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#my health decided to trip and fall so ive been struggling
1alchemistart · 1 year
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some older art mixed with some more recent art! i was more experimental with the damian and donovan ..i really need to figure out donny’s face lmfao he’s hard to draw
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sylvie-writes · 3 years
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Dr. Husband
word count: 5278
pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader
warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!
prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”
a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.
please excuse any mistakes!
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Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.
For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before. 
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Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine. 
Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny. 
For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature. 
About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather. 
You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache. 
Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals. 
“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.” 
This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness. 
The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.
Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal. 
Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon. 
Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant. 
It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home. 
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 At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last. 
The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was. 
Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke. 
“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness. 
Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber. 
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Lunch break at last. 
That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest. 
Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course. 
He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible. 
Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty. 
“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.
“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them. 
“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.
Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance. 
Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven. 
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“Babe, dinner is ready!” 
The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten. 
Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister. 
After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain. 
“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple. 
A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for. 
You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially. 
Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more. 
The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.
“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.” 
As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.” 
Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”
With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt. 
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“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed. 
“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you. 
“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture. 
The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips. 
“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” 
“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else. 
“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair. 
Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.
“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made. 
“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair. 
“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy. 
“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor. 
“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand. 
The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison. 
Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.
“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help. 
A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages. 
“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look. 
The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you. 
“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own. 
“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same. 
Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis. 
The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk. 
“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague. 
“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. 
“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.
You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat. 
With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.
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The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes. 
You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on. 
Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose. 
“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors. 
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Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.
“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer. 
You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.
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For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak. 
“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.
“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions. 
“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.” 
“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure. 
“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.
““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room. 
“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve. 
“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!” 
You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.” 
“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.” 
“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you. 
“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued. 
Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face. 
“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand. 
“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”  
The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze. 
“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.” 
The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him. 
“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.
“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.” 
Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!” 
He really was too good for this world. 
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a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3
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florosasimpre · 3 years
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Here We Go
TW: Assault
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Yes, I graduated, but I delayed posting any type of photos at this point because I didn’t want to [insert some inspirational quote here] like I’ve done everything else. Truth is, College was entirely easy as hell. The academia aspect was nothing a little discipline couldn’t get me through. Now I had classes where I wanted my one with the professor, but other than that, being intelligent was never an issue in college. The one thing that made me want to quit, the one thing that made me want to leave was the background fillers. No one ever talks about college and the background filler. I got so many stories saying college was the best time of their life, classes were hard, etc. no one mentions the journey of mental rise and fall. So I won’t post these photos, with a temporary filled smile, due to the graduation high that finally came, but I’m going to spill the truth that we forget to disclose.
From the moment I got accepted into Clark Atlanta University, it was a test.
1. I arrived to the university believing I was on a military scholarship
2. After discovering I was not on scholarship l, I spent every day in the financial aid office for 2 weeks until they enrolled me financially
3. I lost my best friend because we realized we were too different and set in our ways to try to salvage anything
4. The military told me I was too fat for my height and to kill two birds with one stone - I should pursue my dream of being a Marine and switch to that option, “because they don’t care so much about your weight”
5. I was ill-advised by an instructor who didn’t want me in the ROTC program in the first place because I didn’t arrive on scholarship
6. I separated from a long-term boyfriend that been with me through many life changes and developments
7. I had changed my major after sophomore year and went through a whole identity crisis- I then selected Psychology to be my path
8. Through out ROTC I was exercising on a torn ACL, unbeknownst to me, but my injury was always minimized or made to see like I was lying
9. My weight in ROTC was the consortium common knowledge and often people would ask me, “ how is the weight loss going”
10. I was removed from the ROTC program by not reaching BMI weight goals. I was to be 140 pounds- I was 165 - y’all I ain’t been that since like middle school lol
11. To release steam from being kicked out of ROTC and having a huge sense of my belonging snatch from me, I drunk a few drinks, only to be sexually Assaulted by someone I called my friend 2018 Labor Day weekend
12. Someone else I use to call a friend facilitated a fantasy where my survivor story became about them and perpetuated lies and rumors because they had feelings for the boy who assaulted me
13. now my sexual assault story is the Unit Shame that they still talk about to this day because majority of the battalion remained friends or endorsed the boy who assaulted me
14. I had a toxic workplace environment because the boy who assaulted me and the friend that spread lies were working with me and the manager had knowledge of said information and did nothing to accommodate anyone
15. The manager of said workplace was unprofessional and had inappropriate relationships with student’s- particularly fraternization
16. While that was happening at Morehouse College, the lies from my assault reached my own institution and I had residents - I was a RA, call me a whore and slut because of the rumors from my assault
17. One of my fellow “RAs” gossiped with the residents and aided in the misinformation where I lived and let the residents do what they wanted- making it harder for my coworkers and I to enforce rules
18. Because of they free will the residents had received from said RA, when it was not reciprocated amongst all RAs i was threatened with notes slid under my door in my residence building, and my property was destroyed
19. With all the mental jabs, I stopped going to class and my mother was .2 seconds from withdrawing me from the institution because she could tell she was losing me
20. I started dating again, but with sexual trauma and “an idea of standards” from my last relationship- I was disappointed 6x over - some people just foul, smh
21. I lost friends that I thought had my back, but only talked behind it. Ive consoled others through attempted suicides, a shooting, losing parents, their personal battles with sexual assault and other struggles that come with being a RA and a student
22. My senior year, research developments, and a trip to EGYPT! Was cancelled due to covid 19
So what pulled me through? It was a moment my junior year and that moment forward that I decided I was going to finish my journey. One thing about being a psych major is: you gone talk about trauma. You gone talk about it a lot. In talking about it, I realized that I was NOT the only person going through these things. The fact that a lot of young black men and women were experiencing the same things were tragic, but we related to each other and with the help of the professors and each other, I began to heal.
Although healing is not linear and I still have a ways to go from coming to terms with what the past has done to my mental- I can say I am in a better place from where I was. I am here, graduated. Through God, a reliable support system, and my preservation was am I able to stand before you as an Alumna of CAU.
This is not a story to tell you to ignore your mental health like me, but please seek what you need to be able to pull yourself out. You are not alone, you are around people that make you feel alone.
So this isn’t a post to tell you:
-graduated with (x) different honors, employed, grad school bound, yada yada yada because you already knew that
This is a post to show you different kinds of merits that made me who I now. Had I went to The college selected for me had I stayed and commute from school and home, had I done what was safe and familiar, I wouldn’t have clipped my wings and grown.
With all the things I’ve experienced in a lifetime, this is to show you: anyone can get through college academically, but do they have the means or mental fortitude to be able to push through. I’ve went through adversity and I am prepared to withstand more.
I’ll leave you with this: “[insert whatever you are going through] and finish it with “and yet I smile”. Because despite what you going through you always have the option to smile about it and boss up For you won’t know my hand unless I show it to you, you won’t know my struggles unless I tell you and you won’t get to be joyous in my success, unless I invite you.
And that's on Mary had a lil lamb
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all-things-skam · 5 years
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I don't know if you've seen the theories in which Ander could be sick It’s a little bit angsty hahaha (This is after what Guzman told him) Where Ander is in class and suddenly he starts feeling very sick and a lot of blood comes out of his nose, while the teacher calls an ambulance, Guzman calls Omar and warns him of the incident Omar immediately runs to him and idk HAHAHHA Sorry English is not my first language I LOVE HOW U WRITE
hi since ander and guzman didn’t really ended the season on good terms…(that moment was so fucking devastating omg) can you write something where ander is very sad and guilty but guzman doesn’t forgive him. but then something bad happens to ander and he gives in bc he still cares about him? or maybe ander is dealing badly with losing his best friend (drinking excessively,drugs etc) and omar is worried and he talks to Guzman about it and after seeing ander like that he forgives him?
aloo! Id like for u to write a fic about Omar bing worried for ander health! Thank youx
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Title: It’s just a nosebleed
Ship: Ander Munoz + Omar Shanaa (Omander)
_______________
Next time you faint I hope you smash your head and bleed to death.
The words resonated in Ander's mind, Guzman's voice colder every single times. They haunted Ander's mind days and nights, the only way to shut them up being to drink until oblivion. Cert, alcohol wasn't the way to numb pain, but Ander didn't care. He just couldn't bare to hear them over and over again.
Although he deserved it, losing his best friend has caused so much more pain in Ander's heart than he was willing to admit. Guzman was so much more than a best friend; he was a brother to him. But, brothers don't stab each other's back. Brothers don't hide huge secrets like that. Especially when it concerns one's sister assassin's identity.
He couldn't imagine the pain he had caused Guzman by not telling him the truth. How he must feel knowing that, for months, he had partied, shared a bed and gone to class with his sister's assassin like nothing had happened.
Ander hated Polo for telling him that ugly secret. He had commit utter betrayal by killing Marina. And, forcing Ander to secrecy, forcing him to take his secret to the grave, was the most cruel thing he could possibly do. Ander didn't want to know, he didn't want to be forced to know about Polo's crime. Yet, Polo's selfish self decided he had enough of carrying this secret alone - along with Carla and Christian - and told Ander.
Ander also hated himself for not having the balls to tell his best friend that their other best friend had killed Marina. He had chosen to play safe, trying to not lose any of them, but learned the hard way that playing safe isn't always the best choice. Now, because he had kept that same ugly secret to himself, Guzman had crossed him out of his life and there was no hope for forgiveness.
''I think you should slow down on the alcohol, don't you think?'' Omar suggested as he brought his intoxicated boyfriend home after his shift at the club, praying that Mrs. de Munoz was sound asleep.
She didn't know about her son's drinking problem. It would break her to see that Ander had turned to alcohol to cope.
Ander wasn't heavy, but Omar wasn't Mr. Muscle. It didn't help that he was half conscious, making him, by consequent, heavier. He was hanging on Omar's neck as the latter struggled to make it up the stairs. If only he could help himself a bit...
Omar sighed as he deposed Ander on his bed and removed his shoes. He was tired of this. He was Ander's boyfriend, not his babysitter.
As much as he wanted to talk to Ander about his drinking habits, he knew the younger one would deny any alcohol problems. But, at the same time, Omar couldn't continue keeping things bottled for both his and Ander's sake.
He'd be lying if he said seeing his boyfriend drowning himself into alcohol didn't hurt him. It broke his heart knowing that Ander was hurting so much that he had to numb his pain with alcohol.
A bittersweet smile on his lips, Omar sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Ander was sleeping soundly.
.
Ander sat behind his desk in class, filling his exam sheet when he felt something wet dripping on his face. Instinctively, he wiped it with the back of his hand and realized it was blood. He sniffled, thinking it would go away and stop, but, seconds later, blood started dripping on his exam sheet, creating a couple red splatters. Shit.
He alerted Mrs. Cortez of the bloody - pun intended - issue and she gave him permission to go to the bathroom to get tissues and clean himself.
Left hand covering his bleeding nose, Ander rose from his seat, the chair screeching on the tiled floor as he pushed it back. Maybe he stood up too fast or maybe it was because of the previous nosebleeds he got that week and the loss of blood was catching on him, but he suddenly started feeling light headed and drowsy. By reflex, he gripped the edge of the desk, fingers trying to grab at something to gain steadiness.
In the row behind his, Guzman lifted his head, furrowing his eyebrows at his old best friend's behavior. ''Ander?'' said Guzman's voice worriedly, ignoring the silence during exams rule. ''You okay?''
At the moment, Guzman didn't care that he and Ander weren't on speaking terms. He still cared about him deep down and, although he meant his words back then, seeing Ander on the verge of fainting had terrified him. When he had fainted at the Christmas party back in December, it was because of alcohol. Now, given that they were at school during exam week, it couldn't be that which worried Guzman.  
Ander didn't have time to answer Guzman's concerns that the latter was reaching out for him, grabbing Ander before he could fall and hit his head.
.
As Mrs. de Munoz got in the ambulance with her son, Guzman did what felt right and called Omar, informing him of the incident. If something like that had happened to Nadia, he would've liked to know.
.
When Omar made it to the hospital, he saw Ander's mom in the hallway. She seemed surprised, but not shocked to see him. On the contrary, she would have been even more surprised if he hadn't showed up.
Omar had been living with them for six months now and Azucena had grown very fond of him. Unlike Ander, Omar was a better help to the house. He knew how to clean, do laundry and cook - with guidance. He also deeply cared about Ander and she could sense it. His presence at the hospital was a proof.
As soon as Omar saw her, he gave a her a tight hug, knowing that they both needed it right now. ''What happened? Is he okay?'' Omar demanded, a little in shock. He pulled back, trying to search in her eyes for reassurance.
''He gave us quite a scare.'' Azucena took a breath, trying to control her emotions. ''He got a nosebleed and fainted in class. The doctor said it's iron deficiency anemia. We'll know more when he gets back with the results.''
When he got the call from Guzman saying Ander had left in an ambulance, Omar hadn't been surprised. He knew that if Ander continued not taking care of himself, something would happen. And, it did.
''Is he okay?''
She nodded and smiled at him thinly. ''You can go see him.''
.
Hand on the handle, about to open the door, Omar paused. He didn't know what to expect. Hospitals were never good news. They always gave him an uneasy feelings in his stomach. The last time he came to the hospital, his father had a heart attack and, when he glanced at him in the bed, he didn't look well. He was attached to wires and tubes and Omar felt sick. Although Ander's situation was less dramatic, Omar couldn't help but imagine the worse.
Exhaling a breath, Omar pushed the door and walked in. The room was dimly lit, the curtains pulled to make it easier for Ander to rest.
Having heard the door open, the younger one turned his head and pulled his eyebrows. ''Omar?''
His face was pale and he looked exhausted. There was an IV attached to his arm, giving him nutrients he was lacking from his alcohol diet. A part of Omar wanted to scream at Ander 'I told you so', but another part just wanted to pull him in his arms and thank the sky that he was alive.
Ander wasn't expecting to see Omar here. He thought he could get off easy and somehow hide this trip to the hospital from him, pass it off as some stomach bug. But, now that he was here, there was no point in lying. Omar had enough shit going on, the last thing he wanted was to get his mind preoccupied with this.
''Who told you I was here?'' he asked. ''I thought you were working today.''
Omar approached his bedside, huffling a small laugh. ''You're gonna have difficulty believing me, it's Guzman.''
Ander frowned, having difficulty to believe him. ''What? Guzman? I...'' He shook his head, denying the information he wasn't capable to process. ''Why would Guzman do that? He doesn't even care about me anymore...'' The last words caused Ander's voice to frail a little.
There was no way that Guzman would've cared. He made that clear when he spoke those cruel words to him the day they arrested Polo. As cruel as they were, Ander knew that he deserved them. He didn't deserve his friendship, he didn't even deserve Omar. He was such a shitty person, a shitty son, a shitty friend, a shitty boyfriend-
The heart monitor was starting to act up, the line making rapid jumps as Ander was getting worked up. Seeing this, Omar sat on the edge of the bed and cupped Ander's face with the other, fingers grazing his curls. ''Ander? Ander, look at me.''
If he didn't calm him quickly, a nurse would come in.
The younger one's eyes finally looked up, gazing into Omar's. ''Ander, baby...'' Omar held his gaze, trying to prevent his mind from going back to what he was thinking, what got him worked up.
Once Omar felt like Ander had calmed down, he sat on the small chair beside the bed.
''Do you know when you're getting out?'' he asked, changing subject.
''Hopefully soon. It'll depends of the test results.''
Omar nodded. ''I talked with your mom. She said there's a high possibility you have iron-deficiency anemia. I knew those nosebleed were serious. Especially when happening so frequently...'' He pushed his face in his hands, blaming himself.
Ander reached out, putting his hand over his boyfriend's forearm. ''You couldn't have known, Omar-''
''I should've worried more! Fuck. I could've prevented this if I hadn't left you drink so much alcohol.''
''Anemia has nothing to do with the drinking. I have a high carence in iron.''
''Still. Alcohol mustn't be good for you. Especially at the pace and frequency you're drinking.''
Ander looked down, admitting defeat.
Omar had kept his mouth shut for so long, but he had enough. What happened today scared him and he felt partly responsible for the incident. Maybe if he had spoke up instead of carrying Ander to his room every nights, he wouldn't have fainted in class.
''I get that you're hurt and sad because you lost your best friend, but life doesn't end because a friendship is broken. You've got to take care of yourself, Ander. I get that you lost an important person, but I'm here, and your mom is too. Don't you think it's hurting us to see you destroy your health? I haven't told your mom about your drinking habits, and I'm not going to, but I think you should reflect on it. I don't think she'd like to find out that her son is turning into an alcoholic.''
Ander's features hardened, jaw clenching at the harsh word. ''I'm not an-''
''You are! Alcoholics drinks every day and, since Christmas, there's not a day I haven't seen you without a drink in hand.'' Omar sighed, gaining control of his emotions. He didn't want to scream at Ander, he just wanted to get his point across. ''I'm not telling you this to hurt you. I'm telling you this because I care about you. Because I love you and I wouldn't forgive myself if something were to happen to you because I didn't intervene when it was still time.''
Omar's words put Ander into deep thinking. He didn't realize what was happening - not to this extent. He knew he was drinking more than he should've, but not this much. Maybe Omar was right. Maybe he was an alcoholic. The possibility brought tears to his eyes. Fuck. He can't fall into that rabbit hole. His parents had just finished signing the divorce papers, he couldn't do that to his mom. She had been through enough.
''I...I'm sorry. I didn't realize what I was doing. I just kept drinking and didn't think of the side effects of alcohol binge. I just liked not thinking about anything, forgetting the shit happening in my life,'' Ander explained, ashamed of himself.
Omar reached out and grabbed his hand, showing support. ''I know, but don't you think it's time to try another solution? Instead of trying to numb your mind to forget the sad stuff, why don't you focus on the happier stuff? Do things that make you happy to forget about the sad stuff.''
Ander nodded, liking the idea. ''Like what, though? I don't know if you've noticed, I don't have friends anymore.'' He let out a dry laugh.
''You have me,'' Omar reminded, nudging him. ''I could take a night off every week and watch movies together instead of going out? Or we could get dinner, just the two of us?''
''Netflix and chill?''
Omar snorted, cheeks flushed. Of course, that's what he's thinking about. ''If you want.''
''I'd like that. But, I don't want you to take days off for me. You need the money-''
Rolling his eyes, Omar sighed. ''One night off won't cut me that much money, Ander. And, you've been there for me when my father kicked me out, it's my turn to be there for you.''
Fair.
For a relationship to be healthy, one can't just give, give, give and never take. You have to accept your partner's help and stop thinking you're a bother. Omar wouldn't have offered to take a day off to spend time with him if he hadn't genuinely wanted to.
The curly haired one sighed. ''Okay.''
''What movie do you want to watch first? Your body is still weak from the blood loss and fainting, you should take it chill tonight.''
Ander nodded. ''It's been so long since we spent a night just the two of us. I miss it.'' He bit his lip, glancing at his boyfriend.
''I miss it too.''
Omar stood from his chair, reading Ander's mind, and leaned for a kiss that quickly became inappropriate for hospitals. Hands slid on each other's body as tongues slipped in, almost forgetting where they were.
A squeal escaped Omar's lips when Ander's hand squeezed his ass through the denim fabric, taking him by surprise. He broke the kiss, narrowing his eyes. ''What are you doing?! We're at the hospital. Your mom is right on the other side of that door.''
Ander shrugged, laughing.
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gavis-bettel · 5 years
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i just saw a post about symptoms of childhood depression and idk if ive ever talked about this here but 
every time i try to think about how my depression developed when i was a child i am BLOWN AWAY by the fact that i was Very Severely suicidal as young as 7 or 8 years old 
like i have very distinct memories partly because it happened during my first road trip with my family. i distinctly remember just desperately wanting to jump out of our hotel room window and we were a good few stories up so i didnt have any doubt it would kill me and i didnt even think of why i would want to do it or that it was such a serious thing to want to kill myself bc idk if i even knew what suicide was at that age 
and around age ten i was on another trip with my mom and brother and it was a ton of fun! we went to a family reunion which i always enjoyed and it was in a totally different climate zone which was super cool to experience for the first time and my mom got me pokemon diamond so i would have something to do and i loved that game so so much 
but on a cable car ride the park ranger or tour guide or whatever her position was mentioned that it would take seven seconds to fall from the height of our cable car onto the face of the mountain and all i could think of was how much i wanted to pry the doors open and jump and count those seven seconds and how disappointing it was that the car was full of people and someone would stop me if i tried 
and then we went on a hike and i kept looking for any slope that would be sheer and tall enough to kill me if i fell but luckily we were on the safest most beginner/child friendly trail 
and earlier that year i was going through a really stressful time in school and i frequently imagined ways that i could fall on our sharpest kitchen knife so it would kill me as quickly and painlessly as possible, or how to drown myself by looping a belt through the grate of the drain at the bottom of our swimming pool, or how to poison myself but i didnt think too hard about that one because i had a tendency to throw up a lot as a kid and i wanted the most surefire way 
and at age twelve my best friend was also depressed and suicidal and she told me about how she wanted to poison herself or kill herself in other ways i cant remember bc its been a decade, but i decided that if she wanted to die too then i should try and i think it was before the pass out challenge but i remember hearing a news story about a child strangling himself to death playing a game or something so i actually tried to strangle myself and i could have fucking done it but i stopped bc i got a little freaked out by my neck going numb and seeing spots of light so i put the belt i was using away and just went to bed lol 
and in the morning i messaged my friend about it and she was actually kind of freaked out i think. i remember seeing the little red spots from blood vessels bursting in my eyes and i was lucky i didnt bruise bc while i never really realized just how fucked up and abnormal being suicidal was (at any age, let alone 7-12), i also never told anyone about it except my friend 
and interestingly enough around that time one of my teachers mentioned to my mom that i seemed depressed and recommended that i see a professional about it but my mom asked me if i was depressed and wanted to talk to someone and of course i said no because i was a shy kid and also never really knew there was actually something very seriously wrong with me... she chalked it up to my grandma (who i kind of hated and didnt miss at all, lol) dying a few months earlier and we all just kind of forgot about that 
and funny enough, after my suicide attempt i didnt contemplate suicide again for several years - i might have been sixteen or seventeen the next time i even thought about dying like that. of course, starting in the tenth grade (age uhh... 15-16?) i had my first Springtime Major Depressive Episode, which made me lose any and all interest in school starting some time after spring break and before finals, and this happened ever year up until 2016, when i had my worst one yet and failed all my classes bc i didnt go to half of them, didnt do half my homework, and stopped studying altogether while also becoming completely obsessed with dead animals and constantly dissociating so badly i was almost convinced i had DID (and i still have posts on this blog talking about having alters and all that shit bc digging them all up to delete them is too much work and i might want to read back through all that mess if i ever have to go through such a severe episode again (knock on wood) ). and like, it was so bad i actually told my mom i was having a rough time for the first time ever, and she gave me her prozacs bc she didnt actually take them anymore (they didnt work on me, unfortunately). the summer following all that was marked by fits of anxiety and rage bc i had family visiting for a few weeks and it was too stressful for my poor half-melted brain but i managed to get through all that and the depressive episode ended and i actually got my act together after that and haven’t failed a class since and ive only skipped like 1-2 times per semester since then and i was sooo proud of how well i did and 2017 i didnt have my big springtime mde 
but now i feel like im slipping again and i dont know if i can handle disappointing myself like that again. i was actually considering dropping out for a while because im not going to graduate in a clean four years, some people i graduated high school with have already gotten their degrees and started their careers, and im also just fucking tired of being in school. but my advisor told me im on track to graduate next fall and that made me feel so much better 
but then i realized i cant focus during class. i dont remember huge chunks of lectures and sometimes its a struggle to turn in homework on time, let alone actually study. theres a good chance i could fail one of my classes, and a slight chance i could fail another. and i promised myself that i would get help if things got bad again, theres a psych clinic right on campus thats covered by tuition, but it feels like im doing all i can to make it to class and then im exhausted and just want to go home... im honestly feeling kind of lost here. like i know exactly what i can do to help myself and maybe salvage some fucking brainpower before finals start, but i just have no motivation and mentally its like im barely even here 
or like, my brain’s being smothered and i cant pay attention or do anything because theres so much fluff blocking everything out... 
well, at least now i have a little account of my mental health history in case i ever do manage to see someone lol
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sisterbestill · 5 years
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I write this on my iPhone, sitting next to my dad, who is currently getting his 4th Chemo Therapy Treatment of Carboplatin and Taxol. The drugs are chemical bombs and each week the accumulative damage grows. They pre-treat him with histamine blocking meds so he doesn’t have reactions, but he has reactions during the infusion, like he can’t breath. The nurses are well aware and calmly manage the reactions with more meds. These meds cause him to become very drowsy, so the remainder of the day becomes about keeping him from falling.
I still am trying to process all that has occurred since early August 2018. I look back on these pictures of our last outing at Lake Jocassee and never would have guessed how things would change just a week later. I’ve often wondered how cancer strikes people so quickly, now I know. I am writing this so I will never forget each minute that will forever live with me. I am also using this as a way to cope and understand something that is unfamiliar and terrifying.
My parents have always taken care of themselves and one another. They have been very lucky to have good health and I have been lucky to have them as energetic as they are in their eighties. When they moved up here from Florida, I was delighted I was going to finally be able to spend more time with them - like daily and weekly vs. just twice a year. They moved 15 minutes away or a lovely 60 min bike ride through rolling countryside and mountains. I was giddy and felt the universe shift a bit. I felt pulled to them. They are in fact two of the coolest, funniest, and open-minded people I know.
Shortly after this kayak trip (photos above) they decided to make a pact to live to 100 and created a “bucket list”. They were thankful for their health and never took it for granted. Perhaps the bucket list idea was a way to for them to celebrate how young they felt or perhaps they recognized they were chronologically getting up there.
Paddling on Jocassee was relaxing, calm, and beautiful; Certainly an experience they would have loved to have recreated again and I am hopeful they will. It may look different in the future, but I suspect the beauty and calmness of the lake will bath their brains in peace.
A week after snapping these pics, I got a call from my mom, she was on her way to the ER with my Dad. I was working one floor up and met them in the ER. While we waited, I learned my Dad had been feeling fatigued for several months and had developed shortness of breath over last few weeks. It wasn’t evident on the kayak trip that he was struggling, but it was obvious in the ER. My mom said they had been to their primary care several times and their primary care doc reassured him it was natural aging, as tests did not reveal anything to be concerned about.
As we sat for 6 hours in the waiting area, I was certain it was nothing serious. Afterall, my dad had no other health issues other than a little hypertension. His meds consisted of an 81 mg baby aspirin and amlodipine 2.5 mg each day - what a lucky guy. I was thinking maybe he had pleurisy or walking pneumonia.
We finally were shown to a room and labs were drawn. We were relieved to finally get things moving. By this time my sister, Lori, and I were getting silly from the fatigue of waiting. We were thoroughly entertained by a belligerent drunk guy on a stretcher in the halllway who seemed to draw all the attention of the medical staff while we well-behaved folks waited for answers.
I noticed my dad’s HR would easily jump to a sinus tach in the 130s with just a little bit of movement. Something didn’t seem right, but I was not going to speculate or think the worst. I was just his daughter, at his side, keeping the mood light.
We were informed by the physician assistant caring for us that his left diaphragm was elevated and was probably the cause of his shortness of breath. I was a little taken back as this was an unusual finding that left me with a knot in my stomach. Not too long after this finding he was whisked away for a CT of his chest.
He returned to the room and we waited for results. The PA came in with a sticky note and said she read off it: “You have a very large anterior mediastinal mass...No one here will operate because of your age...We are discharging you and you will need to see an oncologist.”
Our mouths dropped. My stomach bottomed-out as she said “mass” and my face flushed. We all just blankly looked at one another. Go home?
I spoke to a good nurse friend in recovery and she called the thoracic resident. I spoke to the PA who delivered the news and said, “We can’t go home. He is short of breath. He and my mom live alone. His Heart rate is bouncing up to 130s. He is weak. Please admit him and consult thoracic surgery.” My dad chimes in, “I’m not a throw away!” Meaning he doesn’t want to be dismissed because of his chronological age. He was far healthier than most half his age and this deserved a second look. The radiologist who read the report never actually saw my dad, but he did see a birthdate.
The next day, the interventional radiologist who read his CT and gave us the crappy news also did a needle biopsy of this baseball size mass.
We went home on a Wednesday after 2 days and waited. We were waiting for results and waiting for an appointment with a thoracic surgeon. Waiting is tough and if you are sick you will learn the meaning of patience.
We made it to Sunday when I thought something wasn’t right with my dad. He continued to have episodes of shortness of breath, but something was still off. I knew he had anxiety, but this was different. He said he felt fine and I almost left it at that. As a nurse you learn to listen to your 6th sense.
My parents live in a remote part of the county where everything is 30 min away. I left there house and an hour later returned with a pulse oximeter that I purchased from a CVS drug store. His oxygenation was 95% not bad for a guy now breathing 40 times a minute with 1.25 lung capacity. However, his pulse read 155 and I was baffled. No way?! I palpated his radial artery and it was a match. Off we went to the ER...
ER visit number II was faster as we went to a smaller satellite hospital 30 min from their home. The rhythm was too fast on the monitor to establish what it was so the ER MD attempted to chemically cardiovert him with adenosine. Adenosine is pushed quickly through an IV. It stops and restarts the heart. I can not lie, I was nervous. It’s so diffferent when this is your own family member. My mom tearfully excused herself and I stayed by his bedside. The ER doc informed my dad it would suck, and we proceeded. It sucked. He felt his heart stop and I watched his eyes bulge and panic come across his face for 3 of the longest seconds of my life. We were able to see he had an underlying atrial flutter. We were started on a verapamil drip and were transported to the main hospital for management by a cardiologist. His heart converted back to a normal rhythm on the verapamil drip before we left the ER in transport to Main hospital at 1 am. We were under the impression it was stress related to the new shitty diagnosis and having to wait on results.
The next day he had an echocardiogram to look at the structure and function of his heart. He was started on a Metoprolol a drug that blocks adrenaline and keeps heart rate lower and it was doing its’ job.
He spent 2 nights in hospital and outside of naps, lacked solid hours of good sleep. We finally got word that his ECHO results were good. No one said a word about metastatic disease to his pericardium. We were told he had a small ring of fluid within the pericardial sack, but it wasn’t a lot and certainly not something they felt needed draining. The atrial flutter responded well to the metoprolol and we were discharged home to once again wait for our thoracic surgery appointment.
We finally made it to the thoracic surgeon to learn of what was growing in my dad’s mediastinum. I was hoping for a thymoma, but instead we drew the really short stick with a highly aggressive, highly invasive cancer called: Squamos Cell Thymic Carcinoma.
WTF? Come on! Can we not catch a break here?
I had never heard of this type of cancer and neither have many in the medical field cause in addition to being aggressive and invasive, it is also a rare tumor. A rare tumor that hasn’t impacted enough lives that researchers devote a lot of time, money and effort into understanding it. Not only that, but sadly, most people die before any data can be collected. Once you get short of breath, dry cough and fatigue it is usually advanced.
PET Scan had some questionable lymph nodes light up, but no other disease was noted distal to the mediastinal cavity.
We hoped it could be removed. Excising the tumor was first choice in the management of this cancer and had the best outcomes, but to do this the surgeon would need to get clean margins. The thoracic surgeon wanted a cardiac MRI to examine if this tumor had invaded any of his great vessels. CT scans had only shown that the tumor was abutting the ascending aorta, but we needed to be certain cause the surgery involved opening his sternum with a saw and recovery would be 5-6 weeks. The surgeon emphasized that he didn’t want to operate and create trauma without being able to get the entire tumor. He didn’t want to delay care in a time-is-of-the-essence scenario.
It was 6pm on a Monday evening just days out from last hospitalization, when I returned to their house to check on him. Earlier that morning, my mom and I took his mini Pomeranian back to the vet and learned it was dying. The vet apologized and said it was time. We put my dad’s 18 y/o Pom, Ben, to sleep at 10:30. My mom held him and he passed. We were a mess. We told my dad and his response seemed flat. Distant.Something else was on his mind.
I stayed close and felt something was amiss, something was unfolding, progressing. I was thinking is he getting an infection? His temp was 100.2, slightly more SOB, and his pulse was 95-110 at rest, on a beta blocker. Nowhere near his norm and I could not ignore this or excuse it. My dad is precious to me. I looked at my mom and dad, apologized as I informed them we needed to go back to the ER. They were agreeable. I think he was relieved I recognized something was wrong.
Shortly after arrival at the satellite ER labs were drawn and ultrasound of his heart was done by ER doc. He said there appeared to be a large fluid collection around my dad’s heart. We were again admitted to ICU for a condition called Cardiac Tamponade. Early the next morning he had the fluid drained 600 ml from around his heart. The fluid build up which is inside the pericardial sac squeezes the heart. The heart can be stunned and go into failure. The fluid that was drawn off was sent for cytology. It was suspicious. It was likely metastatic disease.
In fact after annoying the cardiologist with repeated questions in the hallway, he motioned me over to his computer screen. He showed me the ECHO and pointed out the thickening of the pericardium and showed me a mass dangling from his ventricle. I didn’t need to wait for cytology. This was confirmation for me that we were very far into a disease process. My face flushed, my heart sank, and my stomach dropped as I comprehended the situation. I thanked the MD and my mom asked what he was showing me. I told her. I saw the color leave her face.
The thoracic surgeon was still hoping to remove the mass as the CT didn’t show it had invaded the great vessels, but he did want a Cardiac MRI which was on the back burner. We were still in ICU cause the Cardiac Tamponade and procedure to drain the fluid triggered a lot of Atrial Flutter and Atrial Fibrillation. We waited for the Cardiac MRI for 3 days. There is only one machine and his was repeated twice before they got quality images. The thoracic surgeon finally met with us and after consulting his partners, radiologist, and oncologist, it was decided surgery was just too risky and he wasn’t certain he could get clear margins. He stressed how he didn’t want to create more problems or delay my dad in getting treatment if there were complications. We very much appreciated the thoughtfulness of his answer. We really didn’t have a minute to spare. The surgeon decided to cut a window in my dad’s heart so the cancer did not build up more fluid and compress this vital organ again. The cancer cells would drain into his belly instead of filling the pericardial sack.
We were discharged home in a questionable state: weak. At first we were told he would stay until he was walking well, but the hospital was full and we were off-loaded unexpectedly. Home is a place with stairs. Stairs to to get in and stairs to get out and the most movement he had done in a week was walking 25 ft with a walker and that was exhausting for him. I was concerned about falls. How were me and my mom going to get 170 lb man up 5 steps safely? He was too weak. He hadn’t eaten, he had not slept in 10 days. We were behind the eight ball and chemo had not even started.
Chemo is rough. To survive chemo, one needs some level of fitness, meaning able to perform ADLs independently and move often. We were overwhelmed. The next week was labor intensive and emotionally draining. Here we were home and we were struggling. He still wasn’t eating, still not sleeping, and my radar was on constant alert. I spent my days observing and looking for subtle changes. Oh and there were changes that needed immediate attention as he flipped in and out of rapid atrial fibrillation and got urinary tract infection.
I was scared and my dad was terrified. In times when we were alone, he would ask me: “How did this happen?” He would shake his head as if disappointed in his body. Disbelief. He was unable to comprehend it and he too was terrified.
To be continued...
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star-anise · 6 years
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I'm in my last year of undergrad and I feel like everything has gone to shit. The past year and a half have been awful, i have depression, anxiety and im almost positive i have ADHD too. I feel like such a piece of shit because I keep asking for the extensions on projects and exams, and I'm afraid I'm gonna be this way forever. Sorry this is a lot but do you have any advice on how to take the first step in digging myself out of this hole ive created?
Okay, so it seems like you came in via this post. That’s pretty much my philosophy here. I don’t know if you’re gonna “be this way forever” or not--I know I will probably be the way I am (depressed, anxious, with ADHD) forever, but that isn’t necessarily the same as being a trash disaster on academic probation forever.
I’ll be honest, I kind of feel like after a year and a half, you’re kind of an expert on what you can do with two hands and a shovel. You’ve been digging yourself out as fast as you can, and it’s been a real struggle. I think it’s time for you to get actual help, as in, other people. Reaching out to me was a good first step. I can help you decide where to go from here.   
Keep it simple and take it slow. If you don’t know where to find any of this stuff, feel free to private message me your school’s website; I have a minor knack for reading organizational structures.
For the next week, pick ONE OR TWO of the following options. Even if they’re all good ideas, keep your goals manageable. And then, of those one or two, pick one or two SMALL ACTIONS you can do to pursue them, like looking up a number in your student handbook or making an appointment. If you do more, that’s great, but the siren song of our people is, “I��m gonna accomplish so much!” 
Without further ado: Some Options For Help
Your school’s Disability Services/Accessibility Office/Office of Inclusion/whatever they call it
You’re looking for the office that helps Deaf/Blind/mobility-impaired students succeed in school. Mental health falls under the same category. It’s their job to make sure your school is providing you with as much chance at an education as it would provide to someone who’s totally neurotypical. Tell them what you told me.
Stuff they can do:
Tell you what your school’s requirement is for documenting a disability
Give you information on local assessment and treatment options--what psych professionals locally are good? Is there a fund somewhere that will cover your testing? Does the student health centre have a psychiatrist?
Provide you with a letter that tells your instructors that giving extensions, having flexible schedules, or dropping penalties for non-attendance is a legal requirement to accommodate you. This is not necessarily a free pass--a professor may decide that some things are mandatory or non-negotiable--but it is an easy way to bring these problems up early, before they become an issue.
Help find your or fund you a tutor (more on this later)
Help you find other resources and services on your campus
Your school’s Counselling Centre/Wellness Services/Social Work Office/wherever they hide the shrinks
This is the place where they offer free counselling. If there’s walk-in, go to walk-in; if they can book an appointment in a week, go in a week; if there’s a three-month waitlist, get your name on the waitlist.
Funny story--I had graduated undergrad before I realized that students got free counselling on-campus. I’d been in therapy since I was 16, but five years of undergrad? Yeah, no clue. I was looking for therapists on Psychology Today and shelling out hundreds of dollars out of pocket, and there were hot and cold running therapists under my very nose.
In fact, there might be more than just therapists. The school I worked at had regular counsellors, and also a Learning Specialist, whose job included teaching people with executive function disorders like depression and ADHD how to study effectively!  It’s worth asking about.
When you see one of these people, it’s very tempting to think they are An Adult Who Is The Boss Of You. They will look at you, understand you with their expert knowledge, tell you what your deal is, and give you instructions on what to do now!  
In reality, therapists are not Sherlock Holmes, or profilers on TV. We can’t just look at you and go, “I see by the way you button your coat that you’re a middle child and ambiguity makes you uncomfortable.”  We rely a lot on “client report”--on what you say is true. Psychological assessment is a process involving interaction, not a detached observation of stable qualities. If a therapist says something about you that seems inaccurate, it is beneficial and good to say, “No, actually, I think you’re mistaken. To me, it looks more like...”
You’re recruiting an experienced co-traveller to go on a trip with you. They know a lot about rocks and trails and climbing harness, but they don’t know the territory you’ll be travelling together. So first and foremost, you want to find someone you want to go on a trip with: a therapist who is a good fit for you.
If you don’t like your assigned therapist, ask for a new one. We have an ethical responsibility to provide referrals when we can’t provide someone with the treatment they need, and since a good client-therapist relationship predicts therapy outcome like 70% of the time, simply not liking or trusting your therapist is a good enough reason to try somebody new. If you want you can just email them after the session and say, “I don’t think you and I quite clicked. With what you know now of my personality and issues, is there someone else in your office you can refer me to?”
Medication. Different medication.
Not gonna lie, going on antidepressants was like... getting the inside of my brain whitewashed. There was so much space. So much room. I could think and feel without being constantly smothered in negativity! And going on ADHD meds on top of that was like.. the thoughts that had always been slippery, unable to grasp or manipulate, suddenly became solid in my hands. I could grip them, slow them down, tell them to go somewhere else.
Both times, it took five to ten adjustments to get to the right cocktail and dosage. For example, I was on an antidepressant that stopped me from crying and freaking out all the time but killed my creative drive, so we added a drug that gave me more energy so I could write again. Then money got tight, we tried me on a generic, found that didn’t work, and found a way to pay for the first version. Each time, it meant seeing the doctor, trying a dose for two weeks or a month, and then going back to report progress and try adjusting it again.
Again: It’s a process, an interaction. It’s something you get a say in. And if you’re currently on meds--well, let me just say: If you sent me an ask like that, your meds aren’t doing their job. They’re not the right ones for you. So it’s time for an adjustment.
If you can get to or afford a psychiatrist, great! A general practitioner who’s known you for a while will often do. And if you need to, well, I’ve gotten my meds adjusted by a different doctor every time at a walk-in family practice clinic. You do what you can. Information on who and what is available is often why Disability Services is a great resource--who knows, maybe there’s a psychiatrist on campus you can see for free who sees the depression/anxiety/ADHD trifecta all the time!
(General life tip: When they give you an assessment for depression, anxiety, or ADHD, don’t downplay your symptoms. Answer the way you would on a bad day or when you’re struggling. Of course you know how to cope with these challenges, but the unfair part is that you have to cope with them at all)
A tutor or academic coach
This never occurred to me for a long long time, because I was always a “smart kid”, and I always thought tutors were for people who didn’t intellectually grasp the material. Meanwhile: Surprise! I have a developmental disability that significantly impacts my learning! My grad school put me on academic probation and effectively foisted a person of this job description on me, and it was the BEST THING EVER.
If you’ve ever felt like you would work so much better if only you had someone sitting there all the time making you work? Or a sympathetic friend who could help you break it down and be less overwhelming? If the only time you get your work done is when someone else asks you about it? This is the person for you.
Most schools provide these services to students for free, or subsidize disabled students’ tutoring. If all else fails, you can find a tutor on your own and say, “I get this stuff intellectually, but I really need someone who makes me spend time with it, because left to myself I’d get anxious and ignore it all until the night before the deadline.”
If you have good friends who can do this for you, that’s great too--but the biggest objection to the post that brought you here is, “I’m depressed and socially anxious--I don’t HAVE anybody to help!”  So this post is aimed at linking you up to people whose explicit job it is to help you--people you, your insurance, or your tuition dollars directly pay for.
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larrytcamp · 4 years
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MY EXPERIENCE WITH IV NUTRITIONAL THERAPY (MODIFIED MYERS COCKTAIL)
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In 2015, as a result of stressful occasions in my individual life, I endured a severe episode of adrenal fatigue. Extreme exhaustion also after a complete evening's rest, muscular tissue weak point, brain fog-- all the excellent things. I found myself unable to recuperate on my own and so I began a course of IV nutritional therapy.
After an admission like that, I imagine you may have a few concerns for me. What is IV nutritional therapy? Exactly how does it function? What are the advantages? Is it "one size fits all?" For how long does it require to really feel the results? Did the treatment help me recover? Read on for more information concerning my experience with IV nutritional therapy: the ups, the downs, and also a couple of techniques I discovered along the road to make it go much more efficiently.
IV Nutritional Therapy
IV nutritional therapy is extensively used by option and corresponding medication professionals as a way to address and also deal with the symptoms of numerous problems such as fatigue syndrome, late phase adrenal exhaustion, fibromyalgia, chronic sinusitis, asthma, immune disorders, and lots of others. It is also utilized to soothe signs of migraine headaches and carry out heavy metals detoxification.
Exactly how Does it Work?
Intravenous shots supply a high dosage of minerals and vitamins directly right into the bloodstream, bypassing the digestion system. Yes, we are supposed to get our nutrients from the food we consume, but sometimes, specifically when nutrition malabsorption exists, food is inadequate and we need a high concentration of trace elements in order to give a boost of energy to our cells and aid the healing process. IV nutritional therapy offers that increase.
What is the Advantage?
The advantage is boosted nutrient absorption. Your body will certainly obtain and absorb a much greater concentration than you would with a dental dosage. This is a definite benefit for people struggling with an autoimmune disease due to the fact that they commonly manage nutrient malabsorption as well as diminished levels of minerals and vitamins.
One Dimension Fits All?
When it comes to IV therapy, the Myers alcoholic drink usually enters your mind. A standard infusion, the Myers cocktail consists of magnesium, calcium, B vitamins, as well as vitamin C and is generally recommended to improve power and also sustain a delayed immune system, yet there are, in fact, several other kinds of dietary IVs readily available. If you are collaborating with a practical medication expert, which I highly advise, your doctor might make a decision to customize the fundamental Myers formula to fit your certain needs. This is called a modified Myers.
MY EXPERIENCE:
Working carefully with my doctor, I got a changed Myers mixed drink, specifically adjusted to my demands, followed by a glutathione (a powerful antioxidant enzyme) injection (image, far ideal). My mixed drink of macronutrients was blended right before each injection to make sure optimum quality. Each treatment lasted 30-40 minutes as well as was carried out in a dimly lit, peaceful room. I located it best to put down and unwind during the treatment. You can also request a blanket to keep you cozy!
Full disclosure: I really did not feel wonderful right away after my very first couple of injections. There was no abrupt and spectacular boost of power or mental clearness. Actually, it was rather the opposite. My initial few injections were adhered to by a "collision" lasting regarding two days during which time I experienced increased tiredness and also a tempting urge to rest.
Worried I was having an allergy to the shots, I spoke with my medical professional. Why was I feeling worse when the shots were intended to make me feel much better? He told me that my reaction had not been uncommon and also was really a normal effect of the cleansing procedure. Keep in mind that I was in a state of true exhaustion as well as my autoimmune disease was most likely flaring due to stress and anxiety. Even more, I am understood for being very sensitive to supplements and such. To make things less complicated for me as well as to ease the results of the detox, my doctor minimized the concentration of the macronutrients I was obtaining.
With the assistance and peace of mind of my medical professional, I decided to proceed the shots as well as see what would occur. I likewise saw to it to schedule my IVs on Fridays in order to have the weekend break to recoup.
Turns out, my doctor was right! I began feeling much better and better after each treatment. I was experiencing boosted energy throughout the day and more mental clearness. Initially, the effects lasted for a couple of days, after that, gradually, my energy began staying up in between each weekly injection. I understand now that nutritional therapy isn't expected to be a quick fix, however rather a sluggish procedure of rebuilding your health and also energy at a deep mobile level. That takes some time! Yet the effects are long lasting. When I obtain a nutritional IV currently, I really feel raised power that lasts for days.
I likewise require to point out the truth that, thanks to these micronutrient shots, I haven't been sick at all this winter when people are falling ill left and right. The injections strengthened my body immune system versus viral infections.
HOW I BENEFITED FROM NUTRITIONAL THERAPY:
power boost
raised psychological clarity
decreased inflammation
strengthened body immune system
Where to Get IV Nutritional Therapy?
Many natural medicine practitioners use nutritional therapy. You can likewise obtain injections at IV bars, which are personal clinic/spa/wellness centers providing "one dimension fits all" IV packages. My recommendations? Deal with a physician that knows you and also recognizes any and all of your pre-existing problems. Your physician needs to also run a complete panel blood work prior to beginning any type of nutritional treatment.
TROUBLESHOOTING:
Blood Vessels Small as well as Uncooperative? Hydrate well a number of days prior to the treatment. You can additionally try working out directly prior to the treatment, sitting in a sauna before the therapy, and/or asking the phlebotomist to apply a warm water container to the insertion location. Shot Stinging? When the IV is put right into the criminal of my joint, where the blood vessels are larger and also blood circulation is strong, I do not really feel anything. When the IV is inserted closer to my hand, on my wrist or directly on my hand where the veins are smaller, the injection can sting a little bit. Ask the phlebotomist to lower the rate of the drip. Also, carefully rubbing your arm will aid soothe the sting. Excruciating Glutathione Injection? Yes, glutathione can sting when infused also quick. Ask the phlebotomist to go very gradually or to dilute the glutathione in saline option.
MY GUIDANCE:
If you are embarking on a nutritional therapy regimen, I would urge you to be client and give it a long time. Many people report feeling the valuable effects just after 4-5 sessions. For me, it took much longer. Remember that all of us start in a different place so your experience will certainly be reflective of where your body is at the moment you start. Also, make certain you are working with an educated group you trust. This is specifically important if you are managing an autoimmune disease or persistent illness.
In general, I located IV nutritional therapy to be very handy. Remember that there are no over night repairs, however if you are patient, you may locate that IV nutritional therapy is a fantastic enhancement to your healing trip. Do your research study, discover a practitioner you trust fund, as well as best of luck! Improved energy is within your reach!
The post “ MY EXPERIENCE WITH IV NUTRITIONAL THERAPY (MODIFIED MYERS COCKTAIL) “ was seen first on Squirrel In The Kitchen
If you want to get your own vitamin drip treatment, visit http://www.theivlounge.ca/ located in Toronto, Ontario. Or call them at (647) 549-3484 for inquiries.
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mmeapolline-blog · 7 years
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white foxes – barren trees and fields of snow an apolline bonacieux character study trigger warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, eating disorder (brief mention), self-image, homophobia, slurs, mental health, grief, abortion (implied mention of), bestiality (briefest mention)
i.  
there’s this girl.
there’s this girl, and she lives in a palace surrounded by acres of crisp green fields that roll towards eternity like god himself reaching for the horizon and stretch upwards against infinity itself. her father is a banker and her mother is less than a title that stiffens beneath the unforgiving frost more with each turn of a year and her sisters are starlight and silver and their beauty cuts like shards of sacrosanct stained glass.
what a pretty little fool, they say, but while she might be delicate, she chews up fairytales and spits out the glitter. she wears her crinolines like a corpse and something beautiful beneath her skirts is dying. her mind is sharp and her mouth is sharper, and as she applies her lipstick with steady hands, it stains her skin redredred .
her name is apolline, sweet on the tongue and bitter on the wind like the call of the phoenix.
there is beauty in her blood but she is empty.
ii.
she has heard whispers of an engagement just over the horizon, and she has seen georges’ white knuckles and felt the cold edge of delphine’s voice on mornings when dowry plans made sleep inevitable. she has not been a student in years, but she studies their movements, watching the nonexistent wrinkles fold into her mother’s skin, and she thinks: will this be a wedding or a war?
( raina is twenty-nine. raina is sharp-eyed and soft-voiced. raina does not talk to anyone anymore. )
apolline stop fidgeting, delphine chastises her with glances over her head to georges, as if her daughter is too much of a girl to comprehend the looks of women. her heart is stuttering in her chest, and she sits on her palms to stop her hands from trembling. and sit up straighter. the marquis du moreau has many rich friends, she adds, a moment later, in a low voice as raina, her face blank, allows her fiancee to kiss her cheek  (as if it is a consolation that she, a prized lamb on display at her sister’s ceremony, can be sold to the highest bidder. )
maman. I am nineteen, and I have a boyfriend, whom I love, she wants to demand, but her voice breaks, and instead, watching from her seat at the edge of the frigid living room of their undead home as her father pours glasses of champagne for his son-in-law to-be. I do not want to be married so soon, she says instead, and hopes that will be enough.
delphine does not look at her. she smiles, greets a guest, and from the corner of her mouth, she hisses, you are a child. you cannot know what you want.
apolline watches raina as she signs the engagement papers. she wonders if this is how it feels to rot.
iii.
raoul is breathless when he finds her, his chest heaving and his blue eyes wild with passion and effort, she cannot say which. I came as soon as I heard, he tells her in a voice the precise thunder of the rain; thick, mournful, and just as effervescent.  are you alright? lena, please tell me you’re alright.
she says nothing. the stars are shining overhead, and something inside her has broken. her hands form fists at her sides, and she’s trembling, trembling so terribly that the world seems to spin. she’s leaving, she spits, frenzied and raw and broken. the wedding is scheduled for next month and she’ll be leaving for her honeymoon after that, and she decides that now is the perfect time to visit romania for three weeks. three weeks - her tongue struggles to form the words. how could she do that to me?
she’ll be back, raoul tries, taking her hands in his own, loving her in that instant with the familiarity of a brother and the ferocity of a lover. he never says so, not even as she tries so desperately to hear I love you falling from his lips, but the absence of admission rings as loudly as an abundance of it. it is in the light of his eyes, it is in the curve of his smile, it is in the way he pronounces her name, with utmost reverence as if was the ringing of bells. lena, lena, my apolline, worshipping at her feet like she is his maria.
but apolline is in no mood for uncertainties and poetic nonsense. she wants real, she wants hard, she wants him to spit and grieve and tear her apart. promise me, she breathes, her words ragged, and sharp, and clawing at him desperately. that you’ll never leave me like that.
( and there is a pause. there is a long pause, while he looks at her, his lover, her hair unkempt and her feet bare. )
raoul, she demands, the sky disappearing beneath a cover of fog; whether the stars have hidden their faces as if embarrassed by her desperation. raoul, please. 
oh, darling, he says, the wind’s cold embrace enwrapping him wholly. oh,  lena, lena, lena,  he’s whispering, kissing the hollow beneath her jaw, her full pink mouth, her the soft indent of her swan’s neck, his fingers creeping up her sides and fiddling with the ties of her dress, and apolline, her hair falling over her neck, casts her eyes to the stars and for once, feels whole.
iv.  
one, two three -
the rhythm of her ballet slippers sinking into the springwood floors, the wave of her arms, straight, poised, reaching through to the heavens, to the mirrors, to the ground, her teacher stalking between the rows of identically dressed pupils, his hands lingering on her waist a moment too long, and her, picturing the sound of his voice ragged with too many glasses of whiskey, telling her she could be good, she could be beautiful, if she’d only let him -
one, two, three -
apolline, home from ballet early, raina’s unopened letter setting on the front stoop, addressed to her parents in sharp red ink, rummaging in her bag for her spare key and stuffing the envelope into its neatly organized contents, taking off her flats just inside the front door, calling out hello? into the empty bellows of the manor because the sounds overhead make it evident that someone’s home, but the sounds ceasing frantically at the sound of her light soprano and apolline, bounding up the stairs, taking the steps in her long, graceful, stride -
one, two, three -
the sounds of conversation echoing; apolline, eyes wide, pushing open her father’s bedroom door; him, completely naked and scrambling for his clothes while a woman who isn’t her mother watches her lover’s daughter from her parent’s bed with heavy-lidded eyes; apolline, stammering apologies, backing out of the room while her father shouts at her to come back because he can explain, surely, he can explain, but apolline running, running, running -
one, two, three -
apolline, eyes closed, feeling her heartbeat beneath her chest, counting her breaths from her hiding spot in raina’s oversized closet, realizing that she’d known this for ages but never truly had, hearing her father searching desperately for his only witness, counting, counting:
one, two, three -
v. 
( I am beautiful, she will say to herself with one arm across her bare stomach. her ribs stick out from her sides, and the girls at dance class watch with envy at the weekly weigh-in sessions, ostensibly to make sure the girls are not underweight but instead hovering just above the line, apolline, on the line but her instructor’s voice silent because her family are wealthy donors and he is a muggleborn.
apolline is beautiful. this is how she describes herself; this is how she is described, not clever or witty or kind or curious, but beautiful, beautiful - she watches herself in the mirrors as she dances, notices the sallowness underneath her eyes and way her stomach has ceased to growl, feels her hair beginning to stretch and fall out, and her classmates pretend not to notice when she is silent for days at a time, when she pretends not to hear their questions, when she pokes at her wounds and does not notice when she bleeds.
I will be beautiful, apolline will say, and she will mean it, because the question that she never asks herself, the words that trip from her tongue when she is alone — I will be beautiful, she will not say, because who am I if I’m not? )
vi.
apolline, raina says, when apolline emerges from her bedroom the next morning with her braid taut and her clothes loose. she can feel delphine’s eyes on her, appraising her silver hair, her small form, the bruises on her skin from too many hours of rehearsal and the shadows from not enough sleep.
get dressed, quickly. we have a meeting to attend with the marquis du moreau, she says, and apolline does not ask questions of their purpose, for she has seen the cruelty of men and has not spent months as a bird in a gilded cage to claim ignorance of their ways. next to her mother, georges stands sullen, knowledge passing between the two of them, and she fights the urge to scream at him, to tell tales of his infidelity, but her tongue feels like it is made of lead.
where is raina? wouldn’t she like to come and see her husband? she asks instead, her eyes wide, for raina was meant to return today from romania and apolline feels alone - alone, in the large house, almost wishing that her fiery older sister could spark a shouting match with her parents, almost wishing she herself could, because anything is better than this...this nothingness, this silence.
georges clears his throat. raina is not going to be marrying the marquis, he says in a hollow voice. and she is no longer welcome in this house. apolline remembers delphine, kissing her forehead as she tucked in her daughters for bed, a quiet lullaby coming from her beautiful throat, her soft skirts and her expensive perfume that she let her youngest borrow for special occasions. she remembers how raina shook with silent screams the night of her betrothal and how her pale cheeks were stained with tears the following morning.  she remembers delphine pulling down her skirts, blotting her lipstick, braiding her hair, whispering who’s my beautiful girl? she remembers raina and her scissors cutting through her long blonde hair, she remembers raina’s door slamming and her desperate cries  I am not—no, I do not want this, I—I am not, I cannot—
and apolline understands.
( that night, she meets raoul in their usual spot, beneath the canopy, beneath the willow, beneath the unforgiving sky. make love to me, she commands because she wants to shatter on impact, and raoul, for once, does not question her.
but she still feels hollow )
vii.
the house is colder, somehow, than it has been in recent years. her parents lie peacefully sleeping down the hall; mathilde and elinor are home to see off the happy couple. apolline —silent, always silent, bitter curses mixed with sweet wine, destruction on her breath and exhaustion in her bones, his ring on her finger glinting in the low light - is trembling.
she should’ve expected this. she wasn’t careful the night they were engaged, so desperate, clinging to her love with sweaty palms and nails that dug into his back. she was so afraid, she was so stupid.
the parchment from st. joan’s  is torn and ragged in her grasp. she’d sent away for testing as soon as she’d missed a cycle, but the notice from the healers that she’d received early in the morning still haunts her. it whispers. it beckons. it howls.
pregnant, it reads.
viii.(   raoul is gone
delphine is sitting at the kitchen table when apolline, her feet light on the stairs, but her mother is a monster and she recognizes the creak of the stairs and sets down her embroidery. the veela does not turn around, but her shoulders stiffen, and she asks the empty air: and where do you think you’re going?
apolline pauses. apolline breathes. apolline has never known with perfect clarity the sound of martyrdom, but now martyrdom has become enriched as deeply in her skin as bruises and broken bonds, and when she speaks to her mother, she wishes she could burn them both alive and be done with it.
I am not, she says, her voice breaking with anger and silent grief, going to marry the marquis.
she expects rage. she expects her mother to scream, to stand, to flay her limb from limb for thinking otherwise, but delphine laughs. it’s a pitiful, humorless sound, and apolline freezes on the landing as it fills the air. delphine laughs, and somewhere, the wind howls and the sun sets on a barren field. she still does not turn to face her daughter, but she stands, and, as apolline watches, her hands sharpen into talons. her mother is a monster. and apolline dreads forgetting otherwise.
you think he’d still have you like this? she asks, shaking her head mercilessly, her silver hair shimmering about her head. there’s a mocking, self-loathing edge to her laughter. apolline opens her mouth, but delphine, in that moment, turns - her voice a sharp hiss, a command, a battle cry.
 get rid of it.
                                    apolline, silent, eyes wide, and tears budding at the corners of her eyes.
                                                          get rid of it.
                                             delphine, sneaking apolline a brownie before supper.
                                             delphine, brushing apolline’s long, silver hair.
                                             delphine, clapping the loudest at apolline’s ballet recitals.
                                             delphine, kissing apolline’s forehead, her lipstick bright red.
                                                                                                                                        get rid of it
                      ( delphine, constantly afraid of being found out.
                       delphine, teaching her daughters english, though she hated the language.
                        delphine, looking at herself in the mirror and seeing a monster.
                       delphine, hearing her daughters called the product of bestiality and wanting to    S C R E A M                                             
  get rid of it.
apolline, watching, thinking of her child, her son or daughter. reduced to an it.
she descends the stairs. a million curses race through her mind, but all fail.  I’ve talked to raoul, she says at last, truthfully, landing on a solution to her predicament. he says he’s going to marry me. it’ll be alright, maman - here, apolline takes a step closer to the weary woman with her head in her hands, almost hesitant, almost apologetic - reaching out for her mother’s shoulder, her hand pausing a micrometer above. you’ll see.
delphine does not move, defeated. you stupid, stupid girl. she cannot look her daughter in the eye. raoul left for america two days ago.
no.
no, it can’t be, it can’t -
apolline, disbelieving, her legs trembling and her hand instinctively going to her stomach to protect the life budding inside of her. no, she says, and it is a horrible, dead sound, no, no, that isn’t true, I wrote him just after I found out, all those months ago and he- he said
he was never going to marry you. delphine, all warmth gone, shrugs her daughter’s touch from her skin. she offers again her ultimatum, as apolline sinks to the floor: get rid of it
apolline, on her knees, sobbing, whispering no, no, no, raoul said, he said, he wouldn’t. delphine does not seem to care. get rid of it, or get out of my house.
she leaves her daughter there, trembling, sobbing, clutching her swelling belly and rocking herself gently, thinking of her own youth, her own mistakes, thinks of how apolline will not ruin her, not their family, not the life they have created -
and then, as delphine is halfway from the room, a single curse falls and shatters on impact:
you whore.
                                                                                                                but raoul is still gone )
ix.
the last time apolline sees her homeland, its skin is stained with blood. war has reached the countryside and, apolline, her eyes the stars in the solar system of an empty skull, watches it fade into the distance with not-quite human eyes. the boat rocks uneasily. there is a storm on the sky, and she reaches for the child in her womb and begins to pray.
raoul wrote her before she booked her ticket to england, his writing dull and coated in a silver sheen, and offered to pay for her procedure. the letter lies burned on her mantle. sometimes, if she’s not careful, she can still smell the smoke as she burned his lies for the last time.
you alright miss? a thick cockney accent, its bearer a muggle man with a thick suitcase at his feet, asks her. his knuckles are split, and she wonders if he’s a boxer or simply has too much energy in a rapidly changing world and does not know what to do with it.
oh - yes, she says, her hand clutching the thin traveling case, the only luggage she packed. she’s sweating; though she’s passed the early stages of pregnancy long ago, and she half wonders if she’s going to be sick. the ticket was cheap, but so were the belowdecks quarters, and she wobbles on the upper deck while a spray full of saltwater and brine rains upon the uneasy boat as it sails far away.
she has no money.  she has no home. and here she is, leaving high society behind with her face to the wind and a child in her belly. sometimes, apolline feels so, terribly alone that she -
is it a him? the man snaps her from her imaginings. he gestures to her belly, making small talk as they sail over the waves. it strikes her that he wants to make sure she’s truly alright, but isn’t sure how.  or her? I s’pose you can’t tell yet, can you?
apolline is  a young woman, alone, with a single suitcase, a swollen belly, and the cheapest ticket available, but she smiles, for the first time in weeks. her, she answers. I’m having a daughter. and the thought of it strikes her, and apolline, alone with a stranger her only friend in the world, begins to cry.
hey, hey, the man cautions, his eyes wide. he reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief; covered in soot, he wipes it on his jeans before he hands it to the crying woman.  don’t cry, love.  c’mon, now, your little baby wouldn’t like that, would she?
apolline nods mutely, wiping her eyes with the cotton rag. it’s the first kindness she’s been shown in months, and, so overwhelmed that she can barely speak, she passed the cloth back to him. a daughter. a daughter. she is having a daughter.
do you have a name for her yet? he asks her gently. the foghorn sounds, and the boat turns sharply around a rock, apolline thinks.  in this moment, the truth comes sharply and she almost chokes on the perfectness of it.
no. she says. I want to see her first. 
( and that night, apolline alone remains on the brine-soaked deck. with her head held high, she breathes in the cold night.
and she is whole. )
x. 
there’s this girl.
there’s this girl, and she’s survived war and hatred and the spite of cruel, unyielding men and the world is the remnants of a baptism by fire, but it is hers. her father was a thief and the father of her child is a coward, damned  by his own deadly devotion to pretense and the life within her stirs with the promise of a new life, a better life, in a land where the ocean is blue and the sky is full.
her water breaks in the months that follow and she gives a cry that startles the birds on the landing just outside st. mungo’s into flight. I am not ready, she says, I am not—no, I do not want this. but she is alone, and there are none to help her kneel; none with hands that are cool and gentle and smell of the roses of her homeland. her family have abandoned her, but she no longer feels as though she needs them.
without them, she breathes; without them, she is not afraid.
her daughter is small in her arms and her soft skull fits in the palm of apolline’s head. her skin is slicked with blood and apolline cries out with the sheer beauty of it all. & her daughter is small and her face is red, but when apolline feels the stiffness of cotton beneath her back it reminds that despite probability of the contrary, she’s alive.
her name is fleur, soft like morning dew and warm on the skin like the promise of the future to come.
when apolline looks at her, the whole of the sky is inside her, and she is full, she is so full.
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colorado-roots · 7 years
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The Future is Bright, Class of 2017
Bouncing back from a life-threatening detour, one month after finishing college
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I remember stacking all my hard classes into the Winter Quarter of my junior year of college, right after I got back from studying abroad. I did not take a light load, because I was adamant on finishing my undergraduate career the following winter. That was the beauty of the quarter system, you could finish early, and get a head start on life.
By the time my final undergraduate quarter came around, I was pursuing a full-time job search. I was putting hours into the process, and was determined to have one lined up soon after I finished my classes. I went into the search with confidence, and things were going smoothly, but slowly. I faced job rejections like most do, and was waiting to hear back from others.
I am usually a very low-stress, go with the flow type of person, but I had put pressure on myself to get ahead from the beginning. I began to notice subtle occurrences in my life that felt unusual, and I did not understand why they were happening. I became discouraged with how drawn out the process felt and decided I needed to do something.
The end of April crept up, and in typical me fashion, I invited myself onto my friends’ planned out trip to Jazz Fest in New Orleans as a graduation celebration. As we were getting on the plane, we joked that we all forgot our health insurance cards, and how ironic it would be if one of us ended up in the hospital. We spent our days at the festival and our nights out on Bourbon; young and alive.
Sunday rolled around, and the festival was postponed due to flooding. I was not feeling well and fell asleep for a few hours. When I woke up, they had just reopened the fairgrounds. I popped up from my makeshift bed on the floor, and stated that I wanted to go see Tom Petty.
That’s when everything became blurry. My heart was racing. I was extremely nauseous. I walked towards the bathroom, past my friends. The next thing I remember, I was lying in the bathtub, my feet hanging over the edge and the shower curtain under me. One of my friends was holding my hand. A strange man was standing above me, asking if I knew where I was, and if I knew my name. I was mad because obviously I knew those answers, but I couldn’t communicate them. I thought I was having a nightmare, but I couldn’t wake up.
I have a very blurred memory of being in the back of the ambulance. My friend gave me my phone and I was constantly refreshing my emails, like I was waiting for something important.
I was shifting in and out of consciousness when we arrived at the hospital. I vaguely remember a doctor coming into the room. All my friends were there with me, and he very seriously asked if he could speak in front of them. I said yes, still oblivious to my surroundings. He explained to me that I had experienced a grand mal seizure that lasted about five minutes and that I had stopped breathing for a period of time. He went on to say that my CT scan showed a spot that looked like a brain tumor or a blood clot, and that I needed a MRI immediately.
I was thrusted back into reality, and glanced over at my friends, who were sitting in a line along the wall. They were staring back at me, their mouths open wide. My parents were on the other end of the conversation back in Denver. I don’t even want to know what their expressions were.
I slowly got up from my seat on the bed, and a sharp pain shot down my spine. I have always been an active and health conscious person. I was in good shape, training for a half marathon, but I had fractured my back from the fall. I was forced into a wheelchair, and was carted off into a world spinning too fast for me to comprehend. My life seemed to be rapidly slipping out of my control.
I remember waking up after the MRI and the doctor telling me I had a malformation that resembled a rasberry of tangled blood vessels. It was very likely still bleeding, and going to cause another threatening seizure. I was probably born with it, and time is what set it off. He told me I should not catch my flight back to Denver the next day because he wanted to get me into brain surgery. I said I would absolutely not be having brain surgery until I got home.
I was checked into the ICU, where my neighbors were recovering from strokes and aneurysms. Yet, here I was, a twenty-two year old, recent college grad, being pumped with anticonvulsants and brain surgery in my future.
I became super insistent that I wasn’t going to stay. Reluctantly, my doctors agreed to let me go home. My mom walked in the door a few hours later, and back to Denver we flew.
Now the perks of this happening to me, is that my dad is a physician. He forced his way onto the schedule of one of Colorado’s highly esteemed neurosurgeons. I had my consultation with him, and we scheduled the thing.
The few days leading up to it were a blur. I felt brain dead from my medication and could only joke about the situation. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t sad, but hell yeah, I was mad. I don’t think I ever went through the teen angst stage, but I definitely had it that week. I could not understand what I did to deserve this; to put my life on hold and only hope for the best. I remember wondering if I would walk across the stage of my college graduation with a shaved head, however, my surgeon assured me that he would save my hair. I saw and heard from so many of my friends and family, and they were frightened for me. All I could do was reassure them that everything would be okay.
I woke up the the morning of my surgery ready to go. It was game day. I knew that this might be the second worst day of my life, thus far, but it wasn’t going to stop me from trying to make it somewhat normal. I joked with the nurses and doctors. I said that if by some miracle the mass had disappeared, then I wasn’t going to have the surgery. I got another MRI to map out the area and the surgeon said, “Well Corin, it’s still there.”
The anesthesiologist came in and said he was going to put something into my IVs that would make me feel relaxed, and that I should say bye to my parents for now. As they wheeled me out of the room, my parents got emotional. I held back the tears and said, “Can you have dinner ready when I get back?”
They rolled me back to the operating room, where I am certain they were jamming to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ by AC/DC, but I could have been mistaken, I was pretty drugged up. They handed me a mask to put over my mouth, and I was out.
I woke up eight hours later in the ICU. My mom was shoveling Jell-O down my throat as the nurses pumped morphine into my body. I felt so sick and so confused. My veins and head were on fire. I remembered why I was there, and reached for my head.
My dad told me that my procedure lasted four hours, and that it was successful. They had to make a bigger incision than they had anticipated because my brain was still bleeding. I was most concerned with the fact that the halo they put on my head during the surgery accidentally pierced the middle of my forehead, and that I’d have a scar front and center as a daily reminder of what I went through.
It has been three weeks since my procedure, and I am doing really well. Recovering from brain surgery is not the easiest process, but I am dealing with it. Being young and healthy has made my experience smoother than most people’s. I have beat all the odds.
I’ve struggled with guilt. Guilt that I got off easy, and that others with this problem were not as fortunate. Nonetheless, I have counted my blessings. I still have a few steps to go, but it shouldn’t hold me back much longer. The truth is, recovery is easy if you are fighting for the life you envisioned for yourself.
People have asked me why I am handling this with so much positivity. I respond every time saying perspective is everything. It could have ended a lot worse, or happened in a different way. I could have been driving. I could have been a mother, or had a steady job. I could have been old. It could have bled more. It could have been cancer. But here I am, living somewhere in the middle of fate. I still have the rest of my life ahead of me, and I will never let this take anymore of my time. I lost a few months, but then again, I gained a lifetime.
The pain has given me wisdom. It has prepared me for whatever lies ahead. It wasn’t the road I had planned on taking, but it made me a helluva lot stronger.
It taught me to take every failure, every rejection, every opportunity and be persistent. Hard times are sometimes inevitable. I am so lucky mine just left a six inch scar on the side of my head.
Your hard times are probably different. It could still be affecting you or you could have already grown from it. There is no scale for comparison. Your feelings are yours to feel, no matter the circumstance. Do not discount them. But be resilient. You have a lot of road left to travel, and many places to stop along the way. Take the hard times presented to you and learn from them. There will be moments you feel discouraged, but persist on. All good things in life take time.
I stumbled upon this quote a week after my surgery. It read, “Sometimes we get caught up chasing the biggest and the best. The newest and the next. Slow down, look up. Notice the miracle in this moment. This might just be the one you didn’t realize you were fighting for.”
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rosefromc0ncret3 · 3 years
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been feeling really tense this past month and its been hard for me to pinpoint exactly why I feel the way that I do. to start off my post on a good note tho, I finished my first year of grad school and I cant believe how fast time has gone since then. I still remember when I got in and I really cant believe how things have just been go go go since then. im wondering what my next move will be.. deciding if im gonna stay home or move. im scared. I know I want to move out, but im wondering what it’ll be like when I step out there and see what its really like to live on my own. ive been wanting this forever and now that I may have the opportunity, im afraid to take that step. I know it’ll be good for my growth. and a part of me feels so stuck here sometimes. like feeling stagnant even tho im doing a lot. I guess lately thats how ive been feeling? not really sure which direction to go in life and there's so much happening but nothing happening at the same time.. how can that be.. its really been a while since ive journaled and im hoping that I'll feel better by the end of this. thinking a lot about how I just think too much lol. I wish I could just let things be. I find myself getting so mad and annoyed over the little things, which could be said that that always happens anyway. but I really find myself wanting to take that space for myself and be alone so I dont take it out on anyone. or just let myself feel these emotions without having to think so critical about them. I know I should just let my emotions be and not find a whole theory behind them. sometimes its necessary, but its also important to differentiate when I need to figure out my emotions and when I should just let myself be. Im back to work in person now and its sucha ambivalent feeling. ive been wanting to be back in person cuz I know how much easier it would be, but im also scared for my health and its been so long since ive been in the office and its hard to just get back into it and be so go go go. im scared that I won't be able to do my job effectively anymore. plus, being around hella people again physically after a period of time makes me feel anxious. I guess thats why ive been super sensitive to things lately too? especially since ive just been at home alll this time. granted ive been super sensitive to everything during this time. I hope I can just let myself be. I keep saying that throughout this whole post but its all I really want for myself. I want to be able to feel my emotions without feeling guilty for them. I want to provide myself a space to just be alone in solitude and not feel guilty for that either. I want everything to fall into place the way I want it to be.. lol but I know that cant always be the case. im just hoping that things work out for me. I hate feeling so tense all the time. I hate feeling so on edge and feeling so triggered by every little thing. im trying my best to navigate it tho and trying to find ways to take care of myself. which looks different every day really. missing my therapist extra lately cuz Im experiencing such heavy emotions again and I wish I could talk about it with her and help me get my head straight. and feel capable and empowered to take on my world. sigh. I know I truly have to believe in it myself tho. been listening to music a lot lately and been going on my walks. tryna find ways to stay active. hoping I can still find ways to stay active this summer despite being back in person for work. hoping I can find ways to just take care of myself especially when transitioning being back in person. sigh. lol. I find myself wanting to keep these thoughts to myself a lot, or actually being careful with who I tell this shit too cuz I know not everyone wants to be drained out by it. been reflecting a lot on my friendships with people, which is honestly another theme of this year. I feel like I used to hella hold onto people because I just wanted them to remain close. I wanted to have a lot of friends and feel like every single person in my life needed a special role in my life, when in reality, it really doesn't have to be like that. and its not realistic either. been thinking and reflecting on the people in my life and how I dont have to overanalyze every single detail of their being in my life. they could really just be there. and the special people in my life I can hold onto. and I know my gut feeling will always tell me who is sticking around. along with how my body responds to them. I know the people who truly matter will not make me feel guilty for setting boundaries and wanting the time to just be there for myself and let myself feel my own emotions. as time goes on, I realize that the people I once needed and felt so lucky to have in my life can also dwindle as time goes on. and that also changes for the different people in my life. and thats okay. I used to feel so sad about it and I guess I still get really sad about it. and im in the process of just trying to let that shit go. cuz there's really no point in hella holding onto it. when there's no solution to it. and there's no need to yearn for the past when its just there. I know I can just cherish what I had with them and learn how to move on from it while still being present in the moment. sigh. what a trip. im not sure if these are just emotions about going back to work, but I feel a bit restless and feel meh. idk if its because its been two years of me working there now and maybe im just getting comfortable? granted, I know I won't be working here forever and this is def a stepping stone in my career. I guess there are days where I just feel like im watching the clock tick. I love being with my students and teaching the content with them, but it just starts to feel like any other day sometimes. sigh lol. another sigh. grateful to be in school tho and learn everything that I need to excel in my future career. im not sure what the future holds for me in terms of that area in my life, but im feeling hopeful! I think as long as I keep working with youth, I’ll be happy. and I know I should just focus on that and enjoy it in the meantime before I get to that graduating point in my life.. which is literally a year from now lol. sigh. I hope I can continue to have this mindset moving forward. I hope I can learn to just accept being in the moment and focus on things that make me happy. and def listen to my own intuition more and know when I need time to myself but also know when I need to reach out for support. hoping for abundance and good fortune in my future, for me and my family. hoping we can move forward in confidence even when faced with struggles and just know in our hearts that everything will be okay. right now, I feel a bit lighter. and I truly believe deep down in my heart that everything will be okay. sigh (a good one this time).
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rilenerocks · 4 years
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LABOR DAY PARADE – September, 2015 – an annual parade that goes right down our block every year. Our family unit of  four, enjoying the festivities in front of our daughter’s house which is across the street and slightly south of ours. 
A dictionary definition of remission is “a diminution of the seriousness or intensity of disease or pain; a temporary recovery.” This is where we were in September, 2015. What we also knew was this fact: There’s no current cure for stage 4 cancer. Still, it can be treated and managed. Most people with stage 4 cancer live with alternating periods of stable disease and disease progression. … For most, stage 4 cancer is likely to return, even if a person enters remission. Living within the bounds of these concepts was our task. The truth is, Michael’s initial diagnosis in 2012 placed him at stage 3A cancer which definitely left us with hope for a possible cure. Until November of 2013, while his cancer was following its insidious silent path through his bones, he was asymptomatic. Early that month, he had his first scan in a year – follow-up scans after a clear one subsequent to treatment were not in the protocols for his stage of disease. The shocking discovery of widespread bony metastatic disease and the stunning prognosis of 2-3 months survival, absent further treatment that we received on that fall day was shattering. We managed to pull ourselves together to push through the months of a powerful chemo cocktail, his only option, which again, as with his  30 rounds of head and neck radiation, was not as dreadful as what we’d anticipated. Except for fatigue, Michael was surprisingly robust. He was rapidly  hairless, but never nauseous, actually gaining 26 pounds. That may have been due to a supportive steroid supplement. After those 18 treatments, from May of 2014 to August 2014, life mostly went back to normal. Even after the cancer reappeared on his August scan, we got all the way to February, 2015 before the terrifying downward spiral of Merkel cell really began. In the previous chapter of this book, I described the rapid devolution of Michael’s fitness from February to June, when we felt certain that he was just this side of death. Then along came the last ditch treatment, Keytruda one of the new immunological drugs, given off-trial, outside the bounds of established protocols. Although experiencing profound fatigue as his immune system was freed by the drug and ramped up to attack his cancer, Michael’s conditioning came roaring back. Dr. Zhang was stunned by the recovery, referring to Michael as an exceptional responder. When he was scanned in June, his body was riddled with cancer. When he was scanned in September following only 4 treatments, 80% of his disease load had disappeared. The plan was to move ahead with treatments every three weeks. In the interim we needed to figure out how to live.
Michael was still struggling with poor appetite and sleep issues but trying hard to improve. All of us in our family are trying to appreciate the remarkable gift of time and trying to find balance. We wonder about what an average good day will be like. A day when Michael will wake up and just be ok. Do a chore, ride his bike, whatever. Maybe take a little trip. It’s hard to go there mentally. We are all living hour by hour. I sign up for a creative writing class to get into the world again and do something besides caregiving. I also find myself a therapist. I’m trying to attend to some of the emotional erosion of my internal core over the past few years. I can’t believe all the deaths, threats of death and personal losses of family members and friends in such a compressed time. I find myself worrying about my own health almost as much as Michael’s. I’m aware of what happens to people like me and decide to take advantage of this little respite space to work on improving myself. I’m keenly aware of the fine line I’m walking between hope and terror. Living from blood test to blood test, scan to scan, minute to minute. A headache, a sneeze, a random pain and insomnia for both of us is no picnic. Even sex and massage don’t relieve the stress. Any little thing portends disaster when you have an incurable disease in your body. We both try not to think about it every second. But it’s hard to avoid.
October brings a sudden resurgence of Michael’s appetite and more recovery of strength. We decide to take a short trip to Turkey Run in Indiana which isn’t too far from home. Getting away is a good thing. The weather is beautiful as are the fall colors. Neither of us is in shape to do intense hiking but we manage enough to feel accomplished. All the natural beauty has this edgy brightness to it as we are so keenly aware of how precious and amazing it is to still be anywhere together. If Michael’s health stays stable, we decide to plan more trips between treatment infusions and scans. I worry a lot about going broke but in the end, I believe that I won’t ever regret anything we do in this unexpected space, no matter what the economic consequences may be.Michael’s energy has returned enough so that he can ride his bike again. An unexpected gift. Right now that really resonates as we’ve just lost a friend to brain cancer. Her journey was considerably shorter than Michael’s which is still endlessly surprising. Only 11% of Stage 4 Merkel cell patients are still alive two years from diagnosis. We try to stay positive, but privately I remain on edge. My journal entries remind me of the fear.
November 4th, 2015
Right now I’m very worried about Michael’s cough. It isn’t all day and night but his lungs are a weak spot and pneumonitis at Grade 2 disqualifies him from Keytruda and requires steroids. If it doesn’t improve, treatment ends. Next week is another infusion. I guess there will be xrays then. The model we have to choose is that Merkel cell will kill Michael. No matter what the scan shows, the cancer is still there and will come back. The question is how long can we hold it off? What will come next if Keytruda stops? Endless anxiety.
  We took a quick trip to Chicago before the next scheduled infusion. Michael really wanted to go to Lincoln Park Zoo, a place he always loved. We realized it was where we had our first real date, after months of friendship that ultimately transitioned to lovers and life partners. Going there felt very sweet. We went to the Shedd Aquarium and ate Michael’s favorite Uno’s Pizza and at a deli which we’d always loved. So many exquisitely sharp memories, always accompanied by the unspoken question of whether or not we’d ever experience a time like this again. November 14th, 2015 was Michael’s 8th Keytruda infusion. Dr. Zhang was brimming with optimism that Michael would get a few years out of this treatment. I let myself enjoy that thought for awhile before swiftly moving back to neutral. I’m worrying because Michael’s had two toothaches in two months. Dental interventions are tough during cancer treatments. Anything invasive carries the threat of infection. I don’t like so many antibiotics in such a short time. I worry that they’ll wipe out his gut and I’ve read that immunological drugs need the right gut microbes to work properly. Of course I really know nothing but too much information feeds my anxiety.
Suddenly it seems, our third Thanksgiving since the diagnosis from hell is upon us. As I prepare all the family favorites, I find myself wondering who will eat the turkey legs. My mom always loved those best and started eating before everyone else as she usually took her insulin too early. It’s my first Thanksgiving without her. I decide that even though it’s Michael’s favorite holiday, I don’t want to host it again. It’s too much and I feel sad as the crowds get thinner.
November 29th, 2015
This Thanksgiving was very hard for me and is the last one I intend to do, whether Michael is alive or dead. It’s too much work and too sad as the crowd thins out.  I had a really hard time keeping it together. No mom, only one sibling left and Michael, swinging in the breeze. I can feel the loneliness of the years ahead. I’d rather be gone. Now he has gout. What will the scans show?The December scan is on the first of the month. The next day we meet with Dr. Zhang for results and the decision about whether to proceed with treatment number 9. Zhang is practically euphoric. The scan is clear with no evidence of disease except a spot which appears to be Michael’s aching tooth.  We’ve seen this before for the three months following chemo in 2014. That remission lasted a little over three months. But the infusion will happen. Dr. Zhang said his plan was to keep Michael on Keytruda for two years or until disease progression, whichever came first. So kind of stunned, we trotted off to the infusion suite, feeling basically elated. Michael got his IV and was soon sound asleep. I went out to the reception area to schedule the next appointments and to get copies of Michael’s labs which I’d been saving and comparing to each other since the beginning of his systemic treatments. When I got them I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. All three of his liver enzymes were extremely elevated to the point where treatment should have been withheld and steroids started. The Keytruda was already dripping into his arm. I quickly went to the nurse’s station and showed them the numbers. Within minutes, Zhang and his nurse cane running into the room – Zhang said he was upset and scared. He was so excited about the scan that he forgot to check the labs. He said we’d need to return the next day to rerun the liver enzyme test. I was hoping that perhaps all the Extra Strength Tylenol Michael was taking for his tooth pain was the culprit for the abnormal test results. Years earlier, while being treated for a herniated disk with lots of acetaminophen-based drugs, Michael’s liver enzymes had skyrocketed. His body didn’t like that drug. If the Keytruda turned out to be the issue, treatment would be halted, at least for awhile. From elation to the bottom of the tank again. We just can’t seem to get a break. Michael looked so well and his physical state was immeasurably improved. But you gotta have a liver. The next day, he was re-tested and the enzymes went down. The Tylenol was the problem. Technically we now believe Michael is truly in remission. We don’t know how long we get it but we’re so grateful.The rest of the month we swing on the pendulum of life. Michael sneaks out to jog which makes me crazy because of what his bones have been through this year. The doctors aren’t thrilled with this new exercise regimen and caution him to go slowly and for only a short distance. I am nagging him about this and his fluid consumption as his kidney function is a little off. I’m trying hard to remember that he is thrilled to be able to resume what he loves and that he’s always been less cautious than me. Also not as deep into the science as I am. I try keeping my thoughts to myself some of the time, never an easy task. Meanwhile we attend our grandkids’ end of the school year celebrations and prepare for our annual trek to Starved Rock. The woods and the canyons, the bald eagles and the rustic inn, topped off by a big indoor pool and a hot tub are balm for our exhausted selves.
When we return from that respite, December 23rd arrives – time for Keytruda infusion 10. At this appointment Dr. Zhang informs us that he’s leaving our health care facility in February. That means we’ll have had 3 oncologists in ten months. An unnerving situation, to say the least. I am still in contact with our very first second opinion doctor at the University of Michigan, Chris Bichakjian. I keep him updated on Michael’s situation and he is a steady resource for the latest developments in Merkel cell treatment. It’s still scary to go through so many local changes. Dr. Zhang suggests his friend, Dr. Zhou as our new oncologist. The thread of trust between Dr. Luyun and Dr. Zhang is now stretching even thinner and I’m prepared to keep doing my own research to help keep Michael alive. I know Dr. Zhou has never treated a Merkel cell patient. I have no idea how long we have in this remission space so the time to be working is now. On it goes. On Christmas we see the new Star Wars film with family in our usual tradition and go out for Chinese food afterwards. I am worrying incessantly about Michael’s tooth which he’s coping with, but we both know trouble is looming. He surprises me with a Roger Federer hat as my holiday gift.    I’m busy dreaming of making more memories by traveling. We got Chicago, Turkey Run and Starved Rock when we’d thought Michael would already have been dead and gone. Hardly the stuff of fantasy but so much more than we thought we’d have. I’m hoping we can slip in one more trip before things go south. I doubt we’ll ever get our dream of traveling to Greece, but I’d settle for one more chance to dip our toes into our beloved Gulf of Mexico. We spend New Year’s Eve with our family and friends at our usual Italian restaurant. What a kaleidoscopic year. One I’ll never forget. Heading into year 4 since our life was changed by one phone call. What’s next? 
The Realities of Remission – Part 1 – Chapter 11 – Be 278 LABOR DAY PARADE - September, 2015 - an annual parade that goes right down our block every year.
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"cheap temporary car insurance for young drivers
cheap temporary car insurance for young drivers
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cheap temporary car insurance for young drivers
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cheap temporary car insurance for young drivers
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cheap temporary car insurance for young drivers
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I've just turned 16 and I am starting to save up for a car/insurance, I'm just wondering whats the cheapest car to buy and insure for a 17 year old. I know it varies where you live ect ect, but I'm just wondering generally. Also would a robin reliant be cheap to insure?""
Whats the best multi car insurance company?
I live 5 miles from work. got a great driving record and i own 3 plus cars one daily driver the others i only drive not even 3000 a year just toys i like to keep im single and sick of pulling insurance off and on just to say id rather just pay a decent price to cover them all my daily driver is like 250 and my van i havnt even drove this year they want the same along with another 300 for a truck. Is there a insurance company that realises im one person and collectors plates mean i barley drive these things! please only respond if you have more then one car insured and have tryed a couple diff companys
How much will my insurance go up for my first DWI-drugs conviction (read for more info/details)?
I am wondering how much my insurance will go up by a percent amount? I am a 25 year old guy with a dwi conviction on the way. I didn't hurt or kill the other driver. I did have to repair the other car, but my rates didn't go up for that. I don't have any other points against me. My lawyer just keeps saying substantially, but that is it.""
""How much is car insurance supposed to be for people or just me, im 18 (i turn 19 in nov.)?
drove some cars afew times but never had a permit and i am trying to get my license so ill be ready to move out immediatley after i graduate next year (2013) but my stepdad keeps saying no i dont have the money for the insurance your gona have to get a job. but if insurance is under $600 for new 19 year old drivers than i have that money in my drawer. will that be enough for me to pay for my own insurance policy ?
Auto insurance for a job?
I got offered a full time job delivering for dominos. I need to know what to do about my insurace. My boss told me to raise my minimums and thats it but my mom has been yelling at me about special insurance i HAVE to get blah blah. So what do i really have to do? My insurance now on my suv is 120 a month but the quote from progressive is 5700 a year for commercial do i really have to triple my insurance for this...
What insurance would a 1985 monte carlo get?
I don't own this car yet but i want to when i get my driving licence depending on how much the insurance is, if not I'll get a 1972 model""
I got a ticket for jaywalking. Will it affect my insurance?
I live in California and was wondering if I should just pay it? I'm just wondering if it will affect my insurance but it wasn't a traffic ticket and I'm confused.
Cost of newborn delivery/childbirth(California...
I'm wondering what the cost is for delivery/childbirth is in California, without taking health insurance coverage into account? Just looking for a general number, but if you want more specifics: -My area is the San Francisco Bay Area (east/south bay) -When I say childbirth, I mean: admittance into hospital/actual delivery procedure (not cesarian)/3 day hospital stay I'm shopping for health insurance, so any number that you come up with to help me budget/calculate would help me out greatly!""
""Average utility and insurance cost Orland Park, IL?""
I'm planning on buying a townhouse in Orland Park, IL and was wondering what the average utility (water, electricity, heat, disposal) costs are? Anyone have any estimates on insurance? The association fees cover common insurance but don't think it covers anything within the four walls of the house. Know what insurance requirements the lender puts on mortgages? Trying to estimate how much home ownership really is.""
Insurance for renting a home?
I'm renting a home from a friend, and she says that she has to cancel her home insurance. Is there rental insurance, or any more suggestions.""
About how much would it cost per month for car insurance? i'm 16 and i would be driving a 10 year old minivan.
About how much would it cost per month for car insurance? i'm 16 and i would be driving a 10 year old minivan.
Does motorbike insurance after a while make your car insurance cheaper?
I'm getting a motorbike nd plan on having one for about 4 years and then get a car later. I'm just wondering if it will make my car insurance any cheaper later on? WILL RATE BEST AND MOST HELPFUL ANSWER, THANKS!""
""Auto insurance question, need help!!?""
I have no idea about these questions, could someone explain them? Your neighbor has his own insurance policy with State Farm with the same coverages that you have with your Allstate Auto Policy. So when he says his insurance will cover an accident, you loan him your car. He promptly runs into a tree, causing $2,500 in damage to your car. How much will your insurance policy pay? A. $ 0 B. $ 2,000 C. $ 2,500 D. State Farm will pay E. Cannot be determined You are at the North Carolina coast when Hurricane Irene hits. Although you are able to get away, you have to leave your car and luggage behind. The hurricane blows your car into a tree, causing considerable damage and the trunk to open. Your luggage is then blown away and never recovered. It costs $8,000 to repair your car. The value of your luggage was $500. Your policy will pay: A. $ 7,500 B. $ 7,700 C. $ 8,000 D. $ 8,200 E. $ 8,500 After pumping gas in your new car, you forget to remove the hose from your gas tank. As you drive off, the hose breaks spilling some gasoline and starting a fire. The fire causes $325,000 in damage to the gas station. You are held responsible for the entire loss. Your policy will pay: A. $ 0 B. $ 100,000 C. $ 300,000 D. $ 325,000 E. None of the above Your twelve-year-old brother, who does not have a drivers license, is visiting you on campus and while sitting in your car playing with the transmission, he puts the car in drive and drives it into the front door of your sorority (or fraternity) house. The damage to your house is $22,000 and your car costs $5,500 to repair. Your brother is hurt, goes to the emergency room and is released with a few bandages and a bill for $1,500 Your policy will pay: A. $ 0 B. $ 1,500 C. $ 5,000 D. $ 6,500 E. None of the above""
Why does another persons driving record affect my insurance?
sharing a residence with other people doesn't mean sharing vehicles or the responsibilities, so why should their driving record affect my insurance rates?""
Cheap car insurance uk?
My car insurance is due, anyone know the cheapest company to go with? I'm a 19 year old guy with 2 years no claims and no convictions. The cheapest I found on a comparison website was 1300. any help would be appreciated. Thanks""
Insurance question after engine blow up?
I was wondering, will insurance pay for damage to a car without being in accident? Let me give you example. What if I was driving on highway and my engine would blow up (not during racing, just cruising around), and I don't have manufacturers warranty anymore. Can I file claim, and will insurance pay for new engine?""
Can I have two different health insurance providers?
I would like to get my medical insurance from Geisinger choice (I live in PA and know first hand they are good insurance) but I want my dental and vision from Humana. Am I allowed to mix insurance companies??
Insurance cost for Mustangs?
I'm 18 and NEVER had a car before. If I get a 1999-2001 Mustang that's used, how much would the insurance be per month? I live in NV if that makes a difference. How much would insurance be if I got a 2005-2006 Mustang that's used?""
Does anyone know any cheap car insurance for young driver?
i passed my driving about a year ago and still not driving (shocking, i know) all the insurance are so expensive even for a 1.0 liter engine, please give me some companies that will provide me with cheap insurance please. i am only 18. please help. thank you""
Will my car insurance decrease every year?
I am in my first year with my car insurance in Ontario. Please tell me how it works. By the end of every year, will they re-calculate my insurance rate or keep it the same? Providing I have accident- and ticket-free history, will I be paying lower every year or not?""
Can I take out a separate insurance policy on my parents car?
My parents use Direct line as their insurance provider on their car. I looked into how much the insurance would be for me (an 18 year old female) once I pass my test which worked out quite expensive. However I looked at a few other providers and found some cheaper quotes for myself. As my parents are with Direct line can I have my own insurance with another provider for the same car? (If that makes sense) Thanks in advance.
Car Insurance-Is it OK to lie?
I read somewhere that if you run a stop light and hit the other car, you should not admit your fault because of insurance costs. What do you think?""
""When being sued by an insurance company, can they put a lien on my property?""
i was involved in a accident in 2008 now me and my mom are being sued. My mom is the registered car owner (shes super mad at me) anyways they will post a judgement againt the both of us. We are both W2 workers and she has a house. Can anyone give me the worst case scenario, what can we do??""
How much is classic car insurance in Ontario?
Hi, I'm looking at making a car purchase for the summer. I'm looking at a couple cars, including a '72 Dodge Dart and a '69 (?) Chevy Nova. I like both because they are, a) under $2000 dollars, b) are both in need of some TLC, and c) I've heard that classic car insurance CAN be cheaper than regular insurance. I'm 20 with a perfect driving record and a full G-license, but I know that doesn't usually matter to insurance companies. Any advice? I'd be buying for a daily driver, so is it even worth the effort despite the serious increase in cool-factor?""
cheap temporary car insurance for young drivers
cheap temporary car insurance for young drivers
https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/la-insurance-pontiac-mi-aaron-hoffman/"
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themoneybuff-blog · 6 years
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The death of Anthony Bourdain: Thoughts on productivity, pleasure, and depression
Shares 141 Warning: This is a rare GRS post that contains salty language. If you dont like salty language, dont read this article. Anthony Bourdain killed himself Friday morning. So what? you might be thinking. Hes just another fucking celebrity who didnt know how good he had it. Maybe youre right. But his death has weighed heavy on me all weekend. On Friday morning, as I wrote the weekly Get Rich Slowly email, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. On Friday afternoon, as Kim and I worked in the yard, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. On Friday evening, as we soaked in our new hot tub with a friend, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Yesterday, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Today, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Now Im writing this article as an act of catharsis. Maybe itll help me to stop thinking about Anthony Bourdain. The Depression Trap I believe Anthony Bourdains death touched me deeply for a couple of reasons. I was a huge fan. Since listening him read the audio version of Kitchen Confidential a decade ago, Ive loved his work. Parts Unknown was probably my favorite travel show: raw and real and filled with food. Bourdain connected with everyone he met. His joy for life was contagious and his mind was sharp.Like Bourdain did, I struggle with depression. All my life, Ive experienced periodic descents into darkness. The first time this happened, I missed five weeks of sixth grade. In the nearly forty years since then, Ive developed a variety of coping mechanisms but they dont always work. In recent months since the middle of March the darkness has deepened and I dont know why. (And just as I missed five weeks of school back then, Ive been unable to get my work done in the present.) Let me make it clear that I am not suicidal. Right now, the biggest symptom of my depression is my inability to get shit done. But whereas suicide seems strange and senseless to most everyone else, depressives understand the appeal even if wed never consider it personally. One of the many stupid things about depression is that the condition doesnt care how awesome your life is. It doesnt care how successful you are. It doesnt care how much money you have. Depression is not rational. If it were, itd be easy to think your way out of it. Paula Froelich, one of Bourdains ex-girlfriends, put it like this:
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Bourdains death didnt just make me introspective. It also led to a couple of interesting conversations about pleasure and productivity and about what really matters in life. The Productivity Trap Friday afternoon, I received email from a GRS reader well call Michael: Im sure you saw Anthony Bourdain killed himself. This to me was a telling quote: When asked during a recent interview with The Wall Street Journal whether he ever thought about stepping back from the breakneck pace of a job that kept him on the road 250 days a year, he replied, Too late for that. I think about it. I aspired to it. I feel guilty about it. I yearn for it. Balance? I fucking wish.' Obviously I didnt know Bourdain personally, or even know much about him as a public figure, but I think that mentality is common: Once youve become successful, the thought of ever ratcheting back seems unthinkable. Obviously, suicide is rare, but I think this mentality is common among successful people they stay in an unhappy status quo simply because they have so much invested in their self-image and public perception of themselves as successful people. I think Michael is onto something. Ive seen this in my own life, in the lives of friends and family, and the lives of colleagues. They fall into what you might call the productivity trap. (Heres an article I almost linked to the other day about the productivity trap: If youre so successful, why are you still working 70 hours a week?) I have one friend, for instance, with an enormously successful career. He has a popular blog, a popular podcast, best-selling books, and even an annual conference that attracts attendees from across the planet. Yet hes never satisfied not with himself nor with anybody else. Hes always looking for ways to make things bigger and better. He seems unhappy with who he is and what he has. Hes written publicly about his struggles with mental illness, but he hasnt revealed its full effects. Its not just my friend. Its me too. I see this pattern in my own life, and its something Ive deliberately decided to approach more mindfully. Why do I want to have a hot tub or travel to Ecuador? Why did I repurchase Get Rich Slowly and how often should I publish here? Why do I keep agreeing to public speaking gigs? Do I really want these things? Are they aligned with my personal mission statement? Will they really make me happy? (Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the answer is no.) In his email, Michael continued: I think this is really the key to personal finance and early retirement actually stepping back and figure out what is important to you, and doing it, even if it seems like youre turning your back on a great career, or a nice house or whatever. That is the hardest part, which keeps most people in a life they dont want. They think I went to school X or work at company Y, so therefore I must live in this city or have that job or have that wardrobe and never ask themselves what, as individuals, makes them happy. The Pleasure Trap As our email conversation continued, Michael brought up another interesting point. He noted that our culture and this is especially true in the world of financial independence blogs is obsessed with experiences, such as travel. Yet in many ways, collecting experiences is no better (nor any different) than collecting things. Heres Michael again: [Bourdain] had the ne plus ultra of modern life: rich, famous, a job that 99% of the population would kill for, saw everything he wanted to see, ate everything he wanted to eat, Im sure slept with tons of women if that is what he wanted, took all the drugs he wanted. You name it, he had it. And, he hung himself in a hotel room in France, a twice-divorced man a continent away from his daughter and girlfriend. Im not bagging on him. I just think he illustrates something: A meaningful life doesnt consist of a series of cool experiences, or traveling or eating cool stuff. Bourdain did that stuff to an incredible degree, and it still didnt make him happy. I think that is what our society has forgotten. I feel like were always being told we should move a lot, travel a lot, be vaguely or overtly dismissive of the town or state we were born in, move for college and never move back homein short, basically be a free agent with fewer and fewer personal connections, or weaker connections. And, we get this [higher suicide rates]. [] I think this relates to personal finance. There is always this thought that thrift requires these huge sacrifices less travel, fewer new experiences, fewer new restaurants. But what if [these arent sacrifices]? What if irrespective of cost, that stuff isnt really a source of happiness? I mean, people accept that with respect to possessions nobody says a Cadillac or a 5000-square-foot home is the key to happiness but many, many people in our culture think new experiences are crucial to a happy life. It may be the opposite the continuity and free-time to invest in loving relationships may actually be the key to happiness. I told Kim about my conversation with Michael. Its the pleasure trap, she said. People fall for the lie that momentary pleasure equals happiness. But pleasure isnt the same as happiness. Shes right, of course. Happiness is like planting a garden, watching it grow, then enjoying the harvest. Pleasure is simply eating the fruit. Happiness is deeper and richer and longer lasting. Pleasure is fleeting; happiness is not. But happiness involves time and work and patience. Now, Ill admit: Im guilty as anyone else of falling into the pleasure trap, and in oh-so-many ways! I have to make a deliberate effort to look past immediate pleasure in order to consider long-term happiness. This often requires enduring unpleasant activities. Do I really want to go out in the cold and the rain to dig in the mud and plant my garden? No, not in this moment. Id rather sit in the hot tub. But if I dont plant the garden, Im sacrificing greater happiness in the future. Final Thoughts While I think that Kim and Michael are onto something the productivity trap and the pleasure trap are both real and both problematic I keep coming back to Anthony Bourdains battle with depression. During my recent road trip through the southeastern U.S., I talked with two friends who are fighting depression in their own lives. One friend has a spouse who cannot shake the condition despite counseling, despite exercise, despite a loving family. The other friend fights the condition himself and its led to weight gain and addictive tendencies. Therapy has helped some but its not a cure-all. As for myself, I havent yet returned to therapy although Im considering it. (Not so long ago, I spent a year working with a therapist to find ways to cope with anxiety and depression. It helped.) I want to stress again that I am not suicidal. But the depression has most definitely affected my daily existence, including my relationships, my health, and my work here at Get Rich Slowly. It sucks. It sucks. It sucks. But I know that itll get better someday. Shares 141 https://www.getrichslowly.org/death-of-anthony-bourdain/
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positively-rachel · 6 years
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**Happy Feeding Tube Awareness Week! This is the first new post, keep your eyes open this week for more posts including but not limited to : Tips for Tubies, a project update, New tubies: Products to start with and where to get them, more on my personal experiences, and a special video! It’s also a great week to buy a painting or send a donation to Newbie Tubie Care Packages, so click here if you’re interested in more information on that :)**
Next month, in March of 2k18, I will celebrate both my 22nd birthday and my 3 year tube-iversary. In March of 2015 I was in school at UVA where I celebrated my 19th birthday on March 8th and then was admitted to the hospital the next week with a blood infection from my central line, which was keeping me nourished and hydrated at the time. On March 24th I was again admitted to the hospital for surgery to place my first long term feeding tube, a GJ tube that went through my stomach and into my intestine where I get my feeds.
  Our first admission– Dec. 2013, I was 17 and a senior in high school
My admission in Dec 2014– first year at UVA but about to get a picc line!
  Although I’ve had gastroparesis since high school, I never could have imagined that my case would become so severe, leaving me with a feeding tube(s) that could be part of my life indefinitely, taking me out of school, and changing the way I was able to plan for the future. When I first got my tube, my doctors hoped it would only be for a few months or maybe a year if I was really struggling, but we had no idea that my “flare” was about to become my new normal. Instead of having a few months of worsened symptoms like I had in the past, I waited a year… and then another year… and now another year with no relief.
March 2015; I did a trial feed with an NJ tube and then scheduled surgery!
  That’s my GJ tube in the fall of 2017, before surgery!
After I finished my first year of college my health was at an all time low and I wasn’t able to go back to school in the fall. My tubes did help my nutrition, but I never tolerated them well enough to get in as much feed as the doctors wanted me to, never enough to gain a lot of weight back. It’s been three years on medical leave now; my classmates, my friends, will graduate in the spring and I won’t have had another day to be there with them.
My parents and I worked so hard to find answers, anything that would bring even partial relief; our original goal was that I could go back to school, but after a year and a half of incredibly severe symptoms and the addition of 3-4 new diagnoses, our goals became things like, “getting Rachel out of the house more… helping get her able to volunteer or babysit sometimes,” and at my worst times, it’s just “getting Rachel more energy and less pain/nausea so she can get out of bed…” From the Fall of 2015 through Summer of 2016, I saw at least three different specialists who are top in the nation on my conditions. Sadly, there are only a few medications that are used for gastroparesis, most of them not even FDA approved, and they can have nasty side effects.
4 hour cardiology/EDS appointments are always an adventure 🙂
Family road trip to Cleveland! They try to make these trips somewhat enjoyable.
My last (and current) motility specialist is at the Cleveland Clinic and is considered to be one of the top specialists in the world on gastroparesis and dysmotility conditions. He did extensive testing to find a root cause of my GP and to try to find a treatment option, but what we found out is that my gastroparesis had gotten so bad that the numbers were matched with only one other girl’s testing as the second worst cases in CC records. I actually met the other girl online and have been able to talk to her and compare notes and, sadly, she’s still struggling in huge ways—she could use your thoughts/prayers.
Because my dysmotility (lack of motion, “motility”) has moved into my intestines and almost stopped my colon’s motion (colonic inertia), my options are very limited. I had one viable treatment option that we were told was a long shot at working, but it’s my best/only shot. We have been working for over a year now to get IVIG (IV immunoglobulin therapy) approved, it has been a long and tedious attempt that has involved 3 doctors and multiple infusion centers, lots of disappointment, and plenty of reality checks. There isn’t a great chance of it working, but it’s essentially my last major treatment option, so it’s what we have to keep fighting for.
Last year around this time, a few months before, I started having a lot of trouble with my GJ tube flipping up into my stomach leaving me unable to do feeds. Because it was happening 2/3 times a month, I was getting malnourished and dehydrated and had lost even more weight—my all time low. It was decided that I needed to have a jtube placed, one that goes straight into your intestine, not through the stomach first, but it took us awhile to make that happen.
Tubie bear needs an update- surgery!
Recovery is the hardest part….
It took me almost another year to get that surgery done due to my malnutrition and some complications with doctors and finding a surgeon who would take on my case, but on October 18th I had surgery for my new feeding tubes. There were some complications during surgery as well as in the week post-op, and recovery was long and extremely painful. But, during that time I came up with my plan for my new project, Newbie Tubies, and now that has come to life and is such a wonderful part of my life.
  Double tubie at Christmas time
  It took me almost another year to get that surgery done due to my malnutrition and some complications with doctors and finding a surgeon who would take on my case, but on October 18th I had surgery for my new feeding tubes. There were some complications during surgery as well as in the week post-op, and recovery was long and extremely painful. But, during that time I came up with my plan for my new project, Newbie Tubies, and now that has come to life and is such a wonderful part of my life.
My first mini- art show; this is both a pain distraction therapies and my #1 fundraiser for Newbie Tubies.
My first package sent! Now I’ve sent over 20!
I may not have ever been able to imagine my life turning out this way, but I have learned, been inspired, shared my knowledge, and seen things in a new perspective. I couldn’t do it without the support of my family, I’m so, so blessed to have parents who are willing to do anything needed to care for me and help me be comfortable.
  Being a tubie is just a part of me now, and I’m more than happy to share all I can about that for Feeding Tube Awareness Week. ❤
My first post of Awareness Week 2k18-- keep your eyes out for more awareness posts! This one is more on my own personal story **Happy Feeding Tube Awareness Week! This is the first new post, keep your eyes open this week for more posts including but not limited to : Tips for Tubies, a project update, New tubies: Products to start with and where to get them, more on my personal experiences, and a special video!
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