#well the answer is i talking to the neurologist probably

[cynically-optomistic]

I dont think there should be a time frame on panic actually

[alpaca-clouds]

The Inner Contradition of Capitalism

Okay, let me talk about something that I took away from several books I have read during the last few months: Capitalism is shitty.

"No shit," you might say. "You needed to read a book for that?"

No, of course I knew that before. I knew before that capitalism is shitty for about 90% of people who have to live under it - and of course for the environment as well. There is a reason I am an anarcho communist and Solarpunk.

However, there is another thing about this: Capitalism is shitty, even for those who are "winning it". While there is very little resaerch on the mental health of the super rich, because most of them obviously do not want to participate in this research, there were some very, very few of them allowed research to happen. And here is the thing: There is some evidence that if you acquire riches to a certain point you might actually get better. You are gonna be a bit less stressed and worried until you reach that point.

But "that point" is actually fairly low - from modern capitalism's point of view. While the few papers existing on it might disagree, but generally speaking it is somewhere between 1 and 3 million. Basically it is the kind of money, where you actually can live just from the money you already have, as long as you do not live in abundance and just relax into a normal lifestyle, rahter than getting a villa and yacht.

But here is the thing: As soon as you are richer than that, research suggests, you will actually get more and more miserable.

Now, again, we just have very little in terms of multimillionaires, yet alone billionaires, who will allow for psychologists and neurologists to actually do studies on this. So we have very few data points from where to extrapolate.

But what we have greatly suggests that the more money they get, the more unhappy and more angry they become.

Additionally there is quite a lot of research that suggests that there is indeed a particular personality profile, that will get into those positions. And that personality profile actually has probably also to do a lot with previous abuse.

Don't get me wrong: I absolutely deteste billionaires. I think they are the source for a lot of the ills in our world. They are horrible humans with so much blood on their fingers. However... In some regards I also pity them. Because if you look at them, you do know that... they are not actually happy, are they?

Will they try to tell you they are? Absolutely. But they are not. They are unhappy, and more than anything they are driven by the fear to lose the stuff they have. Because they know how easy that is - and fear how miserable they could be.

And sure, they will claim how much they work and how great they are for it - because we have this idea of meritocracy in our heads. But... That is also bullshit, and they do kinda know it.

As I wrote about yesterday, I have recently read the non-fiction book "The Dawn of Everything", and within the book there are actually quite a few examples of people, who during earlier times of colonization and the conflicts between indigenous people and colonizers, had been kidnapped and taken as hostage by the indigenous. And... a lot of them were freed, only to return and realize, that the life of the indigenous people was just a whole lot better. And quite a few of these hostages decided on their own will to return living with the indigenous people who had taken them hostage.

And yes, in one case this included one of the superrich at the time.

And this to me is the thing: Capitalism as it is, does not make anyone happy. There really are no winners here. There are only losers. No matter who, everyone is worse of because of it. There is nobody here, who might be profiting. Even those who seem to be profiting are actually for the most part miserable.

I honestly do wonder a lot, why this even could happen. It is a question that the book poses a lot, it never finds an answer. Because technically humans were always more intelligent than this. We were more intelligent than creating society in a way that most of us were so darn unhappy.

We talk so much about the "winners" of capitalism. But the truth is, that they do not exist. Because from what little data we have, there is actually good indication, that those who "won capitalism" and truly gave away most of that money (rather than just putting it into a self-controlled trust), were the only ones who became happy.

[aealzx]

A light knock on the door frame caused Leo’s head to twitch up from his videos, a large smile flashing his teeth when he spotted Carol at the door. “Mom!” he chirped, and started squirming to get up to greet her.

“Hey, honey. How’s two of my favorite boys doing?” Carol laughed, quickly heading to the bedside so Leo didn’t have to get off it, and could just kneel and hug her.

“Good!” Leo chimed, rubbing his cheek against Carol’s shoulder and humming lightly when she gave him a firm hug back. “Well, y’know, considering everything else that’s happened. Being sick probably really sucks, and having a banged up ankle also sucks. But it’s cozy here, and we get to relax. Dee’s been sleeping a lot, I’ll wake him up soon for dinner, but I dunno if we’ll get him to eat anything major. He’s kind of picky sometimes.”

Carol could only chuckle lightly as Leo rambled on without letting go of her. He always did talk a lot, but he didn’t usually cling to her this much. Which just confirmed her suspicions from what she’d heard from the others. “Uh huh. So if everything is as expected for you, then what’s got you concerned?” she prodded, absently rubbing Leo’s back and noting the slight tense in his frame at the question.

“Concerned? Me? Nahhhh,” Leo brushed off, keeping his head where it was, facing away from her. “If anything I’m just antsy. Been cooped up in here for a few hours, you know? About ready to get up and move.”

Carol could only give a mildly questioning hum at the response, raising her brow, knowing he was avoiding so many things with her right then. “Hmmmm. So that’s why you’re clinging to me and deliberately hiding your face in my shoulder?” She felt Leo’s cheek shift as his smile momentarily fell before he put it back.

“No- It’s because your shirt is really soft. It just feels great at the moment,” Leo lied, rubbing his cheek again to try and prove a point.

Carol knew he was lying even without knowing him now. She was still wearing the scrubs from work, and those were not soft at all. But she didn’t call him out on it. “Oh? Well, come a lil closer then, honey. How about I just…” she prodded, leaning forward to push Leo back a little so she could scoot onto the bed with them. Then she expertly hooked his knees towards her, scooting him up onto her lap in a ball and wrapping her arms fully around him in a cradle. Leo sputtered in giggles and laughs, but the squirms were both to get comfortable and in slight protest. Carol giggled along with him, then once he was settled she started softly humming a nonsense song while slightly rocking back and forth. If it really was nothing then she anticipated Leo would snuggle for a moment, and then squirm again to be let go. But if it wasn’t nothing….

As Carol expected, instead of getting built up energy from being kept in a ball, Leo started to sag into her and his nose found it’s way into her shoulder again as his shoulders shook. “............at's not fair…….,” Leo eventually mumbled pathetically. “Wasn’t supposed to cry on you too.”

The half admittance of defeat just made Carol give a soft chuckle, squishing her cheek affectionately against Leo’s head. “I’ve learned some tricks,” she consoled, a comforting hand rubbing wide paths on his back. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong now?”

“Mhhh….,” Leo hummed back, seemingly wanting to answer, and yet finding it hard to say. Carol was quietly patient though, and it was enough to motivate him to start talking. “I just… It’s stupid really…… I just can’t get what Casey said out of my head,” he admitted, finally putting it out in the open, and prefacing it with preparation to be told he didn’t need to worry. “That every decision I make could cost someone their life. And then…. All of this happened. And now I have to take care of Donnie. And I’ve done it so many times before. But… this time…. I’m just scared. You know?”

“Yeah, I know exactly how that feels,” Carol agreed. She’d worked as a nurse, and a neurologist for so long now. It was hard not to be worried that she’d make the wrong decision. But there was one thing she always had to remember, that might help Leo now. “But you have to also remember that your decisions could be the one thing that saves someone’s life. So you shouldn’t be scared to act based on what you know. And you, my boy, are brilliant. And I’m so proud of you.” She couldn’t help herself, and reached over to give Leo’s cheek a light pinch before giving him a big kiss on the top of the head.

Leo had gone quiet, but Carol could feel the tension slowly start to seep out of his frame. The grip on her shirt loosened as the realization sank in. “.... Yeah…” he breathed, her words playing in his head again. “Yeah! You’re right!” he eventually chirped, pushing up to look at her fully before flinging his arms around her shoulders. “Thanks Mom! You’re awesome!”

Carol could only laugh and return the hug once again, glad to see that his doubts had been quick to remedy this time.

--------

Previous Next

____________________

Mama fluff time, awww yeah BD

Also credit to happyfoxx-art for the headcanon that mama Carol is a neurologist, I fully support it and can't see her as anything else now X'DDD

[tia-amorosa]

Hi…

I thought for a long time about whether I should write a personal post again or not. But they usually get lost, literally. That's probably because hardly anyone here knows me well. But I'm writing this post to let off some steam and talk about the situation that's really bothering me at the moment. (sorry in advance for the long text)

I'm in pain. Every day, 24/7. Why? About 4 years ago I had dental treatment with a somewhat unfriendly, older dentist. The treatment was carried out under anesthesia. One of my wisdom teeth and another were pulled. And it may not have been done correctly, which is why I've been suffering from nerve pain on the left side of my face ever since. The pain is so extreme on some days that you just want to throw yourself in front of a car... or jump off a bridge. I've already visited neurologists in recent years, but unfortunately they couldn't help me. After the treatment at this dentist, I had another problem with a canine tooth (top left), which was then pulled. This is also a so-called eye tooth because it is exactly in line with the eye. This time it was a different doctor who had found that there was a small cyst on this tooth. So it wasn't wrong to pull it out. But since then the pain has only gotten worse. I have pain when I look (when I make a lot of eye movements), and the pain goes all the way up to my head.

The sad thing about the whole thing is that the pain is made worse by the fact that I work a lot with my mouth. Because I am severely disabled, I cannot move my hands and work with a special computer mouse that I operate with my mouth. My mouth is therefore an important tool that I use to write, write my stories and operate the computer in general. And it makes me... sad and angry that I am currently going through a phase where I am not making as much progress with my work as I would like because this pain is tormenting me every day. I've tried all kinds of painkillers, but none of them have helped at all. And I don't want to drug myself with any heavy stuff.

I'm currently trying to find a dentist who will continue the treatment. A lot of things need to be done, restoration, etc. I've already found a practice and asked them about it. A video consultation was supposed to take place last week. I waited half an hour in front of the screen and the loading bar until someone answered. After that I disconnected the connection. I then wrote an email to this practice. There was no response... I called them today and they said they hadn't noticed my email. OK, that can happen... Then they gave me a new appointment for a telephone consultation, also today. That was supposed to take place at around 2:20 p.m. Do you think someone called me? NO!

They seem to have forgotten about me. I was so angry... I'll call them again tomorrow and ask what's wrong with them. Above all, it is a practice that is well suited to people with severe disabilities. And I actually rely on sensible advice and treatment. They haven't even seen me yet. And I'm having real problems with my teeth at the moment. One of them is open and I have to be careful not to chew on the wrong side because otherwise more of it will break off. This will only put more strain on my nerves, I'm really fed up!

I wish we could turn back time, then I wouldn't have gone to that horrible doctor who started this pain. I wish I had found a better doctor, but it's difficult to find the right doctors in my situation. I'm also suffering from a urinary tract infection at the moment. It really hurts. I suffer from it often, but the pain in my face is just much worse. I can only do something on the computer on days when the pain is bearable for me. Before the whole thing with the first dental operation, I was incredibly productive and got a lot done. Now I can't even manage half of it. As I said, it makes me sad and angry. That's why my story is progressing very slowly at the moment. Sorry about that.

I hope I haven't annoyed anyone with the long text, but I just had to get it off my chest so that people might understand me a little. I would also like to write more, but my concentration is exhausted for now. I'm passing the time with Netflix, so I don't have to do much or think about it.

Now I wish you a nice evening/day. Greetings and hugs from me to you.🥰

[writing-tics]

getting diagnosed with a tic disorder

I just wanted to try out talking about that experience. maybe someone will relate, or find it useful.

i don't really remember how my tics started. i have a tendency of not acknowledging my feelings and brushing things off. i have always been a little jumpy, so I just blamed my weird shrugs and other weird unwanted movements on being easily scared.

they got really bad after my 18th birthday. and soon i asked my parents to see a neurologist.

before that we had conversations about me seeing a specialist, but i didn't want to hear about it. i wanted to pretend that everything was normal.

i went to the neurologist privately. which means that i didn't have to wait too long for the visit but I had to pay for it. my school needed a confirmation that i do have that disorder for my final exams.

i was very stressed, but the doctor was super nice. i had prepared a whole document in which i described all my symptoms, with dates if i could remember them, what my tics feel like, what makes them worse, what makes them better, family history of tics, or similar conditions, etc.

she was really nice and understanding. i don't remember the specific questions that she asked, but something about what is distracting/difficult about them. stuff like that.

she asked me to close my eyes and touch my nose, or left ear, stuff like that. also she had a little stick (like the ones doctor use to look into someones throat) and she would lead it from my fingertips up to my shoulders. she also checked my knee jerk reaction.

over all it was more of a chat, than an actual physical test.

she gave me a prescription for a brain scan (magnetic resonance, which i couldn't do due to having braces, and we switched to an MRI with contrast) - nothing wrong with it, thank fuck. and she prescribed me medication. i fucking hated those meds. they were Awful.

I never got a diagnosis from her. She gave me meds, and reassurance that this is probably psychological, which was enough at the time. Even tho she was a really good neurologist, tics were not her speciality, so i tried another guy.

AND BOY O BOY

he was supposed to be the lead specialist on tic disorders in my country. and maybe he was.

i spend 4h traveling from my city to the capital, just so i could see him.

i knew that he would probably asked my father my childhood, so i was prepared that my dad would be present for a while during the visit. but no, the doctor ever asked him to go out of the room, after the conversation about my childhood ended (it was brief, i had no symptoms in childhood). the doctor would ask my dad about other stuff as well, stuff i could have easily have talked about myself.

and then he asked me about my self harm, and depression, and suicidal thoughts (with my father still present in the room). i answered truthfully, even tho I REALLY wanted to lie. i came out of that visit with my F95.9 diagnosis, and a bunch of other diagnosis like anxiety and stuff. and a prescription for anti-anxiety drugs that i never bought.

i am not sure if the F95.9 is my disorder, but it does fit my symptoms somewhat, so that's why i use it. it's definitely not TS, and at this point idc anymore. the guy saw me one time, and with my dad present, so the diagnosis is very questionable imo, but hey. whatever.

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Her Song part 22

"Oh," I breathe.

"Is that all you have to say? I just flew five hours to see you and that's all you're going to say?" she laughs.

"Flo, I just need a minute to process this."

"Take all the time you need. I can wait a little longer. You're well worth the wait." She glances down to my lips and my breath hitches.

"Okay, time's up," I say. I step closer to her and grab her waist, pulling her body towards mine. She gasps at the sudden contact, and I search her eyes for any sign of hesitation.

"Are you gonna kiss me or not?" she asks breathlessly.

"I'm enjoying the view," I respond cheekily. I feel her hand run lightly up my arm and over my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her hand finally comes to rest on the base of my neck, and she begins to pull my head closer to hers.

We lean in and I can feel her breath fanning across my lips. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I'm almost certain she can hear it.

A loud thump interrupts our moment and scares us so bad that we jump away from each other before our lips can meet. With furrowed eyebrows, I look towards the living room to find the source of the noise.

"Syd?" I call out as I walk towards the couch. I hear Flo following behind me, but I'm more worried about Sydney's lack of answer. "Syd," I repeat.

I walk around to the front of the couch, and see her laying on the floor, holding her head. I kneel next to her and pull her hands away from her face. "Syd, what's wrong? Talk to me please." I'm panicking but I don't let her see it, because I know I can't. I'm her mother; I have to be strong when she's hurt.

"I f-fell of the...I fell off the c- the couch," she stutters, seeming disoriented. "M-mom, my head...it hurt- it hurts."

My heart sinks. I think I forget how to breathe. I freeze. For just a moment, I freeze. But then I jump into action.

"Okay, come on, babe. Get up," I tell her. I help her stand off the floor, but it's like one side of her body isn't functioning correctly. Her left leg gives out and she begins to fall to the floor, but I catch her and pick her up.

"Y/N..." Florence begins. The look in her eyes says everything she can't. This is serious. Emergency room type of serious.

"I know." I grab my car keys off the counter. "You don't have to come. I know you probably have stuff you need to do-"

"I'm coming," she declares, leaving no room for argument. I nod and we make our way to the car. Syd falls asleep in the few minutes I'm carrying her. Florence sits in the backseat with Syd and I get in the driver's seat.

My grip on the wheel turns my knuckles white. My jaw is clenched so hard it might break. I look in the rearview mirror and Syd is leaning against Flo's side. Flo is holding her hand and rubbing her head, humming softly. The sight eases me a little bit, but not nearly enough.

We get to the hospital faster than we should have. Traffic laws be damned. As I grab Syd out of the backseat, I hand Flo a baseball cap so maybe she won't get recognized. "Thank you," she mutters.

We walk into the emergency room, Sydney on my hip and Flo walking on the other side of me. It's a blur as I speak to the nurse at the reception desk. The concerned look on his face doesn't go unnoticed by me. Something is wrong. Something has been wrong. I should've brought her here sooner.

We're stuck in the waiting room for hours. Sydney is laying across a chair, sleeping with her head on my lap. At some point, Florence grabs my shaking hand and softly rubs circles with her thumb. We don't exchange any words. What is there to say?

After two hours of waiting, we're brought to a bed in the ER. A doctor eventually comes in and does a brief checkup. Most of everything we talk about is like a dull buzz in the back of my mind. I can't stop looking at Syd. She just looks so tired.

Nausea, vomiting, fever, headaches, weakness in one side of the body, difficult speaking, sleepiness. The doctor pages the on-call neurologist. I can't breathe.

The neurologist shows up after half an hour and does a checkup. We tell him everything we told the first doctor.

Sydney gets admitted and we're brought to a room in the pediatric wing.

Florence never lets go of my hand. I'm more grateful for her steady hand in mine than she could ever imagine.

We sit in silence in the hospital room for almost an hour. I think I might get sick, but I don't. I watch Syd's sleeping form in the hospital bed, and Florence rubs small circles on my hand. I try to focus on that. On her. It helps, but not enough.

Eventually, Syd is brought to radiology for an MRI. When the neurologist comes back to the hospital room, his face is carefully neutral. It instantly puts me on edge.

Florence and I stand hand-in-hand in the hall as he talks to me. She offered to give me privacy, but I need her to keep me upright. I go pale as he explains what they found on the scans. A tumor. A brain tumor. Glioblastoma. Rare, but the most common brain tumor in adults. Aggressive. Needs to be caught early. Did we catch it early enough?

Eventually I interrupt his calm explanation. "What are the chances of survival?" My tone is quiet, calm, cold. It doesn't shake. The doctor sighs.

"You have to understand that this is a very difficult kind of brain cancer to treat. The tumor isn't in a defined area, so it's hard to identify the borders-"

"Just tell me. Don't sugarcoat it," I request evenly.

"The average 5-year survival rate in pediatric cases is 20%."

I don't say a damn thing. I look at the wall next to us. There's a chip in the paint. It's yellow and ugly against the soft baby blue color.

"I'll give you some time before we discuss treatment options," he says before he walks away. Florence gently turns me away from the wall to face her. She cups my face in her hands as tears softly drip down my cheeks. She wipes them with her thumbs without saying a word.

She pulls me against her body and I bury my head in the crook of her neck. Her strong arms wrap around me and rub my shaking body to calm the sobs. She doesn't tell me that everything will be okay. And I'm so thankful for that.

[wyrdify]

This is not at anyone here. This is at the U.S. healthcare system, particularly as it relates to neurodivergent trans people. Rant below the cut.

So, back in April, I asked my med manager for a referral to get evaluated for autism. Said med manager does not do it herself since she doesn't do diagnoses, and neither does the facility she works at, so she referred me out. I was then told that the place will be in touch with me to get me scheduled, and this may take up to 6-12 months as they have a waiting list. But, I can check on that referral at any time by calling them. Cool.

More background information: I started taking Effexor more than a month ago (probably close to two months now) since Zoloft, my old anti-depressant, wasn't really working. I noticed that, on the 75 mg dose of Effexor, I sometimes experienced brain fog, muscle weakness, and other things I associated with my seizures. Effexor worked, but I felt it was also lowering my seizure threshold. Med manager, who prescribed the Effexor, told me to contact my neurologist about it since my neurologist handles my epilepsy. Fine. No problem. That usually isn't an issue.

I couldn't reach my neurologist. I called her office at least twice and had her medical assistant call me back, who promised me my neurologist would call me back. That never happened. So, I tried another method, which was MyChart. I sent a message to my neurologist there on July 6, and I never heard back. Nothing. I don't see her until the end of November, so now I need to try and basically move up my appointment just to get a basic question about a prescription answered. I schedule my appointments with her a year in advance, so I don't know how much luck I'll have there.

So, that's one fail of the U.S. Healthcare system. Let's move on to what happened yesterday and today.

Yesterday, I meet with my med manager to go over a few things. I bring a list with me because not only has it been about a month since I last saw her, but I wanted to get the ball rolling on a couple other things. I wanted to see if an evaluation for ADHD was separate from the one I was getting for autism, and I wanted to get a referral letter for top surgery. For those who've known me for a while, you've known I've lived with gender dysphoria since 2016-17. It's been a long time. I want to get that started now and not keep waiting around.

What she ended up telling me: an ADHD eval is part of the autism one I'm going to have since it's a full neuropsych eval. Okay, that makes sense. Cool. I move on to the next subject: top surgery. She tells me to go to a place in the city to talk to them about surgery. They don't do anything with top surgery. Yes, they do gender affirming healthcare, but I was specifically asking for a referral letter. I looked into what I needed for top surgery in my state before this appointment (not directly before, but days before). I need at least one letter from a mental health provider for it. Why did my med manager refer me to somewhere that doesn't do that and will likely just tell me to go back to her?

She said that she or my therapist, who works in the same facility, could write the letter, but still. STILL. She sent me to another place first. I am a trans person who doesn't need hormone therapy. I need top surgery. My gender dysphoria is well documented in their system. I checked. It became abundantly clear to me in that moment that she doesn't have many trans patients. At all. That facility in general probably doesn't considering the last med manager I had there was transphobic. Anyway.

Today: I called this morning to check on the status of my referral for the neuropsych eval. It turns out that they couldn't accept my referral because they don't have a specialist, so they sent it back for my PCP to handle (same facility as my med manager and my therapist). My med manager didn't see this at all. I'm not even sure she was looking at my chart to be honest. If she did, maybe she would've saw this and said, "Oh, I need to refer you to somewhere else or have your PCP do it." But no, I get to be back at square fucking one again. Because I couldn't ask my med manager to get that referral for a neuropsych exam. I had to go through my PCP to do it. Make it make sense.

I am so goddamn frustrated with this system. I'm just trying to take care of my health and be somewhat proactive about it, but I fucking can't. At this point, I don't know what to do. I might leave this facility all together and start over with a new PCP, new therapist, and new med manager. But, then I run the risk of not being in therapy for months, not seeing a med manager for months to a year, and not seeing a PCP for months to a year as well. And I'm in the middle of a med change too. Not only that, but I don't want to be a difficult patient or someone who just quits doctors or places willy-nilly. This is my third med manager, fourth therapist, and fourth PCP since I moved here nearly 10 years ago.

I don't know what to do. What the hell do I do? I want to cry, scream, rage. I hate this healthcare system so much.

[stellarhistoria]

i, oh my god. i have to rant (affectionate) for a little bit

my neurologist today was new to me (my old neurologist?? yeet. dunno where she went, really, but it was a year since i saw anybody) so we went through the normal routine of check up and getting used to someone new and their nurse, that's fine. i know that routine.

but she noticed that i was on topiramate and she made a face and looked at my weight and just squinted at me. "[birth/dead name], you know you're underweight right?" and i just shrugged. "i'm trying to eat." and she nodded, "you don't have a good appetite, do you?" and i half shrugged, "not really, but i've gotten better."

she pointed at the screen then at me and said "that's probably because of the medicine you're on. the topiramate is a seizure medicine. have you been diagnosed with seizures before?" and i shook my head, only to say, "well, one of my friends said i had an episode like a seizure." and she blinked. and i corrected myself, "seizure adjacent. and it was only once in my whole life. and she nodded.

we talked for a while, about fifteen minutes about my appetite, and i was having trouble answering and thinking like i usually do. and she stopped me and said "okay. sweetie, we're going to wean you off of this. it's gotten bad."

i asked what she meant, and, get this.

topiramate has the side effects of mental fog and appetite loss.

one of my other medications (vraylar, for my bipolar) has been curbing my appetite loss, but it's not enough to counteract it. and i've relapsed into my eating habits of ... not, doing it. due to depression and anxiety of feeling like everyone else has to have enough (even though i uh, am very not healthy and am a sickly person with anemia and migraines and chronic pain.)

but i'm already feeling better! uwu i haven't clenched my jaw due to pain from a headache literally since i took my dose of the new meds.

[acertainmoshke]

I Don't Fall

(This, unlike what I normally write, is actually a snippet about my own life as a disabled person not being listened to. It's kind of a rant in the form of prose. It happened a few years ago and I am not 25 anymore, but present tense felt right).

“How often do you fall?”

The question catches me off guard and I contemplate how to answer while staring at my stripey songs, wiggling my toes against the worn carpet. I’m sitting in an unfamiliar doctor’s office, in a tiny hot exam room, trying to talk to a doctor I don’t really know. He’s older, probably more than 70, and seems friendly, but I’m not sure he’s heard anything I’ve said.

“I…don’t really?” I stumble, ironically. I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t have an answer ready.

I think of all the times I didn’t fall, of the care I had to take to lift my foot up a curb, of scooting down the stairs on my butt. I think about getting stuck at the top of our outdoor steps in high school because they had no railing, 10 feet from the door but unable to make it. I think about my mother knowing how bad I’m feeling by whether I slur, my tongue growing clumsy with the rest of me. I think about spilling water, coffee, beer all over me and the couch and the floor because my hand didn’t go where I meant to send it. I think about being afraid to ride a bike or go hiking in case I have a balance spell and get stuck. I think about being mortified to admit I have to sit down because I can’t keep walking. I think about forcing my body into slow motion so that I won’t fall.

I don’t tell him any of this. Maybe he doesn’t give me the chance, or maybe I just can’t get my thoughts together in time. I won’t be sure later. The neurologist moves on with a little “hmm.”

He has me stand and walk across the little room in a straight line, toe to heel, while he watches. When I ask if I should close my eyes or not look at my feet, he says no it’s fine.

I know that if I can see my feet I can choose carefully where and how to place them. I know that I spent years learning how to move in a way that mimics normality, and that I can’t help it now.

I know that when I walk across the room I only wobble a little. Today, in all the unfairness of the universe, is a good balance day.

The neurologist says “hmmm” again and leaves to get some printouts. I fidget while I wait, hating myself for not explaining this well enough.

He returns and hands me papers on two of the most common neurological balance issues, cerebral palsy and muscular dystrophy. I know before I walk back through the tiny waiting room and into the scorching little parking lot that I don’t have either. I know that I told him this has been an issue since I could walk, and I know I told him that it’s never gotten better or worse, and I know I told him that it’s episodic and sometimes I can balance almost normally.

I google both in the car to double check my memory, but neither comes close to what I tried to describe. He didn’t even mention Meniere’s, which is at least in the right genre of problems. I sit in the car with my head on the wheel until I get too hot not to turn on the AC. I ignore the growing wobbliness and the slowed reaction time that comes with it. It’s not so bad that I can’t drive today.

Later, with no other research to go on, I will look up every possible thing related to the information he handed me, and I’ll stumble across something called episodic ataxia that describes in perfect detail my sudden spells of weakness and imbalance that can last for hours, worsened by fever or strong emotions like anxiety. I will even be able to narrow it down to type, although it helps that 6 of the 8 types are so rare as to only be identified in one or two families in the world. I will learn there is a genetic test for it, but I will not call that neurologist again. The struggles I’ll end up having with insurance over payment will mostly be a convenient excuse.

I know that my grandmother was diagnosed with Meniere’s mostly to have some sort of diagnosis, and that she loses her balance so badly that her husband has had to carry her to the car before. I know that my father has spells like mine—although I’ve never known him to be unable to drive so I suspect mine are worse—and was so careful not to talk about it that he accidentally taught me to hide my own spells. I know my mother was upset when she learned how bad it had been for years.

I know there was a doctor at 7 who told my mother nothing fit but Meniere’s, except I was too young for it. I know there was a doctor at 18 who told me nothing seemed wrong with my brain and he had no answers. I know there was a doctor at 22 who told me it definitely wasn’t Meniere’s because I’m not going deaf. I know that at 25 I’ll be happy just to have a label—which I had to find myself—and give up on doctors having a solution.

[builder051]

Holidays, fireplace and gift for the ask please! Just for you :)

Also I hope you have an amazing Christmas and New year!! I hope it’s filled with love and laughter and all things enjoyable!

holidays - do you have a strong accent?

I don’t think so… I’m planted in the US (probably permanently), but I’ve lived in and visited several countries in Europe and Asia, as well as resided in different US states. I think the closest comparison is like a journalist/newsreader American accent? Maybe? I’m hard of hearing and autistic, so I can’t hear myself well or easily modulate my tone/volume. I think I occasionally sound sort of clipped when I mean to be neutral? It’s very hard for me to tell.

fireplace - what’s your favourite accent?

I’m a fan of JARVIS. British accents are fun and almost nostalgic for me—I consider Jim Dale to be my most active carer from ages 8 to 15. In a nutshell, my parents were very distracted from raising me since I was in third grade or so, and I was having a lot of autism and mental health symptoms coming through. I was getting mostly negative attention, and sealing up in my room with my Harry Potter audiobooks was my automatic self-soothing behavior. (Sorry for emotional dump. That was unintentional.)

gift - are you easily embarrassed?

Yes, completely, all the time. I’m nervous any time I’m in a new situation or meeting a new person. I also don’t remember faces or voices well, so even if I’ve talked on the phone or face to face with the same pharmacist or whomever a million times, I’m still shaky the next time I interact with them.

Something I have come to realize quite recently is that customer service representatives (whether on the phone or a reception desk or whatever) are usually pretty patient. Most of the time they give me the opportunity explain my problem in as many words as I need to before they jump in with a response. I’m often scared that I won’t know what to say and then I’ll start stammering really badly and everything will go horribly wrong. If you explain what you need help with, even if you don’t know the keywords, it’s the person who answers’s job to set you in the right direction. It’s ok if you don’t know to ask for Fraud Detection or the Neurologist’s office or whatever. It’s still scary, but the first person you touch base will almost certainly know how to help.

[dknuth]

Emergency in Oaxaca

This is a very different post. I had to think about whether to write it, but I think it's important to think about health issues when traveling, and at home.

Two nights ago were had just sat down in the rootop terrace of Casa Oaxaca, a great restaurant. I noticed my wife, Cathie, having trouble with the QR Code menu, so I requested a paper menu for her. Then I saw she was having trouble with that too. I asked what was wrong and she couldn't answer only saying "no puedo", meaning "I can't". She'd had a tiny stroke in her right eye last spring, so I afraid it might be another one. I called a waiter over and told him she had a problem, maybe a stroke and we needed to get to a hospital quickly.

They leaped into action, calling an ambulance, making sure it wasn't just low blood sugar, etc. A doctor in the restaurant came over and checked and said it was a stroke, get her to the hospital. The EMTs came and together with the restaurant staff they carried her down the steep stairs from the roof in a chair.

One of the restaurant staff, Brenda, went with us to the hospital and stayed for hours.

The hospital was only a few blocks away, when we got there they did a CT Scan which showed no bleeding in the brain. It was determined it was a small blockage in the language section of the brain.

Through all this she had become completely unable to talk or to understand any of us. She had a look of terror and confusion on her face that haunts me still. She didn't know what was happening to her and couldn't tell or understand anyone.

They gave her several meds, most importantly TPA, which breaks down clots. With in minutes we could see changes. She could talk a little, saying "help me" and was able to understand instructions like take a pill, drink some water, etc.

Over the next hour or so she recovered more and more and we were able to move her to a hospital room with an IV for additional drugs, including to reduce brain swelling. By midnight she was conversing normally, but with some memory issues. The time from the onset until the TPA administration was probably little more than an hour, but seemed like so much longer.

Brenda stayed with us until Cathie was in the hospital room and stable several hours. It was an amazing kindness. She helped with translating with the hospital staff, my limited Spanish was not up to medical conversations, and making me feel better about what was happening. She also got ahold of the owner of Casa Murguia, where we are staying and Mary Jane brought over our medications, jackets a blanket for me, etc.

By morning the memory issues were diminishing and she was much like normal, but exhausted.

When a stroke blocks blood to a section of the brain, cells start dying. So getting the blockage removed is extremely time critical. The longer it takes the more brain cells with die, and more capabilities will be lost.

It turned out that we could not have been in a better place. The restaurant staff got an ambulance there quicker than I could have, communicated the issue to hospital staff better than I could. The hospital was literally a few blocks away, and had a CT Scanner, the needed drugs, and an available neurologist. We couldn't have gotten quicker or better treatment in Madison.

It all turned out well, but could so easily have been a horrible result.

The support of those around us at Casa Oaxaca and Mary Jane from Casa Murguia was critical and heartwarming.

Cathie stayed two nights in the hospital, mainly to complete the treatment to control brain inflammation. The doctors at home said there was no need to hurry home, into the snow and -30 wind chill, so we are in our comfortable apartment in Oaxaca.

We are now giving more thought about the locations of medical services and how to reach them both while traveling and at home. If this had happened at home in Madison when I was away for hours or days, Cathie wouldn't have been able to get help and there would have been severe long term damage. We have emergence call button lanyards hanging in a closet at home. Those are coming out and getting used.

Thanks for reading this very different travel discussion. We are now more aware of the need to consider these issues ourselves and hopefully some of you will give them the consideration appropriate for you.

BTW, the hospital bill for emergency room, CT Scan, blood tests, medications, neurologist and two nights stay was $1,000 US. Definitely a bargain.

[thatautisticadhdfeel]

So anyways. That complaining I wanted to do! (This got long)

As anyone who followed this blog for a while before my surprise hiatus (which probably went unnoticed bc Kit kept posting) likely knows, something is horribly wrong with the wretched sack of flesh I am forced to inhabit. I’m not complaining about that right now, I’m back to complain about the medical system.

I worked for a bit in the spring, and was in the process of starting a new job early this fall. After struggling for weeks against email anxiety, I had a realization. Why the hell am I looking for a job when I feel so horrible physically? So I gave up on that job (correct choice. My physical state got worse before it got better) and decided to take another stab at getting medical treatment.

So after talking about my constant pain and suffering for nearly an hour (and developing a spectacular headache by the end), my doctor decides to send me back to the neurologist about the headaches (unclear how helpful this will be), run some more blood tests, and if the blood tests didn’t find anything she was gonna get a second opinion on what else to try.

Okay, great. We’re testing new things and maybe the neurologist will at least be able to prescribe something helpful. Not expecting much from the tests but maybe the second opinion will have a better idea.

Go to the lab, get four vials of blood drawn. They changed the tape they use to hold the cotton ball in place after, and the new tape actually stuck to my skin so that was something. Wait for results.

Doctor calls… to schedule up a phone appointment to go over the results. I become cautiously optimistic that there might actually be something to discuss.

Phone appointment. All the tests were negative. I guess I’m glad I don’t have an autoimmune disease (that would show up those tests, at least) but I’d also like to have an answer. Oh well, I knew this was the most likely outcome. So what’s next?

Apparently, fucking nothing, other than the previously agreed upon visit with the neurologist. The second opinion didn’t have any ideas, so I guess she had no choice but to give up and start saying shockingly unhelpful things like “maybe try to exercise more” and “depression causes pain” (probably didn’t help my case that when she said this I lost the fight against tears and my mother had to finish the call for me) and my absolute favourite, “the only thing that this sounds like is fibromyalgia, but you’re really young for that” (then why bring it up at all? What drives a medical professional to say things like this? How could a loving god allow this phone call to happen)

So being told all that stuff fucked me up for a couple days making me wonder if I was just exaggerating all my symptoms and making a big deal over nothing, until I remembered that I can and have pinched my brachial plexus (an injury typically associated with high speed collisions such as in contact sports, or car accidents) by sleeping on my side, and I’m pretty sure depression doesn’t cause that.

[grace-lost-in-space]

Legs Update/Cleveland Update

This day was probably my worst in a very, very long time.

First of all, I am so confused by Legs. I want to start off with writing about this but it actually happened at the end of the day. But it started this morning. So this morning she texted me and asked if I made it to Cleveland. I told her I did. So then around 1:00 she asked if I saw the neurologist. I told her I did and I was really upset already because the nurse who took labs took them from my arm and they always get taken from my port but she could not do that because she is not trained on ports. So fine, whatever. But because I cannot speak AND I was anxious, she assumed I needed to be “stabilized” aka restrained for labs. She had another nurse come in and “stabilize” my arms aka restrain me. It was awful and I was so confused and scared and I still have no idea why any of that was necessary. And the nurse was talking about me to the other nurse while I was right there and I also think she thought I was hard of hearing. It was awful. So I was already upset about that and then Legs texted and asked how it went and, well, I told her. And then I told her that I also got referred for speech therapy which I was happy for but THEN (I swear I told you this day was the worst) the speech therapist said she never has worked with autism and speech difficulties related to autism. She was really nice and apologetic but I started crying and then her hands were shaking and she said “I’m so sorry, Grace. I feel about as bad as I possibly can right now. I’m so sorry.” So that happened. And what made it worse was that the speech therapist called CB before and told her what she was going to tell me and CB was texting me so she knew but did not tell me. This is all so screwed up. So then I told Legs about that and THEN she FaceTimed me. So I answered. And then of course it was a full on therapy session. And she was SO NICE. Like nicer than she has ever been which confused me even more. God I just want to scream. And then she was saying how she will talk to the new therapist and help her “understand” me. Which she should have done in the first place but I guess she wanted to seem like the hero today. I cannot stop crying. I just cannot believe I got sucked back in especially when I was in a vulnerable state already today. I think that is why it happened—because I was fragile already and Legs was just right there. And she was so nice all day. Where was all this for the past two years? Why could she not be like this before? Why? Just why?

Honestly I think she purposely left out A LOT of information about me to Charlotte (the new therapist) because somewhere in her twisted brain, she is trying to make me come back to her. At first I was apprehensive about this theory but after today, I fully believe it. Especially after she “saved the day” and then made it obvious how much she understands me and how well she knows me and then talked about how Charlotte just does not know me yet.

Screenshot of a text from her this morning because…well obviously.

[theprideful]

Hi :) can I ask about your diagnostic process for ADS? I just learned about inattentive ADHD this year...and I've been reading and researching lots about it and now that I know the symptoms I'm pretty sure I have ADS but I'm anxious that maybe the doctor isn't going to take me seriously because it took me so long to figure it out. I always thought I was just being overdramatic, oversensitive and depressed and just forgetful in general but things really add up. I want to get a diagnosis because I know smth is wrong with me and I want to be able to label it but I'm afraid I'm just making things up or that it's because of the pandemic and quarantine and idk. Do you have to get tested or is there no such thing? (although I imagine it's probably different in every country) thanks in advance!! And if you're not comfortable answering just ignore it haha :)

Hey! First of all, let me just say that your concerns are totally valid. A lot of us feel like we're just exaggerating, or that no one will take us seriously. Unfortunately, there is a lot of bias in the medical and psychological industries, especially against women and girls who are post-pubescent -- e.g., we're more likely to be diagnosed with a personality disorder or social anxiety instead of what's actually responsible. But, that doesn't mean there's no hope. It can take a few tries and several different meetings and "specialists", but try not to feel discouraged. My advice is to talk to your primary care physician or doctor. If you have a neurologist, seek them out first. Tell them your concerns, and if they're unable to diagnose you, ask for a referral, preferably to a qualified neuropsychologist. If you do not have access to a healthcare team/provider, you can also ask your school counselor.* This generally works better if you already have an IEP, but it can still be done without one. (*I'm not sure if this applies in other states/provinces. It's best to do your own research beforehand.) The counselor should have an idea of who to call, and they can give you a number or website for access.

Run-of-the-mill psychologists aren't terrible, but should only be used if necessary. If you are able, I recommend going to a neuropsychology clinic. They are more specialized and will be better suited to assess and diagnose you. Getting an actual appointment set may take a while (with an average waiting period of 4-6 months), so it's better to set one up sooner rather than later. The testing itself will most likely be a bit exhausting, and they may or may not offer you snacks during the process. It's best to get good sleep the night before and eat a good breakfast for good measure.

Before they do tests, they will most likely ask you about general background information. Why are you here today? What prompted you to set up an appointment? Are you here of your own accord, or was it your parent/guardian's idea? After those questions, they'll ask you more specific stuff. Like, When did you first notice odd behaviors? What were they? Did you play with other children when you were younger? Do you find it difficult to make friends? Was it always hard to form relationships, or did it get easier/harder over the years? Did you ever play pretend? Do you find it difficult to interpret facial expressions? Do you experience vocal or physical tics? They know it can be hard to remember stuff from early childhood, so they do their best to account for the margin of error. Just do your best and try to be as honest and clear as you can. The doctor will most likely take notes about what you tell them, as well as behaviors you exhibit.

After they ask you these questions, they will probably start doing performance assessments. These will most likely include a test for your attention/concentration abilities, word association, vocabulary breadth, memory strength, and other basic cognitive functions. After these, there will probably be a few questionnaires for you to fill out: for me, there was one to assess possible OCD, one for Autism Spectrum Disorder symptoms, and one long one that covers all their bases (e.g. schizophrenia, paranoid personality disorder, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, autism, ADHD, depression, anxiety, OCD, etc.). Your parent or guardian will also have to fill out a questionnaire. Just be honest, and be yourself. Try to relax.

Remember, even after diagnosis, it's wise to seek out therapy for coping skills and just day-to-day functioning. It's a long journey -- I'm just starting mine -- but it'll be worth it. Hope this helps. Good luck!

[rockthistowninsideout]

DigiWeek 2021

Day 5 - Crossover

Pacific Rim AU

continuing from Digimon OTP Week 2017 and this fic. (Finally!)

   “What are you doing here!?”

   “You might remember that this is my Jaeger, too.”

   “No, I don’t remember that!”

   “Well, then your mind is even harder up than I thought. Little wonder we cannot pilot anymore.”

   “Oh, so you’re saying that this is my fault now?”

   “Of course it is! It’s certainly not mine.”

   “Are you kidding?! It was not me who charged at that Kaiju even though the Marshal told us to stand clear.”

   “Since when do you follow orders? And if we hadn’t attacked, the Nisga'a Nation wouldn’t exist anymore. Or at least would be severely damaged.”

   “Yeah, but you know what has actually been severely damaged? Flaming Eagle, our Jaeger! They’re still not done repairing him. You’ve saved a stretch of coast-”

   “- which is what we’re here for!”

   “- but now we’re unable to participate in any other mission!!”

. . .

   “Sir, can you not just order them to get their shit together?” Ranger Raleigh Becket asked Marshal Edwards as they watched Rangers Daisuke Motomiya and Miyako Inoue quarrelling in front of their Jaeger.

   Again.

    Raleigh’s brother and piloting partner Yancy giggled behind him and drew a line on a black board that was covered in chalked tally charts. “Argument number 165”, he announced with glee.

    The Marshal rolled his eyes. “This is not funny, Ranger Becket. If Flaming Dragon is ready to go again after mendings are finished but its crew isn’t then I don’t know what we are supposed to do. We need to be at our full force if we want to win this war. And this is not about wanting, it’s about needing to win!”

    “And if we just lock them up in a padded room and only let them out there when they live in harmony again?”, Yancy suggested.

    Marshal Edwards shot him a look. “These two are so stubborn, they’d probably rather starve than reconcile.”

    “I can’t believe that they really have the highest drift compatibility in the entire Jaeger program. You would never guess that when you saw this for the first time”, Raleigh said and indicated them still bickering.

    “If I hadn’t seen the stats, both about compatibility and kill count, myself I would have never let them on the premises. Not even our neurologists can explain this divergence.” The Marshal pinched the bridge of his nose. “And no, Becket, ‘opposites attract’ is not an appropriate explanation”, he said as Yancy was about to open his mouth.

   He snapped it shut again and looked at his brother. Raleigh just shrugged.

   Suddenly the Kaiju siren started blaring. “Dear mother of God, please no!”, the Marshal muttered before strutting away to the stairwell leading up to LOCCENT. Raleigh and Yancy had started to move as well, in the opposite direction towards the Drivesuit Room.

__

   “Sir, we have lost Lady Danger!” the coordinator yelled but he didn’t need to state the obvious. The entire Shatterdome had watched the gruelling battle between G. Danger and Knifehead. How Yancy Becket had been torn out of the cockpit and Raleigh had ended the fight alone before the radar connection had been cut off and Lady Danger had staggered away into the fog.

    Marshal Edwards’ face was a motionless mask. Underneath, grief, anger, and denial were fighting a battle that none of the emotions could win. He gripped the back of the chair the coordinator was sitting on before issuing through gritted teeth “Dispatch the search party!” An armoured squad in helmets swarmed out down below.

    “Sir!”, the coordinator piped up again.

    Marshal Edwards closed his eyes, inhaling for a moment, before answering “Yes?”

   “The Kaiju sends life signals again. I’m afraid it’s still alive.”

   For a split second, the Marshal thought it to be a sign, help from above, to solve the issues between Rangers Motomiya and Inoue. But he quickly suppressed the idea again, it was spit on the wet graves of the Becket brothers. He leaned to the intercom and bellowed “Flaming Dragon, prepare for launch! This is an order! Two Pilots have died fulfilling their duty to protect humanity from the Kaijus and I expect you to honour their memory by suiting up and finishing the fight they’ve lost their lives in!”

   Down on the ground, Daisuke and Miyako stilled. Their first response, incidentally in unison, had been to shake their heads and talk back, simply out of habit, but then they knew better. The Becket brothers were dead, one probably eaten by a Kaiju and the other swallowed by the ocean. It would be a disgrace and go against every reason they had enlisted for if they refused service now. So instead of being uncooperative, they set off to the Drivesuit simultaneously. The J-Techs hurried to suit them up. The Pilots averted eye-contact with them, out of shame, while they were strapped into the Rig.

   Suddenly their antics, their constant bickering and arguing felt childish, unnecessary and completely out of place. This was a war they were fighting in and yet they had decided to put their own meagre disagreements before the welfare of humanity. When the female AI announced that both hemispheres were calibrated, Daisuke and Miyako looked at each other.

   “Ready for the Big Drop?”, Daisuke asked, in different circumstances he would have produced his trademark bright smile.

   “Ready when you are”, Miyako retorted before saying “I’m sorry.”

   “Me too. Now let’s do this.”

   Miyako nodded. At this point she would have added her cheerful “Bingo!” but right now it felt inappropriate. Instead she said “For the Beckets!”

   “For the Beckets!”

__

   Yancy and Raleigh Becket were sitting upright in separate hospital beds, watching incredulously and in awe through the window between the infirmary and the doctor’s office how Daisuke and Miyako were bantering. What was so baffling to them was the fact that they apparently were sharing friendly banter. They were laughing - the Beckets could clearly imagine how loud it was right now in the office as both Japanese pilots had boisterous laughs - and hitting each other amicably on the shoulder every once in a while.

   When the Marshal entered the infirmary, the brothers turned to him. “What happened to them?”, Yancy asked.

   Marshal Edwards shrugged. He looked tired but relieved. “Some say it’s a miracle, others insist on common sense. I’m just happy that the drama is over now.”

   “Oh, I wouldn’t be so hasty”, Raleigh said and indicated the window. Yancy and the Marshal followed his index finger and groaned at the same time because apparently the mood between Daisuke and Miyako had turned sour again. They seemed to get physical soon if it wasn’t for the doctor who’d stepped between them.

   “That was a short-lived miracle”, Yancy remarked.

   Marshal Edwards just sighed.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Heaven, Hell and You

John Constantine x OFC  (A/n- Just gonna toss in some cheesy tropes to move things along)

Masterlist   Chapter 2

Warnings- Brief mentions of mental health

Chapter 3

John had made several mistakes in his life, though he couldn't determine if bringing Valerie back to his loft was one of them. She'd been eerily silent throughout the car ride, keeping closer to the door with her head cast towards the window as John drove in silence. And even when they'd reached his building, as led the way up to his apartment, she hadn't offered him the slightest pea. He needed her to talk though, so he could decipher what or who she was.

Valerie had to be special. Between his all too life like dreams and her being attacked by a demon trying to escape into their realm, she couldn't just be any regular human. Besides, she'd understood Latin as if it were English, and the only time he'd ever come across that was with angels. Nephilim, it was the only plausible answer. How could she not know though? 

Taking off the whistling kettle from the stove, John filled up two mismatched mugs, both with tea bags he'd been surprised he'd had, leaving room for milk and sugar in one. He had never been the most hospitable, and usually preferred to not entertain guests, but he also supposed that the least he could do after essentially dragging her to his car was try to make her stay comfortable. And of course, get her to trust him so she'd talk. 

After a while, he didn't really note how long it had been, Valerie emerged, wearing what he'd left out for her after offering to let her use his shower. Well, at least half of it, "I couldn't fit in your sweats," she blushed, certainly noting the way his dark eyes had landed on her exposed legs. Her very smooth, toned legs. 

Clearing his throat, John tried to shake off the perverse thoughts, "Its fine," he dismissed, "Tea?"

Nodding stiffly, Valerie relieved him of the cup, only stirring in a spoon of sugar before bringing it to her lips, "Thanks," she smiled, her face half hidden by the ceramic mug, "And um……thank you for everything else too."

"No problem," he obliged, gesturing for them to sit, "Just part of the job."

"The job?" Her brows knitted in question.

"I'm an occult detective," and when she still showed no sign of understanding, he carried on with explaining, "I do exorcisms, investigate the supernatural, that kind of stuff.”

“I….” Trailing off, she tried to make sense of it all, “Exorcisms? The supernatural? That’s,” exhaling softly, John could already see that the little bits he’d given were too much for her, “That stuff isn’t real,” Valerie shook her head dismissively, though, he could see that thing in her frightened eyes, that thing that told John she wanted to  believe him.

“You’ve got a better explanation for what happened back there?” Leaning back in his chair, John crossed his legs at the ankles, waiting for an answer.

Straightening her back, Valerie set the mug down, “Schizophrenia could easily explain that boy’s behavior, and it’s commonly associated with-”

Cutting her off, John interrupted her rambling, “And what about you understanding a language you’ve never learned?”

“Well there’s there’s not a lot of medical research on it, but I assume that a neurologist would suggest a brain tumor, or an-”

Chuckling dryly, John shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, “So you’d rather believe that you have a brain tumor than believe that demons and that stuff,” he quoted mockingly, “Is real?”

Clenching her jaw, Valerie stood abruptly, “That’s bullshit, that’s all nonsense and babble from the bible. Things meant to scare people into obedience,” emitting a dry, husky laugh, she rolled her eyes, “You expect me to believe that there are demons and one of them just knows me by name and decided to come after me. Cause that’s so believable!” 

John stood too, fuming at her stubbornness. To think he’d actually thought he could like her! “If it’ll save your ass then yeah!”

“Save my ass from what?” Her yell was louder than his, and for a hot minute, all sorts of tension building between them, they just stood there, both red in the face, fuming.

“You should be telling me!” Running fingers through his hair, John turned away, walking over to lean on the skin, “You’re the one they’re after!”

“They?” 

“Hell,” he clarified, “And maybe heaven too, I don’t know. Look,” his tone softened as John desperately tried to reason. Despite Valerie being extremely difficult, he still had the gnawing urge to help her. There was just something about her, he just couldn’t put his finger on it, “I know it’s a lot to hear in just one night, but believe it or not, they’re after you. And you’re the only person that knows why,” he sighed when she sat again, the gravity dawning on her just as she really started to let his words sink in, “Look, that couldn’t have been the first time-”

“It was,” she sniffled, swiping at her eyes, “I mean, it sort of was. I guess…..” Swallowing tightly, Valerie continued slowly and reluctantly, “I hear things sometimes…..they say they’re coming for me. Sometimes I see people that aren’t there, but the doctors-”

“Gave you a bunch of pills and told you it was all in your head?” John knew the story all too well, after all, it had been his story too. 

“Sort of,” she shook her head, voice teary and smaller than before, “They said that I was being paranoid at first, and then this doctor that I went to when I was in college, gave me antipsychotics. She said that was delusional and when i graduated, my grandparents had to pay for the records to be suppressed so I could even get this job; no one’s gonna hire a crazy nurse.”

Her story, as little of it as she’d told, tugged at John’s heart. Going through something like that alone couldn’t have been easy and he didn’t want to upset her further, but the more he knew, the better he could help her, “Do you see things too?”

Thinking on it in silence, Valerie eventually nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze, “Yeah,” blinking away tears, “The meds never helped, so I stopped taking them. And now I just try to ignore it, but it’s so scary sometimes,” her already soft voice dropped to a sorrowful whisper, “Gosh,” her voice broke, “You must think I’m crazy.”

Finally pushing off the edge of the sink, John dragged the chair closer to Valerie’s tentatively resting his hand over hers on the table. It was so foreign for him, taking someone’s hand like that and the last hand he held was Angela’s, when they’d tried the whole dating thing, but holding hers didn’t feel half as right as holding Valerie’s and John, for the slightest second, though he could get used to it. If only he’d let himself. “I don’t,” he eventually reassured, causing her to look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, a couple drying locks falling over her delicate features, “I see them too, when I was a kid, my parents sent me to a mental institute. They tried everything, electrotherapy,” at that, she gasped sympathetically, “Meds, but nothing helped. And I tried to kill myself.” It was hard to avoid the sympathy that welled up in her gaze, and the way she turned her hand beneath his, so she could circle his fingers in a loose grasp. He hated the vulnerability that came with telling someone the truth about himself, but though his mind protested, John came clean in one go, hoping it would help her open up.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, squeezing his fingers, and suddenly, she was the one comforting him, “That couldn’t have been easy, but now you have a second chance, right?” Finally, she was starting to admit that she, at least partly, believed him, “Not a lot of people can say they have that.”

“Right,” just realizing how close they’d gotten, both leaning over the table and hands still locked, John pulled away abruptly, resigning to the back of his chair at the kitchen table, “And I’m trying to make the best of it. But this isn’t about me-” When he caught her staring, frown down-turning full, pink lips, he furrowed his brows, “What?”

“You’re hurt,” as quickly as she stood, Valerie was dropping to her knees in front of him, their position leaving John a little more than flustered, “Let me see your arm.” Without his permission, she was already holding on to his left hand, undoing the cuff buttons of his dress shirt, ripped on the sleeve from the earlier confrontation, pushing it up to his elbow, revealing his tattoo along with a large slash running for about six or seven inches at the top of his arm, “It looks like it’s only just started to bleed through the fabric, but it’s bad. It doesn’t need stitches though. You’re lucky, it’s not close to the vein and not too deep either. Do you have a first aid kit? I have supplies in my car, but…..”

“I brought you here in mine,” he huffed. She was so close, and with her looking up at him like that, wide doe eyes so sweet and innocent and plump lips barely agape, it was kind of hard to think, “I have some things,” he breathed, feeling like he should be looking anywhere but at her face, lest he submit to whatever spell that it exuded, the only one he wasn’t immune to. “But you don’t have to-”

“I insist, you saved my life,” she smiled faintly, “Though, if you’d prefer an E.R, I could go with you, my Id’s in my bag so it wouldn’t take too long.”

“No,” he dismissed,” I mean,” floundering for his words, John fought to uncloud his mind, “I can take care of myself, you should get some rest.”

“Look, I’m staying with you so you can do your job, right? You want to help me because its your job?” Sitting back on her heels, Valerie’s hold on his hand continued, “Well since I’m here, you should let me do mine, please.”

Thinking on it, John could tell that Valerie probably wasn’t going to give up the matter so easily, thus, he submitted, “Okay, there should be some things that you can use in the medicine cabinet, above the sink in the bathroom.”

“Good,” she all but leaped up, scuttling off barefoot into the bathroom, only to return minutes later with John’s beat up first aid kit clutched in her small hands. Setting it down, Valerie pulled her chair even closer, so close that when she sat, one of his knees parted hers legs slightly. And when she leaned over to look over his wound, John could smell his soap mixing intoxicatingly with her natural scent. She’d put her hair up with a tie from her purse, and her eyes were trained on his arm, concentration equally reflected in her steady hands, gently dabbing his wound with Hydrogen Peroxide, trying to bring as little pain as possible, “Does it hurt?” 

“A little,” He returned lowly, slightly wincing, “It did before, but I didn’t notice the bleeding until you pointed it out.”

“Okay,” when she was through with cleaning it, Valerie rummaged through the kit again with gloved hands, looking for an antibiotic cream or powder, searching for a while until she found something satisfactory, “There’s some bruising, it shouldn’t cause too many problems, but it’ll still hurt and we should keep an eye on it.”

We

“Alright, thanks,” John kept his eyes on her, admiring how she worked with a tenderness that he found often absent in other medical personnel. It was like, she cared in a personal way, as if he meant something to her already. He wondered if the treatment was exclusive to him, or if it was just something she carried within her. “So, you’re a nurse?”

“Nurse practitioner,” Valerie corrected, “I work in the ICU at Los Angeles General, most of a doctor’s work for half their pay,” she chuckled lightly.

Without warning, John found himself mirroring her smile, the mood lightening. “So why aren’t you a doctor instead?”

After a moment, she shrugged her shoulders, moving on to wrapping a bandage over his arm, to keep the gauze in place “When I was kid, my mother was an N.P in the E.R, I used to want to be just like her,” Valerie’s face fell, “She always said that I had…..healing hands, whatever that meant.”

By the time Valerie was done, she still held onto his wrist, her thumb tracing circles into his skin, “Can your mom…..or any of your other family see….things?”

As he asked the question, Valerie’s smile, as faint as it was faltered, “No, she couldn’t. I’m actually adopted, and my mom died when I was thirteen.”

“Oh,” his shoulders slumped as John realized that figuring out exactly what she was, was going to be much more complicated than he'd anticipated. Usually, it was easy for him, he could see past the surface, but Valerie, as far as he could see, was perfectly human. And who knew how much her parents, or at least her dad, would know. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago,” her forced smile was enough to tell John that Valerie was done with the topic, and when she moved her hands, starting to pack up everything she’d taken out, “And um, you should take something, for the pain, and try not to get it wet when you shower,” the chair scraped on the worn tiles when she stood, “Thank you for everything but maybe I should see if my dress is dried and-”

“You have to stay here,” John objected hastily, frightening her in the slightest, “I mean,” he tried to broach the matter again, “I mean, it might not be safe for you to get back or stay alone, we still don’t know why that demon was after you, and something else could come just as easily, you really should stay.”

“I couldn’t impose like that,” she shook her head, desperately not wanting to overstay her welcome.

Standing too, John placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, causing her to meet his gaze once more, “You wouldn’t be. Stay tonight, and tomorrow, we can talk about this some more, when you’ve gotten some rest. Please?”

Hesitating for a moment, Valerie weighed the options; go home alone at nearly two in the morning and possibly get attacked by something she knew nothing about, or stay with a somewhat trustworthy though abrasive, handsome stranger and be safe. "Fine, but I have to get my car, first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okay," he determined, "I've gotta take a shower, but you can take the bed."

Giving John's place a sweeping look, she noted his mismatched furniture; a rickety kitchen table with four chairs, a long sofa with a couple worn throw pillows nearby in front of her, and behind her, near the furthest window was a bed, haphazardly made. "Where will you sleep?"

"Couch," he gestured to the sofa behind him, trying to move around her, only for Valerie to grab his bicep, stopping him suddenly.

"You don't have to do that, we can share it," when his expression suggested that he wasn't readily on board with the idea, she offered, "Or I can take the couch, whatever is better for you."

It was weird, sleeping in an unfamiliar bed with a man she didn't know. Valerie had only ever had one, one night stand and even then, she'd been too drunk to care whose bed she'd fallen asleep in. But that night, with John, the alcohol had already subsided and though they'd come close to kissing, she was pretty sure he wasn't interested in her like that. 

She'd been laying beneath his thin covers, pillows wedged between his sleeping body and her annoyingly awake one for nearly an hour and a half, and not once had her eyes felt heavy. Valerie was wide awake. 

The digital alarm clock on her side, with its glowing red numbers told her that it was nearing three am and all Valerie could have mustered up by then was, at most, five minutes of shutting her eyes tightly and hoping for the best. Though, the best never came. 

She laid like that for a while more, that was, until John started fretting in his sleep, mumbling incoherently as beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. "John?" Valerie sat up, shifting to face him, too scared of his reaction to rouse him. "John?" She called a bit louder, her worry building. Valerie had seen people have nightmares before, ex boyfriends or patients during a night shift, but they much unlike the one she was witnessing right then. John was thrashing, occasionally yelling.

When he eventually shot up it was minutes later with wide, disoriented eyes, hands reaching out wildly, and maybe she'd heard wrong, but her name leaving his lips in a babbled cry. It took him a while to settle down, but even when he did, Valerie threaded carefully, "Are you okay?"

Her hand lingered in his shoulder, actually itching to cup his cheek, and John gazed at her intensely in the darkness before speaking again, like he had to be sure she was really there, "Yeah," he swallowed thickly, chest dominated by deep, heavy breaths, “It was just a bad dream. You should get back to sleep.”

Ignoring his advice, Valerie squeezed his shoulder affectionately, scooting closer despite her better judgement, jamming her thigh against the makeshift barrier keeping them apart, “Do you want to talk about it? What was it about?” 

Once again, their faces were too close, and it felt too comfortable, so comfortable that neither John nor Valerie showed any signs of moving away from each other. His throat felt tight and dry, though his heart was slowing with every second that her hand remained on his bare shoulder. Healing hands. She was there, and she was okay. When the word finally fell off his lips, lonesome, quiet though speaking immeasurable volumes in the silence, they just stared at each other, not knowing if to lean in or pull away, “You.”

******

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