#terminal illness
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Some of these prion diseases sound like literal curses straight out of dnd
"I cast Fatal Familial Insomnia" what the fuck
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.. I don't know if .. I want to be brought back, if possible.
It's not right. When something or .. someone dies .. it's the natural order of things. It's how we all know how we should spend our time .. or .. something else. The meaning of life escapes me, haha.
It's not .. fair. For someone like me to have another chance. It's not fair to all those who suffered before me, with the exact same illness. To disrespect the forest's gifts .. I truly deserved this. To bring someone back is to disregard the effort they put into their life. To ignore all the things they did previously. What does it matter what sacrifices you made if the reason you did all those things can be easily over written .. ?
I suppose I'm rambling. My head feels like it's filled with freshly cleaned wool.
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the saga continues
"Vampires would probably hate drinking from me. You're not getting shit from these veins buddy"
-my terminally ill aroace friend
#terminal illness#she's my source of entertainment#if there's a respiratory illness she probably has it#or heart illness#if there's an illness she has it
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I recently finished a 45k sakuatsu soulmate/terminal illness fic. Anyone interested in Betaing it???
Message me if you’re interested!
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On a more serious note i remember taking a screenshot of each time Viktor is like. *Looking* at the Hexcore and. Man. Stop looking at it as if its your wife or like your drug. Its scary. Please return to being normal. I can’t believe Jayce never noticed how concerning it was
I truly believe, had he not been forced into politics against his will, and was spending his usual amount of time in the lab, Jayce would have noticed. I feel like the “are you sure this is safe” line was even hinting at his worry about the risks Viktor was taking with the Hexcore.
I also think that whatever this influence is that the Hexcore is exuding onto Viktor (whether it’s the Void or not)… it’s sentient. It knows it needs to keep itself secret if it wants to continue to put its feelers in Viktor’s psyche, and as such, I feel like it started to manipulate Viktor’s behavior. Viktor already had a tendency to pull away from people when he was struggling (“he disappeared. He does that sometimes”), so it wouldn’t have been that much of a stretch for this habit to get worse without people around him noticing (especially in the wake of his terminal diagnosis—everyone has a different reaction to a terminal diagnosis, and sometimes solitude is one of them. Jayce may have wanted to respect that. And that’s a slippery slope, with no right answer—do you force yourself into someone’s personal life when they don’t want you there? Do you leave them alone, even when it’s clear they’re hurting and could use the support? I can understand how they end up in a sort of stalemate, because everyone is afraid of encroaching on boundaries.)
But the sad truth is that Viktor’s desperation to save himself is what drove him to these extreme measures, and even without the Hexcore’s influence, that desperation would still be there. The Hexcore was his hope, and I understand how hope—even when flawed—can be addicting. At that point, there would have been no going back to “being normal,” because either way he’d suffer. He truly is backed into a corner, and the inevitable snarling, gnashing, lashing-out rage at the injustice is yet to come, I think.
#arcane#arcane viktor#Viktor arcane#terminal illness#terminal illness mention#TW: terminal illness#sad thinking about Viktor hours on this Sunday morning#let it be known: idc what atrocities he commits#number one Viktor apologist right here#asks#ace answers
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A Departure Dream - Trying Out Heaven
I had the most remarkable departure dream just now. I got to try out heaven.
In the beginning I was back in my childhood home, but many things had changed since I'd been away for many years. The house was empty, and I found myself going from room to room looking at the alterations. The bathroom had a brick fireplace by the tub, and my sister's bedroom adjoining the bath was very spacious albeit empty. No one I knew was there. My parents were long gone, and I had the strange sense that all this belonged to me now, that I had inherited it. I walked out the front door and noticed changes in the house exterior; it was more in keeping with my idea of an ideal house, the grass was very green and lush, and the house was now at the end of a cul de sac and very private. There was a notice that the house numbers were changing from the old ones (113) to the new ones (I wish I could clearly remember the house number but it was vague in my mind. I had the opportunity to choose whatever house number I wanted.) The old neighbor JW was there, with some members of his family, and they were doing some remodeling. It was at that moment I realized I was dreaming, that I was having a lucid dream. I immediately meditated and sent out a prayer for the health and welfare of all beings. After a little while of that - I had the sense it was a good way to start a tour of heaven - I now had a guide with me. I thought I would fly to see how that felt. The guide agreed that flying was an excellent way to travel, so I flew straight up and came back down. Then I decided to grow very large, then came back to normal size. Then I decided to work on facing my fear of falling, and flew to a great height and imagined myself on a high narrow platform. I fell off and plummeted to the ground, catching myself at the last minute for a gentle landing. My guide said they were very favorably impressed that I was using heaven to attain personal growth. Then we flew off to begin enjoying the delights of heaven. We flew past a museum of navy ships - one of them was an aircraft carrier named York, I mentally made a note I'd like to return and tour that, but not now - and we arrived at a different part of heaven, at a restaurant. I was told I could have anything I'd like to eat. The dream was starting to break up at this point, I received some spicy enchiladas that were not sitting well in my stomach as I awakened.
And I immediately knew this was not an ordinary dream. I was being given this dream as an opportunity, to prepare for my death.
#departure dream#terminal illness#terminally ill#the dying process#dreams#lucid dreaming#lucid dreams#personal#me#departure dreams#life and death#conceptions of heaven
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Rory Feek's new life and love
aApost from my archives has a sweet and surprising update. Read it here.
This month starts my 10th year of blogging, something I never anticipated when I posted my first piece in February 2015. This year I plan to revisit older posts to share updates and new insights with you. I am finding that some of these stories are updating themselves, like this one.
(note, there are affiliate links in this post)
In 2017 I watched a movie that moved me so much that I wrote a…
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#cervical cancer#death and dying#Down Syndrome#Joey and Rory Feek#terminal illness#This Life I Live book#To Joey With Love movie
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been thinking about delayed grief responses.
like - after a long fight with illness, whumpee dies in the hospital, with caretaker by their side.
and honestly? at least in the moment, caretaker feels more relief than anything. this was inevitable, and they'd been watching whumpee suffer for so long, but now they'll never suffer again. they can rest now.
it isn't until days or even weeks later that the loss really sets in. caretaker finds whumpee's belongings gathering dust because whumpee isn't there to use them, whumpee's clothes sitting untouched in the closet because whumpee isn't there to wear them. only then do they really realize that whumpee hasn't just stepped out for a while, they're gone.
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Exciting news: I have an official date of death! (:
I used to think that dealing with a terminal illness all alone would be the scariest thing in the world, but now that I'm nearing the end, all I feel is pure relief. Relief that I won't be in pain anymore, relief that I'll get to see my family again. Relief that there's an ACTUAL end in sight, instead of just suffering forever. As predicted, I won't make it to my 30th birthday. I had 3 dates to choose from, and I purposely chose the one BEFORE my birthday so I don't turn 30 lol.
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So my spouse recently had to actually acknowledge my terminal diagnosis, like realize that my mortality/death is not some far off concept and I will end up kicking the bucket much sooner than them and it has not been going well
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I can't even describe to y'all how much the last episode of the grotto and especially the song at the end mean everything to me.
Bc it's just. Exactly what that kind of overwhelming/loss/ feels like. When every minute IS a milestone and it's incredible to realize that the whole world keeps turning and you'd give anything to forget how. Terrible it all feels. Until you start forgetting the good things too, and days since become months since become it's been 4 years.
I've just been crying with this song on repeat because it's so cathartic to just/hear/ someone else say it. Grief is so lonely, it's SO isolating and I just. Can't express the relief at hearing what I feel.
#the grotto pod#parental death tw#terminal illness#just in case#anyway just listen to the grotto ok#ALSO THE VOCALS ARE AMAZING#CHECK OUT TAYLOR MICHAELS IN THE GROTTO. WOE.BEGONE. AND THE DEPARTMENT OF VARIENCE.#and on twitch!! taytayheyheyva
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it is your blood in my veins
it's still the 13th in my timezone which means I am not late with this piece for @febuwhump day 13: you weren't supposed to get hurt.
Summary: Mahariel brings the cure to Skyhold. Carver doesn't want it.
read it on ao3 here
Female Hawke & Carver Hawke | Rated T | 1425 words | CW: terminal illnesses, survivor guilt, canon-typical violence
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The battlements were one of Carver’s favorite respites. The crisp, clear air around Skyhold settled his mind and put logic to his jumbled emotions. He’d thought himself far past the kind of irrational fury his sister inspired, but some things outlasted all time, it seemed.
She just didn’t get it. And he couldn’t really fault her. The Wardens taught him patience and acceptance. Resignation. Whereas Kirkwall taught Léan…well, it taught her something. And it had left her running on adrenaline and desperate hope for almost two decades.
She just pushed. Always. Pushed and pushed and pushed more, past any kind of reasonable line in the sand. That’s how she survived. And that’s why he heard her boots clicking on the stairs, when he’d clearly come up here to be alone.
“You can’t hide.” She launched right back into their argument. “This isn’t something you can avoid.”
“It’s not something you can control,” he countered. “Hard as it seems for you to accept that.”
A sharp clang bounced off the mountain peaks as Léan kicked the wall. “I could. I could knock you out and drag you back down there and let her heal you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Carver scoffed. But metal-wrapped fingers flexed against his armor nevertheless. Of course, he should have known better. Anything more than a sneeze was a challenge to Léan—especially from him.
Before he’d blinked, her staff was in her hands. He expected frost to creep up his boots, or a bolt to find his chest. But neither came—in fact, she didn’t draw the Fade to her will at all. She gripped her weapon like a plain quarterstaff and spun at him like a whirlwind.
Instinctively, he blocked the first attack with his arm, quickly freeing his greatsword from the scabbard on his back. He brought the flat of it up to meet the subsequent blows, and, once he’d found his footing, locked her staff in a stalemate.
“Really?” he gritted out. “Is this the time?”
“It was your idea,” she snipped. Ducking, she freed her weapon and swung it at his head. Carver caught it with his pommel, twisting her into a tighter grapple against the wall.
“Let it go, Léan,” he ground out. “I don’t want what she has. It’s too late for me.”
“It’s not. She was farther gone than you! And she’s fine.”
“Is she?” A bitter laugh broke off into a grunt as Carver sidestepped a kick. He hooked his boot around her staff blade, taking advantage of his mass to knock her off-balance. “Have you actually talked to her, beyond what she said? Because I have. And she has more regrets than you and I combined—so, are you sure that’s what you want for me?”
“I’m not asking you to become her,” Léan hissed. “I just—have you looked in a mirror lately?”
He hadn’t, actually, but he knew what she meant. Where it hadn’t thinned away, most of his dark hair had faded to gray and silver. His muscles were still strong, but they did not last as long in a fight. In fact, he could already feel them flagging. His brown eyes were a disconcerting kaleidoscope of black and gray flecks and his cheekbones protruded grotesquely over sunken cheeks.
The Blight had finally caught up with him. Even with Corypheus two years dead, the Calling in his head remained.
And it was very real.
After the fiasco at Adamant, they’d reported in to Weisshaupt. When that turned out to be an even bigger shitshow, they’d dipped again and found their way back to Skyhold, where the Inquisitor was clinging to desperate plans with the nails on her remaining hand.
And they’d been getting by, in their way. Until the Spymaster finally found the Hero. Until Mahariel came, with her Blight-cleansed veins and her cure.
He thought it might actually be a curse.
“I don’t need to,” he told Léan. “I know my face and I know myself. I changed—I found myself in the Wardens. Away from your blasted shadow. I won’t give that up for anything.”
A shriek tore guttural from Léan’s throat. “You’re going to die, Carver! For what? Your stupid pride? To make a point? You say you’ve changed, but all I see is the same idiot, hiding fear behind a shitload of brashness.”
She cracked her staff under his jaw and his head snapped back hard enough that stars danced across his vision. Anger surged in his limbs and he lunged out blindly. She easily caught the haphazard swipe with her staff and locked them at an impasse.
“You shouldn’t even have to make this decision, Carver,” she said, chest heaving. Confusion rippled through his brow. “You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t have ever been a Warden. It was—“
She looked away and he shoved at the opportunity. Their weapons separated but neither struck; Léan leaned on her staff like it was more support than the legs beneath her.
“My fault,” she whispered. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt. It’s my fault. It’ll always be my fault.”
“What in blazes are you on about?”
“On the expedition, you idiot,” Léan snapped. “Where this all began!”
Carver faltered. The expedition? She was thinking that long ago?
“Just—“ she slid her hand down her staff, tracing the runes embedded in the metal grip. “I fucked up then. Let me fix it—let me save you now.”
His pride prickled, but a wave of understanding overcame it. An unerring sense of calm dampened the knee-jerk reaction he used to thrive on.
“Lea,” he asked, the suddenly curious gentleness catching his sister off guard, “have you—have you been carrying this for a decade?”
She just stared, each breath a ragged effort. “Who else could bear it? Who else would?”
“My fault,” she repeated. “Just like Beth—just like Mother. Just like everything in Kirkwall. Of course I’ve borne it—how could I forget?”
“Sister—“ Carver shook his head. The ghost of their mother lingered in the shadows of her mind, in the guilt that weighed on her soul, and he wished his words could change the narrative. “The Wardens saved me. I was as self-destructive and foolish as you always said. Without them, I’d be dead—or worse—by now.”
“You’ll be dead anyway, if you don’t listen to me!”
“This isn’t yours to fix!” he finally cried. He flung his arms wide, only just mindful of the path his blade carved. “You lost the right to fix anything when we parted in the Deep Roads. I thought—I thought you’d let it go, then.”
“You’re my brother.” Her voice cracked. “After everything we shared—the Maker Himself could not make me let you go.”
Carver shook his head. “You must. I won’t take it—I don’t want the cure.”
“Andraste’s bloody—why?”
“I made my peace with the Calling long ago, Lea. That’s why this—“ he thumped the griffon chest plate he wore “—means anything. Everything I’ve done with the Wardens, the people we helped, the changes we made—it mattered, because time was always limited. If I cheat that…what am I left with? What can I strive for?”
“For life! For yourself, for Merrill, for—for me.” Léan whispered the last of it, as though ashamed at including herself in the ask. She closed the space between them, her hands caging his face. Her thumbs dug into his cheeks. “You don’t have to live for purpose, you can live for people. For yourself.”
“No.” Carver shook his head. “You can live like that. I’m not you, Léan. I need the purpose.”
He threw his sword to the side so he could grasp her hands. He matched her bruising grip. “And—I made a promise. To the Order and her people. Relinquishing this burden…it’s breaking that promise. I won’t do that. You can’t make me.”
For one fragile moment, he thought she might agree. But then her gaze hardened and a wisp of electricity sparked over his knuckles. He jerked back, surprised. With her hands freed, Léan beat them against his chest. Her blows echoed off his armor and pounded up into his brain as she exhausted her anguish through her fists.
“Let me save you,” she sobbed, over and over. Carver grasped her wrists and shook his head.
“I’m not yours to save,” he said. “Maybe once, but not anymore. Let it go, Lea. Let me go.”
Shards of guilt and grief and despair clouded her eyes alongside the tears.
“I can’t.”
#febuwhump2024#febuwhumpday13#my writing#survivor's guilt#terminal illness#dragon age#dragon age fanfic#dragon age 2#da2#oc: lean hawke#carver hawke#ws: the old life haunts the new
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newest one from terminally ill aroace friend. We were talking about what we're scared of.
me: I fear you after you've been in hospital for a while
her: I slowly start to lose my mind at that point; an entire month of screaming toddlers and paw patrol music 24/7 really changes people
me: you were threatening to burn down London.
her: I HAD BAD DAYS
#terminal illness#if there's a respiratory illness she probably has it#she scares me#but honestly#fair enough#it was more than a month she was stuck in there
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The endeavor of providing emotional comfort during a vulnerable period is an integral part of hospice care. Every individual’s journey with terminal illness is different, warranting an approach that caters to their unique emotional well-being. Hospice care in Illinois is designed to ensure this.
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