of you stayed like that for a while, your dad just holding onto you, trying to keep you together while you were falling apart before his eyes. As you began to calm down Jensen started to speak to you, “I’m so sorry sweetheart, if I could trade places with you I would in a heartbeat. I’d take away all your pain, get you back on the basketball court, chasing your siblings around; but I can’t. All I can do is hold you and tell you I’m going to do whatever I can to help you get better.”

Tears began to fall again with his words before you started to hyperventilate, “I-I ma-y no-ot even wa-walk a-a-again.”

Your dad just squeezed you tighter as you spoke, hoping it’d be able to fight away the panic attack, “I’m going to do whatever I have to, to make sure you walk again. Okay sweetheart? You have my word. You nodded your head against his chest as your breathing mellowed and eyes grew heavy, “You can fall asleep honey, I’ll be here when you wake up, promise.”

Nodding your head again you allowed your eyes to fall shut and let sleep overtake you, but not before mumbling to your father once more.

“‘M broken Daddy, don’t know if it’s worth fixing.”

Next

(Text divider by @writeyourmindaway)

[gayregis]

boppinrobin replied to your post: “Question. Part 1. Hi. I like your blog and your analytical analysis of books,”

aauuuughhh tysm for ur analysis as always

thank you for reading and liking it!!

arinasassymessi replied to your post: “Question. Part 1. Hi. I like your blog and your analytical analysis of books,”

Thank you again for your response! I wrote anonymously because I was a little embarrassed by my English, but to be honest, I've been reading your blog for a very long time, and I've always wanted to discuss some topics with you. Thank you, I feel more confident now. First of all, I apologize for the fact that I considered this scene pro-life.

The thing is, I've reread the witcher books countless times (mostly because of Regis, lol). And if in the first times I was so fascinated by the plot and characters that I did not notice any obvious sexist/homophobic moments, then after rereading the books more consciously, I caught very unpleasantly, conservative motives, which Sapkowski is not shy about.

I remember that the first time this scene, even though it caused a bit of misunderstanding, still touched me with its warmth and how Geralt emotionally supported Milva, helping her make a rather difficult decision. And the way Regis was pleased with his actions, smiling at him, awww.

But after studying the books in more detail and the messages that Sapkowski puts in them, it seems to me that I began to see a catch everywhere. At first, I was also delighted to learn about Ciri's relationship with Mistle, wow, progressive author, LGBTQ+ representation! But after seeing this relationship "live," I felt cheated, and since then, I have returned to this scene with Milva.

I thought, oh no, isn't everything here the same as I believed? Most of all, I was afraid of Regis because he is my comfort character, the voice of reason, and a progressive medic. Does Sapkowski put pro-life ideas in his mouth?.. After a couple of discussions with friends, this fear only took root.

However, after reading your in-depth analytical analysis, I agreed with it, looking at the facts in a new way, and was glad that my first guesses and feelings from this scene were close to the truth. Now I can rest in peace, lol.

About "medicament/medicine" and "agent." I have read books in Russian, and now I am rereading "Baptism of Fire" in English to practice. I think the difference between the words "medicament" and "agent" in English is somewhat unclear, and it is impossible to say precisely which of them has a negative connotation.

Both of them sound entirely neutral and normal to me, but again, I'm not a native speaker, correct me if I'm wrong. In Russian, instead of the word "agent," we have the word "snadobye" (the closest translation is 'potion,’ and in Polish, it is 'ziola’). And while "medicament" means only medicine, a remedy, the word "snadobye" can also mean medicine, but has more folk properties (?).

It is brewed from herbs and a synonym to a potion/drug — a poisonous, magical, and forbidden drink, usually attributed to witches and wizards. For me, Geralt's refusal to use the word "medicament" — neutral and scientific-medical — in favor of a word that has a more magical/negative connotation seemed rather strange. But again, this is just my guess.

I consider the Russian translation closer to the Polish one because it belongs to the same language group, but I don't have access to the original to check what words were used there. In any case, I think that since Geralt decided to use one instead of the other, they should differ in some way, but it is not known in favor of which word this works. I also like your version.

I also had a lot of questions about Milva and her actions. She's probably my second favorite character after Regis, and I didn't understand her actions until a certain point. She was not satisfied with a woman's position in her society, so instead of the usual role, she decided to participate in Geralt's journey?

I was also not very clear about their conversation and Geralt's conclusion: "someone else's child for your own, life for life." Why? After all, she could stay in Brokilon and give birth, but if she didn't want a child, she could have an abortion (for example, she rather cruelly compared her child to young wasps that eat caterpillar alive).

Recently, the Russian Witcher community posted a short theory that Milva was in love with Geralt and therefore went after him. Milva's thoughts in Brokilon speak in favor of this — she finds Geralt attractive (although she felt something similar for Cahir when they were waiting for Geralt and Buttercup to be released from prison at night).

*not Buttercup (have no idea what is it), JASKIER

Also, their conversation outside Regis' hut at night, when Milva bitterly remarked that Geralt needed another woman — a scholar, a wise one, a beloved one (Yennefer), desire to get emotional support exactly from Geralt and and insisting on his presence during the miscarriage, her further refusal to marry the baron, and perhaps Sapkowski's sometimes ANNOYING idea that any woman should go crazy in Geralt's company. But again, these are just guesses, and I would be interested to hear your opinion.

I also didn't know that tumblr has a word limit in comments, so my replays look pretty stupid now, lol.

yes!! i also read the books first just for the plot and then went back and later, when my mind was clearer, noticed a lot more of political views in the writing. it’s the fact that a lot of sapkowski’s other takes are shitty (re: feminity, lgbt individuals and relationships), or at least come off as shitty because they are not explicit enough to actually be a progressive opinion, compounded with the fact that the scene with milva is not very clear on exactly what regis is asking geralt, why he is polling them, why geralt is upset, or what they even intend to do. i think also, because the subject is so important and people have very intense opinions about it, it makes you nervous to see it come up in a fictional story, even if the author is promoting a good message - it’s the feeling you described of, “oh no, isn't everything here the same as i believed?” 

and yeah, you’re right, in english i’d say medicament and agent both have neutral connotations, “agent” to me sounds more scientific, somehow? like it would be used in an experiment? i think i have usually heard it more in descriptions of products, like “cleansing agent” in relation to something dealing with chemistry... but then again, i am not a scientist, doctor, beautician, etc...

and about milva - agree, i love her too :D!! these are my personal opinions and takes on her character motivations but:

i think her ‘not being satisfied with a [traditional] woman’s role in society’ extends beyond not being satisfied, it’s being disgusted with it - in tower of the swallow, she describes how she as a teenager experienced sexual assault at the hands of her stepfather, and her mother didn’t do anything (assumedly because of the societal roles involved, and you can (unfortunately) see this occur in real life as well, mothers don’t protect their daughters from the men they stay with). milva beats him to death and runs away, and never goes back to that life. additionally, in baptism of fire, she talks about her name - milva, and why she changed it, and she says that her original name, maria, along with a lot of other “feminine-sounding” names beginning with M (this is at least what i got out of it, they sound like sweet names given to peasant girls), get your ass pinched in taverns (this is my best recollection of the quote). 

it’s clear that she has not only experienced discomfort, but really just blatant violence at the hands of “traditional feminity/women’s societal roles,” and so she goes to rely on only herself at first, hunting in lower sodden, and then finally being ‘adopted’ (kind of) by brokilon and eithne, becoming affiliated with them and working for them and the scoia’tael. this makes sense to me, because of course brokilon is a matriarchy, and the elves are mentioned to raise (and thus, treat) male and female elves the same way.

i won’t rule out that sapkowski intended for milva to have romantic interest in geralt, but i think that even if he did, it wasn’t interesting and i disagree with that direction for her character. my takes continued are that:

re:  "someone else's child for your own, a life for life." in this conversation, she talks to geralt about the differences between “milva” and “maria,” her two identities that seem to be at ends with each other. she didn’t want to stay in brokilon to have the child, because by societal means, she is no longer a “woman” in the traditional sense - she’s milva, not maria - she kills, she laughs as she pulls out the arrowheads from corpses, etc., like her chosen name, ‘milva,’ she is a red kite, a bird of prey. 

she doesn’t fit the societal expectations of a woman, and was never trained in being a mother (she ran away from home as a teenager, she hasn’t done ‘traditional woman things’ like keep house and cook, raise and deal with children, weave (?) and work in a house since she was 16, and she is older than that now (i’d say she’s at least past her early 20s, because she is described as a “young woman” compared to angouleme’s “very young woman” in lady of the lake, and angouleme is approx. 18-19). but since she doesn’t fit these expectations, how can she expect herself to raise this child? thus, she likely wanted to drop the baby, but since she was raised in a conservative rural society in which women are expected to bear children and not have abortions, she may have felt guilt and shame for wanting to do so. thus, she wanted to follow geralt - although she would have intentionally lost her child, she would have intentionally saved another, absolving her of her guilt. it’s like as regis described to geralt in the middle of the book, about penance and running up debts, this is a large theme of the book - a baptism of fire, fire which not only purifies, but burns (a challenge which absolves one of guilt, but it is painful). 

these are just my takes, i think sapkowski’s intentions were more along the theory that milva had a crush on geralt, but as i said i think that’s just boring and the “easy way out.” he also did that with cahir and ciri, making heterosexual love the motivation for a noble deed, and it’s just like... these characters have so much other depth and serious individual issues, and you want to reduce their motivations to just simply “they were in love”? okay... so yeah i don’t think sapkowski really may have intended any of the above, or if he did, it was to a lesser degree, but this is my interpretation of it.

[uricl]

NEW POST ( 2/19/2020 )

I hung out with him one night a few years back. He is very conscious of his reputation and goes out of his way to act gentlemanly. He’s funny and makes a lot of jokes in person. I would say more but don’t want to reveal who I am as I’m still close with some members of his team.

He made a joke about his dick size and then profusely apologized (again - super self conscious about his reputation), let us wear his sunglasses in the club, sang along loudly to his own music on the radio in the car, laughed at all our jokes too. He’s a goofball for sure. It’s funny all the guys with the worst reputations have been the nicest in person and the guys with happy-go-lucky reputations are the worst (ahem, Kid Cudi…)

It is true he was doing cocaine in front of Royalty. His friends do drugs around her but Nia didn’t file a protective order that I know of. She was blackmailing him for more money. Nia smashed most of his friend and a few other famous celebs before running off somewhere.

He is just complex asf..especially since he had another baby. Right now he refuses to hang with any other girl that isn’t Nikia.

I met Uriel when I lived in Miami…he got his friend to get my number for him at LIV. We hung out for maybe three months, and most of the time we didn’t do anything sexual honestly. He would just invite me over to watch movies or something. I think he’s really lonely. He also does a shit ton of ketamine, lean, and cocaine. This was during the time when he was dating nika…I didn’t know about her but then again he is uriel cain so I assumed he was messing around with a ton of girls. He doesn’t like using condoms…I’ll tell you that.

He has a million arcade games in his house and he has racks of clothing everywhere (in the halls, in the kitchen, in the living room) you can barely walk around. But overall he was actually…sweet. Respectful. Always made sure I was taken care of. We kind of just fell off because he’s a totally different person on drugs

🔴 WE’VE GOT THE TEA FOR YOU.

his family has been trying to get Uriel some help for a long time. His issues are deeper then being immature he has SERIOUS dark issues.

i have specific details about his abuse. It wasn’t normal spankings. One instance that I this person gave me is that his stepdad took his head and slammed it into the wall. The person I knew said that he was severely abused and that his step father used to lock him in closets whenever he was upset.

He once admitted a few years back that he “lost his virginity” at 8 years old to a 14 year old girl. The fact that he willingly admitted it to the world proves that he thinks there was nothing wrong with a 14 year old sexually assaulting an 8 year old.

His stylist says he hardly eats. I think that’s bad since he does cardio and dances frequently but I’m not sure.

My friend who works for Uriel always stresses that he is by far the nicest and warm hearted people to work with. He has helped my friend with so much financially and emotionally. He’s provided opportunities to my friend when he was struggling and I know that he has helped many of his employees with financial stuff and with there kids schooling.

Ive always thought he has BPD but who knows for sure. He’s diagnosed as bipolar and has a severe case of PTSD. But maybe being bipolar mixed with the issues he has and self medicating with cocaine/crack has something to do with that. Im pretty sure he’s a pill popper (xan) too based on what this person was telling me.

Uriel never wanted to be a musician he actually wanted to play basketball professionally.

Also Uriel hit his mom as an adult not a child.

Uriel took both of those girls around his family alot. Im not sure about this since I didnt ask. Uriel’s mom loved Zhara (who did spoil his family especially the kids and his mom) and hated Avery.

Uriel can be one of the nicest and friendliest people, per everyone I’ve known that knows him (NOTE: this does not negate the facts of his abusive and poor behavior). There’s a reason he still has so many friends and supporters in the industry and in his private life; when he’s straight, he’s a pretty decent person at heart. But dealing with anybody with his kind of demons is scary and unpredictable. Some legitimate Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde shit. Untreated mental illness mixed with teenage fame, constant public criticism, some enabling in his circle, and drugs will do a hell of a number on a person.

The tea on lipstick alley may have some truth to it, Uriel entourage and even his family as a history of spilling his most inner dark secrets to TMZ, TSR, and many other gossip blogs to collect a coin. It doesn’t matter how many of his cleaners he sends in to clean up the threads/post on him it doesn’t matter. Uriel is an extremely private person for a reason, and sadly the public will never get much of a chance to see the true Uriel. His life has been nothing but a struggle since the day he was born, his problems have always been existent. Zhara WAS NEVER the cause of his problems and his family will always love her to pieces and he still loves her as a friend until this day. But I supposed Uriel was born to be just a handsome tragedy. The only reason why Uriel still as a career is because of Deleon, if it was for him Uriel’s fame would have burnt out a long time ago. Uriel blames his mom for the many issues he has now, how would you feel if your mother just stood by and watched her new husband beat on you? Yes, Uriel has a big-heart, yes he is kind and generous, but untreated mental illness mixed with teenage fame, constant criticism, along with enabling and drugs will do a toll on a person.

NEW POST ( 12/7/2018 )

Leilani Uriel’s former fling did an interview with TMZ and spoke about her relationship with the singer. She said the two were very close and could have been something more if she didn’t step away from him. She said women who have petite and have more oriental features or small features seem to be more attractive to Uriel than most girls with an average body shape. Even though Uriel as fucked woman outside of his type those are the type of woman he tends to go for more. Uriel requires all of his girls not to be a homie hopper’s, have a big mouth and run to blogs, and at least spend time with him for at least 3 weeks. But for the three weeks you spend with him he will spoil you with trips and constant shopping. Uriel loves woman that have something going for themselves but still want the help of a man, Uriel likes to take care of those he’s affiliated with, so as long you don’t break the rules all will be well.

Leilani spilled the tea when it came to Winter and Uriel’s relationship and said it wasn’t what it seemed. After Winter caught Uriel in bed with another woman and attempted to fight said girl, that’s when things turned ugly. Uriel gave winter to shop with to make up for his mistake, but winter wasn’t having it and threatened to fuck Uriel’s friend Capo to make Uriel jealous. When they got back to LA a few weeks later Winter left the harem and Uriel kept a professional relationship with her just for her to come back a few days later, and then leave the harem again two days later. Uriel and Winter never had sex after the New York incident and Winter went outside of the harem to get fucked. Countless times Winter threatened to buy Uriel out of the development contract he had signed to her to, when she had the money to buy him out she did. And that pretty much ended their relationship.

[kenzieam]

Druid - The Final Chapter

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

@captstefanbrandt @iammarylastar @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @notimetoblog @captain-ariel-barnes @lancefvckertvcker-blog @bitsandbobsandstuff @softlybarnes @lovelybbarnes @buckitybarnes @bucky-plums-barnes  @moonbeambucky @badassbaker @citylights221  @shynara51 @diinofayce @casestudy-mw  @jewels2876 @damnaged-princess​ @everythingisoverrated​ @allmyfanficfaves​  @clarabella960   @angryschnauzer​ @wowspideyholland​  @smilexcaptainx​ @shirukitsune​ @chook007​ @laketaj24​ @brujademente​

If you want off this list, send me a DM

Thank you, my lovelies, for your kind words and support XOXO

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

Okay... so it has been over a year since I updated this story....

Bad, Bad, Bad Me....

I’m sorry, my lovelies, I hope you’ll accept this offering, the final chapter of James and Levi and the Druids MC.

Since it’s been so long, catch up with the Masterlist

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

JAMES

When I return to our room, Sable and Nat are there. Sable sits cross-legged at Levi’s back, while Nat sits in front of her, holding Levi’s hand. Levi’s asleep and I’m met by two pairs of tear-filled eyes.

“You make him pay?” Nat asked, her voice breaking.

I nod, not willing to elaborate. Although that fuck deserved every single second of agony I gave him, I’m not the kind of twisted bastard that gets off on doing shit like that on the regular. He hurt mine and he paid, I delivered punishment tenfold back to him and now it’s done. I will kill to protect my family and die to save them. The dichotomy is not lost on me and I know the average person would look at me and condemn me as the worst of men, one that justifies murder in defense of family; kills someone’s child to save another’s. But I’m not ashamed of it. This is a hard life, and from a young age, I’ve been part of it. It’s a part of me and if the people I love are made safer by me getting my hands dirty, so be it.

I would never, for anything on this earth and beyond, hurt Levi or cause her pain. She is more important to me than anything else in my black heart.

And right now, I want nothing more than to lay beside her and let her presence bring me peace.

I stride past the bed and into the bathroom, pausing long enough to grab fresh sweats and a shirt from the dresser, shutting the door behind me. I reek of smoke and something much more organic and I scrub myself half-raw under the scalding spray.

When I leave the bathroom, Sable and Nat are still there, but they stand up quickly, hurrying to give us privacy. Both women startle me by walking up to me and pressing quick, chaste kisses to my cheek.

“Thank you.” Sable murmurs and Nat nods wordlessly in agreement, then they turn and leave silently, pulling the door closed behind them. I follow, locking it and turn back to Levi. She’s still asleep, but her face is tensed, her brow furrowed. I’m about to text Stitch to bring more painkillers when she shifts slightly and whimpers.

“James?” Her hand jerks slightly, questing, looking for me and I clamor quickly under the covers behind her, carefully pull her close to my chest.

“I’m here, baby.”

Her body goes liquid again, all tension disappearing, and she gives a soft, contented sigh.

“I love you.” I manage to choke as I bury my face in her hair, my heart breaking wide open with emotion; filled past bursting with devotion and love for this woman.

LEVI

Pain wakes me, throbbing in my shoulder, my leg, my wrists. A whimper escapes before I’ve even opened my eyes and I feel the warmth behind me shift suddenly.

“Levi?” James leans over me carefully, his beautiful eyes wide with concern. “Where does it hurt?”

I’m tempted to say everywhere, but James looks so distraught I decide not to torment him. “My wrists, my shoulder.”

A flicker of darkness passes through his gaze; fleeting, banked rage but it’s quickly gone, replaced by worry. “I’ll text Stitch.” He rolls away and my body mourns the loss of his familiar heat and security, then he’s back, tapping at the screen with one hand, the other snaking cautiously around me again. The phone buzzes back almost immediately.

“He’s on his way, he was about to wake us up anyway; he says you’re due for another shot.”

I consider refusing, asking for something milder, over-the-counter, but the throb has morphed into an outright stabbing and I decide to stop being a hero.

A knock at the door, and James gets up, gifting me with a view of his perfect ass and back, clad in low-hung grey sweats and a white tee as he walks to the door and opens it.

Stitch steps past, zeroing in on me and moving to the side of the bed. I hear James pass, and the bathroom door shut, then Stitch is asking me all kinds of questions; Rate my pain, stabbing or aching? Any heat or tightness to indicate infection? He seems satisfied by my answers and is drawing up a syringe when James reappears.

“You hungry, doll?”

I nod and Stitch agrees. “Yeah, something light though, Prez.”

James nods and kisses my forehead, glancing at Stitch, who nods in answer to his silent question. As James leaves, the medic glances down at me. “Okay, I know Prez can be a mother-hen, is your pain worse than you’re letting on?”

I can’t stop a chuckle. He’s right; big, bad Cannon knows how to cluck. “No, it’s what I said.”

Stitch nods. “That shot will help, I know you don’t want to be completely drugged out.” He jerks his chin to the bathroom. “You need to go? I’ll wait out here then check your bandages.”

His hands are gloved when I return, and I sit back on the bed quietly while Stitch becomes all business, carefully inspecting my shoulder before moving to my wrists.

“Stitch?” I ask quietly, not sure I want to know. “How was he? While I was gone?”

Stitch glances at me quickly before dropping his attention back to my wrists. “Honestly? Broken. Never seen him like that before. He was completely focused on finding you, to the detriment of his own health. He wouldn’t sleep or eat, just paced and worried. I considered ambushing and sedating him before he outright collapsed from exhaustion, but I knew he’d literally kill me when he woke back up. If we hadn’t found you...” he trails off. “It was hard to watch. I don’t want to think about what he would have done if-” He shakes his head, returning to his work. I’m stunned silent, limp and compliant as Stitch continues with my wrists; the pain numbed by whatever he shot me up with. His words continue to circle in my brain, blocking out all other thoughts; Broken, It was hard to watch.

James returns with a tray, eyes travelling over me anxiously for a beat before relaxing, as if he’s afraid to let me out of sight, convinced I’ll disappear or something and while that level of concern is heartwarming, I don’t want him to stress himself out like that.

Stitch glances at the food he brought and nods approval as he stands. “I’ll come back in a few hours to give you more pain relief. Try to sleep and if you can’t, at least take it easy.”

James shuts the door behind him then returns to the bed. He sits beside me and sets the tray gently on my lap. “Do you need my help?” He asks. “Do you want me to give you some time alone?”

I recognize the effort behind those questions. He doesn’t want to leave me alone, and he doesn’t want to sit by and watch me struggle if my wrists hurt too much. What’s more important to me right now? Stubborn independence, or letting James soothe himself by taking care of me? “No, stay please.”

I don’t miss his exhale of relief and I lay back, trying to hide my winces as I settle on the pillow. James sets the tray aside and pulls the blankets up for me, fussing like a mother hen and I find the sight of the biggest, baddest, hottest biker in the compound, maybe the entire country, fretting with my blankets and pillow absolutely adorable. Then he’s sitting beside me and stirring the oatmeal he brought, holding out a spoonful for me. I let him feed me and he visibly relaxes as the time passes, and I find myself relaxing too, settling back into the blankets and letting a feeling of peace wash over me. I’m not sure how much is the drugs and how much is James TLC, but I’ll take it. And when my eyes are getting heavy, I hear James set the tray aside and feel the bed rise then dip again as he stands and removes his shirt, then crawls back onto the bed, snuggling up beside me, tucking me carefully against his chest.

His scent surrounds me and drawing me the rest of way down and, just as I fall asleep, I hear him say, “I love you, baby.”

JAMES

I can’t bring myself to leave Levi today, but I text furiously while she sleeps against me. The edge has been taken off my anxiety and anger, for now, with Levi letting me care for her and fuss, feed her and hold her close while she sleeps. I don’t know if she realizes how much I needed it, how much my raw nerves were soothed by caring for her but, as she sleeps, I feel my rage returning.

Fucking Tracer. Fucking Preacher. They’re both going down. Preacher for bringing Henday down on my woman, and Tracer for not having a better handle on his men. Trace’s VP, Shadow, the man who will take over, better not have a problem with that, or I’ll take the whole club down too.

Nobody fucks with what’s mine and I came close enough to losing Levi forever that I think I’m permanently affected. I will always and forever be reactionary regarding her safety. There will be a new fucking line to toe around her and any visiting chapters or clubs had better have their heads on straight, or I’ll tear them apart.

I think I can say the same of my own men, I saw how they were when Levi was missing, I saw how they rallied when we had a lead, how dark and dangerous their faces were as they prepared to hunt Henday when I carried Lev from that shithole she hid in after escaping him.  

My entire club has her back, my entire club will rain down hell on anyone who hurts her.

Call up Trace. Tell him I want a meeting. I text Steve.

He knows immediately. Preacher too?

Fuck yes.

On it.

I wait for his text and gaze down at Levi. She’s so fucking beautiful and I’m the luckiest fucker in the world to call her mine. She shifts as I graze my knuckle down her cheek, but she sighs and settles right back down when I murmur soothingly to her. She rolls slightly, reaching to hold me closer and as I catch the flash of the thick, white bandages around her wrists, I feel a fresh wave of fury. My woman will have scars and while that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to me, I worry it will hurt her, that she’ll think she’s less beautiful because of them. I will kiss her scars daily, acknowledge and worship each one; I will, to my dying breath, tell her how fucking beautiful she is, how much I love her.

Tomorrow. 7 pm

Fucker’s got terms now? He’s going to tell me when we’re meeting? I don’t think so, but I’ll let him have this, if only to give him a false sense of security. Let him think I’m all easygoing and calm, just happy to have my woman back, when in reality, I’m thirsting for their blood.

Preacher coming too? I type, keeping one hand resting on Levi’s hip.

Yeah, all the officers. I told them you want to thank them for helping out.

Make sure we’re ready.

How many graves?

Just two but be prepared to dig more if necessary.

I’m sure Shadow is a reasonable man.

He better be. I want a statement. NOBODY fucks with my woman.

Understood.

I spend the rest of the day with my beautiful girl and I push the world away from us, let her be safe and warm and surrounded by my love and protection, but it’s as much for me as it is for her. I’ve never been so scared as I was when Lev was missing and its going to take me a while to come back from that. Its not PTSD or anything, but I definitely feel raw and tender, on edge and restless. I find myself waking up a few times from nightmares as I doze next to Lev, startling awake with a pounding heart, sure I’d just missed saving her, that Henday had done what he’d promised and my girl was gone, taking my heart with her. Each time I nestle closer to her, hold her tighter, draw a shuddering breath as I bury my face just a little deeper into her hair and tell myself she’s safe again.

Stitch checks up on us, gives Lev more pain relief and food is brought up. Thor and Steve duck in, bringing their women with them but for the most part my club leaves us alone and I’m grateful. Tomorrow I won’t be able to spend as much time with Lev as I want, I’ll be preparing with my men for that night so I’m getting all I can today.

Levi sleeps most of the day and I nap beside her, working through my phone when I need to. She has a few bad dreams but seems to wake from them quickly enough when I murmur to her, brush back her hair from her forehead and call her name softly.

Thor checks on us around suppertime, asking in a low voice if we want anything, but Lev woke from a nightmare a few minutes ago, trembling full-body against me and just settled back down into sleep and I’m loathed to wake her so I shake my head.

Thor nods in understanding, his gaze softening as he looks down at Levi and I see the truth in his eyes. He would burn the world to keep her safe too, just like me. “Text me,” he murmurs. “When you want something brought up.”

I nod and can’t even wait until Thor leaves before dropping my head and snuggling close again, breathing out the last of my tension.

LEVI

James is on edge today, but he won’t tell me what’s happening. The clubhouse seems busy, keyed up but I don’t have the energy yet to leave the bed, which seems to alleviate some of James’ nerves. He’s in and out today, coming back to me for tender moments but always dragging himself away again with a clenched jaw. He doesn’t want to leave me, that’s obvious, but whatever is going on is too important for him to stay away.

Stitch has appeared with some fancy new bandages, ones tailored for deep burns and other severe skin injuries and wraps my wrists with gentle movements, completely at odds with the heavy leather cut on his back.

“These bandages don’t come cheap.” He tells me conversationally. “Cannon told me to get the best and didn’t even blink when I told him the price. These are used in the major burn and trauma centers.”

“But I’ll still scar, right?”

Stitch stops his wrapping and gazes up at me, unsettling clarity and understanding in his dark eyes. “You will always be beautiful, Levi. Inside and out, and Cannon will always love you. You are his world.”

My face goes red and I suddenly feel like I’m going to cry. Stitch takes pity on me.

“Besides, bikers always have scars; it’s like a prerequisite.” I snort with laughter.

He sits with me a while longer, asking mild questions, talking about small things and I get the sense he’s probing gently, looking for injuries that are more than skin-deep. He smiles when I try to stifle a yawn and pats my knee lightly as he stands, gathering his supplies and tucking them into his medical bag.

“Get some sleep, Lev. Best thing for you right now.”

JAMES

Tracer and Preacher don’t arrive alone, not that I expected them to. With effort I left Levi a little earlier, and even though she’s asleep with more pain relief drugs, I asked Nat and Sable to watch over her. They understand something’s up too, but they’re experienced enough to not ask questions, and I know that if Lev does wake up during our ‘party’, they’ll keep her upstairs and away from the ugliness.

I watch as most of the officers of the down-state charter saunter in, they’re ready to party, voices loud and coarse laughter even louder. As per my instructions to my brothers earlier, we’re going to let them settle for a few minutes, get relaxed but not drunk before lowering the boom.

I approach Tracer and clasp his hand, embrace him with one arm, thank him again for helping with Levi. Setting my trap, weaving my web. I make the rounds, thanking and shaking the hands of all the down-state officers then sit at the head table. I would have preferred to dispose of the trash somewhere other than our clubhouse, but I can’t afford to arouse any suspicion.

A few minutes pass, and I cut my eyes to my VP and SIA, telling them with a glance that the time has come. Subtly they prepare, and the signal goes out to all my brothers.

I stand and step to the center of the room. I hold my arms wide, a beer in my left, my right ready to grab my .45 and turn in a circle.

“Brothers!” A chorus of cheers erupts, and I almost feel bad for what’s about to come, almost. I’m bringing down the house tonight, literally. “I brought you all here tonight to thank you, to show my gratitude for your help when my old lady was taken. She’s back home safe and I owe it all to you here.”

I gesture to Steve and Thor, motion them closer, bait for the trap then wave to Tracer and Preacher to join us. They do, jostling each other and laughing, slapping shoulders like this is a good old time and they’re all going to get shit-faced, loaded and laid.

The shock on their faces when I point the gun at them is comical.

No one packs in my clubhouse, a hard and fast rule, so none of the down-states have a weapon, but all my brothers do tonight and they’re ready. I see the moment Trace and Preacher realize this and it does my heart good.

“What the fuck, Cannon?” Tracer growls, holding up his hands placatingly. “This your idea of gratitude now?”

“Nobody fucks with me or my family, Trace. I thought you understood that.” I direct the statement to Tracer, but my glare is locked on Preacher. My finger itches to pull the trigger and wipe that dumbass look off his face.

“McCoy Jackson.” I state flatly. “That’s you Preacher, isn’t it?”

Tracer jolts slightly, then glances over at his Enforcer.

“Grew up with the Henday twins,” I continue. “You were friends with them, even after they split and Deimos stayed with the Knights, kept in contact.”

“What the fuck is he talking about, Preacher?” Tracer demands.

“Anything to say, Preach?” I growl.

The mask falls, and the cool, genial man I thought I knew disappears. The monster that takes his place sends a bolt of shock through me, then cold hatred and realization takes its place; this bastard knew exactly what he was doing, he knew exactly what he was going to unleash by calling Deimos. He wanted it; he wanted Levi destroyed, he wanted me destroyed and that seals his fate, making what I’m about to do that much easier. He spits contemptuously on the floor.

“Bitch deserved it.”

Tracer makes a strangled sound. “You said you wouldn’t call him,” he hisses. He turns to me, moist panic on his face. “I told him not to, it’s not my fault!” Suddenly he reminds me of a weasel, a rat bastard of a man struggling to cover his exposed ass and throwing everyone he can under the proverbial bus. Maybe Tracer didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, maybe he underestimated the level of depravity Deimos and Preacher were capable of, but he knew something would be unleashed when he turned a blind eye to his Enforcer, and he did it anyway.

Preacher fixes his president with a cynical eye. “You knew I did. Don’t bother lying, you pussy.” He turns back to me. “I ain’t gonna apologize. That cunt-“

I don’t need to hear anymore.

I pull the trigger and his body hits the floor with a heavy thud. I watch dispassionately as the corpse twitches and kicks, groaning its last breath in a wheezing, strangled gurgle then turn my sights on Tracer.

“Cannon, c’mon brother-“ His face is slick with sweat, eyes beady and I wonder how I never noticed before how much he looks like a slimy prick. He tries to take a step back, hands up in surrender, but Steve and Thor move to block him, ready to shove him back towards me.

“I’m not your brother, you lying piece of shit.” I pull the trigger a second time, aiming right between his rat eyes.

The body is still jerking and gurgling when I turn to Shadow.

I see the gears turning in the VP’s eyes, see him weighing his options.

“Did you know too?” I ask, my voice dangerously low and even.

Shadow doesn’t speak, but his head jerks slowly from one side to the other. There’s sober truth in his eyes, the look of a man who knows he’s on the razor’s edge of life or death, and all that’s left to him is the mercy of the gatekeeper.

“Are we done here? Or do you all want to die tonight?” My words hang heavy in the silent clubhouse.

“It’s done.” Shadow replies, his tone neutral. “It’s buried.” He looks towards the other members of his club, the club he now leads as their president cools on my floor. “You hear? It’s done!”

I push my gun back into my waistband and hold out my hand; if Shadow accepts it, he is bound to his word, by his honor and the sanctity of his club’s honor.

He steps forward and takes my hand.

And it’s over.

Later, I return to Levi’s side. The downstate charter cleared out after our handshake, not that I’m surprised. I have Shadow’s word and, if he breaks it, there will be war. But I saw acceptance in his eyes tonight. It would be hard to explain to an outsider, but club code and honor run deep and the men and women who live this life understand and accept that. Their brothers broke that code and that comes with a price to pay.

Tonight, it was paid.

Tonight, it was laid to rest.

Levi’s asleep when I enter the room. Sable sits on the bed near her while Nat is stretched out beside her, head propped on her elbow. Both heads swivel in my direction. The stereo on the bureau plays loud enough to soften what happened downstairs.

“Is it done?” Sable asks quietly.

I nod and they stand, stretching their limbs and smiling fondly down at Levi. I wait as they shuffle past, resting a hand on each one’s shoulder and murmuring a low ‘thank you’. Sable smiles while Nat leans up on her tiptoes to peck my cheek and then they’re gone, the door shutting with a low click.

I want to climb into bed with her right now, want to wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her hair, let her take me down with her into peaceful sleep, but I turn and enter the bathroom instead. I need to wash off, scrub away the taint and darkness of the last few hours. Levi’s too pure and good to be contaminated with that ugliness.

The shower is near scalding as I stand under the spray, my face upturned into the water, letting it sting my skin and wash away my sins. The heat purifies me and when my longing for Levi grows too strong, I turn off the shower and step out.

I pause for a beat at the doorway, lean against it and study her. Long auburn hair splays across the pillow, her creamy skin stands out against the charcoal grey pillowcase and my heart aches to touch her again. I pull on boxer-briefs and crawl under the covers, snuggling close and feeling my body instantly relax, my soul taking a deep sigh of relief.

Levi sighs, breaths something that might be my name.

“I’m here, baby.” I press a kiss to her shoulder and bury my face in her neck, letting her peacefulness take me down.

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

ONE YEAR LATER

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

As the guests cheer and yell, the new couple lean into each other, their lips connecting, eyes closing in ecstasy. The kiss deepens, tongues sweep against each other and the crowd’s cheers grow rowdier and louder. A metal rendition of ‘The Wedding March’ starts and the couple reluctantly pull apart, eyes still locked. He pulls her in for one more passionate kiss then they part in earnest, still clasping hands and gazing at each other as the stride down the aisle, both sides screaming with joy and celebration. The day is gorgeous, the weather perfect and beyond the clubhouse the reception is already laid out for the epic party to come.

His eyes shining, James reaches out for Levi and she takes his hand, smiling up at him as they turn and follow the new couple. James’ cut gleams on his shoulders and Levi’s Property of Cannon vest lends a tough edge to her soft, flowing dress.

Ahead of them, Thor and Sable march, the perfect golden couple, now finally joined forever.

“Three more weeks,” Levi leans over, murmurs in James’ ear. “Then it’s our turn.”

“I can’t wait.” James’ whispers, nuzzling into her ear, smiling when Levi giggles at the tickle.

“Thank you, though.” Levi adds. “For waiting.”

“Anything for you.” James replies earnestly, gazing deep into her eyes for a beat. He subtly switches direction, pulling Levi gently with him towards the gathering wedding party and the photographer trying to wave the bride and groom towards her.

“Best man!” The photographer calls to James’, waving him closer. “Maid of honor!”

Working together, Sable, Nat, Levi and the photographer manage to corral the rowdy group together long enough for some beautiful pictures, then the temptation of the party is too much and Thor picks up his bride with a flourish, roaring as he jogs towards the wooden tables set out and ready, Sable’s excited shriek musical and light. Rock music is blaring, the drinks are flowing, and nobody is slowing down until probably tomorrow.

“You coming?” Steve asks, glancing back at James. Nat pulls on his arm with a grin, eager to join the party.

“Go ahead.” Levi replies, “we’ll be right there.” Steve grins and finally lets Nat lead him away.

James turns to Levi, raising a brow. The clear sky above them makes Levi’s hair gleam and he can just imagine what she will look like, standing with him at the head of the aisle in three weeks’ time.

It’s been a long year. Levi wanted to wait, wanted the dust to settle, her scars to fade and her business take root before diving into a wedding and James was willing to do anything to keep her happy.

There had been no further fallout from the Henday incident. James, Steve, Thor and Shadow had met with the leader of The White Knights, a tall man with dead eyes named Azrael. He’d listened silently and nodded once in agreement; an old scar across his throat hinting at why his voice rasped like a corpse’s.

“Deimos knew the risks, he accepted them and paid for his foolishness.” He met the eyes of each man before him, and James felt a distinct chill at the emptiness he saw there. “It is done.”

“James?” Levi’s gentle voice breaks into his thoughts.

“Yeah, baby?” James looks down, smiling at his beloved. He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind Levi’s ear, trailing his fingertip along her jawline before dropping his head to kiss her. He pulls away reluctantly, wishing he could stand here and do nothing but kiss Levi all night.

“I have to tell you something.” There’s a flicker of apprehension in her voice and James’ brows draw together. “I can’t keep it to myself any longer, I know the timing sucks-“

What could she have to say to him that makes her anxious for his reaction?

“What, baby? Tell me.” James murmurs, taking her hands and raising them to his face, pressing a tender kiss to each subtly scarred wrist before cradling her face in his big hands, gentle despite their size. “What’s wrong?”

Levi sniffles, shakes her head as she blinks away tears. “Not wrong. I’m just…” she breaks off, leaning into James’ hands. She takes a deep breath and smiles up at him, eyes glistening. “I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”

James inhales sharply, eyes wide and lips parted. His eyes roam hers. “Really?” He asks breathlessly, his face contorts with emotion and his voice trembles. “Really, baby? You are? I’m-?” His voice cracks.

Tears stream down Levi’s face. “Yes.”

He stares at Levi for a heartbeat, tears welling in his eyes before he throws his head back and roars with elation. Crushing her to his chest, James kisses her desperately, laughing through his tears, feeling like his chest will simply burst with elation.

When he’d first seen Levi, a nervous little girl enduring her first day in third grade at a new school, his heart had issued a decree the rest of him hadn’t quite understood yet but honored all the same. Mine. From that moment on, his heart had beat for her alone, he’d watched for her, gazed longingly at her as she’d gone about her life, unaware of his helpless attraction. He’d been too scared, too ashamed of his station to make a move, too goddamn terrified of the chance she would laugh in his face when he finally did screw up the sack to speak to her, never knowing she’d struggled with the same insecurities, that she watched for him just as desperately as he did her, that her palms went equally slick with sweat, her heart beat the same frantic tattoo when they passed in the hallways, when they shared a class.

He’d thought he’d lost her, lost her to the big city and higher education before he’d ever worked up the nerve to tell her how he’d always felt and the next decade had been strangely empty, despite his fevered efforts to fill it, with anything really, the club, parties, club girls, even Daria; but it had always come back to Levi and when she’d walked into Panhead Joe’s ten years after leaving their small town it was like no time had passed, and James’ heart had stuttered to frantic life again, helplessly drawn to her flame.

The next months, the next year had been the darkest in his life, a swirling vortex of anguish and misery he’d not been sure, hell he knew he wouldn’t have survived if not for Steve and Nat, even Thor and the desperate clinging hope that Levi would come back to him, that he’d not lost her for good this time.

But he would do it all again, endure all the want and heartache, if it meant he got to be here, right here, listening to his reason for living tell him there would soon be more joy in his life, more reasons to get up every morning and face the world.

Tears of sheer euphoria wet his cheeks and he didn’t care who saw, he didn’t care who was staring at them know, alerted by his roar of elation; right now, his world consisted of only one thing, one person and he kissed her with everything he had, every hope and dream for their future, every cell in his body that had, since that day so long ago, existed solely for her.

“I love you.” He gasped, burying his face against hers, breathing in her scent, feeling her skin shiver under his lips. “Forever.”

Levi sighed contentedly, the sheer power of James’ emotions enough to bring her to tears too. How had she gotten so lucky? She would spend the rest of her life wondering that, even while she cherished every second, every touch and lingering glance. James was hers and she was his and while the road to each other had been rocky, nearly impassable at times, they’d found their way back to each other every time.

“I love you too,” she whispered, feeling James hand drift down to caress her belly, the place where their child grew.

“Forever.”

[plantseedsofkindness]

Parents: The Wind Beneath our Wings!!!!!

Tracy M.  #plant seeds of kindness

Blog Post 2 September 11, 2020 

The intent of my 1st blog post was to let others know of my cancer diagnosis while trying to normalize the conversation about cancer.

To say the least the response from the 1st blog has been encouraging, heart-warming, and unbelievable!!!!! Thank you for all the messages and words of encouragement!

Since writing my first blog post I have grown stronger in spirit, have learned more about gratefulness, and have become more prepared for the next steps in the beautiful journey called life! I feel strongly that I have been blessed!

When I first received my diagnosis, after surgery in June, 2020, I remember asking God for 3 months – 3 months to ‘organize.’

Well – it’s been 3 months – albeit a busy 3 months – focused on treatment with radiation and chemo therapy (along with other medications)!!!!! Daily trips to the Cross Cancer Centre were certainly taxing, though I am still grateful I did not have to stay at the hospital for the summer! I now find myself in the ‘recovery’ phase (here’s hoping and praying that it will be, by far, the very longest of the stages!!!!)

We finally finished 6 weeks of radiation treatments on Wednesday, September 9, 2020. 

When I rang the ‘Bell of Hope’ the Tragically Hip song ‘Courage’ played in the background and I wore my Gord Downie inspired hat!  

On Thursday, September 10, 2020, we had a celebration with my siblings!!! One of the many benefits of large families (on both sides) is you get to have multiple parties and celebrations!!!! So to the Meunier side of the family please stay tuned for our ‘team Tracy’ party later this fall – once harvest is done!!!!!

At the September 10, 2020 celebration, we celebrated with Chinese food, champagne & wine!!! Thanks for the retirement presents, all – they tasted pretty darn good!!!!! 

I asked one of my former work colleagues - Pam Golden – to be my ‘blog coach’. In typical Pam style, she gave me the gentlest of nudges the other day. (ie. ‘Tracy – you know it’s been a while since a post…..’)

Thank you Pam!!!!

I am ready for Post #2

Parents: The Wind Beneath our Wings!!!!!

Before I begin, I’m going to ask that you watch and listen to this song – and reflect on the relationship you had with probably the most influential people in your lives – your parents!!!!

In 1988 a movie - Beaches – starring Bette Midler – was released. The single from the movie – ‘Wind Beneath my Wings – was also released. 30 years later, they’re back to playing the song on the radio again!

I find myself wondering why this song is coming to me so often now.

1) because it’s a classic;

2) because the message is timeless;

3) to honour 2 of the most important, influential people in our lives – our parents!!!!!

On January 1, 1990 – at approximately 12:15am, my mother, Elizabeth Margaret Lindquist, passed away. Her youngest grandchild, my son, Tyler Wayne Meunier was exactly 1 month old! Tyler was the 7th grandson of 14 grandchildren – Gunnar and Betty also had 7 granddaughters. As a family, we were devastated! My Dad put on his typical ‘I’ll take care of you all persona’ and we ‘banded’ together at the farm for the month of January, 1990.

Looking back at that time the month we had together as a family helped with the healing process for us all as we adjusted to our new normal.

In 1990, the ‘tech age’ involved VHS tapes (I believe the ‘Beta’ wars had all but wrapped up). Unfortunately, they also had technical difficulties and the tapes would sometimes get ‘eaten’ by the machine!

I remember my brother Daryl, and his wife, Veronica, bringing over a huge box of VHS movie tapes for me to watch to help with my adjusting to the ‘new normal’. I spent the month of January laying on the living room couch, balling my eyes out, missing my Mom more than words can describe!!!!!! I would put in the Beaches movie and reflect on our lives together. We had a relatively short time together, however, the time together was invaluable and I am forever grateful for it!!!!!

It’s now September 12, 2020 – 30+ years later -  and I’m officially on my fall sabbatical – focussing on building health and stamina for the next steps that lay ahead. Thank you, God, for these past 3 months. I am very grateful!

I have discovered that you never recover from the loss of losing a loved one. But you learn to adapt and be thankful for the time you were able to be together - to build your journey!

As I close off blog #2, just a few reminders (hopefully you don’t tire of me with all the reminders!)

What’s the name of the blog?

#plant seeds of kindness

Why the name of the blog?

As far as I go back, my family is a family of farmers. I am extremely proud of that! As farmers we plant, we grow, we experience success, we experience failure, we put ourselves ‘out there’, we learn resiliency.

Most importantly – WE NEVER GIVE UP!!!!!!

What's next? I’m hoping to be able to continue on with posts now that treatments are done – stay tuned!!!!!

#plant seeds of kindness – I’m looking forward to hearing from you!

Post Script by Sara Meunier.

Mom and I listened to a fantastic podcast a few weeks ago while driving home from treatment. It was an episode of Brené Brown’s podcast: Unlocking Us in which she speaks with David Kessler on Grief and Finding Meaning.

https://brenebrown.com/podcast/david-kessler-and-brene-on-grief-and-finding-meaning/

As I was reading mom’s 2nd blog post I was struck by how much the themes related to concepts from the podcast that had resonated with me. 

David Kessler learned from and collaborated with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross who developed one of the most influential models of Grief:  The 5 Stages of Grief.

You’ve likely heard of the 5 Stages of Grief model before. It describes several phases of emotions that people often experience when faced with loss:

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. 

The 5 Stages of Grief are well known and often appear in popular culture:

Years later David Kessler felt it was appropriate to add an additional stage: Finding Meaning.

In the podcast, he notes that it is not finding meaning in the loss itself but that meaning is something that comes afterward, something we find and create. He spoke of gratitude as part of that meaning, that it’s not as though we are grateful for the loss itself but rather we can be grateful for the opportunity of the time we had together.

I am grateful that my mother is my mother in this lifetime, and that my Grandma Betty was my mother’s mother in this lifetime, because she shaped us both in wonderful ways.

As challenging as these last few months have been I am so incredibly grateful that mom and I have had this time together. I am grateful for our family and our community that has supported us.

I am so grateful that my mom is my mom in this lifetime because she is incredible and we are finding meaning everywhere, including by #planting seeds of kindness.

- Sara

[cannabisrefugee-esq]

(via Now That’s Some Serious Chronic Fatigue. Spoon Theory 2.0? (Patreon Link Within))

October 4, 2019

Many chronically ill people eventually learn about the “Spoon Theory” of chronic fatigue, which is basically a way to explain to healthy people what it’s like when you no longer possess (or never had) virtually unlimited mental and physical energy to do what you want.   Because it’s always the responsibility of the weakest and sickest to explain ourselves to healthy people innit.  A person’s spoons are a visual representation of their physical and mental energy reserves for the day, where a physical or mental activity “costs” one or more spoons to perform and when the spoons are gone the sick person has no choice but to stop acting and rest.  With adequate rest and recovery time, hopefully their spoon reserves will replenish by the next day but that is not always the case.  Many days, seriously ill people may have no spoons at all.

Spoon Theory was described and named by a chronically ill woman and it is pretty accurate in my own experience.  For the first time in my life, after putting myself through law school, studying for and passing the bar exam, and then working more than full time in a stressful and demanding career in addition to a lifetime of “adulting” meaning maintaining a household and nurturing various parasitic males I no longer have anywhere near the energy I once had and can now barely get anything done, regardless of urgency or import.  It’s not a matter of how important anything is anymore, nor how badly I need to or want to do it.  I am not in control of that now and it is debilitating and terrifying.

Healthy people have no idea that’s even possible and they often refuse to believe it.  And that’s an example of ableism, or discrimination in policy and practice against disabled people and in favor of healthy people.  Young people seem acutely aware of the concept of spoons, chronic illness and ableism while older people seem to have not a clue; the implications of that are terrifying but I will leave that for another day.

I recently attempted to describe my own limitations to my mother, and even though as a nurse who claims to have rigorously studied the issues and thinks she knows everything there is to know about health, wellness and chronic illness (LOL) she had never even heard of “spoons” or spoon theory.  Considering that that information is literally everywhere if one only cares to look, her research skills get an F.  Her practical knowledge gets an F.  Empathy F.  Effort F.  Fucks given on behalf of the chronically ill F.  Fucks given about me and my new normal F.   Decent human being D+.  Maybe.  Maybe there’s hope, I think to myself, and at least a D+ is better than an F in that department, although the D+ is likely generous.  It’s a pretty important department and I like to think it matters but maybe it really doesn’t.  Maybe there is just no way that healthy people will ever understand or care what it’s like to be seriously chronically ill no matter how decent they are but I decide to try.

I proceed to explain my limitations to a nurse, to my own fucking mother thusly: in a week’s time, in addition to fulfilling the basic survival needs of my business, myself and my 2 adopted shelter cats (procuring nutrition and toileting basically) I can maybe cook/prepare food 5 times, clean up the mess twice, and shower once.  That means there are at least 3 times a week where I cook/prepare food and do not clean up the mess right away.  Yes, that’s a thing that happens and no, there is nothing I can do about it.  My mom responded by shrieking “bullshit!   bullshit!” into my ear, as if that changes anything except to (more) completely alienate me and yes, to waste even more of my spoons.  My mom is a garbage disposal for my spoons and causes extreme spoon deficit on the regular, or she will if I let her.  And by “let her” I mean have any contact with her; I haven’t spoken to her in a year and a half, and very little in the past 7 years since I became seriously chronically ill and that’s why.  After her most recent outburst and what it did to my spoons I think I could easily go forever without speaking with her again.

Then yesterday I came across a post by another chronically ill blogger who described her own experience with chronic fatigue in a unique way that despite my own extreme brain fog and forgetfulness generally, I will probably never forget.  Michelle reads and comments here regularly (hi Michelle!) and has recently become a fulltime boondocker which means that she lives in wilderness areas in an RV all or almost all the time.  Like most or all chronically ill people, Michelle is a “Spoonie” and suffers from chronic fatigue and has only so many fucks to give and so much energy to burn on any given day and while it’s not up to her how many spoons she has, it is kind of up to her how she spends them.   Despite her “garbage can” diagnosis of ME/CFS she does the absolute best she can, as do we all, but in her case she has particular trouble using and maintaining her bulky and temperamental portable generator and cleaning up the dishes after she cooks and eats.

The really striking (and totally relateable) part of her experience, for me, was this:

Michelle often parks her RV in bear country and dirty dishes attract bears and she knows that.  But still she cannot necessarily muster the mental and physical energy needed to clean the dishes right away and the task must be put off until the next day or possibly even the next.  Get it?   Now that’s some serious fatigue, and I (and she) don’t mean to say that she has any worse fatigue than any other chronically ill person.  She may and she may not, how would that even be measured?  Rather, I (we) mean that chronic fatigue is serious, it is seriously and unbelievably debilitating and in this post Michelle explains the reality of it so well.  She cannot do anything more than what she can do, even if when her life literally depends on it.  And in her situation her life actually does depend on it.

Do you see what I am saying?  The import and urgency of the task changes nothing, NOTHING about what she is and is not able to actually do.  When her spoons are gone that’s it, and the only way she might have a spoon left over to do the dishes is if she never even cooked at all. Do you see the problem there?  Because I do.  She can either risk being attacked by bears or not cook (and therefore maybe not even eat) at all.  From what I’ve gathered through reading her blog, Michelle will probably not decide to stop boondocking if she can help it and she has (actual, valid) reasons for that too, one of which being that boondocking gives her spoons, being in nature gives her spoons, and being peaceful and quiet preserves the spoons she does have.  If she wasn’t boondocking in beautiful natural areas, maybe she would have even less spoons than she has now.  Maybe she would have no spoons at all.

THAT is the fucking reality of serious chronic fatigue and all the cursing and shrieking and being berated by others in the world will not change it.  It doesn’t matter how much you wish things were different.  You no longer make the rules.  The woman who gestated and birthed me does not make the rules.  Michelle doesn’t make the rules.  I don’t make the rules.  If we ever made the rules we don’t make them now and there is no reality-based reason to think that we will make those rules for ourselves ever again.  I would beseech healthy people to attempt to grok that, to please for the love of God grok that shit already but even that doesn’t matter!  It doesn’t matter if healthy people grok it or not, or at least their understanding will not in itself make sick people’s material reality better or worse.

What will help, though, is if the people we rely on for comfort, companionship, conversation, money, shelter or whatever don’t waste the few spoons we have by demanding we explain shit, or destroy those spoons in the garbage disposal of their shitty shrieking ignorance.  Now that would actually help.  And by help I mean stop making it fucking worse.   That is the reality of chronic illness and chronic fatigue and that reality cannot and will not be changed, or anytime soon, not until these serious, debilitating and fatiguing chronic illnesses are able to be treated or cured.  That is not the case today where most chronic illnesses including the one I suffer from, Crohn’s disease, produce symptoms that can maybe be somewhat managed sometimes (and maybe not) but that is not the same thing as treatment and it’s hell and gone from a cure.

__________________________

And on that note, I would like to leave a link to my Patreon and ask that my readers consider and pass along this most recent request for donations.  Despite my symptoms and their all-encompassing effects on my life, I have made some progress towards getting disability and housing benefits, but it looks like I am going to need to buy myself more time (or have it purchased for me as it were).  The game has now changed somewhat and with much (well, total) effort on my part, I now have additional medical evidence to support my claims, and my disability advocate has put me in contact with an organization that may be able to help: it’s an organization that helps autistic people maintain their independence and I am hopeful that they might actually come through.  This whole time, it has seemed as if no one really cared about the Crohn’s diagnosis but now that I have an additional diagnosis of high functioning autism, my disability advocates seem hopeful that they now have something they can actually use.  And importantly, they seem keen on doing some of the legwork to actually make that happen, like helping me fill out and drop off forms and such.  That is huge.

In a nutshell, it is very important that I stay where I am for now and not lose this apartment which does take housing vouchers if I am approved for one.  That means, as soon as I am approved I will start receiving rental assistance without having to wait for an eligible apartment to become available because I am already in one.  It also means I will not have to move again, when the move I made last year nearly killed me and left me seriously depleted of spoons for an entire year.  If I have to do that again, I literally very well may be unable to do it and if I can’t, it won’t matter that my life depends on it.   Can’t is can’t when you are chronically ill.  I know many of my readers know exactly what that means.

Thank you so much for reading and thank you for your support.

Comments Open.

[savegraduation]

The youth rights events of the decade

The eleventies (2010-2019) ended on December 31, and the twelveties (2020-2029) began. We begin a new year, as well as a new decade. In 2020, the ages of the eight living generations are:

Interbellum Generation (1901-1910): age 109+

Greatest Generation (1911-1924): age 95-109

Silent Generation (1925-1942): age 77-95

Baby Boomers (1943-1957): age 62-77

Generation Jones (1958-1963): age 56-62

Generation X (1964-1978): age 41-56

Millennial Generation (1979-2004): age 15-41

Fifth World Generation (2005-today): age 15 and under

Since the old decade has ended, let's look back at the youth rights stories of the eleventies.

On April 14, 2010, the National Youth Rights Association (NYRA) held the first National Youth Rights Day. NYRA president Jeff Nadel attacked the perception of youth "as chattel, as individuals incapable of thinking for themselves, defending themselves, or making decisions for themselves".

The first U.S. cities lowered their local voting ages to 16. It started with Takoma Park, MD, in 2013. Then came Hyattsville, MD in 2015 and Greenbelt, MD in 2018.  Voting ages were also lowered to 16 in some other countries: Argentina in 2013, Scotland in 2014, Malta in 2018, and Wales in 2019 (to go in effect on May 6, 2020). Greece lowered its voting age to 17. Japan also went from 20 to 18 -- better late than never.

Drinking ages were raised across Europe. In 2010, the Spanish autonomous community of Galicia raised its minimum purchase age from 16 to 18. In 2011, Denmark raised the age for off-premise sale of alcohol with an ABV above 16.5% from 16 to 18, but the age to purchase alcohol with an ABV below 16.5% remains at 16. Then in 2012, Moldova raised its purchase age from 16 to 18. Also in 2012, Italy raised its pirchase age from 16 to 18. In 2013, Portugal (which had previously set the purchase age at 16 for all alcoholic beverages) restricted distilled spirits to people over 18, and continued to restrict beer, wine, cider, and the like to people over 16. On the first day of 2014, Netherlands changed its drinking age policy from 16 for beverages with an ABV below 15% and 18 to other beverages to 18 for everything. In 2015, Asturias, the last community in Spain with a drinking age of 16, increased its drinking age to 18 with the rest of Spain (except for the Balearic Islands, which have no age limits on purchase). Then in 2015, Portugal raised the purchase age for all types of alcohol to 18. In 2018, Lithuania raised its drinking age, already 18, to 20. (They even brought back the draft!) Finally in 2019, the three Austrian states of Burgenland, Lower Austria, and Vienna, which had previously had across-the-board drinking ages of 16 raised their drinking ages for spirits to 18 to align with the rest of Austria. Now it's 18 for spirits, 16 for beer, wine, and cider everywhere in Austria.

In 2019, Canada, which had previously had a vaginal age of consent of 16 and an anal age of consent of 18, lowered its age for anal sex to 16 to be non-homophobically consistent with its age for vaginal sex.

In the second half of the decade, U.S. states raised the age to consume, or at least purchase tobacco from 18 to 21. It started with Hawaii. In 2016, Gov. Jerry Brown signed a bill to raise California's age, with servicepeople aged 18-29 still being allowed to purchase tobacco. Then, in 2019, the federal government set a federal purchase age for tobacco at 2019. This was not without controversy, as 18-, 19-, and 20-year-old boys (perhaps even girls now) can still be drafted without being able to purchase either tobacco or alcohol, and the speculation that Donald Trump could start a war with Iran and draft Americans to fight it was so widespread that it crashed the Selective Service website. Teen-age vaping and juuling skyrocketed.

In 2010, New Zealand, home of the band The Naked and Famous who do the song "Spank", banned the smacking of one's children. Scotland outlawed corporal punishment, as did the U.S. state of Delaware.

The most tragic youth rights news story of the decade was the case In re Cassandra C. Cassandra Callender, a 17-year-old girl from Connecticut who was ordered to have chemotherapy to cure her Hodgkin lymphoma, refused, and her mother filed a court case in her behalf. In an act of blaming the rebel, the judge, Commissioner Joette Katz, found that Cassandra C. was not "mature" because she had run away to avoid forced medical treatment. It's her body, not the doctor's! Cassandra C. was even forcibly taken away from her mother and not allowed to see her during her treatment. Threats were made to Commissioner Katz by opponents of medical paternalism for her terrible ruling, which gives me hope for the future of youth rights in America. At age 18, Cassandra C. found an alternative treatment widely denounced as quackery. In 2019, at the age of 21, she came up missing.

In 2014, Malala Yousafzai, a Pakistani lass, became the youngest Nobel Prize laureate in history. She had fought for girls to be educated in the misogynistic, heavily Islamic nation of Pakistan, and for women's rights to be improved in general. She barely escaped murder by the Taliban! When she won a Nobel Peace Prize at 17, she became the first teen-ager to receive a Nobel. She attended Edgbaston High School in England from 2013 to 2017, and is now studying at Oxford, hoping for a degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics.

Another teen-ager who set a "youngest ever" record was Greta Thunberg, Time's youngest Person of the Year. While Malala fought so teen girls could go to school, Thunberg, a teen girl with Asperger's and selective mutism, started skipping her government school to draw attention to the climate crisis that will leave her without a future to study for. The Global Climate Strike inspored students across the globe to walk out of school and working people to walk out of their jobs for one whole week, to draw attention to the existential threats to our planet that Donald Trump and other world leaders refuse to face. She turned 17 earlier thos year, and at 16 became the first teen-age Person of the Year.

The tragic school shooting at Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, FL had a silver lining: when it inspired teen activism in favor of gun control, it not only launched the careers of teens like Emma Gonzalez and David Hogg, but changed many minds about 16-year-olds voting. Millennials had been pushing for a lower voting age for over two decades, but now lowering the voting age became a mainstream issue among pre-Millennials: Xers, Jonesers, Boomers, Silents, and a smattering of nonagenarian and centenarian Greatests and Interbellumers. Andrew Yang became the first Democratic presidential candidate to make suffrage for 16-year-olds and official part of his platform. The Washington, D.C. city council heard a motion to lower its city/territory voting age from 18 to 16, but voted to table it at the last minute. California is on its way to approve a proposition to lower its voting age to 17. Ayanna Pressley, a Gen-X progressive Democratic congresswoman, introduced a bill in Congress to lower the voting age, but it died in the House as half of Democratic congresspeople and all but one Republican congressperson voted no. Oregon lawmakers also introduced a bill to grant votes to 16-year-olds. (You may read this link, although I don't agree with their statement that today's 16-year-olds are not Millennials.)

Finally, during the last decade I developed the moral philosophy of bixochromatism and wrote the essay "On Choice, Punishment, and the Color of Lipstick". I put it up at my Lehola Galaxy page, and also shared it to my blog at the end of the decade. Youth rights activists now have a moral framework to work within that challenges the paternalist foregone assumptions of most drinking age, curfew, and medical paternalism supporters.

Who knows what the twelveties will bring in youth rights? My wishes are an amendment to the U.S. Constitution that lowers the voting age to 16, a nationalization of the age of majority and age of emancipation at 16, a complete overhaul of public education, medical consent granted to everyone regardless of age, and harsh criminal punishments for parental tyranny. What are your hopes and dreams for our new decade?

[baby-loveblog]

The Kind of Mother I Want to Be

The other day I took Canelo for his six month re-check with his cardiologist. I was hopeful that there would be improvements, but wanted to be realistic, and told myself, “as long as he’s the same, I can stop worrying so much.”

The cardiologist confirmed that the medicine is not working as well as they’d hoped. I asked if it was normal for us to have to adjust it three times in just six months, and was told “no. There really isn’t anything about his case that is normal.” He then drew a graph showing that most dogs are in the middle, where the medicine stabilizes them and sort of puts them in limbo. They aren’t getting any better, but they aren’t getting worse. Some dogs do great, and medicine actually reduces the size of their heart and prolongs their life considerably.

Then he pointed to the other end of his graph and said “this is where Canelo is. The question really is why is he worsening so rapidly? It’s nothing you are doing, and we’re treating it as aggressively as we can, but some dogs have bad genetics and some dogs have bad luck, and he seems to have both.”

His echocardiogram was bad. His whole heart is now being impacted by this awful disease. I finally brought myself to ask two questions that I didn’t want to ask before.

Is he in pain?

“No, it’s not a disease that causes pain, but rather makes him feel weaker and tire more easily. If he struggles to breathe, that can be somewhat painful and scary, but he is not in pain.”

How long does he have? 

“Months, not years. I’m not sure if it’s three months or nine months. And I could be wrong. Dogs have made a liar of me before. But just based on how he’s progressed so far, that’s my guess.”  

I honestly thought he was doing better. Since starting medication, his energy has been up, his cough has lessened considerably, and he just seemed better. I’ve been monitoring him so carefully, adjusted his diet, adjusted his meds the second it seemed like something was even a little bit off. I’ve been treating him like he is this delicate, fragile little treasure, where even the slightest wrong move could cause the entire house of cards that is his health to collapse. And this was confirmed when his doctor said I am doing everything right, and there is nothing else I could be doing differently. 

We adjusted his meds and basically doubled up on everything. I left feeling stunned and like the world was collapsing on top of my chest. I spent the better part of the rest of the day crying and thinking and imagining the future and feeling lost and heartbroken.

Canelo doesn’t like it when I cry. It seems to make him really uncomfortable, and more often than not, he will leave the room if I get too worked up. I’ve heard that dogs can pick up on your emotions, and it can impact them. I thought of how sad I’ve been for the last six months, how often I’ve cried, how scared I’ve been. We live in a house that can be so quiet and feel so big, and I’ve spent so many moments looking around, imagining how sad it will feel to be there when Canelo isn’t. 

M has been so supportive of me, especially since we found out that I’m pregnant, as I’ve navigated this imminent grief. He will tell me wise things, like “we always knew that Canelo wasn’t going to live forever” (did we? I wonder) “and we have never taken him for granted. In a way, it’s really beautiful that we get to experience his whole life with him, and be with him at the end.”

It’s true. But it feels rotten to have the end be so soon. Literally half of the amount of time I was expecting to get with him. I feel like time is robbing us blind, and it makes me sad and angry and makes life feel heavy and I find myself hating calendars and clocks and just want time to come to a screeching halt. 

But still, M is not moving through his day and his time with Canelo crying and sad. He is happy to see him. He treats him like he always has. And Canelo gravitates toward him. He still follows me everywhere I go, but he seems almost relieved when he sees M. His way of looking at what is happening to Canelo is a beautiful way to look at sickness and love and loss and life. 

What in the world does this experience have to do with my baby or pregnancy to make me write this and stick it on this here blog?

While I’ve never been one to compare my experience with Canelo to the experience of loving and caring for a child aloud, mostly because I know it makes people roll their eyes and insist, “it’s not the same thing at all!” - I’ve yet to raise a child, I cannot speak on that - I read a comment on a forum about dogs with CHF the other day that said, “losing a beloved dog is like losing a child and a best friend at the same time.” It’s such an accurate statement, one that made me feel understood and weepy.

I’ve always given a lot of thought to the kind of person and woman and friend and daughter and wife and caretaker for Canelo I want to be. And truth be told, I’ve spent a long time, years before I found myself pregnant, thinking about the kind of mother I want to be.

M came home on Monday and I was laying on the couch, staring at the TV, face streaked with tears, feeling nothing except despair. He rubbed my arm and sat down and Canelo crawled into his lap to greet him. 

“I know you are sad. But you can’t cry every day.”

As he said it, I realized, I don’t want to cry every day. It was the first time in months that I had that thought. I don’t want to live in a house that feels big and lonely and sad. I don’t want to treat Canelo like he’s a fragile thing that will break if I breathe too hard in his presence. Frankly, he doesn’t want it either. 

I have spent the last six months treating him like he’s sick, and it did nothing for him. So now, I want to treat him like he’s dying. Because he is. And it’s the saddest thing that has happened in my life, but it doesn’t have to be something that makes us all live miserably for the next three or nine or how every many months or days we have. It can be a chance for us to say a slow goodbye in a way that honors and celebrates the impact Canelo has had on our family.

I’m so excited about this baby and about our future as a family. I was so excited that our family would include Canelo and a baby, if only for a little while. I imagined taking walks together, which included Canelo in the stroller if he wasn’t feeling up to walking, and the baby in a carrier. I imagined the cutest photos of them together in day to day life. I imagined matching Halloween costumes for all of us, taking naps together, a lap full of both of them. And now I know that might not happen, and I am neck-deep in grief right now, bracing myself for the absence of years of companionship that me and M and our child will not have. But I don’t want to be the kind of person or mother who lets loss make life less beautiful. As Winnie the Pooh said, “how lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?” My little family has made me feel like the luckiest person on the planet. I’ve been with Mauricio since I was 18 years old and get weepy when I think about growing old and think our time together will feel like it’s cut short, no matter how many decades I have with him. Six years with Canelo is not enough for me. 15 years wouldn’t be enough. 100 years wouldn’t be enough. I’ve said more than once that if I were granted one wish, it would be for the three of us to grow old together and leave this life at the same time. I simply cannot picture my world without us in it together. I’m lucky to love so expansively, but it makes me almost greedy. I can’t let the finite nature of life prevent joy. It’s not fair or healthy for any of us. And it’s not conducive to the life I want to live.

In so many ways, Canelo has taught me that I am capable of being the kind of mother I want to be. Nurturing, selfless, not only willing but happy to wake up every few hours to take care of his needs, back when he was a tiny puppy and needed to go out every two hours to now that lasix makes him have to go to the bathroom at 3 am. No one has ever loved me like Canelo. I mean, M loves me, but he doesn’t follow me from room to room or do a happy dance when I come home or cry from missing me when I go to the bathroom. Our bond is so deep that I’ve actually wondered if it will be possible to love my own child as much as I have loved him. That sounds sort of nuts, but I think a lot of people assumed that I doted on him so much because he was a sort of stand in for a baby that we weren’t having yet for whatever reason, but that was never the case. Canelo was the earliest dream I can remember having come true. My very own dog that I was able to raise from puppyhood. He has brought so much joy to my life, and it would be a shame for that joy to diminish completely because he can’t be with us forever. It would especially be a shame for it to diminish while he’s still with us. 

I always wanted to be the kind of person who radiates happiness and sunshine, but I am not that person. I am melancholy and contemplative and no stranger to angst. I feel things too hard to be anything short of emotional, even fiery at times. But I can be the kind of person who chooses to find joy and happiness in spite of awful circumstances, rather than let them bring me to my knees. 

I wanted to be a person whose love is so strong and profound that it could move mountains and stop heart disease in its tracks. I wanted to show up at that cardiologist appointment and have him say “wow, we have never seen improvement like this, you did such a good job taking care of him!” Turns out, I am not that person. But I am a person who tries hard anyway, who feels hope anyway, whose ears perk up at “I could be wrong”, and who has given it and will continue to give it literally everything I’ve got. We were dealt a shitty hand here, but it’s not my first, and I have always prided myself, even surprised myself, when it comes to my ability to play the cards I’m holding.

Basically, I’ve realized I have a choice here. I cannot choose when Canelo will die, but I can choose how we live our day to day while he and all of us are still here. I want our home to be a happy one. I want the end of Canelo’s life to be fun and beautiful and a reflection of the love we all share. I want to allow myself to be excited right now about becoming a mother to a human baby and I want to look back someday on my experience as a mother and caretaker and pal for the sweetest dog on planet earth and know that when it mattered, even when it was hardest, I was capable of laughing, of feeling joy, of having fun, of being a source of comfort and warmth, of being the kind of mother I’ve always hoped to be. 

[recalibr8]

The mEtOHd in my madness

I’d been out with my teen lads on a Friday. We got off the train and there was a young, crumpled woman sat on the platform, fat tears splashing into a puddle of sick on her trench coated lap. I offered her some tissues; I’m a mum, it come with the membership card. After a few sorries she asked “where did you stop?”. It took us a while to realise she meant, ‘where are we?’ She was out by 2 stations which on the face of it wasn’t bad. We pointed her onto the next train, gave her a mint (gold membership benefits) and my youngest shouted “take care of yourself” as we trudged up the platform. We agreed it was probably work drinks getting out of bounds and she’d be ok now she had tissues. But I kept thinking, “where did you stop?”. Where did I stop? Because I’m now AF af.

AF af. That’s alcohol free and doing pretty darn ruddy brilliant. Three months ago I upgraded my BrewDog to NannyState, went Becks Blue and am thinking in an offhand way about brewing Kombucha. I’ve teamed this up with going plasticlite, veganish and kimchi curious. So far, so middle class virtual signalling. But where did I stop?

I’ve been drinking since I was 5. I’d adorably finish up the beer in my parents’ guests glasses and well, kept going. Not in a Drew, Carrie or Liza rehab by 13 sense but I think I’ve probably had my fair share. I’m well aware that I knew, know and don’t know but suspect people who I love who have significant alcohol use problems and this is blog is in no way trying to say my needs are greater than theirs. I know a lot of highly creative endeavours and friendships were found in a gin bottle but also unforgivable abuses. And I know friends whose acts are based around the camaraderie of drinking. And I’d never tell anyone what they *should* do. But like all ex anybodies, I’m annoying about my sobriety journey right now. Bear with me.

But it’s not just me though. I see booze everywhere. For a dose related lethal toxin that’s very effective marketing. There’s a giant ad on Toots Broadway station entreating me to Go Bottomless and every other Facebook ad is for a spirit that promises to make evenings round the back of Catford Lidl magical. And many of these are aimed at women. A recent industry survey found ‘only’ 17% of women drank beer and this needed sorting out. Look out for more lady drinking adverts, they’re coming.

But I wasn’t alcoholic. Was I? Are you? You’re only an alcoholic if you have one more drink than you doctor. I’m

a doctor ... so let’s take a look.

*I’m really low on the alcoholic check list*

I’ve never drank alcohol in the morning, blacked out, been told by others I have a problem, had to apologise...

Ah, I have had to apologise once or twice. Nothing major, just ‘sorry, I was a bit wobbly/silly/rude/loud/insulting/gave you my shoes as a gift’. I once lost my credit and oyster card at the bar of a immersive theatre event though. I don’t know how I got home. I had to find the site manager the next day and he definitely had other things to do. Not long after my bag was stolen in SoHo because I was distracted. Not sure how I got home then either. Friends put me in an Uber after my MA showcase because I wasn’t walking very straight. Or being very nice. So I definitely remember getting home then.

These were all Thursdays or weekends. I’ve always been careful not to have any chance of affecting my work. But yeah, how clear headed was I for my family, myself? And much of this was stress drinking after a week of being a clever doctor. Just loosened up the joints a bit. Particularly if your slightly socially awkward. But I wasn’t a drunk, no. Maybe just a binge drinker. And that’s ok, isn’t it?

*Hangovers are just a thing*.

With only drinking at the end of the week, I was careful not to be hungover at work. But I had a Friday at home hangover where I didn’t get out of bed for the day. I claimed I’d been poisoned. I’d just had one too many Jaegerbombs. I vomited in the taxi. I’ve vomited in several taxis. That’s not a good look at any age. Hangovers are a funny meme, a cartoon of a dog in sunglasses, office banter. It’s your liver crying and your brain folding it’s arms in judgment. It’s not bad wine, it’s bad choices.

*Get kids used to drinking. Like the French. Then they won’t binge*.

My 13 year old buys old vodka bottles from charity shops. Wearing a furry hat, his comedy drunk Russian is not bad I used to have the deepest voice of my friends at 14 so it was my job to buy the booze for house parties. My mother always told me drink a pint of milk before you go out to soak up the booze. At 14. I had a few sexual assaults along the way but if I blame myself that’s victim blaming and I don’t want to be a bad feminist on top of everything. Med school in the 80’s/90’s was all over the drink. Freshers’ week was a booze insurance test. The circle line pub crawl, the Clint Eastwood Appreciation Society, the Med School pub crawl...end at Barts because Smithfield’s liscence meant you’d keep going all night.

*Booze always cheers you up*.

I’ve got to confess, my life has got a lot quieter. I’m going out much less, I leave early, I’m not champagne Charlie any more. I’m always, well, me. My dad was a depressed alcoholic, so was his dad (he ran a tobacconist and offie so that didn’t help) and his dad before him. And I have depression and PTSD. My moods are now not so high, but they are also not so low. This is very strange. I’m hoping this is a good thing. I’ve heard it is. This, this is the mEtOHd in my madness. The mood stabilisation. That’s the plan.

*Being a doctor is just one of those boozey jobs*

Fun quiz! Who do you think drinks the most? Enough to have a problem. Oooh, were good at guessing this in ED. Writers must be bad, farmers, journalists! yes, they’re always drunk, private invsestigators (?), airline pilots (like my dad, I saw what those guys put away). Ok...it’s.

Lawyers - reporting 33% with problematic drinking

Construction workers- 16.5%

Miners -17.5%

Then it’s Healthcare workers, especially doctors (oh no). A. 2012 study of American surgeons published in JAMA Surgery found 15.4 percent had an alcohol use disorder. Female surgeons (25.6 percent) were more likely than male surgeons (13.9 percent) to exhibit symptoms of alcohol addiction. Healthcare professionals in general it’s 10%

https://www.drugrehab.com/addiction/common-professions/

Performing artists and writers - 11.5%

Catering/hospitality -11%

So no pilots then? I think there’s something they’re not telling us or things are much better since the 80’s. 


 A 1998 study of junior doctors in Newcastle-upon-Tyne reported that:

* 60% exceeded the recommended safe limits for alcohol consumption

* 36% of males and 20% of females used cannabis 

The Sick Doctors Trust says “Since our working lives are spent helping others, it is easy to push aside our own problems, in addition to which, denial is quite common in medical staff. This is not deliberate, but a part of the whole illness of addiction. That addiction is a chronic illness which therefore requires treatment as for any other condition, is now well-established but there is still a tendency to feel that it is a sign of weakness, and that maybe things aren't 'that bad'.’

That some individuals are more prone to developing addiction is generally agreed. There is no single determining factor, but usually a combination of biological, psychosocial and environmental factors - a mixture of nature and nurture. There is now much evidence implicating dysfunction in the Dopamine transmitter system & it’s involvement in craving. There is also evidence to suggest that the effect alcohol has on an individual’s brain is genetically determined. A family history is present in many alcoholics- those having direct family affected being more at risk...

*Its a family affair*

I went to Adult Children of Alcoholics once. It wasn’t for me but what they said made total sense. I take responsibility for everyone, I’m primed for betrayal and disaster and I totally thrive in emotional drama. My dad wasn’t a nice drunk. He made my mum drink when pregnant ‘to keep him company’. She in turn gave babies a tot of brandy to keep them quiet as a stewardess and I can’t imagine my permanently shouting parents wouldn’t have liked us to be quiet babies too. So I’ve got pre and postnatal form. But I don’t have to fix them now. Particularly dad. It’s quite hard to fix dead people.

https://adultchildren.org/

*Booze: the solution AND cause of all of life’s difficulties*

Sick Doctors again “ Alcohol is the commonest substance of abuse in all doctors. Drinking will surprisingly continue despite negative consequences such as job difficulties, relationship breakdowns, financial problems, loss of driving licence; the alcoholic is driven by an irrational compulsion to continue, and frequently results in despair to the point of suicide. Fortunately, the depression associated with active alcoholism often abates when sober.”

http://sick-doctors-trust.co.uk/page/addiction

*I’m not an alcoholic*

and you probably aren’t either. But you might have problematic drinking. I did a survey as part of an UCLH research project. You can too. I lied a bit on it and still came out drinking more than 97% of women my age. Now an icon opens up on my phone every day to that says ‘DRINK LESS’. I stopped leaving my phone on meetings tables.

Drink Less. by Robert West

https://apps.apple.com/gb/app/drink-less/id1020579244

If you are thinking about getting help for problematic drinking or any other addictions including workaholism or have any burnout symptoms for more than 3 weeks, you can of course get staff support and occupational health. But/And there is the amazing NHS Practitioner Health Programme where doctors with any addictions are supported https://php.nhs.uk/ DocHealth is another equally good programme https://www.dochealth.org.uk/. I used the latter when it was MedNet.

So, do I feel amazing? Had I got amazing skin, lost weight, feel energised and hopeful. Urg, not really. I feel a bit scared actually. I’ve lost my social crutch and I’ve stopped going out. I’m worried I’m boring and people will think I’m weird. But....I can get up earlier to walk the dog, I’m moderately less tired and although I’m not skipping down the road happy, the depressive moment I had in spring could have been a lot worse. I think that’s actually amazing. And that’s why I’m doing this. I want to face the world honestly and openly. I want to enjoy my kids before they leave home which is frighteningly soon and weirdly, I want to know my liver replaced itself in a year so I’m literally a new person (don’t google Theseus’ Boat Paradox, life is complicated enough). Oddly compelling, that. So where did I stop? I stopped here. In a weird waiting room in my head. But with the promise of a new adventure through the next door.

But don’t stop doing you, babes. Keep telling me your booze bantz. They are hilarious. Any story that starts or ends with Baileys is only going one way. This clearly isn’t a lecture. Most people can do moderation. And do could I, mostly. And it’s the mostly that’s not good enough. Not for me. Not any more.

Online support - https://www.facebook.com/groups/joinclubsoda/?ref=share

Samaritans- https://www.samaritans.org/

BMA wellbeing including 24 hour support - https://www.bma.org.uk/advice/work-life-support/your-wellbeing

Tea and Empathy for doctors’ online support - https://www.facebook.com/groups/1215686978446877/?ref=share

Al Anon for children of alcoholics https://adultchildren.org/

https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/

Dedicated to my husband who gave up the wine w*nker 6 years ago without any of this mid life crisis fuss. But I gave up meat and caffeine first so I still win.

[winchesters-favorite-girl]

Flatline-Part Four

A/N: Jensen and his sixteen year old daughter get into an argument before she goes out for a night with some friends. A few hours later, Jensen gets a call that is going to change his family’s life forever.

Word Count: 1,733

Warnings: Car accident, angst

Masterpost

Support my Blog

Jensen sat silently in the waiting room, glancing up every time someone went into the back of the medical surgical intensive care unit where his daughter laid. He wanted to be back there with you but hospital staff still wouldn’t let him. He just wanted to see you, he needed to see you breathing with his own two eyes.

“Are you sure I can’t get you a coffee or anything?” The woman at the front desk asked. She had been observing Jensen since he arrived to the unit’s waiting room. At first he had been nervous, pacing and refusing to sit down. Then he became angry, coming up to her every fifteen minutes asking her what was taking so long. Now he appeared to be exhausted and in need of a bed to pass out on.

Looking up at the woman Jensen shook his head, “No thank you, I just need to be back there with my daughter.” He replied.

Giving him a kind smile she nodded her head, “It shouldn’t be much longer, if they haven’t given the okay in a half hour I’ll call them to see what’s going on.”

“Thank you.” Jensen responded, thankful for her kindness. The lady returned to her desk, leaving Jensen alone with his thoughts and his phone that seemed to be going off every few minutes with someone wanting to know what happened or was asking for an update.

Letting out a sigh he rubbed his face with both his hands before resting his head in his hands as he tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. In a matter of hours his life was turned upside down. Twelve hours ago he was living the dream; amazing job, wealth, a beautiful family, now he was stuck in a nightmare that he desperately wanted to wake up from.

“Now she might cry a little, but that’s very normal, my son is ten and still gets upset every time he has to get a shot.” The doctor warned Jensen as your father nervously watched your doctor tap the shot she was about to give you. He had one hand placed on your exposed tummy to keep you safe and was softly rubbing it to keep you calm, or maybe he was doing it to keep himself calm.

It was time for your immunizations and at two months old Jensen was extremely nervous to watch your doctor stick the large needle into your small body.

“It’ll be okay honey.” Jensen’s mother, your grandmother, Donna, told him as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Jensen had asked her to come along for help since he was still a new father, but Donna suspected he wanted her there to provide emotional support.

“She’s just so little.” Jensen mumbled as he continued to eye the needle in the doctor’s hand.

“I know, but she needs these to make sure she doesn’t get sick in the future. She won’t even remember this, there will just a few tears that daddy cuddles will cure.” Donna told him with a smile.

“You ready?” The doctor asked, looking at Jensen to confirm he was okay.

Nodding his head Jensen kept his hand on your stomach but moved his other hands so that it was cupping the top of your head in a comforting nature, “It’ll be okay babygirl, just a few pinches and we’ll blow this joint.”

The doctor shot Donna a knowing look before gently gripping your leg to give you the first injection, which caused you to let out a wail unlike any Jensen had heard from you before. His head shot up to look at the doctor, angered that the shot had caused you to react in such a way.

“I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt her too mcuh!” Jensen cried out, glancing back to his mother for support.

“Jay, honey, you never know how a baby is going to react. I promise it’s not hurting her that much.” Donna tried to comfort her son.

Grabbing another shot the doctor grabbed the same leg and did another injection, which caused you to let out another wail. “I promise Mr. Ackles, it hurts for a moment and then it goes away. It’s not a pleasant feeling but I assure you that she’ll be okay.”

You continued to lay there crying as Jensen did his best to comfort you, “I’m sorry small fry.” He said as he placed kisses on your cheek, “It’ll be over soon.”

The doctor picked up your other leg before injecting it, this time you only let out a small cry, making Jensen think you were calming down.

“Only one more.” The doctor told your family as she grabbed the last immunization. Again, she gently gripped onto your leg and gave you the last shot, which caused you to let out the loudest wait yet.

“Oh babygirl.” Jensen said as he picked you up and comforted you in his arms, “I’m so sorry, Daddy let the mean doctor give you shots but I promise it was for a good reason.” He dramatically told you as he rocked you in his arms.

Your doctor let out a laugh as she approached you with multiple band-aids, “Let me just put these on, you can take them off later tonight.” She placed them on your legs before giving you a small pat on your back, “Good job Y/N, you were brave. I won’t have to see you for another two months when we get to do this all over again,”

“Two months?” Jensen stated in an unbelieving tone that caused Donna and the doctor to laugh.

“Yup, gotta get these vaccines done and then I’ll be seeing her less and less.” She explained, throwing away the trash, “I’ll see you later Y/N, Jensen, Donna, you take care.”

Donna leaned down and picked up your car seat while Jensen grabbed the diaper bag with you still in his arms, “Well I can tell you one thing Mom, this one’s gonna hate going to the doctor.”

“Daddy,” You whined as you cradled your arm in the opposite hand, “It really hurts!”

“I know sweetheart,” Jensen replied while he gently pushed your back so that you were following the nurse, “Those people took a picture of your arm to see if it’s broken, once they know what’s wrong with it they’ll be able to make it better.”

“But I don’t want it to be broken, I need it!” Your six year old voice cried out in the middle of the emergency room.

“If it is it’ll be okay, they can fix it. I promise.” Your father assured you as you returned behind the curtain the nurse led you too.

“The doctor will be over as soon as he reads the x-ray.” The nurse told your father before leaving.

Jensen carefully helped you onto the bed before taking a seat on a swivel chair a few feet away. You laid down quietly as you continued to cradle your arm, only now it was laid across your chest with your opposite hand supporting your elbow.

“You can take a nap if you want to honey.” Jensen said to you as he noticed your eyes were becoming heavy.

“Can’t.” You mumbled, “Not comfortable.”

“Want me to get another pillow to rest your arm under?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“You want some water?”

Again, you shook your head.

“Food?”

With another shake of your head Jensen sighed.

“What do you want me to do to help ya kiddo?” He questioned.

You were silent for a moment before speaking, “Will you hold me?” You asked in a quiet voice.

Jensen was surprised for a moment before standing up, “Of course I will sweetheart.” Maneuvering you so that your arm wasn’t jostled, Jensen slid in beside you before lifting you up so that you were on his lap with your head and injured arm leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and your uninjured arm was resting on his.

“Comfy?”

“Mmmhmmm,” You replied, holding onto your father tightly “I was scared.”

Jensen felt his heart crack at your words, “Scared of what?”

“The doctor kept hurting me when he poked my arm, I don’t like doctors. I was scared you were gonna leave me in that room and not come back.” You revealed.

“I had to babygirl, it’s the rules in the x-ray area.” Jensen told you, wanting to make sure you knew he didn’t want to leave you, “I promise you there’s nowhere you can go that I won’t follow you.” Jensen placed a kiss on your forehead, “You never have to be scared when I’m around, okay?”

“Okay.”

“She hates doctors.” Jensen mumbled as he continued to stare off into space.

“Uhh, Mr. Ackles.” The ICU visitor desk manager said, giving him a curious look.

Shaking his head Jensen brought himself back to reality, “Yes?”

“Y/N is settled in her room now, you can go back if you’d like.” She told him with a soft smile.

“Thank you.” Jensen replied as he shot up and took the visitor badge that she was holding out to him.

“You’re welcome, you’ll go through those doors and to the left. She’s in room 4509, her nurse will be right outside the room; she’ll probably want to speak with you for a moment.” She let him know.

Jensen entered the doors after he was buzzed in and followed the hall to room 4509 where a woman wearing scrubs was just closing the door.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Ackles.” The woman introduced herself, “My name is Cassie, I’m Y/N’s nurse today.”

“Jensen,” Your father introduced himself, “Can I see her?”

“Of course,” Cassie responded, “You can spend some time with her and I’ll be there to answer any questions I can. Will this be your first time seeing her since she was admitted?” Nodding his head Cassie gave Jensen a small smile, “Okay, I want to warn you, it’s gonna be a bit of a shock. She’s been through a lot, she’s got bruises, there are wires and tubes everywhere.”

“Okay.” Jensen replied, flashes of you broken in a bed, his worst nightmare was crossing his mind.

Cassie opened the door and Jensen couldn’t move from where he stood as he took the sight of you in.

Even his nightmares weren’t this bad.

Next

[danibuck58-blog]

Why I started blogging.

Life comes with it’s share of ups and downs, we all know that. There are the downs that we can breath through and the downs that take the breath from our lungs. There are days we wish we could repeat forever and days that will haunt us forever.

On May 1st, 2017, I was driving home from the grocery store with a million thoughts in my head. I’m a mother of four. My two oldest were in school and my two youngest asked to stay with a dear friend of mine for a few hours. I was busy planning my to do list of all the things I could accomplish before the bigs got home from school and the littles came home from my friends. Free time doesn’t come often and I was planning on taking advantage.

My little brother called and said ‘where are you? I need you to come to my house. It’s about Dad, Mom is here and I’ll tell you everything when you get here. Just come over now.’ I kept asking what was wrong and he wouldn’t tell me. Finally he said ‘Dad’s in the hospital, I’m so sorry, just come over.’ I knew right there, that this would be a day that would haunt me forever. You see in my family, there are no secrets. There is no ‘I’ll tell you when you get here’. I could hear the heartbreak in his voice. I knew in my heart, this was going to be bad. When I got to my brothers house, I immediatly knew something was wrong. My sister in laws car was in the drive and I knew she should be at work. When I walked in the door, the faces of devastation I saw made me loose my breath. I’m not sure why but I walked into their bathroom and stared in the mirror. I told myself that whatever I was about to hear would be okay. I told myself to get my shit together and go back out there and face what was going on. So, that’s what I did. I sat down and looked into my moms eyes as she repeated the events of her morning. I was told that morning that my dad had lost his eye site for a few minutes and my mom made him go to the hospital. They found tumors throughout his brain. I’ve worked in the medical field for years and knew that once cancer spread to the brain there was little hope. I also knew my father and he would never go through chemo and radiation. All of this was swirling in my head and all I wanted to do was see my dad. I kept thinking is he okay? If I can just get there i’ll be able to put his mind at ease somehow. I told my mom how sorry I was. My heart was breaking for her. She just found out that the man she had spent her entire life with wouldn’t grow old with her. My baby brother held me and let me have my moment. I cried so hard in that moment, for everything we had and everything I felt we were loosing. I went to my husbands work and broke down. I’m not someone who cries easily. So this was all new to me. I was trying to hold it all together. I was trying to talk with intelligence and strength. I just couldn’t do it. It was as if someone had a brick on my chest and I just couldn’t breath. My husband tried to calm me down. Told me he would take care of everything, not to worry. Once I knew my girls would be okay, I left for my dad.

You see my entire life, I had been a Daddy’s girl. He was the one person who could say anything to me and I would listen. He knew how to keep me in my lane. He was the person I ran to before making any decision. He was the hug I needed to make it through the bad days. He was the calming voice in my head when I felt alone. He would listen to me rant and cuss and yell when I needed to vent. He was my everything.

I can still remember walking across the bridge to the hospital. I don’t remember the car ride there. I walked by the labor and delivery waiting room. So many families smiling and showing each other pictures, I felt so sorry for us. The elevator ride took forever. When I got to the door way leading to my dad, I had that feeling that I couldn’t breath again. I walked in and gave him the longest hug. We both had tears in our eyes and we both just knew somehow that our days together were numbered. The next couple of days went by in a blur. They found tumors throughout his entire body. We would learn that he had small cell lung cancer that had spread. We were told he probably had it for a while. We were told if he did nothing he’d have weeks with us and if he decided on radiation to his brain he may have the summer. He ultimately decided he just wanted to go home. I spent most nights at the hospital with him and we would stay up all night talking for hours and going to the parking deck to smoke. He showed me how I was supposed to live and then he taught me how to die. That may sound strange but I’m not sure what I would have done knowing I had celebrated my last Christmas, birthday etc. I never saw him break down. Those nights were spent with him laying out all of the things I would need to do moving forward. His number one priority was my mom. He said ‘She’ll tell you she’s okay and wants to be alone. But don’t let that happen.’ Then my brothers, he told me all of the little things he does for them ‘when this one calls you upset, he doesn’t want your opinion so just listen’ and so on. He gave me advice on raising the girls. Two of my daughters suffer from genetic diseases and he told me he’d pull some strings when he got where he was going. He told me not to spend money on psychics or sit at the cemetary for hours because he wouldn’t be there. We planned his funeral like we were talking about the weather. We picked the songs we would play, Holding my own by Eric Church was one of them. We also joked about playing Willie Nelson’s Roll me up and smoke me when I die, we both agreed my mom would never forgive me. We laughed and cried and laughed again. I’ll always be thankful for those long nights together. Its not that we had unfinished business or anything that needed to be said. Those nights were just ours.

I drove my dad home from the hospital thinking, this could be that last time he’s ever in a car. What an odd thought during a time our entire world was crashing around us. My families strength during this time never faultered. My mother, brothers and I had one common goal and that was to make sure we were together and could take care of my dad. My brothers took leave from their work, and we all moved into our parents house. We all agreed that there would be no hospice aide, we would be the ones taking care of him. My aunt and husband took care of the kids. I would stay up all night with my dad, come home for breakfast and to get them ready for school and then go back to my parents. I was an emotional zomby. Reassuring my girls that everything was okay, Papa just didn’t feel good right now. My brothers and I being as strong as we could for my mom and dad, and spending more time together than we had in a while. It’s funny how life works. I would consider us all incredibly close but as life goes on, we are all so busy with work, spouses and kids, we don’t have a lot of time to just be together. They would stay up at night with me and I just loved the ball busting, jokes and sarcasm. It reminded me so much of my child hood. Sharing a lifetime of memories, day after day. I could share a million amazing and horrific memories of those days but there are some things that don’t need to be shared.

On May 13, 2017 my aunt woke me up and told me she didn’t think my dad had much longer. I walked downstairs and watched him in his hopital bed. My mom holding his hand. My brothers sleeping on the couches. Other family in and out of the living room. The t.v. was on and I can remember thinking, he hates this show. So I asked my uncle to hand me my phone. I pulled up Eric Church’s Holding my own. Set the phone by my dads head and held his hand. His breathing became so calm. We woke my brothers up, during that time I hit replay on the song. My dad took his last breath. It was peaceful and without a doubt made me believe there was a heaven. Thirteen days came and went from the time we found out he had cancer to the time he was gone. My entire world was shattered in thirteen days. My heart physically hurt for my mom, brothers and most of all for the four little girls I had sitting at home. He was still a young guy, 55 years young to be exact. He had so many plans for the future. Plans that would never happen now. I was 32 years old and didn’t have a dad here anymore.

My entire family loves Eric Church music. My brothers and dad especially. Music was always on in my house. We are always playing new songs for each other. Eric Church’s song Holding My Own will forever have a special place in my heart. It’s become my families hashtag of sorts. My dad passed the day before mother’s day. He’s now in heaven, Holding His Own. A torch was passed to me. I am still here grateful everyday to be Holding My Own.

I don’t think you are ever prepared to not talk your parents again. Especially for me, a man that I put on pedestal my entire life. My anchor and guiding force. He always told me I had a knack for writing and that I should do something with it. Maybe he was just being a supportive parent. You know, like those kids that try out for American Idol and can’t sing a lick?

Either way, I’m off now. Learning how to design a web site and social media. Writing my stories, opinions and advice. God help you all…. for better or worse, my hat is in the ring. Even if nobody reads what I write, I’m content with what I’ve accomplished so far.

This isn’t a whoa is me story. It’s a story of love, laughter, strength and hope. Even on my worst days, I straighten my crown because I’m Dan Brown’s daughter. In my 34 years of life, he prepared me for everything. I still see him, feel him and hear him everywhere I go.

For my father, my family, my girls;

I’ll Live Love and Die, Holding My Own.

[mtvswatches]

Jane the Virgin 1x08 Chapter Eight

Spoilers disclaimer (please read before sending messages or writing comments)

Stray thoughts

1) I loved this bit, and I loved the story of Alba and Jane’s grandpa got married. I’m guessing the whole “giving up money as if it was nothing” will be relevant for Rafael and Jane, right?

2) I’m glad Rafael was somewhat honest about why he needed to track down her sister in Mexico. Although I’m sure Jane won’t like that he left out the tidbit about him losing the hotel if Luisa loses the lawsuit.

3) She must know that this is wrong, right?

They’re giving people false hope!

4) Um….

5) Why won’t Jane tell Rafael she’s virgin?

6) Petra does have a point…

RAFAEL: Were you always a monster? Or did you become one along the way?

PETRA: Should we review our courtship? I was engaged to a man I loved. Who loved me. You were passed over for a promotion and so, to get back at Lachlan, you set your sights on me. So tell me, Rafael, who's the monster?

7) I’m glad she showed up but why is she so happy when arriving at a trial for which she could lose her license?

8) Oh, Luisa…

I was in Peru on an ayahuasca retreat.(…) But it's like you're vomiting out everything that's wrong with your life. It's, it's really difficult to describe, but I had a shaman, and I was guided through this journey, and in my journey, I saw everything so clearly.

9) OMG the narrator also tried ayahuasca!

10) I’m the narrator.

LUISA: And then it dawned on me. Money is the root of all my problems.

NARRATOR: Well, money and the fact that she inseminated the wrong woman with Rafael's sperm.

Will we ever figure out who the narrator is? I’m kind of obsessed about this!

11) Most inspiring words ever said…

12) Rafael is kind of back where he was before getting married to Petra. Well, even lower, considering he’s working for Petra?

13) I’m seeing a pattern here…

JANE: Okay, but why would Lachlan want to hire Petra?

RAFAEL: 'Cause he wants to get under my skin.

JANE: Why?

RAFAEL: He was actually engaged to Petra at one point.

JANE: What?

RAFAEL: I kind of stole her from him.

Isn’t this kind of what he did with Jane and Michael?

14) That’s an awkward way to find out…

15) Oh, Rafael is not taking it too well...

NARRATOR: It should be noted that Michael did not react like this when she told him she was a virgin. But that's neither here nor there.

I’m kind of assuming that this is right here and there, narrator, otherwise, you wouldn’t be bringing it up. I wonder if Rafael will come round to the fact that she wants to remain a virgin or if it will be a thing between them. But a lot of “fines” are being thrown around in their conversation, and when people say “fine” they mean the opposite…

16) This dude just got out of this shipping container wtf

And he kinda looks like Rogelio?

17) I’m guessing Rogelio had something to do with Xiomara being contacted by that producer…

18) And Jane just lied to Xiomara about Rafael’s reaction…

19) Oh, she doesn’t look like she truly wants them to be over…

20) Where… is this going?

21) IS FUCKING JUANES PLAYING THE FUCKING PRODUCER????

Legendary eyes, indeed. I had such a huge crush on him when I was younger. And one of his songs is one of my all-time favorites (here!)

22) Hmmm…

No, I don’t believe that. This has Petra written all over it. I bet the girl slipped him something on the drink she so politely handed him, and then they set up the whole scene to make it look like Rafael had slept with her. And I’m guessing the fact that the girl was wearing a Jane the Virgin necklace will lead her to regret what she signed up for and fess up?

23) Is Rose really using Luisa’s mother’s mental health history to make it look like Luisa is going insane? That’s fucked up. I thought she really cared about Luisa, but apparently, she cares more about keeping her rich husband around…

24) Ding ding ding!

It was too transparent, to be honest.

I felt really bad about that girl, though. Made me choke up.

25) Petra also loves telenovelas!

26) IT WAS PETRA WHO SET IT UP! Okay, I’m feeling better about my prediction skills.

27) Rafael and Jane are putting a break on things, and it makes sense. I’m kind of glad they’re taking some time and slowing down.

28) That didn’t go well…

Poor Luisa. But it doesn’t make sense that they would have her committed so suddenly and only based on her saying one “crazy” thing? It’s not as if she was delusional about everything, and honestly, why doesn’t anyone believe that she could be having an affair with Rose?

29) I knew that there was an immigration issue with the family and that’s why Alba was so adamant that Xiomara didn’t get any parking tickets.

30) Lachlan deleted the sex tape of his own volition. Petra is good.

31) Awwww…

32) Oh, I underestimated you, Lachlan, you sly SOB! He didn’t delete the tape after all!

33) I’m proud of you, Jane.

It was for my grandma. She's not a legal resident in this country, and the whole thing was making her nervous. And it's not only that. I was thinking about what my lawyer said in court, about how this baby was not wanted. And I don't feel like that anymore. So what am I doing this for, really for the money? 'Cause that just feels ugly. Especially because you are absolutely going to take care of your child, financially.

34) Okay, I see it now…

RAFAEL: I underwrote my sister's medical malpractice insurance. So your lawsuit You were actually suing me.

And sparks are flying everywhere…

35) The narrator sounds so ominous, what the fuck is going to happen?

RAFAEL: Jane, this is This is hard. Look, we're doing everything backwards. I mean, we're having a baby and-and then we're going on our first date? But I want to be with you. And I'm not giving up.

NARRATOR: Oh, if only it were that easy.

But… is this how every episode is going to be? They start together, then they have an obstacle and reconsider their relationship only to get back together by the end of the episode? It’s literally the same plot from the previous episode, and I really hope they don’t overuse this plot structure…

36)  Hope you enjoyed my recap, and, as usual, if you’ve got this far, thank you for reading! If you enjoy my recaps and my blog, please consider supporting it on ko-fi.Thanks!

[flameontheotherside]

The Ultimatum

We had a "talk" last night, Vince and I...

Like about how I don't love him enough and he's giving me 2 months to change. He thinks I never loved him and I'm holding the fact he's an addict. Once an addict is always an addict and this includes me... 😑 He doesn't realize that he's traded one drug for another. He said "can't get addicted" and "that" it's not like the heroin he used to take. What he also fails to realize is that at one point I was and become an addict under the influence and of my exs and he's not an exception. He wants me to just drop my past and look to our "future".

What he doesn't know is a lot because about me. I don't want people to feel sorry for me and I don't like when he keeps bringing it up. I know letting shit go is the truth and he has every right to tell me what hurts. It's in every fight or talk we have and now Erik is added to the equation 🙄. He keeps saying or I keep feeling he thinks all I went through is petty compared to his addiction.

Maybe it's my fault he's so ignorant.

He thinks before him, I was whoring myself around like some cheap hooker. No, I was raped. Taken advantage of. It wasn't my fault. I didn't ask for it. I was and I guess still gullible. I used to see only the best in people no matter how many red flags these assholes raised. On top of that, I was trying to fill a void. It was more than wishful thinking. I was specifically and unconsciously looking for Erik. Not some stupid mental fuck up!

There is so much fucked up I've never told anyone because what's the point? People will think I've made it up or looking for attention so they don't take me seriously. Maybe that Im just over exaggerating to make myself a victim. I'm not a victim. I don't use all of my problems as an excuse but he keeps bringing up the amount of crazy I am. He then kicks me where it hurts bringing Erik in to the mix because he "accidentally" saw on my phone the post about Someone Like Erik.

Yeah sure, 😏 I can be a bitch.

Im not fucking Mother Teresa 😇 but I'm not a complete tyrant. Sure, I have my moments and maybe it's triggered. Sure, why not just apologize and act like a happy go lucky an obedient girlfriend. The red flags or change of view happened in 2016 when he blatantly refused to work for 3 months relying on my fat paycheck. He even had the audacity to pressure (or what felt like) me about doing well so I can keep the job. Yeah Im not over it yet. So the fuck what? It's like he still doesn't want to feel responsible anymore. 🙄 He apologized for it, I'm not buying anymore since he fucked up two jobs for reasons of his own. My psychic senses warned him and he ignored me calling me negative.

I had two breakdowns and during all that seeing so many things repeating. Didn't know it was all about Erik. What I didn't realize there where signs. Like everywhere. Eventually I took my ass in to the clinic asking to be admitted. Instead they ask 20 questions and sent me home with medications! Still kept seeing signs and weird dreams. Went back to reading my cards after some time looking answers. They kept hinting; new love, fresh start, twin flame, mediumship, pendulums even and crystals. Still not convinced, I became obsessed with death and then spring 2017 just as I felt my psychic skills would be back, I met Erik "again".

I know it sounds stupid to add the past life Vince raped me.

Seeing that life, remembering how I was taken advantage of in this one, and back again this time he's my boyfriend...that's what the problem is! I can't just drop it in a year or 8 years. He thinks 5 years is enough time to get over all of that! He won't understand if I tried to tell him all of this and it isn't fair. I've never been allowed to take proper care of myself because I was more concerned with trying to forget all of that happened.

Yeah, I told him the truth 😒 , I'm not attracted to him any more. Can't tell him the whole truth probably because I don't show emotions idk 😐... And I just feel like people will think I'm looking for an 🙄 excuse, sympathy, attention and downplay or invalidate. I never told the whole story of life. 😑 He's constantly saying that by now I should be "over it" or drop it because he's had so much patience with me being sick all the time. It's so easy for him. He got family; a better family and emotional providing parents who cared. Growing up I didn't have those things.

😘💞💕❤️ I love yall, stay warm!

Say "hi" to the snow for me. 🤣 I miss that shit...

And thank you for not being sorry for me. Just venting a little so I really appreciate that! 😆😘 Seriously.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧Don’t forget to take a look at Erik’s blog ran by his amazing mom Dr Elisa Medhus. Lots of stuff about his afterlife and shit. channelingerik.com … And YouTube

There is a new Twin Flame in spirit support forum: Spirit Spouse Support Group check it out!

Get your first Twin Flame/Mediumship reading free and take a look at affordable detailed readings here! (◕‿◕)♡

[halloweenvalentine1997]

Ted Bundy filled this out. So will I.

1. I feel: like an amazing superhuman imbued with serenity.

2. My mind is: an idieus genuit of many flaws and complications

3. A good way to relax is:  to watch American Horror Story

4. A person just isn’t himself when: they are pretending to like someone or something they don’t.

5. It would be easy to: smoke weed

6. It’s hard to express feelings of: alienation and betrayal

7. The only thing that really matters in this world is: love, money, food and drugs

8. Things would be great if I could: things are already great

9. I’ve never: killed anyone

10. I need: for people who are hateful to leave me the fuck alone

11. I feel I have to: put up my guard: a wall against everyone

12. A person is most helpless when: without a support system

13. My mother was usually: Volatile, but caring and kind most of the time

14. Most people think I am: a total major bitchass.

15. Marriage is: the person I wish I could’ve married is dead, has been since  before I was born

16. I can’t - get off medications

17. I wish I hadn’t - listened to the voices when I first started picking up on them. nothing they ever say is true.

18. It’s easy to get into trouble when - you’re not being careful 

19. When I was a child I felt - miserable, dysthymic and alone

20. I want to know why - people assume the worst things about me. they aren’t true, and whoever talks their shit to them about me is a liar through their teeth.

21. I am - Braver than everyone, and a narcissist. 

22. Drugs are - My favorite coping skill besides reading and blogging.

23. Worse than being lonely is being - in a relationship with a cheater. I’d rather be lonely.

24. Women are - Sometimes nice, and sometimes horribly mean.

25. I hate - Phonies

26. When frustrated I “- Argue, yell, or cry like a little 3 year old. Or I do something better than all of those: smoke weed.

27. The thing I remember about my father was - Our educational talks about the world, its history, and its curious morbidities. 

28. In the future there will be - A lot of robots taking over the world

29. Compared to most families mine usually - Drugged the hell out of me at a young age with psychiatric pharmaceuticals. 

30. What excites me is - Him

31. I don’t like people who are: Mean for no obvious reason

32. I think most girls should: Stay away from me and stop talking their shit. They’re really bad to me everywhere I go.

33. My greatest weakness is - Nicotine addiction.

34. Someday I will become - white-haired and old

35. I wish I could lose the fear of: I don’t have any fears I wish I could lose

36. I was proud of myself when - I love certain poems I’ve written and art I’ve made. It pleases my eyes.

37. I couldn’t live without: marijuana and coffee and books 

38. Tests like this are: fun