Gave myself almost-pneumonia and my couch looks like a damn stock photo.
Since the whole time I’ve been like, “Am I living one of my shitty fanfictions? Coz this sucks.” Let me tell y’all a story.
Cold weather sucks as a severe asthmatic. I moved to the South so I didn’t have to deal with the frigid winters of upstate NY. I’m basically on and off sick until Spring comes (and then there’s allergy season but I digress). I think it’s helped some, but my lungs are just fucked up ok?
Anyways I went to a concert last Saturday and it was freezing. Then I went to the zoo on Sunday with a friend and it was also cold and swarming with kids who don’t know how to cover their mouths when they cough. It was a great weekend but by Tuesday I was sick - great. I had some warning bc my friend I went to the zoo with said they got sick yesterday. But it just seemed like a minor cold and I’ve been through this a million times, I truly did not think it was gonna get too much worse. My asthma was mostly under control and I rested a lot all week.
Thursday I’m more tired, but I start nebulizer treatments and even skip ice skating class and reschedule it for Saturday bc hey, I’m responsible. But Friday I start to feel worse. Like to the point where everybody at work is like wtf go home and one of them told me she’s gonna get me holy water. But it’s okay, it’s still been SO much worse and I’m really fine.
Saturday morning I wake up and I feel like I’m cured. So I go to ice skating class. And maybe I take a little walk in the rain. Bad fuckin idea. By the end of the day I’m having full blown asthma attacks one after the other and sweating like crazy. My abdomen is aching from coughing so much that it hurts to sit up. But I really don’t want to go to the ER. Not again. So I message my pulmonologist and hope I can just say never mind I’m good now by the time he answers on Monday.
That brings us to today, Sunday. I woke up at 6am after only 4 hours of sleep because I can’t stop choking. I’m sneezing and coughing up fluorescent green stuff, my throat tastes like blood and I have a fever. I really, really didn’t want to go to the doctor but it’s time. I drag my sorry ass to urgent care where the entire hour I sit in waiting, everybody who walks by gives me a ‘goddamn’ look because I’m coughing loud enough to alert the entire damn office. I’m so embarrassed bc what if they think I’m being dramatic and wasting time - again? I awkwardly explain my situation and the doctor sends me for CXR. When it comes back he says “Well, you don’t have pneumonia yet but see alllll this stuff here? That’s inflammation. I’m gonna prescribe antibiotics and (way heavier) steroids and you might have bronchitis already but your asthma is so bad that it’s indistinguishable by now. Also with your lungs you probably won’t be able to tell you have pneumonia until it’s pretty bad.”
So anyways, that’s my week. At least I got a lot of writing done for Whumptober - didn’t have to dig very deep to find enough misery to go around to all my fav OCs lol.
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Sick fic where Roy stumbles into the office clearly unwell, and says he can work anyway but Riza demands he go home before he infects everyone like he did last time.
Roy goes home by himself and sleeps and stays hydrated for three days.
Riza smiles at him when he comes back.
It's an office romance.
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Q has Asthma
Fair Warning: I do not have asthma and have no idea how asthma attacks work.
The first thing Q noticed after opening his apartment door was the urge to cough. The sound came out dry, deep from his chest, making his ribs ache.
His flat smelled like the back alley next to a shady pub, filled with cigarette smoke and the smell of alcohol.
Q rid himself of his coat, bag and shoes before walking all the way through to the living room. He passed by Bond lounging on his couch and opened a window.
"How many times have I told you not to smoke in my flat? Not to mention, not breaking in at all?"
Bond didn't answer. Instead he pulled out another cigarette, placed it between his lips and lit it. He looked directly at Q while taking a long drag and immediately exhaling again to blow as much smoke into the room as possible.
The Quartermaster turned around, facing the window, and tried to take as many long controlled breaths as he could before the next coughing fit would inevitably erupt from deep within his chest.
James smirked. "Let me guess. Stress-smoker in college, and after kicking the habit you can't take the smell anymore?"
Q didn't know whether he should laugh or cry. On the one hand, he could now say for certain that Bond hadn't broken the encryption on his medical file. On the other hand, he wasn't quite sure how long he could take the agent smoking on his couch without grabbing his inhaler from his bag, and then his secret would be out anyway.
Knowing that he wasn’t a great liar, Q opted to say nothing and simply nodded, grateful he didn’t have to look Bond in the eye.
But even his strategical placing by the window didn’t help for long, his coughs getting more regular and rougher.
The agent frowned and finally stubbed out his cigarette.
“Are you getting sick, Q?”
Q shook his head, not trusting his voice to respond without breaking.
It was the wheezing, only moments later, that finally clued Bond in on the condition of his dear Quartermaster. He jumped to his feet, rolling his eyes about the young man favouring his pride over his health.
He padded down the pockets of Q’s jacket before picking up his bag and simply turning it upside down above the couch, so that everything came falling out.
At this point, Q was tumbling towards the couch, using the walls and the table for leverage before crashing against an unprepared Bond, sending them both to the ground.
“So- ry,” he heaved out.
“Oh, what’s a few more bruises,” James mumbled absently, finally spotting Q’s inhaler in the pile and handing it to him.
Q used it and then sat up as straight as Bond had ever seen him do during the years they had known each other. He tried to take long breaths and the agent couldn’t help but silently count along, his own breath slowing down with his Quartermaster’s.
After what felt like forever, Q used the inhaler a second time and then slowly let his head drop to Bond’s chest, eyes closing in exhaustion.
James wrapped his arm around Q in relief, barely stopping himself from pressing a kiss into his hair.
“Bond?” Q’s voice was scratchy and barely even above a whisper.
“Yes.”
“Don’t ever smoke in my flat again.”
Bond grinned, this time really planting a kiss on Q’s head. “I promise.”
Betaed by the wonderful @melynen
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step one in fixing this country's garbage healthcare system is insurance companies cannot be allowed to deny prescribed treatments for any reason. If a doctor prescribes it and you have insurance it should be covered. Period.
Step two is fix the fucking deductibles and step three is socialize it but let's just start with step one for today
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