#working with henry has hazards for your appetite!

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

"We didn't even know it was a bacterial infection until 1882."

Forever S01E03 Fountain of Youth.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 2 | Winter Wonderland

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary:  Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

This chapter:  A chance meeting at Afternoon Tea at the National Gallery sets Tom and Tamra on a Christmas adventure. Plus ice skating and hot chocolate.

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

-

Tom’s jaw remained slack as he pulled back to study Tamra. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to spew such blasphemous language.

“I don’t understand you. Everyone likes Christmas.”

“Tamra Harmon.” she held her hand out, “Certified Christmas Hater.”

“Tom. Normal Person.” He shook her hand. “If you don’t like Christmas, why on earth did you come to London?”

Tamra studied Tom for a moment. His face looked familiar. But she couldn’t place where. She shrugged off the nagging feeling for the moment. “For the museums, Tom, no last name. I’m a curator. This is a low season for me.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Not the answer I expected.”

An attendant brought tea and food, interrupting Tamra’s response. Tom set to prep the tea. Tamra divided the sandwiches and pastries between the two plates.

“May I pour for you?” Tom held up the pot. Tamra held her cup for him to pour. He put the pot down and held up the sugar. Tamra held up one finger. Tom finished fixing the tea before tucking into the sandwiches and chocolate pastries with a voracious appetite.

“Wow!” She gave a low whistle. “How do you stay so fit with the way you eat?”

Tom chuckled as he swallowed the bite of chocolate chip scone. “I work out.” he deadpanned.

Tamra giggled. “Well, you look like you carbing up for a marathon.”

“With busy hammers closing rivets up, give dreadful note of preparation. In this case, I am preparing for Christmas crowds.”

“Shakespeare.”

“Quite right.” Tom shoved another bite of scone. “Henry V.”

“Act Four, Scene 1.”

“I’m impressed. Few can recount act and scene. Fan of the Bard?”

“Yes. I am a bit of a history buff. I take from your comment you are as well.”

Tom’s cheeks blushed at the comment. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

Tamra tilted her head to the side. “Occupational hazard?”

“I’m an actor. And what with being British, Shakespeare appears to run through my veins.”

Tamra’s mind flashed to six months ago when PBS reran The Hollow Crown. The hair longer, the beard more pronounced but now Tamra knew who sat before her.

“Holy FUCK, you’re Tom Hiddleston!” She exclaimed louder than she planned.

“In the flesh, I’m afraid. And I would advise to keep your voice down unless you want to cause a scene.” Tom held his finger to his lips and Tamra nodded.

“So why are here at the National Gallery for tea?” Tamra took a bite of a tea sandwich before wrinkling her nose and placing it back on the tray.

“I skipped lunch. I’m hungry.” Tom took a large sip of tea before popping another bite of pastry in his mouth. “Shopping is exhausting work.”

“Don’t you have assistants to do that sort of thing?” Tamra found the chocolate chip scone much more appetizing. “I prefer to do my family Christmas shopping myself.” Tamra wrinkled her nose. Tom punched his fist against the table. “That is the second time you have reacted to Christmas since I sat down. What is your problem with Christmas?”

Tamra narrowed her eyes and Tom did the same, in an unspoken game of chicken, seeing who would blink first. Tamra lost her focus in Tom’s clear blue eyes and she blinked. “I don’t have fond memories of the holidays.” she huffed.

“With such a sparkling personality as yours, I find that hard to believe.” His voice dripping with sarcasm.

“My parents got divorced at Christmas.”

Tom’s smile wiped from his face. He reached across the table and placed his hand onto of hers. “I’m sorry. I have been there myself when I was young. It is never easy.”

Tamra nodded and shoved a big bite of scone into her mouth to end the conversation. Their conversation died out as the din from the dining room filled the air. Tamra snuck glances across the table at Tom, who seemed oblivious to her spying.

Tom stared out the window as he ate. The Christmas tree glittered in the afternoon light. He chewed on the conversation as he chewed on a savory pastry. Tamra’s whole attitude towards Christmas unsettled Tom, not just the attitude but reasoning behind the negativity. A plan brewed and percolated in a corner of his mind. He turned to face Tamra, who threw her gaze askance as he faced her. Tom smiled at the whole scene. He was used to having people gawk and stare but there was something different here. Tom saw the wheels turning in Tamra’s mind.

She is a complete stranger. He mulled, trying to convince himself to not to follow through of his ridiculous plan. Luke will be furious. She might be a psychopath or worse a crazed fan. He listed all the reasons not to do this and each time he rationalized the reason away. After wrestling with himself, he gave a small nod as if to set down the path he chose.

“So…” he placed his cup back on the saucer. “My holiday plans have changed because of unforeseen circumstances and I will be in town longer than I expected. I would love some company.”

Tamra raised one eyebrow. “You want to hang out with me?” Her nose wrinkled. “What’s the catch?”

Tom’s eyes sparkled at how quickly she caught on. “You are clever. While we would keep each other company, I would like to show you all the joy and wonder that Christmas has to offer. How long are you in the country?”

“Twelve days.”

“Perfect. What do you say? What to spend Christmas with a man who eats afternoon tea alone?”

Tamra leaned back and studied Tom, mulling his proposal. She didn’t want to anything Christmas related, but she also didn’t want to spend the next twelve days alone. And she could imagine worse company than a handsome British guy.

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I am here for the museums. So I will partake of holiday activities if we go to one museum a day.”

“Deal.” Tom extended his hand. Tamra shook his hand.

“Deal.” Tom began to busy himself clearing the table. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I only twelve days. I’m not wasting a moment.” he smiled as he stood and straightened his sweater.

Tamra placed the last bite of scone in her mouth before rising as well. “Well, aren’t you a man of action?”

“You have no idea.”

The two of them tugged on their winter coats as they headed out into the chilled air. Tom led the way through the busy London streets and he left Tamra with little choice but to hold his hand as he weaved into and out among the pedestrians. She didn’t know their destination headed and Tom refused to divulge his plans.

After about 30 minutes, they arrived at Hyde Park, Winter Wonderland to be precise. Tamra glared at Tom as he attempted to pull her into the cavalcade of lights and sound.

“We made a deal.” Tom responded.

“Aren’t you afraid of being recognized?”

Tom pulled his ball cap lower on his brow. “I’m invisible.”

Tamra laughed at the notion that a black baseball cap somehow rendered Tom invisible to the crowd. Tamra relented as Tom tugged on her arm again. The light arches lined the main walk area. She observed midway games, food and drink, and carnival rides. Everything Christmas themed. Tamra’s eyes darted from side to side taking in the sights. She wondered how the organizers construct something so extensive just for the holidays. Tom led them to the skating rink.

“Are you serious?” Tamra questioned as they stood in line to purchase tickets and rent skates.

“As a heart attack.” Tom gave a dazzling smile. “You don’t like ice skating? It is a time-honored winter activity, not a Christmas activity.”

“We don’t do a lot of ice skating in Florida.”

“Fair enough.” Tom nodded. “Florida, that would explain the lightweight winter coat.” Tom pulled at Tamra’s sleeve.

She moved out of his reach. “Hey, I did the best I could. They don’t sell a lot of wool at the mall. Now bathing suits, I can handle.”

She blushed realizing what she said and saw Tom blush as well.

“I am sure you dazzle in a bikini as you do in a parka and scarf with your winning personality.” Tom teased.

“Are you flirting, Hiddleston?”

“Not in the slightest. Just making an observation.”

Tamra blushed deeper as Tom wiggled his eyebrows for effect. Tom paid for the tickets and grabbed both sets of skates. In no time, he had his shoes off and skates on.

“You can put your shoes in the locker with mine.”

“Do they smell?”

“I’m not sure, but you are welcome to check.”

“Hard pass.”

Tamra pulled off her boots and placed him next to Tom’s in the locker. Tom locked the door while Tamra pulled on the skates. He helped Tamra stand, and they moved their way to the ice. Tom stepped out first, gliding out on wobbly legs.

“You look like a baby giraffe.” she giggled as she clung to the railing.

“Not the first time I have been called a giraffe.” Tom held his hands out. “Your turn.”

Tamra gripped tight to the railing.

“Trust me, Tamra. I am here.” Tom beckoned her.

With trepidation, Tamra placed one foot onto the ice followed by the other, still gripping the side.

“Trust.” Tom reassured.

She pushed off the side towards Tom’s outstretched arms. She smiled as she glided towards Tom. As she neared him, they both realized she couldn’t stop. Tamra plowed at full speed into Tom and they both dropped like a rock to the ice. They collapsed into a pile of limbs.

“That will leave a bruise.” Tom groaned as he sat up.

Tamra rubbed her backside. “Agreed.”

“Let’s try this again. A little less speed this time.”

Tamra nodded. Tom rose to his feet first, looking as graceful as one could on ice in skates. He pulled Tamra to her feet next, and they set off again, albeit much slower.

-

“And they say Floridians can’t skate.” Tom commented as they made their final round before their session ended. Tamra held Tom’s tight until the last ten minutes when he let her go. Tamra’s eye shot over to him as he pulled behind her. He shooed her away.

“I did it!” she exclaimed as she came to a stop at the side.

Tom smiled as he glided behind her, bumping against her just to tease her.

“You need more confidence.”

They stepped back onto terra firma and exchanged their skates for their shoes. As they stepped back onto the main walkway, Tamra noticed the chill of air. She rubbed her arms to warm up.

“Need to warm up?”

“Yeah, all those falls wet my clothes.”

“I know just the thing.”

Tom led her to a row of food tents. They ducked a food tent.

“Welcome to Thor’s!” the bartender greeted them.

“I guess I should have looked at the name before we entered.” Tom commented.

Tamra snickered. They perused the drinks menu. Tamra ordered a hot cocoa.

“There is nothing on here for Loki. This is an outrage!” he slammed his fists in mock anger.

“There is a Frosty Giant.” Tamra pointed out.

“One measly drink. This is unacceptable.” Tom leaned to the bartender. “Tell your boss the God of Mischief is not pleased.”

The bartender nodded and Tom gave him a wink before ordering a hot cocoa as well.

The bartender turned to prepare their drinks.

“Do you always harass the waitstaff?”

“Only when I am in good company.” He shoved her shoulder.

“On the house for the God of Mischief and his date.” the bartender commented, handing them two large mugs of cocoa.

“Not his date.” Tamra deadpanned before turning to find a seat.

Tom shrugged his shoulders at the bartender before following Tamra.

The hot cocoa warmed them to the core. They drained the mugs in no time and then stepped out into the wonderland.

“How about we check out the Christmas market?”

“What’s a Christmas market?”

“A collection of people selling Christmas related items.”

Tamra wrinkled her nose. “I will go, but I won’t enjoy myself.”

“That is all I ask.” Tom gave a small bow.

“Stop it! You are drawing attention to us!” Tamra pulled at his arm.

“As you wish.”

They moved from stall to stall with Tom looking at everything and asking questions while Tamra stood nearby wanting it all to be over. She lingered at one of the last stalls, admiring the workmanship of a hand-blown glass ornament. Tamra turned it over in her hands a few times before putting it down in haste when she caught Tom spying. She hustled away to the next stall, leaving Tom behind.

Tom picked out a few ornaments for his mother and sisters.

“Which one did the young lady look at?”

The owner gestured to a beautiful blue and white ball. Tom picked it up. The ornament was the color of the ocean. Perfect for a girl from Florida.

“I will take that one too. And can you wrap it please?”

The owner nodded and rang up the purchases. Tom trotted off to catch up with Tamra, who was tapping her foot at the end of the aisle.

“What’s in there?” Tamra gestured at the bag in Tom’s hand.

“Some presents for my sisters and mother.” Not a lie. He fudged.

“It’s starting to get dark, should we head out?”

“I have one more activity in mind.”

Tamra groaned as Tom dragged her off in the direction of the Observation Wheel.

“A Ferris Wheel? Are we at the county fair?”

“We are at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. And it’s Observation Wheel. Now stop complaining. You will be free of me for the night in no time.”

Tamra shuffled her feet. She didn’t want to admit but Tom was pleasant company. After waiting in line, the attendant loaded them into their seats. The wheel started to rise and lifted them into the London sky.

“This is how London should be viewed.” Tom gestured to the windows.

At first, Tamra saw the rainbow of lights from the Wonderland. She could see the rides and the skating rink. As they rose, the lights of the city twinkled in the evening. Tamra couldn’t pick out anything other than the London Eye in the distance but it looked beautiful just the same. At first Tom sat back to watch her, but before long he too became enamored with the view.

The lights fell from view as they made their descent and before long they were back in the cold London evening air. They walked in silence to the entrance.

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow. How will this whole thing work?” she asked.

Tom gave a nervous giggle. “I haven’t thought it out.” He rocked back on his heels. “The least I can do is give you a ride to your hotel—”

“Airbnb.”

“—Even better. We can exchange mobile numbers. And I will call you in the morning to pick you up.”

“I can’t impose on you like that. I can take the Tube.”

“Nonsense. Where are you staying?”

“Over by the Bakersfield station.”

Tom clapped his hands.

“On my way home. It’s settled. I’m taking you.” He fished his phone out his pocket and dialed a number.

“Over by Winter Wonderland by Hyde Park. Thank you.” Tom hung the phone. “Driver will be here in about ten minutes.”

“Wow. Driver on command. Fancy.”

“I assure you it is more of a pain than I care to admit.”

Tamra rolled her eyes but said nothing. A black car pulled up, and the driver got out to open the door for Tom. He gave a glare as Tamra approached the car, but Tom waved him it off.

“It’s okay, she’s with me.” Tamra slid into the back seat. The driver closed the door and returned to behind the wheel.

“Where to, Mr Hiddleston?”

“Give him the address.” Tom whispered to Tamra.

She pulled out her phone to give the address of her Airbnb. Traffic was light at night so they got to her place in about fifteen minutes. Tom lept from the car, much to the dismay of the driver, to run around the car and open Tamra’s door.

“Allow me.”

“Thank you.”

Tamra gestured to the door. “This is me.”

“Thank you for the company and being a good sport. Feeling the Christmas spirit?” Tom asked with hopeful eyes.

Tamra’s face dropped. “I am feeling the bruises forming on my ass from ice skating. Is that what the Christmas spirt feels like?”

“Hardly. I will have to try again tomorrow. Before I leave, I need your mobile.” Tamra handed Tom her phone. He typed for a bit before looking up at her with a grin and returning to type. Tom then typed into his own phone. He returned her phone after several minutes.

“Don’t look at it until tomorrow.” he ordered.

“Fine. Goodnight Tom.”

“Goodnight Tamra.” Tom extended his hand; she shook it.

“It’s been weird.” she retorted before opening her door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Tom stood in the cold until the door shut behind Tamra. He rubbed his arms and hurried back into the car.

“Home, please.” He asked of the driver.

Tom sat for a moment in the silence, wondering how he got here and what he would do tomorrow. He wondered about all the things to do in London and that spark a thought.

“Fuck!” he muttered as he fished his phone out. He punched in a familiar number. Despite the late hour, the person on the other end, answer on the first ring.

“Luke… I have something to tell you.”

[just-the-hiddles]

Bah Hiddleston | Chapter 2 | Winter Wonderland

A/N:  This is it the brainchild since before Halloween of an epic Christmas romantic comedy with Tom.  I want to give a huge shoutout to my smut sisters @hopelessromanticspoonie and @yespolkadotkitty for being there when this idea was just a spark and fueling the fire of my insanity.  And a special shoutout to @nonsensicalobsessions you have always been my first and one of my biggest cheerleader.  I am forever grateful.  

Pairing:  Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary: Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas.  All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo.  But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

This Chapter:  A chance meeting at Afternoon Tea at the National Gallery sets Tom and Tamra on a Christmas adventure.  Plus ice skating and hot chocolate  

Warnings: Language for now, Grinchiness, eventual smut,  talks of divorce 

Word Count: 2964

Whole Enchilada Tag List- @winterisakiller @nonsensicalobsessions @hopelessromanticspoonie @pinkzz123 @jessiejunebug @cherrygeek86 @littleredstarfish @rjohnson1280 @the-minus-four @jade10077 @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @catsladen @coppercorn-and-cauldron @gerli49 @lovesmesomehiddles @devilbat​ @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic​ @tinchentitri​ @theheartofpenelope​

Hiddles Tag List- @hiddlesbitch1 @drakesfiance​ @obtain-this-grain​ @unfortunatelyymuggle​ @theoneanna​ @too-cold-for-youhere​ @brucestephenbucky​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @ladyblablabla​ @lokixme​

Christmas Tag List- @mygreenmoleskine​ 

Bah Hiddleston Tag List: @from-hel-i-with-love​ @darkprincessloki92​ @skiddleskaddle​ @mishaandthebrits​

Untaggables: @jumpxjess @sterwild 

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN, JUST LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO A LIST!!

-

Tom’s jaw remained slack as he pulled back to study Tamra. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to spew such blasphemous language.

“I don’t understand you. Everyone likes Christmas.”

“Tamra Harmon.” she held her hand out, “Certified Christmas Hater.”

“Tom. Normal Person.” He shook her hand. “If you don’t like Christmas, why on earth did you come to London?”

Tamra studied Tom for a moment. His face looked familiar. But she couldn’t place where. She shrugged off the nagging feeling for the moment. “For the museums, Tom, no last name. I’m a curator. This is a low season for me.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Not the answer I expected.”

An attendant brought tea and food, interrupting Tamra’s response. Tom set to prep the tea. Tamra divided the sandwiches and pastries between the two plates.

“May I pour for you?” Tom held up the pot. Tamra held her cup for him to pour. He put the pot down and held up the sugar. Tamra held up one finger. Tom finished fixing the tea before tucking into the sandwiches and chocolate pastries with a voracious appetite.

“Wow!” She gave a low whistle. “How do you stay so fit with the way you eat?”

Tom chuckled as he swallowed the bite of chocolate chip scone. “I work out.” he deadpanned.

Tamra giggled. “Well, you look like you carbing up for a marathon.”

“With busy hammers closing rivets up, give dreadful note of preparation. In this case, I am preparing for Christmas crowds.”

“Shakespeare.”

“Quite right.” Tom shoved another bite of scone. “Henry V.”

“Act Four, Scene 1.”

“I’m impressed. Few can recount act and scene. Fan of the Bard?”

“Yes. I am a bit of a history buff. I take from your comment you are as well.”

Tom’s cheeks blushed at the comment. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

Tamra tilted her head to the side. “Occupational hazard?”

“I’m an actor. And what with being British, Shakespeare appears to run through my veins.”

Tamra’s mind flashed to six months ago when PBS reran The Hollow Crown. The hair longer, the beard more pronounced but now Tamra knew who sat before her.

“Holy FUCK, you’re Tom Hiddleston!” She exclaimed louder than she planned.

“In the flesh, I’m afraid. And I would advise to keep your voice down unless you want to cause a scene.” Tom held his finger to his lips and Tamra nodded.

“So why are here at the National Gallery for tea?” Tamra took a bite of a tea sandwich before wrinkling her nose and placing it back on the tray.

“I skipped lunch. I’m hungry.” Tom took a large sip of tea before popping another bite of pastry in his mouth. “Shopping is exhausting work.”

“Don’t you have assistants to do that sort of thing?” Tamra found the chocolate chip scone much more appetizing. “I prefer to do my family Christmas shopping myself.” Tamra wrinkled her nose. Tom punched his fist against the table. “That is the second time you have reacted to Christmas since I sat down. What is your problem with Christmas?”

Tamra narrowed her eyes and Tom did the same, in an unspoken game of chicken, seeing who would blink first. Tamra lost her focus in Tom’s clear blue eyes and she blinked. “I don’t have fond memories of the holidays.” she huffed.

“With such a sparkling personality as yours, I find that hard to believe.” His voice dripping with sarcasm.

“My parents got divorced at Christmas.”

Tom’s smile wiped from his face. He reached across the table and placed his hand onto of hers. “I’m sorry. I have been there myself when I was young. It is never easy.”

Tamra nodded and shoved a big bite of scone into her mouth to end the conversation. Their conversation died out as the din from the dining room filled the air. Tamra snuck glances across the table at Tom, who seemed oblivious to her spying.

Tom stared out the window as he ate. The Christmas tree glittered in the afternoon light. He chewed on the conversation as he chewed on a savory pastry. Tamra’s whole attitude towards Christmas unsettled Tom, not just the attitude but reasoning behind the negativity. A plan brewed and percolated in a corner of his mind. He turned to face Tamra, who threw her gaze askance as he faced her. Tom smiled at the whole scene. He was used to having people gawk and stare but there was something different here. Tom saw the wheels turning in Tamra’s mind.

She is a complete stranger. He mulled, trying to convince himself to not to follow through of his ridiculous plan. Luke will be furious. She might be a psychopath or worse a crazed fan. He listed all the reasons not to do this and each time he rationalized the reason away. After wrestling with himself, he gave a small nod as if to set down the path he chose.

“So…” he placed his cup back on the saucer. “My holiday plans have changed because of unforeseen circumstances and I will be in town longer than I expected. I would love some company.”

Tamra raised one eyebrow. “You want to hang out with me?” Her nose wrinkled. “What’s the catch?”

Tom’s eyes sparkled at how quickly she caught on. “You are clever. While we would keep each other company, I would like to show you all the joy and wonder that Christmas has to offer. How long are you in the country?”

“Twelve days.”

“Perfect. What do you say? What to spend Christmas with a man who eats afternoon tea alone?”

Tamra leaned back and studied Tom, mulling his proposal. She didn’t want to anything Christmas related, but she also didn’t want to spend the next twelve days alone. And she could imagine worse company than a handsome British guy.

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I am here for the museums. So I will partake of holiday activities if we go to one museum a day.”

“Deal.” Tom extended his hand. Tamra shook his hand.

“Deal.” Tom began to busy himself clearing the table. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I only twelve days. I’m not wasting a moment.” he smiled as he stood and straightened his sweater.

Tamra placed the last bite of scone in her mouth before rising as well. “Well, aren’t you a man of action?”

“You have no idea.”

The two of them tugged on their winter coats as they headed out into the chilled air. Tom led the way through the busy London streets and he left Tamra with little choice but to hold his hand as he weaved into and out among the pedestrians. She didn’t know their destination headed and Tom refused to divulge his plans.

After about 30 minutes, they arrived at Hyde Park, Winter Wonderland to be precise. Tamra glared at Tom as he attempted to pull her into the cavalcade of lights and sound.

“We made a deal.” Tom responded.

“Aren’t you afraid of being recognized?”

Tom pulled his ball cap lower on his brow. “I’m invisible.”

Tamra laughed at the notion that a black baseball cap somehow rendered Tom invisible to the crowd. Tamra relented as Tom tugged on her arm again. The light arches lined the main walk area. She observed midway games, food and drink, and carnival rides. Everything Christmas themed. Tamra’s eyes darted from side to side taking in the sights. She wondered how the organizers construct something so extensive just for the holidays. Tom led them to the skating rink.

“Are you serious?” Tamra questioned as they stood in line to purchase tickets and rent skates.

“As a heart attack.” Tom gave a dazzling smile. “You don’t like ice skating? It is a time-honored winter activity, not a Christmas activity.”

“We don’t do a lot of ice skating in Florida.”

“Fair enough.” Tom nodded. “Florida, that would explain the lightweight winter coat.” Tom pulled at Tamra’s sleeve.

She moved out of his reach. “Hey, I did the best I could. They don’t sell a lot of wool at the mall. Now bathing suits, I can handle.”

She blushed realizing what she said and saw Tom blush as well.

“I am sure you dazzle in a bikini as you do in a parka and scarf with your winning personality.” Tom teased.

“Are you flirting, Hiddleston?”

“Not in the slightest. Just making an observation.”

Tamra blushed deeper as Tom wiggled his eyebrows for effect. Tom paid for the tickets and grabbed both sets of skates. In no time, he had his shoes off and skates on.

“You can put your shoes in the locker with mine.”

“Do they smell?”

“I’m not sure, but you are welcome to check.”

“Hard pass.”

Tamra pulled off her boots and placed him next to Tom’s in the locker. Tom locked the door while Tamra pulled on the skates. He helped Tamra stand, and they moved their way to the ice. Tom stepped out first, gliding out on wobbly legs.

“You look like a baby giraffe.” she giggled as she clung to the railing.

“Not the first time I have been called a giraffe.” Tom held his hands out. “Your turn.”

Tamra gripped tight to the railing.

“Trust me, Tamra. I am here.” Tom beckoned her.

With trepidation, Tamra placed one foot onto the ice followed by the other, still gripping the side.

“Trust.” Tom reassured.

She pushed off the side towards Tom’s outstretched arms. She smiled as she glided towards Tom. As she neared him, they both realized she couldn’t stop. Tamra plowed at full speed into Tom and they both dropped like a rock to the ice. They collapsed into a pile of limbs.

“That will leave a bruise.” Tom groaned as he sat up.

Tamra rubbed her backside. “Agreed.”

“Let’s try this again. A little less speed this time.”

Tamra nodded. Tom rose to his feet first, looking as graceful as one could on ice in skates. He pulled Tamra to her feet next, and they set off again, albeit much slower.

-

“And they say Floridians can’t skate.” Tom commented as they made their final round before their session ended. Tamra held Tom’s tight until the last ten minutes when he let her go. Tamra’s eye shot over to him as he pulled behind her. He shooed her away.

“I did it!” she exclaimed as she came to a stop at the side.

Tom smiled as he glided behind her, bumping against her just to tease her.

“You need more confidence.”

They stepped back onto terra firma and exchanged their skates for their shoes. As they stepped back onto the main walkway, Tamra noticed the chill of air. She rubbed her arms to warm up.

“Need to warm up?”

“Yeah, all those falls wet my clothes.”

“I know just the thing.”

Tom led her to a row of food tents. They ducked a food tent.

“Welcome to Thor’s!” the bartender greeted them.

“I guess I should have looked at the name before we entered.” Tom commented.

Tamra snickered. They perused the drinks menu. Tamra ordered a hot cocoa.

“There is nothing on here for Loki. This is an outrage!” he slammed his fists in mock anger.

“There is a Frosty Giant.” Tamra pointed out.

“One measly drink. This is unacceptable.” Tom leaned to the bartender. “Tell your boss the God of Mischief is not pleased.”

The bartender nodded and Tom gave him a wink before ordering a hot cocoa as well.

The bartender turned to prepare their drinks.

“Do you always harass the waitstaff?”

“Only when I am in good company.” He shoved her shoulder.

“On the house for the God of Mischief and his date.” the bartender commented, handing them two large mugs of cocoa.

“Not his date.” Tamra deadpanned before turning to find a seat.

Tom shrugged his shoulders at the bartender before following Tamra.

The hot cocoa warmed them to the core. They drained the mugs in no time and then stepped out into the wonderland.

“How about we check out the Christmas market?”

“What’s a Christmas market?”

“A collection of people selling Christmas related items.”

Tamra wrinkled her nose. “I will go, but I won’t enjoy myself.”

“That is all I ask.” Tom gave a small bow.

“Stop it! You are drawing attention to us!” Tamra pulled at his arm.

“As you wish.”

They moved from stall to stall with Tom looking at everything and asking questions while Tamra stood nearby wanting it all to be over. She lingered at one of the last stalls, admiring the workmanship of a hand-blown glass ornament. Tamra turned it over in her hands a few times before putting it down in haste when she caught Tom spying. She hustled away to the next stall, leaving Tom behind.

Tom picked out a few ornaments for his mother and sisters.

“Which one did the young lady look at?”

The owner gestured to a beautiful blue and white ball. Tom picked it up. The ornament was the color of the ocean. Perfect for a girl from Florida.

“I will take that one too. And can you wrap it please?”

The owner nodded and rang up the purchases. Tom trotted off to catch up with Tamra, who was tapping her foot at the end of the aisle.

“What’s in there?” Tamra gestured at the bag in Tom’s hand.

“Some presents for my sisters and mother.” Not a lie. He fudged.

“It’s starting to get dark, should we head out?”

“I have one more activity in mind.”

Tamra groaned as Tom dragged her off in the direction of the Observation Wheel.

“A Ferris Wheel? Are we at the county fair?”

“We are at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. And it’s Observation Wheel. Now stop complaining. You will be free of me for the night in no time.”

Tamra shuffled her feet. She didn’t want to admit but Tom was pleasant company. After waiting in line, the attendant loaded them into their seats. The wheel started to rise and lifted them into the London sky.

“This is how London should be viewed.” Tom gestured to the windows.

At first, Tamra saw the rainbow of lights from the Wonderland. She could see the rides and the skating rink. As they rose, the lights of the city twinkled in the evening. Tamra couldn’t pick out anything other than the London Eye in the distance but it looked beautiful just the same. At first Tom sat back to watch her, but before long he too became enamored with the view.

The lights fell from view as they made their descent and before long they were back in the cold London evening air. They walked in silence to the entrance.

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow. How will this whole thing work?” she asked.

Tom gave a nervous giggle. “I haven’t thought it out.” He rocked back on his heels. “The least I can do is give you a ride to your hotel—”

“Airbnb.”

“—Even better. We can exchange mobile numbers. And I will call you in the morning to pick you up.”

“I can’t impose on you like that. I can take the Tube.”

“Nonsense. Where are you staying?”

“Over by the Bakersfield station.”

Tom clapped his hands.

“On my way home. It’s settled. I’m taking you.” He fished his phone out his pocket and dialed a number.

“Over by Winter Wonderland by Hyde Park. Thank you.” Tom hung the phone. “Driver will be here in about ten minutes.”

“Wow. Driver on command. Fancy.”

“I assure you it is more of a pain than I care to admit.”

Tamra rolled her eyes but said nothing. A black car pulled up, and the driver got out to open the door for Tom. He gave a glare as Tamra approached the car, but Tom waved him it off.

“It’s okay, she’s with me.” Tamra slid into the back seat. The driver closed the door and returned to behind the wheel.

“Where to, Mr Hiddleston?”

“Give him the address.” Tom whispered to Tamra.

She pulled out her phone to give the address of her Airbnb. Traffic was light at night so they got to her place in about fifteen minutes. Tom lept from the car, much to the dismay of the driver, to run around the car and open Tamra’s door.

“Allow me.”

“Thank you.”

Tamra gestured to the door. “This is me.”

“Thank you for the company and being a good sport. Feeling the Christmas spirit?” Tom asked with hopeful eyes.

Tamra’s face dropped. “I am feeling the bruises forming on my ass from ice skating. Is that what the Christmas spirt feels like?”

“Hardly. I will have to try again tomorrow. Before I leave, I need your mobile.” Tamra handed Tom her phone. He typed for a bit before looking up at her with a grin and returning to type. Tom then typed into his own phone. He returned her phone after several minutes.

“Don’t look at it until tomorrow.” he ordered.

“Fine. Goodnight Tom.”

“Goodnight Tamra.” Tom extended his hand; she shook it.

“It’s been weird.” she retorted before opening her door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Tom stood in the cold until the door shut behind Tamra. He rubbed his arms and hurried back into the car.

“Home, please.” He asked of the driver.

Tom sat for a moment in the silence, wondering how he got here and what he would do tomorrow. He wondered about all the things to do in London and that spark a thought.

“Fuck!” he muttered as he fished his phone out. He punched in a familiar number. Despite the late hour, the person on the other end, answer on the first ring.

“Luke… I have something to tell you.”

[bloodybells1]

On Specialization

I’ve never been comfortable with the term “bassist”. This may sound peculiar coming from a bassist, though not so peculiar if you consider that, as Whitman famously wrote, “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

First, a word about the pecking order of a typical rock band: often, the singer is understood, rightly or wrongly, as occupying the top rung, while the bassist will often come last. The zeitgeist supports this claim. For example, in one episode of Just Shoot Me, Wendy Malick’s character, Nina Van Horn, brags about having laid the singer of a band the previous night, but spits out her water when she’s informed by more sober members of the party that it was in fact the bassist she’d slept with.

In the broadest sense of the term, a rock band is kind of like a layer cake. The singer occupies the top layer, with the other instruments on down. Flashy guitar leads and sexy lyrics (“Come here, baby,” and so on and so forth) take center stage, followed by the drums, slamming and banging like an army coming from behind.

And at last, at the bottom of the cake, the bass guitar, which, to the untrained ear, most often presents a barbaric, low-frequency drawl. Often it’s made even more unintelligible by the music hall’s cavernous reverb. The end result is that the casual listener begins calling the bass player “the other guy”.

When I was active as a professional musician, as the band Interpol’s bassist, I obsessed over this totemic arrangement. It was difficult to ignore how recessive I could become with this instrument around my shoulder.

So, when the band stumbled onto the good fortune of fame and success, when cameras and journalists trained their gaze on us, I compensated for this “imbalance” with sheer braggadocio. Onstage I impersonated Nikki Sixx, while backstage, in interviews, I dropped outlandish statements, the better to have my words show up as pull-quotes. Sealing my public relations push, I scheduled extracurricular activities, such as DJ’ing and, well, coitus, because, hello, it was rock music.

It seemed I’d pulled a switch, that ropes were cranking open an underwater gate, and, before I could finish saying “Cocaine”, an inner Poseidon was releasing the Kraken. It felt as though I couldn’t possibly sate my appetite.

This was a survival strategy, of sorts. I had to find some way to course correct for the imbalance, to prevent my ego from disappearing under the bass guitarist’s fate, the opaque destiny of the bottom rung. I was (and still am) too much a narcissist to endure the role of “filling in the blanks”. I needed more, much more.

Many a fine bassist is perfectly happy to fulfill the humble dispensation of their craft. The best of them are masters of understatement, achieving great notoriety among aficionados (John Paul Jones, for example). But, for better or for worse, I was too much of a diva for that. I’m not exactly proud per se that I’m a diva, but this shouldn’t stop me from being honest.

I suppose this is why I now bristle when someone calls me a “bassist”. The word registers to me as a reminder, not only of lowly status, but also of an embarrassing rebellion against that status, which time has demonstrated as the sign of narcissism, not to mention immaturity.

But the word also implies a degree of specialization with which I have never been comfortable. Jaco Pastorius was a bassist. Bernard Edwards, of Chic, was a bassist. Cliff Burton, of early Metallica, was a bassist. Among the living, Billy Sheehan, of David Lee Roth’s band and Mr. Big, is a bassist. I will even concede that the chief influencers of my bass playing, Peter Hook of Joy Division/New Order and John Taylor of Duran Duran, are bassists, in the truest sense of that word.

But I? I was a gifted musician and composer who came across the bass guitar by way of a college band that happened to take off. Afterwards, I simply used that talent for the less than sincere objectives noted above.*

I don’t disparage the life of specialization, nor those who’ve chosen it. If anything, I envy their attention span. Encountering satisfaction, and even success, following a single career track strikes me as patently wise, to say nothing of the karma of furthering the conversation in a certain field.

But I would hate to detract from the more esteemed practitioners of this instrument, those who clearly set out to make it their life’s work, by welcoming this appellation without the caveat I am writing here.

In anything, one can’t start from a weak place. Otherwise, the foundation is shabby, having begun from an inauthentic proposition. “This is what I should do” is deplorable. “This feels truthful to me” is the better course, no matter the cost, nor the risk. Playing the bass guitar, over and over again to the exclusion of other pursuits, just didn’t feel truthful to me.

At every step on the One Path of Specialization, my gaze would inevitably fall on the alleys and byways fanning out on either side. I’d feel a piece of my heart break every time. At the end of each day, having successively stranded one part of me, then another, I’d go to sleep feeling much less complete than in the morning.

This is no way to end the day. So, in order to preserve my sleep, I decided my curiosity was too important to ignore, that the greatest failure I could envision, for which there seemed to be no justification in permitting, was lying on my death bed wondering what lay under the stones I’d passed my whole life.

Naturally, taking action was an agony. Procrastination was the order of the day. It took years to make headway, years of worrying what would happen to me if I quit, of the deep regret I might encounter. My therapist at the time, listening to the 124th hour of my pretzel-twisting, finally said, “Carlos, you have the right to fuck up your life.” That was the narrative game changer I needed to hear, and I made my decision right then and there to leave Interpol and pursue training in other fields of interest, mainly acting, but also writing.

This isn’t to say I don’t experience regret, agonizing distress even. How often have I stopped for a latte at the local café, overheard myself playing bass guitar through the speakers, and rued the impetuous decision to leave behind such glorious specialization! It’s the height of confusion to taste blessed freedom and bitter mediocrity in the same quaff.

But then I think of two of my heroes, who support their rejection of specialization with an ironic philosophical outlook.

Stephen Fry, on a recent airing of Sam Harris’ podcast Making Sense, explained to his host how he was able to produce the astonishing breadth of his oeuvre – novels, TV appearances, comedy specials, productions of Shakespeare, documentary films, influential tweets – with a humble confession: “Without sounding over paradoxical, it may be a result of having no particular talent.”

Henry Rollins, the punk rocker emeritus, admitted to as much on the multimedia web portal, Big Think, when he said, “I don’t have talent, I have tenacity . . . I have discipline, I have focus.” TV show host, lead singer, travel documentarian, actor, spoken word artist, writer, publisher, Rollins is not so much a great artist as a great “artwork of himself”. He exemplifies the truth that the sum total of mediocre talents equals a net gain of life excellence.

I always like to say: “There’s nothing wrong with being a jack of all trades, for the adage is incorrect: yes, you’d be master of none except that of being a jack of all trades.”

Thomas Jefferson’s epitaph reads: “Author of the Declaration of Independence [and] of the Statute of Virginia for religious freedom & Father of the University of Virginia." Notice the absence of his eight years as our third president. “Author of the Declaration” is certainly no secret, but the other two are generally not well known. Clearly, he was making a statement, despite what historians might prefer to emphasize, of what was truly deserving of remembrance.

Hedy Lamarr, a talented and beautiful mid-century Hollywood star, also co-invented a radio guidance system for Allied powers in World War II that Bluetooth technology incorporates today. August Strindberg, the dean of Swedish drama, was also an influential painter whose subjective landscapes, like the astonishing Wonderland from 1894, were ahead of their time.

Don’t get me started on Al Franken.

Rejecting specialization, because it affords multiple avenues and narratives, is a roundabout way to attain control, and therefore, if he’s feeling constrained, a control freak’s preferred modus operandi. What you lose in the area of expertise, you gain in control over the conversation, for at no point do you involve yourself so much as to permit outside narratives to latch (or leech) on to your pursuits.

At a certain point, I realized that my rockstar posturing in Interpol had an expiration date, past which it would be cute no longer, not to mention hazardous to my health and the emotional wellbeing of my colleagues. The history of rock music presents copious examples of this sequence of events.

But I still needed control. Therefore, I chose to reject the specialization of a successful career as a bassist.

Differences in career objectives meant that I would eventually have to leave the band. Of course there were other factors, more personal than I’m choosing to write here. I will cover that part in other entries. But the need to retain control of my own conversation, along with the desire to achieve that control through a kind of diaspora of artistic pursuits, is salient nonetheless.

I’ll close with a bit of a Marxist riff. Specialization is a capitalist construct (and I mean that with all the opprobrium that statement must sound like it’s making). Its origins lie in the Agricultural Revolution, the first time human labor was ever divided on a large scale, and the Industrial Revolution, which automated that division, created incredibly precise specialization, and amplified the labor force beyond anything previously imaginable.

This has given birth to a fetishization of “expertise” that has pervaded almost every industry. Today, we often ask someone we just met “What do you do?” One of the chief faults I could lay on modernity’s doorstep would be that this question, among all others, does indeed, sadly, provide the fastest track to a person’s core identity. “Trust the experts” sounds eminently advisable. People distrust non-experts the way they distrust when someone’s thoughts evolve, branding them as inconsistent, therefore untrustworthy.

But this is all optics. We are inculcated to believe in the unhindered progress of Capital and this presumes labor, specifically specialized labor, to fulfill its mandate. This makes us suspicious of those who do not specialize. We want someone to stand still, and “be someone”, meaning “be a specialist” in this, that, or some other thing. But this suspicion holds only if you truly believe that the end all of human civilization is the progress of Capital, a belief I am sure most readers, hopefully, at the least, of this blog, reject.

*There is an interplay between sincerity and artifice that permeates rock music, but I don’t wish to get into that here. Suffice it to say for the time being, that there are instances when a rock band suffers extraordinary reputational costs when pursuing a “sincere” style, and this happens, in my opinion, because rock music, in amplifying lifestyle, spectacle, and fashion, is inherently a post-modern art form akin to Pop Art and Dadaism, and therefore more ironic than sincere. This explains why it is so easy to make fun of Coldplay. But I’ll spare the reader the musicology lesson for another time. Yet, I write this to mitigate, perhaps only slightly, the disingenuousness of my “insincerity” as a bassist.

[your-dietician]

11 Things That Make Sleep Apnea Worse

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/11-things-that-make-sleep-apnea-worse/

11 Things That Make Sleep Apnea Worse

Sleep invader It’s estimated that as many as 24 million adults in the U.S. have obstructive sleep apnea, and for…

Sleep invader

It’s estimated that as many as 24 million adults in the U.S. have obstructive sleep apnea, and for the majority who suffer from the most common form of sleep-disordered breathing, it goes undiagnosed.

Untreated, sleep apnea has been linked to high blood pressure, heart disease, stroke, memory loss, obesity, parasomnias (or involuntary behaviors like sleepwalking) and insulin resistance, a precursor to Type 2 diabetes. And research shows a link between severe sleep apnea, the repeated drops in blood oxygen levels and premature death.

The ensuing daytime sleepiness can also be a “public health hazard, if you happen to be an airline pilot or a 16-wheel truck driver who is sleeping at the wheel,” says Dr. Alex Chediak, a sleep medicine specialist and past president of the American Academy of Sleep Medicine.

Snore loudly? Feel exhausted despite a “good night’s rest?” It could be time to discuss symptoms with a doctor. You might be referred to a sleep specialist to undergo a complete sleep evaluation.

Treatment options may include a continuous positive airway pressure (CPAP) machine, which creates a column of air that keeps the airway open, an oral device or surgery.

Meantime, here’s what sleep doctors say can exacerbate obstructive sleep apnea or put people at risk for the nighttime breathing disorder:

Anatomy

With sleep apnea, throat muscles, which are usually tense while awake, relax during sleep, allowing the airway to collapse or become plugged by the tongue. As with a kinked hose, the flow stops, sometimes for 10 seconds or more.

As the brain senses distress, people may bolt upright and gasp for air, or they may simply snort and go back to sleep, experts say. This can go on hundreds of times a night, without the person realizing it.

For some people, an anatomic abnormality may be the culprit. Enlarged tonsils, a deviated septum or a smaller-than-normal airway are among them, says Dr. David Schulman, a sleep medicine specialist with Emory Healthcare in Atlanta.

COVID-19

Another condition that affects breathing — COVID-19 — doesn’t bode well for people with sleep apnea. They tend to have more severe infection, with increased intensive care unit transfers and increased need for intubation, according to a meta-analysis of evidence published May 13 in the journal CHEST Physician and co-authored by Dr. Ashima Sahni, an assistant professor of clinical medicine and associate program director of the sleep medicine fellowship at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

“COVID-19, which is caused by the SARS-CoV-2 virus, triggers an increased inflammatory response in the body,” Sahni says. “When your body is deprived of oxygen at nighttime, that in itself triggers an inflammatory response. So you can imagine that patients who have obstructive sleep apnea — especially when untreated — tend to have lower oxygen levels to begin with. And if they do contract COVID, we would think that these patients will have more severe COVID infection and will tend to have worse outcomes.”

Sahni’s recommendation for avoiding COVID-19 complications: “Vaccination and CPAP usage are super-important.”

CPAP and COVID-19

Sleep apnea patients who regularly use their CPAP may actually reduce their risk of COVID-19 infection. Patients with obstructive sleep apnea with the least use of CPAP therapy had a 2.1% risk of acquiring COVID-19 in a study using data from nearly 83,000 patients in Southern California.

However, for patients who were using CPAP at least four hours nightly, the risk of getting COVID-infection dropped to 1.3%, according to the study presented at the American Thoracic Society conference in May 2021.

While it’s difficult to prove cause-and-effect, Sahni notes, “As a sleep physician, and for the community at large, we do want to consider obstructive sleep apnea as a chronic medical condition that could be considered a risk factor for severe COVID infection.”

Because CPAP creates aerosol when used, there could be tiny particles suspended in the air for a longer time than otherwise, Sahni explains. Some of her patients have expressed fears that if they were infected by COVID-19, they could increase their family’s risk of exposure to the virus. The American Academy of Sleep Medicine offers patient information for those who have sleep apnea and are infected with COVID-19, including safe CPAP use.

Obesity

“The main factor that contributes to sleep apnea is obesity,” says Dr. Asha Singh, director of the Oregon Health & Science University Sleep Medicine Program in Portland. Although thin folks can develop apnea, more than 50% of people who have the condition are overweight, according to the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute.

Nearly 2 billion people worldwide have obesity, according to the World Health Organization, and almost 1 billion people worldwide are estimated to have sleep apnea, Sahni points out. “It’s a huge connection, and it’s underdiagnosed,” she says.

Here’s how the obesity-sleep apnea relationship works: “There is increased fat deposition around your neck area, which can make your upper airway and your windpipe area more vulnerable to collapse at nighttime,” Sahni explains. “And on the other side, you can have increased fat deposition around your abdomen, which can increase your abdominal girth.”

Eventually, she says, “That could reduce your lung volumes and impact the collapsibility of your upper airway. All these factors combine together to increase your risk of having obstructive sleep apnea.”

Weight gain

Frustratingly, sleep apnea may also contribute to weight gain. There is evidence to suggest that it may lead to an increase in appetite for unhealthful foods. For instance, a study in the January 2019 issue of the journal Sleep found that people with severe forms of the disorder were more likely to make poor food choices than those who were unaffected or had mild cases.

“If you have sleep apnea, there’s definitely increased sleep disruption,” Sahni says. “Studies have shown that increased sleep disruption leads to increase in a hormone in our body that is an appetite-stimulating hormone. And it reduces the appetite-suppressing hormone — and you end up having increased cravings for calorie-dense food.”

In addition, she says, “Patients with sleep apnea tend to be sleepier and more fatigued, which eventually will make you less physically active, which, again, can compound your risk of gaining weight. It’s a vicious cycle.”

If you’re obese and struggling with sleep apnea, weight loss is crucial. “In any way or form, weight-loss management will be essential,” Shani says. “If it is challenging, considering weight-loss surgery would be another alternative.”

Alcohol

“Alcohol increases muscle relaxation, and that’s true for the muscles of the throat — and actually the tongue muscle,” says Dr. Kathleen Yaremchuk, chair of otolaryngology and a sleep specialist at Henry Ford Health System in Detroit. This makes the airway more vulnerable to obstruction during sleep.

Though alcohol’s effect usually dissipates as it clears the body throughout the night, cutting down may help.

Medications

Prescription medications can also create a double whammy. “If you’re taking muscle relaxants, you’re going to expose yourself to greater snoring and sleep apnea,” Chediak says, and “the vast majority of sleeping medications have a muscle relaxant property.”

In addition, sleeping pills make it harder to arouse from sleep. A noise must be louder. A pain must be sharper. Likewise, an episode of sleep apnea must last longer because “more respiratory compromise” is needed to wake the brain up to restore normal breathing, he says.

Painkillers can also be problematic, experts say, particularly opioids, which cause respiratory suppression and add to breathing difficulties a person may face overnight.

Other medical conditions

Other medical problems can worsen sleep apnea. Most significantly, these include diabetes and high blood pressure, which raise a person’s cardiovascular risk and are associated with higher sleep apnea rates.

“About 30 to 40% of adults with high blood pressure also have sleep apnea, which is more prevalent in those with drug-resistant hypertension,” Singh says. “So, approximately 80% of patients that don’t respond to hypertensive medication have some apnea. Adhering to sleep apnea treatment is a proven means of decreasing blood pressure.”

About 7 in 10 people with Type 2 diabetes also have obstructive sleep apnea, Singh says. The severity of the sleep disorder directly impacts diabetes symptoms; and, conversely, poor glucose control is linked with more severe sleep apnea.

Treatment underuse

If you have sleep apnea, it’s important to follow through with your treatment plan. Using CPAP less often than prescribed or skipping it altogether keeps sleep apnea from improving.

“If you suspect that you have sleep apnea, consult your primary doctor, find a sleep physician, get tested and make sure you’re on therapy,” Sahni says. “If you already have a diagnosis of sleep apnea, I would strongly recommend: Try to use your PAP therapy consistently, at least or more than the four hours that we usually recommend at nighttime or whenever you’re sleeping.”

Not everyone is able to use CPAP. In those cases, “definitely talk to your doctor and try to find alternatives,” Sahni says. “Healthy eating habits, exercising, adequate sun exposure, good sleep hygiene: All of those will help you.”

Sleep position

Typically, sleeping on your back makes sleep apnea worse, and sleeping on your side makes it better, Schulman says. That has to do with how and where weight falls on the airway.

“Sleeping on your back makes the tongue relax back further, and that tends to make sleep apnea worse,” Singh adds.

Using positional therapy devices that make you sleep on your side can help with treating sleep apnea, she says. Options like slumberBUMP, which is essentially a belt with a pillow attached to the back, make it uncomfortable for individuals to sleep on their back, so they stay in a lateral position during their sleep, Singh explains.

Sleep deprivation

It’s thought that the body craves the deepest kind of sleep when sleep deprived and will launch into it to make up for lost shuteye, Schulman says. But sleep apnea tends to be worse during that deep-sleep period, called rapid eye movement (REM) sleep, owing to its heightened state of relaxation, he explains. Thus, carving out adequate time for a night’s rest is important, he says. On the other hand, sleep deprivation is often a consequence of sleep apnea, which may create a cruel cycle.

Smoking

Need yet another reason to quit smoking? Smoking can raise your risk for developing sleep apnea and compound breathing problems for those suffering from it. Cigarettes are direct irritants to the upper airway, the throat, the uvula, the soft palate and the tongue, and over time can make the area swell.

Smoking is also the leading cause of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, or COPD, and a powerful trigger for symptoms of asthma, which also narrows and inflames a person’s airways.

Making sleep apnea worse

If you suffer from obstructive sleep apnea, these factors can increase its impact on your health:

— Anatomy.

— COVID-19.

— Obesity.

— Weight gain.

— Alcohol.

— Medications.

— Other medical conditions.

— Treatment underuse.

— Sleep position.

— Sleep deprivation.

— Smoking.

More from U.S. News

Questions Doctors Wish Their Patients Would Ask

Foods to Avoid Before Bed

Ways to Boost Your Immune System

11 Things That Make Sleep Apnea Worse originally appeared on usnews.com

Update 08/23/21: This story was previously published at an earlier date and has been updated with new information.

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[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter 10

Since I finally got my other WIP all caught up here on Tumblr, I figured I’d better take a look at this one too which fell two chapters behind those I had up on AO3 and FF.net.  I apologize to anyone who’s been following my stories here for the Tumblr delays and I’m going to try my best not to get so far behind again.

From the beginning on Tumblr:  Prologue/One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine

This next chapter is definitely a little fluffier than the previous ones but not without it's surprises...

Wednesday Morning, Portland Medical Center

When Killian's regular day nurse, Jackie, came on shift at 7AM, she was pleased to find that his appetite was returning although she was still mildly concerned about his lingering low-grade fever. She'd read the evening nurse's notes that he'd been given permission to try a cup of broth and if he managed to keep that down, they'd try something a little more solid in a few hours. He'd pleaded his case for a shower but the request had to be put on hold until Jackie could speak to Dr. Wallace - needing to be certain that it was safe to disconnect him from all of the machines and monitors - but she promised to bring him the broth while he awaited the doctor's response. He'd hoped to be free of the tubes and wires before Henry returned from the parking garage, but that wouldn't be happening.

His wait did end up being shorter than the nurse had expected though and only minutes after she'd brought him the cup of steaming chicken broth, she returned with a basket of supplies and a stack of towels. In the time she was gone, he'd managed to drink about a third of the liquid – determining quickly that it was much easier to sip it directly from the rim of the bowl rather than to attempt using the spoon. He really wanted to drink it all, but his stomach wasn't on the same page as his head so the rest would have to wait. The nurse didn't appear at all surprised that he hadn't finished it, not even commenting as she set the bowl off to the side so it wouldn't get spilled while she got him ready to bathe.

Figuring the fifteen year-old really didn't want to witness whatever weirdness and hilarity would likely result from his mother's attempt to help his stepfather shower for the first time in days, Emma had sent Henry to the cafeteria for breakfast with instructions not to return for at least half an hour. He eagerly snagged a ten dollar bill from her wallet, promising to bring her back coffee and a cinnamon roll, then hurried out the door. Once the teen was on his way, Jackie drew the privacy curtain and began talking them through everything she was doing as she untethered her patient from the equipment.

"It'll take me just a few minutes to disconnect all of these leads and then I'll remove the old dressings from each of the incisions. The IV has to stay in place, but it's portable. You'll just need to be very careful not to dislodge it," she stated as she went to work peeling away adhesives that held various wires in place – most of which Emma didn't even have the foggiest idea what they'd been for. A few alarms and buzzers sounded as the connections were severed, but the nurse was unfazed, switching off each machine that was no longer in use.

"Now," she continued, "I need you to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, Mr. Jones. You may experience a little discomfort…" Killian knew precisely what she meant, instinctively holding his breath as the nurse pulled the catheter free. "Okay – you're all set there…"

"That's it?" he exhaled heavily as he asked for confirmation that she was done, not having felt much of anything despite the sensitive nature of the area in question.

"You're free of the catheter," Jackie laughed. "Wasn't so bad now, was it?" Even Emma had to chuckle at the relief evident on Killian's face, quite thankful that this step had actually been quick and painless or he'd likely still be complaining. "Okay – now let's get those bandages off…" Lowering the pale green gown to his waist to access the gauze patch on his chest, she swiftly pulled the tape loose from the edges and removed the entire covering, taking a visual inspection of his sutures to ensure that nothing looked out of the ordinary. "Sutures look great – no seepage or discoloration. Why don't you lean forward a bit so I can get to the dressing on your back now?" He shifted his center of gravity forward so Jackie could reach the entry wound and as he lowered his head, he was able to get his own first look at the surgical incision that stretched across the lower portion of his chest and a portion of his upper abdomen. Considering the narrow blade that had pierced his body, he was surprised at the length of the opening the surgeons had cut into him to reach and repair the internal damage but what had him scrunching his nose in disgust wasn't the wound itself but rather the fact that the medical team had shaved a broad patch of his dark chest hair in order to make that incision. His eyes darted from his shaven chest to his wife's face, glaring at her as she mouthed the words: It will grow back.

"It's not going to be a problem for him to get the stitches wet?" Emma wondered, ignoring his pining over missing chest hairs.

"Not at all. As long as you don't try to scrub over them, it should be perfectly fine. Best advice is just be gentle for the first day or two," Jackie replied as she disposed of the used gauze in the hazardous waste receptacle before going over the rest of her instructions. "Alright, Mr. Jones – now comes my question for you – do you want to attempt to walk to the bathroom or would you prefer if I brought in a transport chair?" His gaze immediately met his wife's, seeking her approval as she'd likely be the one tasked with catching him should he fall on his face.

"I can help get you there if you want to try walking…," Emma answered, already knowing what his intent would be.

"I'd like to attempt using my own two feet then," he insisted.

"Okay then, I'm going to have you get out on this side so you're less likely to get the IV tubing tangled," Jackie responded as she moved around to his right side, reaching over his head to remove the two transparent bags of fluid that hung above him, placing them onto a hook atop a tall metal pole with wheels attached to the bottom. This was apparently what she meant by the IV being portable. "Swing your legs toward me now," she instructed as she tugged away the bedcovers. Eager to be out of the bed for sure this time, he shifted around to let his bare feet drop to the cool tile floor. He grasped the bedside rail tightly, intending to use it for support while Emma positioned herself at his left, her fingers wrapping around his bicep ready to help him take that first tentative step.

"Easy now…," Jackie said as she stood in front of him. "Let's see if you can stand up and hold your balance…"

He quickly realized that standing and remaining that way was a bit more difficult than he'd thought, but damn, it felt good to be standing on his own accord – well, mostly on his own accord. He felt a bit like a fool but after spending three full days in that bed, but he was thoroughly enjoying this freedom – finding himself somewhat amused that this petite little ginger-haired woman was so confidently standing before him as though she'd be fully capable of breaking his fall. He wasn't even certain if his lovely wife – strong as she was – could accomplish that task if he were to lose his balance right now. It also wasn't lost on him that the flimsy gown the hospital provided was covering very little of his person right now, leaving his derriere in full view of anyone who should walk into the room.

"Think you can handle him from here, Mrs. Jones?" Jackie asked.

"I think so. It's not the first time I've had to shoulder his weight," Emma responded with a side-eyed glance toward her husband.

"Just remember to take it slow," the amber-headed nurse reminded them. "Once you get in there, you'll find that there's a flip down shower seat and a handheld showerhead. Make use of them – trust me. Your lungs aren't fully recovered from nearly drowning and you've been inactive for several days so this is going to feel like a lot of exertion. I'll bring a chair when I come back because you'll probably want to use it. Last note – keep the water temperature on the lukewarm side if you can stand it. Don't want the water to be too warm or too cold when fighting off a fever. Now, any questions for me or is there anything you need?"

"I think we're good. I've got soap and shampoo with me and you're already brought us the towels. I brought some of his clothes with me – would it be okay for him to put those on instead of the gowns?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with – just nothing with any metal on it. Dr. Wallace wants to get some new images of his lungs so it'll be off to Radiology when I return so, try not to get too carried away."

What he'd thought would be a simple process – just a simple shower – quickly proved to be anything but. He'd initially foolishly thought that he'd be able to stand but any hope of that happening vanished the moment Emma turned on the water and a sudden panic washed over him – the all-too-recent memories of waves pummeling him flooding back the moment the spray struck his head. Emma had to turn off the faucet and coax him to sit down, eventually climbing into the shower stall with him – clothes and all. With the handheld shower head, she gradually helped him wash off, working her way from his feet back up to his head while he pushed away that momentary fear. By the time she reached his hair, it took three rounds of shampooing and rinsing to remove all of the grime and restore the normal luster and texture of his dark locks.

He apologized to her repeatedly as she helped him to dry off and get dressed first while she stood there dripping wet. She took it in stride, shaking her head and snickering at how ridiculous they looked. As if on cue, they heard a rap on the door and then the voice of nurse Jackie asking if they needed any help – which of course caused both of them to break out in rolling laughter.

"I think we could definitely use a hand," Emma managed to say in between giggles. "Did you bring that chair you mentioned?"

"Have it right here," Jackie replied as the bathroom door opened toward her and the very first thing the nurse saw was a very drenched Emma standing inside the doorway, tee shirt and jeans plastered to her body – well, mostly the front of her body.

"I'd really appreciate it if you could help us get him into that chair so I can dry off and change," Emma said with a chuckle. "This ended up being a lot more complicated than we'd thought and we both ended up getting a shower…"

"Of course. Hang on…," the nurse smiled as Emma stepped out of the way and Jackie brought the wheelchair into the close confines of the bathroom finding her patient much drier than his wife and partially clothed in a pair of navy blue pajama pants. All of his effort to take his simple shower had left him exhausted, his lungs burning as much as if he'd just run the entire length of Main Street and he was struggling to catch his breath. "Let's get you standing for a moment and I'll bring the chair to you…" It took her no time at all to get him situated and once seated, she wheeled him back into the main room while Emma made her way over to the chair by the bed where she'd left her duffel bag, leaving a trail of water droplets in her wake. She pulled out some clean clothes and ducked back into the bathroom to change while Jackie turned her attention to her patient. "How about we get those sutures covered back up while your wife is changing?" the nurse suggested, a notion that Killian was smart enough to realize wasn't actually a choice.

By the time Emma stepped out of the bathroom now clad in black twill pants and an oversized burgundy long sleeved tee shirt, Jackie had replaced the bandages on both of Killian's incisions and was helping him don the heathered dove grey tee shirt that he'd chosen earlier. Were he in Storybrooke, he likely would have selected the long-sleeved button up shirt instead as it fully covered his stumped arm but since everyone here, including Deputy McCallen, had already viewed his deformity and weren't horrified by it, he decided on simplicity.

Emma glanced over at the clock on the wall as she towel-dried her damp hair. It was just after 8:00AM so Regina would be on her way to pick up Henry soon, having promised to be there by 10AM. She hadn't yet heard anything from McCallen although that wasn't entirely surprising considering the number of people he needed to get in contact with this morning regarding the latest revelation in the case. She was certain that he'd let her know as soon as he could, but now that they had a suspect to pursue, Emma found herself growing impatient. She knew who had nearly killed her husband and now all she could think about was how they could catch him.

Killian had decided to stay seated in the wheelchair, not wanting to make the extra effort required to get back into bed before the nurse took him to this Radiology place. He wasn't really certain what that meant and he wasn't about to ask until the nurse stepped out of the room to see if they were ready for him. Once they were alone again, Emma tossed the damp towel onto the foot of the bed and strolled up behind her husband, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and nuzzling her face into his nearly dry hair before he tilted his head back to gaze up at her.

"I missed this," she smiled as she kissed the center of his forehead.

"Aye, Love," he replied. "I promise, once I am healed, we shall make up for lost time…"

"Let's just focus on that healing part first, okay?" she laughed. "Hopefully, the images will come back clear enough that they'll let you go home."

"About that – what are these Radiology images everyone keeps talking about?"

"Radiology is the name of the science and the department. Basically, they use special machines that are capable of taking pictures of your insides so they can see things like broken bones and in your case, the amount of fluid still affecting your lungs. Don't you remember the X-rays they took of your broken ribs when you were hit by Greg's car during your stand-off with Gold?"

"Swan, there's much I remember about that evening, but alas, I don't recall anyone taking strange X-rated photographs of my innards…"

"X-rays, not X-rated. Very different things and I suppose you probably wouldn't remember. Pretty sure they had you pumped full of pain killers – assuming you were even conscious…"

"So, just how do they manage to take these images?" he wondered, uncertain as to whether he should be expecting invasive poking and prodding or should prepare himself for additional pain.

"It depends. Usually, you lie on a table and they position a special camera above you. I don't exactly know how it works, but it just takes a few minutes and its pretty much painless." She heard his audible sigh of relief at the painless part of her explanation. "If they end up doing an MRI, that's slightly different. It takes a lot longer because they take hundreds of pictures from different angles to get a more detailed image. Maybe Jackie can explain it to you on the way?"

"I'll be certain to ask…," he replied snidely as he heard the door creak open behind them.

"Everybody decent?" Henry called out, unwilling to even take a peek around the curtain until he was sure it was okay to do so.

"Yes – it's okay to come in," Emma responded with a snicker. "I guess we can put this curtain back now too." She gave the fabric a tug and walked it back to its place by the head of the bed but in retracting the curtain, her son threw her a quizzical glance as he noticed her long blonde hair hanging in damp, scraggly strands against her shoulders.

"Guess you decided to shower too?" the teen asked as he extended his hand toward her with an offering of a steaming hot cup of black coffee that Emma immediately snatched up.

"It wasn't exactly planned…," she replied with a mock scowl before breaking into a wide smile, "…but we managed anyway."

"I don't even want to know…," Henry said with an I've already heard too much expression on his face. "Forget I asked."

"We'll spare you all the gory details," she laughed. "But thank you for the coffee."

"No problem," Henry said. "I was going to bring you a cinnamon roll but they were all out and I wasn't sure what else to bring. I knew I wouldn't go wrong with coffee though."

"Absolutely! I'll find something later after I've heard back from Deputy McCallen."

"I wish you'd let me stay and help you out," the teen pleaded.

"I know, but honestly, I want you safely back in Storybrooke," Emma replied firmly. "Now that we have a suspect, the investigation could get a lot more intense and I do not want you to get caught in the middle. As soon as Killian is released from here, he'll be heading back to Storybrooke too."

"But how are you going to get the Jolly Roger back home?" Henry wondered. "She still needs the sail repaired and I don't think Killian will be able to climb the rigging himself right now…"

"The lad has a point…," Killian interrupted. "He does know how to replace the line. I made sure to teach him properly…"

"Let's just deal with catching the man who tried to kill you first. We'll worry about how to get the Jolly Roger back home later. I'm sure we can find some help with that once the rest of this crisis is over."

"Okay, Mom," Henry sighed, still dejected but understanding her point as well.

"Why don't you gather up your stuff?" Emma suggested. "Regina should be here soon and hopefully she won't be in a huge hurry to head back. I've got a favor to ask of her…" Emma started to say something else but was interrupted by a chime from her cell phone on the nightstand. "Hang on a sec…" She scooped up her phone and tapped on the screen to see her notifications, spotting an important message. "That's from McCallen," she read off. "He said Sgt. Haviland from Portland PD is going to meet us here around 9:30AM." That was only a little over an hour from now and roughly the same time that Regina was due to arrive. "You might have to stall your other mom, Kid."

"I can probably manage that," the teen assured her. "As long as Killian is up for a visitor?"

Just before 9AM, the nurse returned to let them know that the Radiology team was ready for Killian and before whisking him away, she advised Emma that they'd be gone for about an hour. Her pirate was still rather bewildered as to what he was about to experience and just a bit displeased that he wouldn't be present when his wife and the young deputy met with Sgt. Haviland so that he could learn more about this Donleavy person. Emma repeatedly assured him that she would fill him in on all details later but he still wasn't satisfied. He wanted to be privy to the investigation – after all, he was the one most afflicted.

Not long after the nurse departed with her griping husband, she received yet another text from McCallen with a request to meet him downstairs in the hospital lobby. She wasn't really sure why the deputy wouldn't just come up to the room so her inclination was to believe that he must have learned something that couldn't be shared in front of Killian - or possibly Henry – so she replied with an agreement to meet him in five minutes. Hopefully it meant he'd found something that would corroborate Killian's account, not further upset him.

She couldn't immediately locate McCallen in the busy lobby but she finally managed to spot him seated on a bench by the floor to ceiling windows to the right of the hospital entrance. He'd changed into jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt that looked as though it could have been proffered from her father's closet but she noted that his demeanor certainly didn't appear as casual as his attire. She zig-zagged her way toward him, dodging people as she drew her still soggy blonde locks back into a ponytail and wrapped a hair tie around them hoping McCallen wouldn't decide to question why she looked as though someone had tried to drown her.

"Sheriff," he greeted her as she rounded the reception desk. "Glad you got my message and were able to come down here a little early."

"No problem. Killian's down in Radiology having X-rays done and my son is getting his things together before going home so I had a few minutes free. Are we still meeting with Sgt. Haviland this morning?"

"Yes, he'll be here in a couple of minutes but I really wanted to go over a few things with you before our colleague gets here."

"Okay… is there something going on that you didn't want my husband to hear?" she wondered.

"No, no – nothing like that. I just have a feeling that Portland PD might insist on taking over this case and since Sheriff Lassiter said to let Haviland take the lead if they want it, I can't promise that they'll include you any longer. I explained how valuable you've been to my investigation, but it'll be up to him. He also might not want my help anymore so I felt I should take a moment to thank you. This case turned out to be a lot more complex than I'd expected and I was really in over my head. I appreciate everything you've done to help me boost my confidence…"

"Aaron…," she started to say that it wasn't necessary, finding herself slightly unnerved by his rambling and even a little bit worried.

"Please, let me finish… I might not get enough nerve to say this again…," McCallen looked more nervous in this moment than he had been since Emma had met the young deputy yesterday. She was concerned that she might have made him a little self-conscious by suddenly using his first name, but he drew in a deep breath and continued. "There was a reason that Sheriff Lassiter originally assigned this case to me – I was originally just tasked with finding out the identity of the John Doe amputee and how he'd ended up on the beach, but that was only because he thought I'd be a kindred spirit or something… I don't know…"

Emma had no idea where McCallen was going with his rambling, but clearly, whatever he was trying to say was important to him so she withheld judgement and allowed him to continue his tale.

"Anyway, the Sheriff thought I'd have more empathy toward your husband because I could relate to his disability…"

"Why would that matter?" Emma asked him, still not certain of the meaning behind his story so far.

"Because even though I spend most of my time sitting behind a desk, Sheriff Lassiter thought I should get a little experience in the field. He thought this would be an easy case for me – identify John Doe, find his family and hopefully learn who wounded him…"

"Okay, McCallen," she sighed. "You've completely lost me here." Her confusion had finally overwhelmed her and she had to know… "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry… I know I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm so bad at this…"

"Bad at what?"

"Talking about myself," he sighed.

"Yourself? I'm definitely missing something here…"

"Yes, I'm afraid… There's something I've been trying to hide from you," he lamented. "I didn't want you to think of me as any less of an investigator if you learned they'd assigned a disabled deputy to your husband's case…"

"Disabled?"

McCallen slowly bent over and tugged at the denim of his right pant leg, raising it to reveal a silicone cuff fitted around his ankle and most of his calf. She could see that the bottom of that cuff was fitted to a metal joint which extended into the black leather high-topped combat-style boot he wore.

"I've gotten pretty good at disguising it so I look almost normal walking but just don't ask me to run," he gave her a shy, slightly embarrassed laugh after revealing his secret prosthetic foot and managing to make a joke about it.

"I honestly had no idea…," she replied, surprised by his revelation, but certainly not that he'd still be capable of doing his job. "Actually, I take that back… Yesterday when we drove over to meet with Jean Scott, I thought there was something different but I was honestly so distracted by everything that was going on with Killian that I figured it was just me that was off. Now that I think about it, it's because you were driving with your left foot!"

"Sheriff had that old Taurus modified especially for me – gas pedal on the left instead of the right. He's made sure to find ways to keep me on the job since I lost my foot. Maybe part of it is guilt because it happened while I was on the job, but I'm still grateful he kept me on as a deputy. He was just so certain that this would be a simple case to get me out of the office for a while but look how that turned out…"

"You lost your foot on the job? What happened – if you don't mind me asking?"

"No crocodiles involved here," he chuckled nervously, again wary of making light of his own situation. "I was out on a call one night and it was the beginning of winter and snowing like crazy. I don't remember much but I had my lights and siren on heading through an intersection when I was struck head on by a car driving on the wrong side of the road. The impact pushed the engine block and dashboard forward and while the airbag protected my upper body, my right foot got pinned under there somehow. By the time rescuers were able to cut me out of what was left of the car, I'd lost all feeling and circulation in that foot. Doctors at this same hospital tried to get blood flow back, but ended up having to amputate. It's been about two and a half years now, so in some ways, I'm still adapting, but I was determined that it wasn't going to beat me. I know it plays a huge part in my insecurities, but I try not to let it define me…"

"You know what's funny – for a long time, Killian did define himself by his disability. He used it to his advantage by showing people that he wasn't going to let it stop him and even turned his prosthetic into a weapon of sorts." She had to stop herself there before she accidentally divulged that her husband's preferred prosthetic actually was a weapon. "Now he's trying to just be Killian Jones – husband and deputy Sheriff. His prosthetic hand just an extension of him – nothing more, nothing less." It truly was the way she felt about his hook when he was wearing it and how she looked at his stump when he didn't have it on. It was always still just Killian.

"So, you don't feel like I'm not capable of continuing the investigation? That's part of what Sheriff Lassiter was worried about. He was concerned that I wouldn't be able to handle the case if things got too physical."

"Why would I be worried that you were incapable of seeing this case through to the end? I wouldn't think my husband would be incapable of doing his job with one hand, so why would I think that about your prosthetic foot? If we get into a chase situation, you let me do the running."

"You don't want me off the case then?"

"Of course not. Unless we absolutely have to turn everything over to Sgt. Haviland, I'd prefer we keep working together. You deserve to see this out too."

"Then I won't offer to give up the case – not without a fight. Thank you for trusting me with this, Sheriff."

"You don't need to thank me. Just help me put Donleavy and his cohorts behind bars and that'll be thanks enough."

"Alright then. Let's go see if Haviland is here. He's going to meet us in the parking garage across the street."

"Lead the way." She was more than ready to get this case moving forward.