#Brain Surgery Florida

[zerovapes]

A remarkable resource for the Tampa Bay social class, Dr. Le isn’t just a Board-Certified neurosurgeon; he is also twofold Fellowship-organized in Minimally Invasive Spine Surgery and Complex Spinal Deformities.

[allcarecomplete1]

Non Fusion Spine Surgery Tampa Florida

Are you experiencing severe neck pain? Cervical disk replacement surgery or Non Fusion Spine Surgery Tampa Florida is a newly FDA-approved treatment that involves the removal of a damaged cervical disk and its replacement with an artificial disk to alleviate pain. When compared to typical cervical disk surgery, this surgery is preferable because it allows for more range of motion and puts less strain on your surrounding vertebrae. Visit Total Spine & Brain Institute today for more info! Visit: https://totalspinebrain.com/

[ralfmaximus]

The discovery represents a potential new way to recruit the immune system to fight treatment-resistant cancers using an iteration of mRNA technology and lipid nanoparticles, similar to COVID-19 vaccines, but with two key differences: use of a patient’s own tumor cells to create a personalized vaccine, and a newly engineered complex delivery mechanism within the vaccine.

Within 48 hours, the four human study participants showed remarkable results: their immune systems went into turbo cancer-destroying mode. And without surgery, radiation, or dangerous chemotherapy.

Folks, we may have a cure for cancer within your lifetime.

[guitarbomb]

Florida Man Christian Nolen Strums Guitar During Brain Surgery

Florida Man Christian Nolen Strums Guitar During Brain Surgery. In a remarkable display of courage and skill, Florida musician Christian Nolen serenaded surgeons with System Of A Down and Deftones hits while they removed a tumor from his frontal lobe. This extraordinary event took place at Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, University of Miami Miller School of Medicine, where Nolen’s unique…

[reasonsforhope]

"In a first-ever human clinical trial, an mRNA cancer vaccine developed at the University of Florida successfully reprogrammed patients’ immune systems to fiercely attack glioblastoma, the most aggressive and lethal brain tumor.

The results in four adult patients mirrored those in 10 pet dog patients suffering from brain tumors whose owners approved of their participation.

The discovery represents a potential new way to recruit the immune system to fight treatment-resistant cancers using an iteration of mRNA technology and lipid nanoparticles, similar to COVID-19 vaccines, but with two key differences: use of a patient’s own tumor cells to create a personalized vaccine, and a newly engineered complex delivery mechanism within the vaccine.

“Instead of us injecting single particles, we’re injecting clusters of particles that are wrapping around each other like onions,” said senior author Elias Sayour, M.D., Ph.D., a UF Health pediatric oncologist who pioneered the new vaccine, which like other immunotherapies attempts to “educate” the immune system that a tumor is foreign.

“These clusters alert the immune system in a much more profound way than single particles would.”

Among the most impressive findings was how quickly the new method spurred a vigorous immune-system response to reject the tumor, said Sayour, principal investigator at the University’s RNA Engineering Laboratory and McKnight Brain Institute investigator who led the multi-institution research team.

“In less than 48 hours, we could see these tumors shifting from what we refer to as ‘cold’—very few immune cells, very silenced immune response—to ‘hot,’ very active immune response,” he said.

“That was very surprising given how quick this happened, and what that told us is we were able to activate the early part of the immune system very rapidly against these cancers, and that’s critical to unlock the later effects of the immune response,” he explained in a video (below).

Glioblastoma is among the most devastating diagnoses, with median survival around 15 months. Current standard of care involves surgery, radiation and some combination of chemotherapy.

The new report, published May 1 in the journal Cell, is the culmination of seven years of promising studies, starting in preclinical mouse models.

In the cohort of four patients, genetic material called RNA was extracted from each patient’s own surgically removed tumor, and then messenger RNA (mRNA)—the blueprint of what is inside every cell, including tumor cells—was amplified and wrapped in the newly designed high-tech packaging of biocompatible lipid nanoparticles, to make tumor cells “look” like a dangerous virus when reinjected into the bloodstream to prompt an immune-system response.

The vaccine was personalized to each patient with a goal of getting the most out of their unique immune system...

While too early in the trial to assess the clinical effects of the vaccine, the patients either lived disease-free longer than expected or survived longer than expected. The 10 pet dogs lived a median of 4.5 months, compared with a median survival of 30-60 days typical for dogs with the condition.

The next step, with support from the Food and Drug Administration and the CureSearch for Children’s Cancer foundation, will be an expanded Phase I clinical trial to include up to 24 adult and pediatric patients to validate the findings. Once an optimal and safe dose is confirmed, an estimated 25 children would participate in Phase 2."

-via Good News Network, May 11, 2024

-video via University of Florida Health, May 1, 2024

[major-comet]

one of the things that’s most interesting to me about red vs blue

[and this is true of a lot of the shows i’ve watched over the years (here’s looking at you, star trek and rwby volumes 1-3), but i find it particularly true for rvb]

is that the writers seem to have very little grasp on what some of the most interesting and compelling parts of the show actually are, especially from a character perspective

so much stuff only gets kind of brought up, or honestly never even really touched on that would fully be enough to compel me as a character plot for an entire season At Least

like the whole “sarge is apparently some kind of robotics/surgery Wizard because not only did all of simmons’ cyborg parts not get rejected, none of the bits of simmons that grif now has rejected either. this is a medical miracle and it’s something about the pair that is almost Never brought up” thing. they barely even acknowledged that simmons has a whole ass robot arm, much less that grif is physically almost as much simmons as simmons himself is

or the “hey actually epsilon kind of just taking over as “church” actually has a lot of potential for body snatchers-esque horror that they never ever lean into” that i was talking about the other day

or how they only really explore the deeper effects of ai-human integration from a negative aspect - o’malley and the meta and such, but don’t *really* dive in on the effects it might have on a pair that works really well together. epsilon and carolina kind of get the closest to that, but even then it’s still pretty surface level. where’s the weird shit about a pair slowly becoming more of a *we* and those boundaries of human and ai blurring into human&ai in a way that feels not parasitic, but symbiotic? where both parties are not only aware of what’s happening, but perfectly content with it? like maybe i just have venom on the brain, but the ai are like the coolest shit burnie ever wrote and i feel like even though they drive the plot for huge chunks of the show they were barely explored. (i’m saying that delta and york should have had weird freaky mind sex. hello is this thing on-)

or the implication (confirmation? idk man it’s been a long time) that sarge may have been an ODST is actually a Massive addition to rvb’s underlying (and i think sometimes only dubiously intentional) themes of “once a soldier has outweighed their perceived usefulness, the government will not hesitate to cast them aside completely, no matter what they sacrificed for the cause, and this has negative lasting effects not just on that veteran but on society as a whole” that they do kind of sort of explore with locus a bit, but the implication that sarge was highly specialized and did a lot of particularly risky shit for the unsc only for him to, unbeknownst to him, wind up as a training dummy for soldiers perceived as “better” than him (and not even really that, picked explicitly because florida thought he would be totally harmless to the alpha) is INSANE and “sarge was an odst” mostly exists in rvb canon just as a joke but Jesus H Christ, man

there’s so much great material here that just got totally ditched for something else and it makes me SAD sometimes

[mermaidxatxheart]

A Day at the Fair

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word count: 6665

Summary: the DEA are about to make a drug bust at the county fair and Javi gets distracted

A/N: thanks to @musings-of-a-rose for listening to me about all my nonsense lol

The crowd around them is loud, but Javier Peña can tune out crowds with the best of them. With a family the size of his, that loves to stick their noses where they don’t belong, he’d have to be.

His partner, however, always gets itchy in crowds. Steve Murphy isn’t a people kind of person. Or… maybe he is as long as they’re not cops. Who the fuck knows? Javi throws another dart onto the rotating dart boards. Bullseye number two.

Murphy scoffs, stuffing a nacho chip in his mouth. “How can you do that?” He asks, turning away from the booth to scan the crowd.

Their target hasn’t arrived yet and Javi is bored with a capital B. He didn’t want to do this drugs bust here at the fair, but Upper Management overruled him. Shocker. He throws another dart, almost not even paying attention and it lands on a bullseye once more.

“Patience, skill, it’s all in the wrist.” Peña shrugs.

“Whatever. I thought you didn’t like the fair.” Murphy mumbles.

“Entirely not true.” Javier says, watching a pretty girl walk by. “I just didn’t want to take down a drug dealer in front of little kids. I’ve got standards, man.” He grins, throwing the fourth dart without even looking.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve rolls his eyes with a sardonic chuckle. Bullseye number four.

“Do you want a go? We’ve got time for you to practice.” Javi teases, offering him the last dart. The booth is just a small square tent with open views on all sides so crowds can gather all around. Cheap stuffed animals are hanging from the ceiling, and Peña has his eye on a stuffed panda for his niece. In the center is a large disc that rotates around in a circle with five dart boards lying flat. If you can get all five darts in the center of any of the boards, you get a prize.

“Oh, fuck off.” Murphy mutters. “It can’t be that hard.” He takes the last dart and studies the rotating board intently.

Peña checks his watch, mostly just to mess with him. “Come on, pendejo, it’s not brain surgery.”

Murphy ignores him, as is usual, and takes his time before finally throwing it. It bounces off the metal rim and falls to the ground.

“Shut up.” He warns instantly, and Javi artfully disguises his shit-eating grin.

He pulls another five bucks from his wallet and hands it to the guy running the booth. Luckily for the two DEA agents, or maybe more for the guy running the booth, this spot has the best vantage point to keep an eye on the area of suspicion. They’ve been stuck in this area for thirty minutes at least.

“How are you not sweating, man? This heat is the worst.” Murphy says, shaking out his shirt.

“You lived in Colombia for how long? And after living in Texas-Florida heat is nothing.” He shrugs, throwing the first dart.

“Whatever, you freak. I’m gonna hit the head.” Steve tosses his nachos and wanders away.

Javi is mostly wasting time with the darts. But someone steps next to him and he’s glad Steve walked away. He throws the last dart and gets his bullseye as the pretty girl next to him watches, impressed. He gestures to the panda as his prize and you lean against the railing next to him.

“Interesting choice. I would have assumed the shark.” You say, the teasing smile evident in your voice.

Javi looks from the panda to you and back, examining it. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod matter of factly.

“And why is that?” He asks, leaning next to you, keeping one eye on the area, but you have most of his attention.

“Sharks are mostly harmless until provoked. You seem like you could be dangerous, but most of the time it’s just not worth your effort.” You say.

He chuckles with a self-effacing nod. “Maybe.” He watches you tuck your hair behind your ear before you smile back up at him.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Javier.” He answers. “You?”

You tell him your name and he can’t help but think that it’s one of the prettiest names he’s ever heard.

“Can I ask, Javier, you don’t really strike me as the fair-goer-type. Are you having fun?” You ask.

“Why does everyone think I don’t like fairs?” He asks exasperatedly.

“Well, you did bring a gun.” You whisper, gesturing to the bump on his hip that’s his gun, covered only by his favorite Hawaiian shirt.

He starts at that. “How did you-“

You grin. “My ex-fiancé was a cop. Or, still is, I suppose.”

“Is him being a cop the reason he’s an ex?” He asks.

“No. It was the cheating, the lying, the secret family.” You tick off on your fingers like adding ‘secret family’ to the end of that sentence isn’t the most wild thing to reveal to a stranger. “I was fully ready to be married to a cop. But apparently so was his wife.” You shrug. “My dad, my uncles, my grandpa-all cops. So, lucky for you, I know not all cops are cheating dirtbags, and if I happen to meet a handsome cop at the fair and he were to buy me food or win me a prize, I wouldn’t say no.” You say and all he can do is stare as it dawns on him that you’ve actually been flirting with him this whole time. He used to be better at this.

“Peña.” His earbug crackles and it makes him jump.

“Peña, here.” He responds, never taking his eyes off your pretty face.

“Get your fucking ass ready, man. Target’s here.” Murphy says exasperatedly.

“Shit.” Javi curses.

“Duty calls?” You guess and he’s never been more annoyed at his job than now.

“Unfortunately.” He glances down at the panda in his hand. “Will you hold onto this?” He asks and you nod, taking it in your arms. “I’ll be right back.” He promises quickly before taking off.

That was stupid. He shouldn’t have promised you that.

***

You watch the most handsome man you’ve ever met jog across the green and vault himself over a low brick wall.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest, trapping the stuffed panda there for safe keeping. “Javier Peña.” You muse, walking towards the funnel cake stand nearby. You hope he does come back.

The panda intrigues you, as does the impeccable ability to throw darts at a moving target and never miss.

“I think I’ll call you Amanda, Amanda the Panda.” You tell it. “You look like you want some funnel cake while we wait.” And that’s exactly what you do. There’s a picnic bench nearby and you wait there until Javier isn’t busy anymore.

Whomever he’s arresting, they have a lot of stuff going on because it’s taking forever. You eat a funnel cake, a gyro, and some amazing brisket queso fries.

You snag a napkin not stained with grease and write your address on it. You see him hop back over the wall, heading for you and you smile to yourself.

“Sorry that took so long.” He huffs, running a hand roughly through his dark locks.

“No worries.” You smile at him. “Everything work out alright?” You ask.

“Better than we hoped.” His eyes drop to the stuffed panda tuwcked safely in your arms. “I can take that back.” He starts, reaching for it, but you twist slightly out of his grasp.

“Actually,” you hesitate and he frowns. “Amanda and I have bonded. And we’ve decided that-“

“I’m sorry, who’s Amanda?” He squints.

“Amanda the Panda. And we’ve decided to split custody. So, you can take her back tomorrow night, when you pick us up for dinner.” You tell the poor, shocked cop, handing him the napkin with your address on it.

He takes the napkin dumbly and clears his throat, a smile starting to tug at his pretty lips. “How does seven sound?”

“Like a date.” You reply, taking a step back. “See you tomorrow.”

He waves with a half salute and you disappear from his line of sight into the crowd.

Javi

“You’re really going?” Murphy asks in surprise.

“She’s holding my panda hostage.” Javi shrugs. The whole idea is absurd. But you were really fucking cute, extorting a date out of him.

Steve laughs. “I thought DEA agents don’t negotiate. What did she name the thing again?”

“Amanda the Panda. And who’s negotiating?” Peña grins, tucking his aviators on and heading out of the office’s front doors.

“Good luck with your hostage situation!” Murphy calls after him. Javier departs with a middle finger tossed behind him.

Nervously, ridiculously afraid to do the wrong thing, he buys you flowers. Not roses, that’s… a lot to get back a panda. But daisies? Absolutely.

He pulls up in front of your house and he can tell you’ve put a lot of work into it. The gardens are beautiful and in full bloom, filled with bushes and trees of a deep emerald green, flowers that are bright reds, soft coral pinks, and deep purples. Your house is a quaint one story cottage painted a pastel pink with a white trim.

He gets out of his little truck and walks up to the front door, a soft brown wood, the white paint worn down with age and sand blasting probably. A wreath made of bleached coral and seashells hangs on the door.

If this isn’t the most Florida home he’s ever seen.

He knocks solidly and it’s only a second or two before the door swings open and he’s momentarily speechless. Your hair is styled into soft curls, tempting him to reach out and touch them, run his fingers through them and make them a mess. Your lips are the softest, most delicate shade of pink. You’re wearing a sundress that is so tempting, he almost has to walk away. Thin white straps, bright red cherries with bright green stems. A gathered sweetheart neckline that shows off your heavenly curves perfectly almost has him wishing the weather was just a little bit cooler. But you’d probably find a way to torment him then, too. He can’t even force himself to look down your perfect body to see what kind of shoes you chose to destroy him with. He glances anyway. Simple white platform pumps.

Christ, he’s in trouble.

“I have to admit, I’m not sure I really expected you to show.” You tell him, drawing his attention back to your face.

“You look amazing.” He manages, handing over the flowers.

“Oh, thank you. These are beautiful.” You take them, stepping back and letting him into your home.

He’s not quite sure what he was expecting; maybe a lot of pink to match the outside, looking for all the world like an overstuffed cafe. But it’s actually quite comfortable. Soft colors: sky blue, blush pink-nothing in your face bright. The furniture is cozy without being an explosion of stuffing. It looks like a comfy beach cottage.

“I like your house.” He manages again as you set the flowers in a pretty vase on the coffee table.

“Thank you. I wanted something that reminds me of a day at the beach.” You smile at him and he loses his train of thought again. You select a soft white cardigan off the hooks by the door. “Ready to go? I’m excited to see what you have planned.” You say and he scratches at the back of his head.

“Ready.” He opens the don’t door for you and closes it behind him, waiting patiently while you lock it. “So, you enjoy being at the beach?” He asks, leading you to his little pickup truck.

“Yeah. I can’t imagine living in Florida and hating it.” You look at him curiously. “Do you hate the beach, Javi?” You ask as he opens the door for you, almost as if a yes would devastate you.

He closes it and walks around, climbing in. “No. It’s hard to chase someone in the sand, but I like the view.” He says, turning over the engine. Your perfume fills the space, swirls around him and he finds himself taking extra long breaths just to smell it longer. It’s floral, soft. Beautiful.

“Do your suspects run on the beach a lot?” You ask and he chuckles.

“No, thank god.”

“That’s good. The beach should be for fun things.” You say definitively.

“Like what?” He prompts. He could listen to you tell him things all day long. Doesn’t matter if it’s shit he already knows. Tell him again.

“Tanning, seashell collecting, skinny dipping, watching the waves and storms roll in, kissing in the rain.” You shrug. “The usual.”

He nearly swerves as you mention skinny dipping. You just might kill him. “I like your thinking.” He manages and you laugh.

“You’re adorable when you blush.” You say, half turning to face him in your seat.

“I don’t blush.” He protests.

You reach out softly and brush his cheek. “Right here. Just the cutest.” You tease and his stomach is a mess with butterflies. He captures your hand and kisses the back of it before setting it on the middle seat. But you don’t let go, instead, scooting closer, linking your arm around his and resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“I was thinking Cuban food?”

“Oh my god, yes.” You agree enthusiastically, and he’s happy you’re so into it.

He parks outside the little restaurant and gets out, with you following him out of his door. You reclaim his hand, following him inside.

***

Javier is adorable, blushing at any little innuendo you make. You don’t think he’s innocent, just not used to being on the receiving end.

The restaurant is exactly what you would expect from a Cuban eatery. Full of life, culture, loud music, and amazing smelling food. There are couples dancing out on the cobblestone patio out back that you can spot as you’re led to a booth.

You slide all the way in, leaving space for Javi next to you if he wants, and you hope he does. He slides in next to you, arm draping comfortably on the back of the booth. The waiter sets menus in front of you and walks away to give you time to look.

You shift against Javi slightly, getting comfortable against the side of his chest, hoping that he doesn’t mind you getting so personal so fast.

“Have you been here before?” You ask.

“A couple times. The food is really good.” He says, opening one of the menus. “I like the Milanesa de pollo with white rice and black beans. Or the masitas de puerco.” He says, pointing them out on the menu.

“I get one, you get the other?” You offer and he chuckles.

“Works for me.” He agrees, flipping to the cocktails.

You’re watching him as he reads them off to you. He’s beautiful. You saw it yesterday while he was casually dominating the carnival game. But today? He looks less stressed, even if you do make him flustered.

He seems to realize you’re not really listening to him and he cuts off short, looking at you, confused. “Are you alright?” He asks and you can’t help but smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m perfect.”

The waiter comes back over and you let Javi order for you, his Spanish being far superior to yours.

“So, whole family of cops, engaged to one, looking to date another.” He starts and you’re already grinning. “Are you a cop?” He asks and you laugh.

“No. I’ve broken tradition. I was going to be a teacher, but hated it. So, now I’m a writer. I get to make my own schedule, my own office. My commute is from my bedroom to my living room.” You say and he laughs. It’s deep and a little rough.

“That sounds perfect, to be honest. Have I read anything of yours? I didn’t recognize the name.”

“Probably not. I write under a false name. I do a bit of everything-mystery, horror, romance. Whatever strikes me.” You shrug. “You also don’t seem like the type to have a ton of time to read.”

“Guilty, but maybe I’ll start.” He winks.

You clear your throat, fighting a sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss this man. He’s holding you, smelling oh-so-good, and taking an interest? Christ, you just might marry him.

“So, you know about my awkward ex. Anyone lurking in your past?” You ask.

“Oh, you know, just an almost wife.” He says so casually as he sips his drink that it’s almost payback for you doing it to him.

“Almost wife?” You press, eyebrows lifting high.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat gruffly, crunching an ice cube. “Her name was Lorraine. And she was amazing, and I left her the night before the wedding.” He says. He’s not proud of it-you can tell. But he told you, which says something to you, giving you a sense of warmth? Pride? Honor?

“Why?” You ask softly.

“It’s complicated, but the long and tall of it is that she lied about being pregnant to get me to marry her. Told me the night before the wedding that it was all fake. I couldn’t get past it.” He scratches at his chin.

“I don’t blame you.” You say, taking his hand over your shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, though.” You start, looking up at him.

“What’s that?”

“Their losses are our gains.” You say brightly and he presses a chuckling kiss to your temple, setting off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, sweetheart.”

Your food is served and not once while you’re eating does the conversation falter. You find out he’s a DEA agent. He’s recently moved back from Colombia where he was stationed. His family all lives in Texas but he only feels a little guilty for not getting back to see them often enough. But his ex is still there and that makes it awkward.

You push your empty plate away, satisfied. “Shit, that was delicious.” You sigh, patting your stomach. His eyes follow the motion and it’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but you’re pretty sure his pupils got bigger.

“How are you at dancing?” You ask, tipping your head back to look up at him.

“I can hold my own. Would you like to dance?” He asks.

“I would love to.”

He drops cash on the table and leads you out under the string lights and pulls you close. The song switches to something slower. You don’t recognize it, but apparently Javi does. His cheek is resting against yours, holding your hand against the center of his broad chest as he dances the both of you across the semi-crowded floor. He’s humming along and you can’t help but close your eyes, leaning against him, completely at ease. You could very easily spend your days like this, dancing with him in your kitchen after dinner, glass of wine in your hand, this beautiful man in your arms.

The song ends and he pulls back from you, looking almost as reluctant as you are. “We have to go, cariño. I have more planned for us.” He says and you perk up.

“You do?”

“Of course. I need to make a good impression if I ever want my panda back.” He teases.

You grin. “Fair enough, Mr. Peña. Lead the way.” You tell him and he takes your hand, leading you out into the humid air. It’s starting to get dark and you wonder what he could possibly have planned.

He opens his door and you climb back in, sliding across the bench seat to make space for him. He climbs in next to you and gives you a smile before he starts his little truck.

You shift against him, getting comfortable once more. His big arm is around you and it doesn’t really matter to you where he’s taking you.

“Are you always this forward?” He asks, getting back on the road.

“I see no point in lying or hiding what I want.” You shrug. “I like you, I think you’re beautiful. Why would I hide that I want you?”

He gives a strangled sort of chuckle. “Jesus.” He tugs you close, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I like the way you think, princesa.”

“Good.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m older?” He asks.

“Not at all. Men my age just want another mommy. Men like you aren’t looking for that, you’re more experienced, and you’re not looking to play games with my head. Either you want me, or you don’t.”

“Oh, trust me, Angelita, I want you. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you.” He says, pulling into a drive and you recognize the drive-in theater. He buys two tickets and you smile to yourself.

Movies under the stars with Javier? What could be more perfect?

He backs his truck into a space and you look at him, confused. “How are we going to watch it backwards?”

“Come on.” He opens his door and helps you down. You wobble in the grass on your heels and he grins down at you. “God, you’re cute.” He climbs up into the truck bed and pulls out blankets and pillows.

You stare at him, surprised and amazed. Whatever you had expected from tonight, this wasn’t it. You watch him move around to make the truck bed comfortable and cozy for you. You might have to kiss him. You smile to yourself as he hops back out.

“Ready?” He asks, holding out his big hand to you.

“More than ever.” You accept and he leads you to the back.

“Want popcorn?” He asks. You nod enthusiastically and he chuckles. “Ok, doll face. I’ll be right back.” He jogs away to the concession stand a couple rows away and you slide up onto the tailgate while you wait for him. He comes back fairly quickly despite how busy the drive-in is. He sets popcorn and two sodas next to you and goes to move the speakers, setting them on the ledges of the truck bed. He comes back around and looks at you, almost waiting.

“It’s perfect, Javier.” You reach forward, hooking a finger around the top buttoned button of his shirt and pull him closer between your thighs. You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for making tonight so wonderful.” You say softly and his eyes dip closed.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He steps back for you to get comfortable and you cross your legs, removing your heels. You set them out of the way just inside the edge of the truck bed. He lets out a soft little noise and you glance at him curiously.

“Hermosa, you’re killing me.” He sighs, sliding up next to you and taking off his dusty boots. It’s almost weird to you how watching him take off his shoes feels like something intimate. You get the feeling that he doesn’t allow himself to be comfortable around many people.

He sets his boots next to your heels and shifts himself to the back against the pillows with the popcorn and your drinks.

“Coming?” He arches an eyebrow and pats the spot next to him. Yeah, you’re gonna kiss this man until your lips fall off.

You roll and turn to crawl to him on your hands and knees until you can twist and sit next to him.

“Shit.” You hear him curse quietly and you smile innocently to yourself. Glad to know you’re having just as much of an effect on him as he is on you. You shift against him comfortably as his big arm slips around your shoulders, holding you against him. He settles the popcorn between your thigh and his where you can easily reach it. You take a piece, popping it into your mouth. His thumb is brushing soft, slow strokes against the front or your arm next to him, his own like a bar across your chest.

“Do you miss Colombia?” You ask.

“Not particularly. I was down there for my job. I’m certainly not minding being back in the states right now.” He grins down at you.

You smile back, bringing his hand to your mouth, gently kissing his palm. The smell of him is surrounding you, encasing you in everything that is Javier Peña and you never want to leave.

His hand gently cups your throat, sliding up under your chin to tilt your head back for him. He presses those soft lips to your forehead and you close your eyes, crossing your legs tightly. This man is a menace that you will gladly invite into your bed. He shifts, another kiss to your temple, your cheek, his thumb stroking your jaw.

Fuck, you’re fucking wet.

The movie starts and he lets you go, turning his attention to the screen.

Rude.

***

He has you desperately trying to hide your peals of laughter as you fight for a piece of popcorn. Every time you reach for a piece, he’s tickling your sides, or taking your hand and eating the piece out of your fingers. His soft lips trap your fingertips in his mouth, his tongue brushing against the pads, licking them free of any salt or butter. His other hand tickling your side to distract you.

It’s when he nips your fingertips that you freeze, fingers still in his mouth. That turned you on more than it was probably supposed to. He releases your fingers and you don’t immediately pull away; instead, letting your thumb brush cross his soft-as-sin lower lip.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you have to inhale extra and your lungs hurt. In that split second, your lips part, his gaze drops to your mouth and then you’re kissing. You don’t know who moved, maybe you both did.

His mouth on yours is like a flame, searing the air from your lungs. He licks at your bottom lip, parting you further, hands gripping at your back, and waist as you thread your fingers through his soft curls. You turn, swinging one leg over his big thighs. His hands grip your thighs, ruching up your dress as they slide up your body to your back and hair, holding you against his chest.

You rock your hips, trying anything to get closer to him, fingers deep in his soft locks. A little tug as you rock and you’re rewarded with the softest moan against your open mouth. His fingers press into your back, crumpling your dress in his possessive grip.

He breaks away from your mouth, kissing down your jaw, your throat, your shoulders as he slides the straps off.

“Hermosa, mierda.” He groans against your skin. “Por favor, can I touch you?” He whispers, and you nod, lost in the feel of him growing hard under you.

He kisses you fiercely, hand sliding under the hem of your summer dress. Soft fingertips skimming up your bare thighs as you nip at his lip, returning the kiss just as eagerly.

He pulls your panties to the side, burying his face against your bare shoulder. He groans as his pads swipe through your drenched folds, teasing your clit with little nudges.

“Cariño, all for me?” He teases. “You’ve been tempting me all night with this pretty dress.” He tells you in a whisper, rubbing tight slow circles around your sensitive little nub. He gives it a few minutes, drawing out your pleasure as it coils low and hot in your belly. You’re cupping his face, kissing him in between ragged breaths and soft moans, pleas for more. He slides his thick fingers down away from your clit towards your entrance, probing you and driving you crazy. He kisses along your neck, licking and sucking a very deliberate mark onto your skin. He nips at it, soothing it with his tongue and sucking before starting again as his fingers coat themselves in your slick before he pushes two inside your warm, velvety tunnel. He moans quietly against your chest. The stretch from his fingers alone is enough for you. You can’t imagine any other part of him yet. His thumb takes up tormenting your sensitive clit as his fingers stroke along your frontal walls easily.

“J-Javi,” your voice breaks as you try to be quiet. But all you can think about is him. The way he smells, and the way he’s clinging to you, the way his mustache scrapes against your skin, the way his tongue licks against you.

“Sh, sh, hermosa.” He coos, nibbling at your earlobe. “Gotta be a good girl for me. Gotta be quiet so all these people don’t know what a naughty girl you are, letting a cop touch this pretty pussy in public.” He says, his voice low and husky in your ear, only serving to make you wetter. You’re grinding against his hand, gasping against his cheek, clinging to him. His other arm is around you, holding you tight against him as he fingers you. “Good girl, baby. So tight, taking my fingers so good.” He praises and you’re melting against him. You lift up, body starting to tense as you try to escape the oncoming orgasm.

He catches the neckline of your dress with his teeth and pulls it down, exposing your breasts to him as you tremble, cumming on his fingers with a whine. “That’s it, baby. Such a good girl. You can give me more.” He encourages, latching onto a nipple and giving it the same treatment he gave your neck. Pleasure shoots straight to your cunt where he stokes it against your g-spot.

“J-Javi,” you gasp and he bites gently on your nipple in response. You shudder, grinding harder on his hand beneath your dress.

“Love the way you moan my name, princesa.” He fingers you diligently, never slowing down, his eyes always on you. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you cumming on my fingers. Wanna keep you like this.” He moans. You push down, grinding half against his hand and half against his crotch. He’s hard and aching, you can feel him twitch under you every time you moan in his ear.

You kiss him desperately, tugging at his hair as he steadily works you higher and higher until you snap for the second time. It occurs to you, somewhere in your orgasm-muddled- brain, that he has his fingers inside you out in public where anyone walking by can see. Your tit is out on display, granted it’s crushed against his broad chest, but still.

He licks a hot stripe up the center of your chest, along your throat, to your mouth, kissing you messily. “You’re dripping down my hand, hermosa. Got you so wet.” His own deep voice cracks as you whimper against his neck. “Want you to cum again. Want you to soak my hand, baby. Drench me and give me everything you have.” He urges, fingers picking up pace inside you and on your clit. His arm is wrapped tightly around you, holding you where he wants you. He sucks on your neck again, biting your skin and fingering you furiously.

Your soul leaves your body as you convulse and orgasm on his fingers. He holds you against his lap, making you take the pleasure he’s giving you. Not letting you escape from it like you normally would. He doesn’t stop. You wonder if his fingers are tired, but he doesn’t stop, chasing orgasm number four from your body. Your inner walls are clenching around his fingers, riding them with an unknown desperation as he marks up your skin with his perfect mouth. Small whimpers are leaving your body as he drags you higher and higher and higher and higher until your body snaps and you go slack, arching back away from him as you tremble with your most powerful orgasm yet.

He lays you back on the blanket carefully, adjusting your legs to be more comfortable. He pulls his sopping wet hand out from under your dress, holding it up for you to see it glistening in the moonlight. “So fucking pretty.” He praises. “Fuck, I could watch you cum all day long.” He says, licking his fingers and giving a small moan. “You’re fucking delicious. Sweetest pussy on earth.” He says, sucking his fingers clean as you watch him through half lidded eyes. He leans over you, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Combined with his taste, you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him there.

He indulges for just a few minutes but then shifts himself between your thighs. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk around with your cum dripping down your thighs for the rest of the night?” He chuckles, lifting your dress.

“Should be your cum dripping out of me.” You say and he grins.

“That’s for next time.” He promises, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to exist. His hand is over your exposed tit as he buries his head in your pussy. If you thought his fingers had you seeing stars? That’s nothing to the way his tongue brushes against every inch of you. He pushes it deep inside you, slurping at you, swirling around your already quivering clit. It traces every inch of your flower, searching for the nectar you release until he makes you cum two more times and then he declares you’re decent.

You are, in fact, not decent. You should like to show him right here right now how indecent you would like to be with him, but you currently can’t move. He fingered the bones right out of your body. He adjusts your dress, covering you back up and making you proper again. He lies next to you, the both of you facing the wrong way for the movie, but you don’t even care. You curl up against him, head on his chest listening to his heartbeat.

“I’ve never cum like that before.” You tell him and he chuckles, his fingertips tracing lines down your bare arms.

“That’s a crying shame. You’re stunning, and when you cum-it’s like a whole different level. I would love to watch you cum over and over all day someday. Just to watch that face you make and hear those gorgeous noises.” He says and you feel yourself blushing. “Maybe next time, we can be somewhere for you to be loud. Wanna hear you scream my name.” He whispers and you groan.

“That probably won’t be a problem.” You admit and he laughs quietly. “Can I-“ you reach for his belt buckle, but he catches your wrist.

“This was about you tonight, hermosa.” He says, pulling your hand back up to hold it on his chest.

“You look uncomfortable.” You tell him and he chuckles.

“Reward of a job well done. I like a little bit of pain.” He says softly.

You file that bit of information away for later. “Alright, just don’t go exploding. I’d like to see you again.” You warn him and he kisses the crown of your head.

“Not to worry, princesa. I won’t explode without you.” He promises and you snuggle more against his chest, satisfied and getting sleepy.

***

Javi

He looks down at you, asleep in his arms and drops his head back down. He’s in trouble. He likes this way too much for this to be his first date with you.

The credits are rolling but he doesn’t care that you both missed more than half of the movie. He lifts his head, kissing the top of your hair.

“Hermosa,” he whispers. “Wake up, pretty girl.” He says gently rocking your shoulder. You don’t move and he gently shifts you off his chest and onto your back. He kisses your forehead, between your cute little eyebrows, the tip of your nose. One temple, then the other. He can see your eyelids fluttering. He kisses down your cheek, the point of your chin, up your other cheek.

Christ, you smell good. He nudges your head to the side with his nose, kissing down your neck, admiring his handiwork with the hickie he left. He licks at the hollow in the center at the base of your throat. He allows one small nip at your skin, soothing it over with his tongue as your face scrunches and you whine softly. He trails slow kisses down your sternum, nipping at the top of your perfect breasts. He licks there, too and you shiver as the cool breeze blows over it.

You whine again, your hands coming up to settle in his hair. He kisses down between your breasts, down over your stomach, hands bunching up your skirt, wondering how far you’ll let him go with this.

“Don’t be a tease, Peña.” You mumble, eyes still closed and he chuckles.

“Movie’s over, cariño.” He comes back up, brushing your soft cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“And?” You sigh, pulling his head to yours and he laughs, kissing you with repeated quick little pecks. “You’re such a menace.” You complain.

“I’m aware.” He grins, rolling back over next to you and you sit up.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” You ask, rolling against his chest and looking down at him. Your hair falls into your face, tickling him. He brushes it back, taking every chance to touch you now that he knows he can.

“I’m not supposed to. But in my line of work, you never really know.” He says.

“Okay. I can live with that.” You kiss him softly and pull away too quickly. He tries to follow, half sitting up and you laugh.

“I should take you home before the bugs eat you alive.” He says, sitting up next to you and leaning back on his hands.

“Unless you want another go at it.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he laughs.

“I’m not saying no.” He turns and scoots to the tailgate, pulling his boots on. You slide next to him and he gets down, scooping you up easily.

You shriek and laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Smooth.”

He winks and sets you in the front seat. He returns the speakers, gathers up the pillows and blankets and throws away the popcorn. He climbs back in and returns your shoes.

He starts the truck and is pleased when you lean against him again. He could very easily get used to this. He drives you home, parking out front. He climbs out, holding his hand out for you. He doesn’t let it go, though, as he walks you to the front door.

You hesitate at the door, fiddling with your keys. “Can I tempt you to come inside?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Darlin’, if anyone could, it would be you. But, I think I’m going to say no tonight. I always rush into everything and this-I want to take this slow.” He says, his heart cracking at turning you down, but you don’t get mad, you just smile at him so sweetly.

“Alright.” You beckon him closer and kiss him deeply, arms wrapped around his shoulders, on your tiptoes, fevered. He returns it, hands bunching into fists against your back.

“Christ, woman.” He pulls back, heart racing and breathing hard. Luckily, you look just as flushed as he feels. “Can I see you tomorrow?” He asks.

“Pending any major drug related emergencies? Absolutely.” You nod and he grins.

“It’s a date. Breakfast? I have plans.”

“I can be up in time for breakfast.” You agree.

“Perfect. Goodnight.” He says softly and makes sure you get inside and the door locks before he walks back to his truck. He climbs inside, grinning like an idiot. And it isn’t until he starts the engine that he remembers the stupid panda.

“Fuck.”

[forafortnite]

This is me trying to get my daughter’s story out there in time for our trip to Miami for the eras tour. Bailey will be at the Miami Florida show on 10/18 with her me and her aunt! She was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor in 2019 when she was just 7 years old. She went through chemo for 2 years. She has gone through port surgeries and countless other procedures and treatments. Her Make-a-Wish at the time was to meet Taylor, but that wasn’t going to be possible due to Covid. We will be sitting in section 315, row 1, seats 7,8,9. We really hope for her to be chosen to receive the 22 hat. It would be such a dream come true for Bailey, after all this is her lucky year…she is turning 13 July 26th!!! I am posting in hopes that @taylorswift and her team @taylornation will see this post and consider Bailey. If you are at the show and see us please give Bay a big hug and trade friendship bracelets with her. Let’s make her first concert ever and her first Taylor Swift concert one to remember! Please share, comment and tag Taylor and her team. Let’s keep this post active for Bailey! I know my fellow swifties will show support and help us make this happen for Bay

[lesbianfeminists]

From heart disease to IUDs: How doctors dismiss women’s pain

Several studies support the claim that gender bias in medicine routinely leads to a denial of pain relief for female patients for a range of health conditions

One woman was told she was being “dramatic” when she pleaded for a brain scan after suffering months of headaches and pounding in her ears. It turned out she had a brain tumor. Another was ignored as she cried out in pain during a 33-hour labor. She was supposed to be getting pain medication through her epidural, but it had fallen out. Dozens of women complained of torturous pain as their vaginal walls were punctured during an egg retrieval process. They were told their pain was normal, but, in actuality, they were getting saline instead of anesthesia. These are just some of the stories of women who say their pain and suffering has been dismissed or misdiagnosed by doctors. Although these are anecdotal reports, a number of studies support the claim that women in pain often are not taken as seriously as men.

This year, the Journal of the American Heart Association reported that women who visited emergency departments with chest pain waited 29 percent longer than men to be evaluated for possible heart attacks. An analysis of 981 emergency room visits showed that women with acute abdominal pain were up to 25 percent less likely than their male counterparts to be treated with powerful opioid painkillers. Another study showed that middle-aged women with chest pain and other symptoms of heart disease were twice as likely to be diagnosed with a mental illness compared with men who had the same symptoms. “I was told I knew too much, that I was working too hard, that I was stressed out, that I was anxious,” said Ilene Ruhoy, a 53-year-old neurologist from Seattle, who had head pain and pounding in her ears. Despite having a medical degree, Ruhoy said she struggled to get doctors to order a brain scan. By the time she got it in 2015, a tennis ball-sized tumor was pushing her brain to one side. She needed surgery, but first, she rushed home, hugged her 11-year-old daughter and wrote her a letter to tell her goodbye.

Ruhoy did not die on the operating table, but her tumor had grown so large it could not be entirely removed. Now, she has several smaller tumors that require radiation treatment. She said many of her female patients have had experiences similar to hers. “They’re not validated with regards to their concerns; they’re gaslit; they’re not understood,” she said. “They feel like no one is listening to them.”

Doubts about women’s pain can affect treatment for a wide range of health issues, including heart problems, stroke, reproductive health, chronic illnesses, adolescent pain and physical pain, among other things, studies show. Research also suggests that women are more sensitive to pain than men and are more likely to express it, so their pain is often seen as an overreaction rather than a reality, said Roger Fillingim, director of the Pain Research and Intervention Center of Excellence at the University of Florida. Fillingim, who co-wrote a review article on sex differences in pain, said there are many possible explanations, including hormones, genetics and even social factors such as gender roles. Regardless, he said, “you treat the pain that the patient has, not the pain that you think the patient should have.”

Women say reproductive health complaints are commonly ignored

Women often cite pain bias around areas of reproductive health, including endometriosis, labor pain and insertion of an intrauterine device, or IUD. When Molly Hill made an appointment at a Connecticut clinic in 2017 to get an IUD, she said she was warned it would be uncomfortable, but she was not prepared for “horrific” pain. Hill, now 27 and living in San Francisco, recalled that during the procedure, she began crying in pain and shouted at the doctor to stop. “We’re almost done,” she said the doctor told her and continued the procedure. “It was full-body, electrifying, knife-stabbing pain,” she said. After it was done, she said she lay sobbing on the table in physical and emotional pain. “It felt violating, too, to have that pain that deep in your core where you feel the most vulnerable.”

Studies consistently show that women who have not experienced vaginal birth have much higher pain during IUD insertion compared with women who have given birth. A Swedish study found that among 224 women who had not given birth, 89 percent reported moderate or severe pain. One in six of the women said the pain was severe. Although numbing agents and local anesthetics are available, they are rarely used.

In some cases, women have sued physicians for ignoring their pain. Dozens of women sued Yale University claiming that during an egg harvesting procedure at its infertility clinic, they were supposed to be receiving the powerful painkiller fentanyl. But some women were getting only diluted pain medication or none at all, according to lawsuits filed in the state Superior Court in Connecticut. Later, the clinic discovered a nurse had been stealing vials of fentanyl and replacing the painkiller with saline solution. The nurse pleaded guilty last year and was sentenced for tampering with the drugs. One of the plaintiffs, Laura Czar, wrote about her experience for Elle magazine, describing it as “a horrible, gut-wrenching pain,” and told a doctor at the time, “I can feel everything you’re doing.” Despite her protests, the doctor continued. Yale said in a statement that it “deeply regrets” the women’s distress and has “reviewed its procedures and made changes to further oversight of pain control and controlled substances.”

Racial disparities in pain management

For Sharee Turpin, the pain of sickle-cell disease sometimes feels like tiny knives slicing her open. Sickle cell disease is an inherited blood disorder that can cause suffering so severe, its attacks are called “pain crises.” But when Turpin, who is Black, experiences a pain crisis, the 34-year-old does not rush to the ER in Rochester, N.Y. Instead, she combs her hair, mists some perfume and slips on her “Sunday best” in hopes that the doctors and nurses won’t peg her as a drug seeker, she said. Sometimes, Turpin gets a care team that understands her pain. Other times, she is treated as a bother. “I’ve even been told ‘shut up’ by a nurse because I was screaming too loud while I was in pain,” she said.

Abundant research shows racial bias in pain treatment. A 2016 study found half of white medical students and residents held at least one false belief about biological differences between Blacks and Whites, and were more likely to underestimate Black patients’ pain. “The management of pain is one of the largest disparities that we see between Black people and White people in the American health-care system,” said Tina Sacks, an associate professor at the University of California at Berkeley and author of “Invisible Visits: Black Middle-Class Women in the American Healthcare System.”

Labeling women “hysterical” or blaming psychological causes

Research shows men in chronic pain tend to be regarded as “stoic” while women are more likely to be considered “emotional” and “hysterical” and accused of “fabricating the pain.” Carol Klay, a 68-year-old from Tampa, had endured years of chronic pain from arthritis, degenerative disk disease and spinal stenosis. During a hospital stay last year, her doctor noted in her medical record that she was crying “hysterically.” Klay said she was crying because she was unable to sit, stand or walk without agony, and the doctor had removed morphine from her cocktail of pain medications. She wonders whether the doctor “would have called me hysterical if I was a man,” she said. Tampa General Hospital said it could not discuss specific patients, but stated: “Patient treatment plans, including medication orders to reduce pain, are prescribed by multi-disciplinary clinical teams.” Research shows women’s physical pain is also often attributed to psychological causes.

Jan Maderios, a 72-year-old Air Force veteran from Chipley, Fla., said the trauma of having pain dismissed by doctors has stayed with her for years. She saw about a dozen doctors in the early 1970s for pelvic pain. When clinicians could not identify the cause of her pain, she was referred to a psychiatrist.

“You start to doubt yourself after so many medical experts tell you there’s nothing wrong with you,” she said. After a hysterectomy in 1976, Maderios learned that fibroid tumors in her uterus had been the source of her pain. She said learning her pain was real — and physical — “made all the difference in the world.”

Why women’s pain complaints often aren’t taken seriously

During a 33-hour labor with her first child in 2011, Anushay Hossain, 42, of D.C., opted for epidural pain relief but said she still felt it all — every contraction, every cramp and every dismissal of her pain by her medical team. The doctor reassured her that she was getting the maximum dosage of pain medication.

In fact, she wasn’t getting any at all. She said her epidural had slipped out. By the time the error was caught, she was shaking uncontrollably and in need of an emergency Caesarean section, she said. “There’s a pain gap, but there’s also a credibility gap,” said Hossain, author of “The Pain Gap: How Sexism and Racism in Healthcare Kill Women.” “Women are not believed about their bodies —period.”

This pain gap may stem, in part, from the fact that women have historically been excluded from medical research. It wasn’t until 2016 that the National Institutes of Health (NIH) required sex to be considered as a biological variable in most studies it funded. “We’re making progress,” said David Thomas, special adviser to the director of NIH’s Office of Research on Women’s Health. “But we do have a long way to go because there’s this whole institutional approach to doing research — pain and beyond — where it tends to be male-focused.”

Nearly 95 percent of U.S. medical school students said instruction on sex and gender differences in medicine should be included in curriculums, according to a 2015 survey. But only 43 percent said their curriculum had helped them understand those differences and only 34.5 percent said they felt prepared to manage them in a health-care setting.

“It is changing, but it’s changing very slowly,” said Janice Werbinski, immediate past president of the American Medical Women’s Association and chair of the mentorship committee of the association’s Sex and Gender Health Collaborative.

How women can advocate for better pain care

It took decades to solve the mystery of Maureen Woods’s chronic pain. Woods, 64, of Myersville, Md., started having joint pain in her teens and, over the years, told dozens of doctors her pain was “debilitating,” she said. Some told her it was all in her head. In 2017, she was diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a connective tissue disorder often causing loose joints, dislocations and chronic pain. She said women who are not being heard should keep advocating for themselves. “You have to go with your gut — something is wrong and I need to find a doctor who can figure it out,” she said. Marjorie Jenkins, dean of the University of South Carolina School of Medicine Greenville, urged women against feeling pressured to accept an “everything is normal” non-diagnosis. “If your provider does not appear to be listening to you or believing what you’re saying, then you need a new provider,” Jenkins said. “You are the client, you are the customer and you are the owner of your health.”

Women can also take a family member, friend or other support person who can corroborate their stories, said Alyson McGregor, an emergency medicine professor at the University of South Carolina School of Medicine Greenville and author of the book “Sex Matters: How Male-Centric Medicine Endangers Women’s Health and What We Can Do About It.” Particularly in emergency departments, she said, there can be an inherent bias. “There’s this assumption that women are emotional and they’re anxious and that that’s the main issue,” she said.

[offender42085]

Post 1302

Frankie E Bybee, Florida inmate S42207, born 1970, incarceration intake November 2017 at age 47, scheduled for release July 2025

Exploitation of Elderly or Disabled Person, Fraud Use of Personal Identification

In January 2021, a former Sarasota County deputy whose sentence was partly reversed was resentenced.

Frank Bybee appeared frail and visibly shaking as he entered court in a wheelchair. He made an emotional plea to Judge Donald H. Mason: “I want to apologize to Marcia Sohl. She should never have had to go through any of this, the court’s distress. I want to apologize to my profession. The Sheriff’s Office is top notch, one of the best in the state of Florida. I used to work with (Assistant State Attorney and prosecutor) Karen Fraivillig. I’m sure it was hard for her and personal to come after me. I apologize for what it’s done to my family and my marriage, my three boys.”

Assistant Public Defender Marc Gilman said Bybee has had two brain surgeries to remove a tumor the size of a grapefruit and a stroke since he was imprisoned in 2017 for crimes against the elderly.

The victim, Marcia Sohl, 82, a former New York City teacher, died in July 2019.

Despite arguments that his health was declining because of poor medical care in prison, Judge Mason resentenced Bybee to 10 years in prison for exploitation of the elderly and 10 years probation for three counts of computer crimes.

Bybee will receive credit for time served on seven counts of fraudulent use of identification information, and five years probation on a count of fraudulent use of identification information. 

"I'm happy the judge took his medical condition into consideration," Assistant Public Defender Marc Gilman said. "I'm happy he got a little time off his sentence. That shows sometimes things can work out in good ways. I understand he still needs to be punished. That's part of what the system is designed to do."

In November 2017, Bybee was sentenced to 15 years in prison for 13 felonies that included kidnapping, exploitation of elderly, three counts of computer fraud and eight counts of fraudulent use of information.

But in an opinion filed by Second District Appeals Judge Susan Rothstein-Youakim in May 2020, Bybee’s kidnapping conviction was reversed. Rothstein-Youakim said Bybee received ineffective assistance from his defense attorneys. Their failure to move for a judgment of acquittal when there were serious concerns about evidence is reviewable on appeal, the judge said.

The charges against Bybee arose out of his relationship with the then 79-year-old woman and covered a period of about three months. He was sent to her house Oct. 16, 2016, because she was threatening suicide. She was transported to the hospital and involuntarily committed under the Baker Act. Bybee stayed to pray with her, and they exchanged cell phone numbers.

The woman and Bybee began communicating regularly. Over the next few months, the deputy came to her house to do chores such as painting and minor repairs.

As the woman’s health began to decline, she was admitted to the hospital more than once and spent time in rehabilitation facilities, according to court documents.

By December 2016, their relationship had soured.

The woman called the Sheriff’s Office twice to complain about Bybee’s involvement in her life. The agency told him not to have further contact with her.

After interviewing the woman, the Sheriff’s Office opened an internal affairs investigation of Bybee to determine if he was engaging in an inappropriate relationship with someone with whom he had been involved in an official capacity, court documents stated.

Investigators found that Bybee repeatedly accessed the woman’s AOL account and emails, accessed her financial information, accessed her PayPal account and withdrew money using her debit card.

On Dec. 29, after Bybee was told to cease his contact with the woman, she was once again Baker Acted. While evidence exists that Bybee sent a message from the woman’s email account that set in motion law enforcement’s response to her home, deputies and medical staff at the hospital made the decision to Baker Act the woman based on their observations.

“Both the responding deputies and the hospital staff were statutorily authorized to make the determinations that they made,” Rothstein-Youakim wrote.

Assistant Public Defender Karen M. Kinney, who handled Bybee’s appeal, called state prosecutors’ assertions that there was kidnapping a refutable “theory.” However, Bybee’s counsel, John Lakin and Ronald Kurpiers, did not raise an issue with the charge at the right time, she said.

Fraivillig, who represented the state during Bybee’s trial in October 2017, wanted his sentence to remain the same at 15 years for four second-degree felonies. She said the original judgment was a “merciful sentence.”

Sarasota County Sheriff Tom Knight said at the original trial that Deputy Frankie Bybee had befriended the victim, a 79-year-old Sarasota woman, while responding to a service call.

Knight said when the woman entrusted Bybee -- an 18-year agency veteran and married father of three -- with her dog, whom the deputy sold the dog through Craigslist. The dog was reunited with the woman.

Knight said at the time, Bybee was placed on administrative leave after the deputy’s fingerprint was found on checks totaling $65,000 that the victim said had been fraudulently signed.

Bybee will need constant medical care and CT scans for the rest of his life.

4l

[heatherbejeweled]

This is me trying to get my nieces story out there in time for our trip to Miami for the eras tour. Bailey will be at the Miami Florida show on 10/18 with me and my sister Crissy (her mom). She was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor in 2019 when she was just 7 years old. She went through chemo for 2 years. She has gone through port surgeries and countless other procedures and treatments. Her wish at the time was to meet Taylor, but that wasn’t going to be possible due to Covid. We will be sitting in section 315, row 1, seats 7,8,9. Her mom and I hope for her to be chosen to receive the 22 hat. It would be such a dream come true for Bailey, after all this is her lucky year…she is turning 13!! I am posting in hopes that @taylorswift and her team @taylornation will see this post and consider Bailey. If you are at the show and see Bailey, give her a hug and trade friendship bracelets with her. Let’s make her first concert ever and her first Taylor Swift concert one to remember! Please share, comment and tag Taylor and her team. Let’s keep this post active for Bailey! I know my fellow swifties will show support and help us make this happen for Bay 💜

[sirfrogsworth]

I have two best friends.

Which is not an apt description.

Best friends is too small a term to describe what they are to me.

Chosen family. Ride or die. People I would drop everything for if they needed me. People I would protect with my last breath. People who know embarrassing details they will take to the grave.

Now that my mom and dad are gone, they are my lifelong companions. I trust them with my life.

I talk about Katrina all the time. But I tend to keep my friendship with Delling a little more private. I don't love either of them any more or less. There is no ranking system for my besties. But Katrina and I are basically like an old school comedy duo, so we have a lot more shenanigans to share. Shenanigans are easy content for a blog.

Delling is disabled like me. We have a lot of the same consequences from our health issues. Extreme fatigue most of all. Delling was unable to get disability benefits though, so they have to work a 9 to 5 job. And it exhausts them to the limit. They often will work and go straight to bed. If it were possible, I would talk to Delling every single day like I do with Katrina, but circumstances don't always allow for that.

So we have less shenanigans, but the same amount of love.

I'm also a little more protective of Delling at the moment. They are trans and for some reason a large portion of the "very online" people have decided to hate my best friend. And sometimes I worry about drawing attention towards Delling from the few trolls who still hate follow me.

Delling is almost always in my thoughts when I write about trans issues or argue with transphobes on Twitter. But I refuse to invoke "I HAVE A TRANS FRIEND" most of the time. For one, I don't advocate for trans people just because I have a trans friend. Though it does make the emotions I feel very intense sometimes. A lot of tears and anger. But I also don't want to sound like those conservatives who justify everything they say because they have a friend from a marginalized group.

There are certainly times people will be like, "Why would you mutilate someone and cut off healthy breasts??" and I wanna be like "Delling is much happier without boobies and I can see a huge difference since their surgery and you don't know what the fuck you are talking about with that mutilation nonsense. FIGHT ME!"

But I don't think I need to announce my bestie's private top surgery details just to win an argument on Twitter.

I'm just really happy for them and I am glad it helped. They struggled to get the surgery for so long and fought like hell to make it happen. People acting like it is this horrible thing make me so angry. When it finally happened it was... a relief. A weight lifted off their shoulders... err... chest.

After my dad died, Katrina was unable to get away from Florida to help me out. She was dealing with her disabled dog, Lucy, and her end-of-life care. That just isn't something you can ask someone else to look after for a few days. So Delling got permission to do remote work and drove down from the top of the country to help me. They came on the weekend of my dad's service and stayed a few days after to help me get the house sorted.

I'm honestly not sure I could have made it through that experience on my own. During the service, Delling just clung to my side as I tried to act normal when long-lost relatives offered similar grief platitudes over and over. And I kept introducing Delling and saying they were from the wrong state for some reason. I do actually know where Delling lives, but I guess my brain was not functioning in that situation.

Delling also helped me finish my eulogy literally hours before I gave it. And they helped me print out a bunch of photos of my dad that almost no one looked at. I'm so glad we spent all morning frantically doing that. *sigh* Though I'm hoping the photos will come in handy when I do an online memorial for my parents, so it was not all for naught.

There was a moment when a certain someone gave an impromptu speech at the end of the service about how she let my dad see his granddaughter for a couple of hours a year ago and how special that was, and Delling tightly squeezed my hand to help channel away my anger.

Ya know, those totally normal *yearly* visits all grandpas get to have.

Sometimes friends just know, ya know?

Delling and I also revamped the kitchen for my needs, which I have already turned into absolute chaos. And we had a fun shopping trip to Sam's where I bought tender beef jerky that was the toughest to chew jerky I've ever experienced. I guess the "tender" on the label was sarcastic.

All I know is that casually shopping with my friend was this beautiful bonding adventure where we just got to hang out and be together. It's weird the experiences that stick with you. Trying to pick out wholesale sushi with my bestie will be a treasured memory for the rest of my days. And I think that is kinda perfect in its simplicity.

There are not enough thank yous in the world for what Delling did for me. I wish they could have stayed a few months instead of a few days. I miss having them here in person. But they had a foster bunny to take care of and a job and a family. So I had to give Delling back to the top of the country.

I just wanted to write this in appreciation of my other best bestie. I love them more than anything. And I can't tell you all how special it feels to have someone who will drop everything, drive across the country (through tornado weather, no less), and keep you company during a very lonely time.

[dustedmagazine]

Mope Grooves — Box of Dark Roses (12XU)

Box of Dark Roses presents the final 27 songs written, arranged and recorded by trans activist and musician stevie (Pohlman), a massive two-LP set that showcases her DIY art, passionate engagement and close links to other trans advocates, poets and revolutionaries.

Mope Grooves emerged in Portland, Oregon in the late teens, with a brash but vulnerable guitar rock sound and a message, from the beginning, about gender identity, inclusion and mental health. Their early albums, Joy and Vanished from 2017 and 2018 respectively, bristled with punk energy, with shouted anthems and loose-slung, infectious melodies. Dusted’s Jason Gioncontere called Desire, the band’s fourth album, “their most cohesive set yet,” late in 2019. And Portland’s Ben Parrish who caught them early and fell hard, wrote of an early show, “And Mope Grooves—Pohlman’s band—broke my brain. Imagine if somebody ran records by The Raincoats, The Clean, Beat Happening, Tyvek, and Marine Girls through a wood chipper and glued the pieces into a new super-record.”

Musically, Box of Dark Roses is more keyboard- and synthesizer-based than Mope Grooves’ earlier album, an uneasy sweetness percolating in its gentle melodies. The soft pretty songs are, in some ways, the most disturbing. “Forever Is a Long Time” pits tootling organ riffs against a sing-song melody, but sharpens the edge with rattling, off-kilter drumming. “Aileen” floats hauntingly graceful vocals over space-video-game pinging and rushing drums. “They’ll tell you you’re a criminal for paying them back in kind, but in the dark, in the wild, in the heart of the night, it is right to fight,” sings band member Lee. It’s a bracing sentiment in a song dedicated to Aileen Wuornos, a sex worker from Florida who killed seven of her clients, purportedly in self-defense. And “I’m Tired All the Time,” with its music box chimes, spiraling fiddle and slapping, just-behind-the-beat percussion, is a lullaby or a suicide note, depending on how you hear it.

Politics turn more explicit in the tracks with extensive spoken word incorporated. Marilyn Buck, the poet and May 19 Communist organization revolutionary best known for freeing Assata Shakur from the Clinton Correctional Facility for Women in New Jersey, speaks on a handful of cuts, including the opener “Controlled Burn” and “Here Comes the Moon.” The song “Continuity and Intensity,” tells the story of the Black Liberation Army’s Kuwasi Balagoon, who, when put on trial, declared, “We have a right to resist, to expropriate money and arms, to kill the enemy of our people, to bomb, and do whatever else aids us in winning, and we will win. The foundation of the revolution must rest on the bones of the oppressors.” The song “Dora” recites a detailed account of gender oppression in Weimar, Germany and the suppression of Magnus Hirschfeld’s Institute for Sexual Research.  The ratio of polemic to hook is pretty high on these tracks, but these were issues that mattered to stevie, and, as such, they belong here.

Box of Dark Roses was made near the end of stevie’s life (she killed herself in 2024), after a long struggle against gender dysphoria, physical and mental health issues, poverty and sporadic homelessness. In a lengthy, revealing essay included as liner notes, she writes, “I funded the recording process and the deposit on my surgeries by submitting my body to hyper-exploitation. I worked vanilla jobs 40-70 hours a week most of the time before relying increasingly on the informal economy. I was frequently in severe pain and losing work from chronic disabling illnesses that are aggravated by intense labor.”

And yet, though her suffering was real, she never lost sight of how much worse off others could be, particularly black and brown trans people. Before her death she stipulated that all profits from Box of Dark Roses should go to “gender marginalized survivors incarcerated as punishment for defending themselves, either directly to their fundraisers/commissary funds or thru the Survived and Punished NY mutual aid fund.”   This is a difficult, important record, a whole different experience from Mope Grooves’ earlier lo-fi garage albums, but well worth making time for.

Jennifer Kelly

[lurlur]

Reasons to root for Vegas in the Stanley Cup final:

The team all genuinely like each other

They are super cute

Everyone likes goalies and we have SO MANY OF THEM!

A Stanley Cup win in his first post season is exactly what Jack Eichel deserves

Our captain, Mark Stone, also deserves the win after the last two years of injuries, surgeries, recovery

There's a really high occurrence of brain weasels in the Vegas locker room

Like, not to diagnose strange men through a screen, but if these guys are all neurotypical I'll eat my hat

Unlike Florida, all of our guys wore their pride night jerseys

Seriously, you would rather root for a team with the homophobic Staals? I didn't think so

Consider that I love them and it would make me really happy?

[kiradical]

TW: self harm mention, medical trauma, allude to abuse, surgical mention, emergency medical mention

Scars

Just under a year ago I found myself with a swollen jaw, in immense awful pain (so bad I literally couldn’t function), unable to eat, losing my ability to speak. I made the scary decision to go to the ER. I figured I’d maybe get some fluids and painkillers and be sent home with a hefty round of antibiotics. Boy, was I wrong…

I did not expect to be told I was being admitted and that I’d need surgery.

And I certainly did not expect that shortly after that information was delivered to me, that my throat would further start to close, blocking my airway, and being rushed into emergency surgery.

I won’t go into detail about my emergency surgery experience. It’s hard for me to relive. All of this is. But that’s the worst of it. I still can’t face the bag of clothes they cut off me, which moved from Florida with me and is somewhere in my storage unit. Waiting for the day I can pull them out and look at them. I’m hoping to make something with them. Repurpose them. Making/creating is often how I *deal* with things.)

They gave me a tracheotomy, and put me on oxygen. And then they removed the infection that had nearly ended my life. Yes. Nearly ended my life. And then a few days later, in prep for another surgery to go back in to make good and sure they got it all, I nearly died again when I was given a drug I didn’t know I was allergic to.

For two weeks I was in a hospital bed, and alone. After about a week the oxygen was done, other than breathing treatments. Towards the end of the second week, the trach removed and the stoma bandaged to begin healing. Utterly, utterly alone. Everyone I love, and who loves me, was miles and miles away. Unable to be with me. Unable to come hold my hand.

But… I survived. I made it home. I made it through recovery. I got myself to my check ups. I cleaned and bandaged my stoma so well and carefully that my care team was impressed at my first check in—the only issue being an allergic reaction I was having to the adhesive (unavoidable in this case). They sent me home saying I no longer needed to bandage it.

I. Survived. I am a survivor. My body is riddled with scars, inside and out. Proving to the world that I am a survivor. In the face of pain and cruelty and certain doom and even death, I keep fucking going.

I have scars on my arms that are self inflicted. Super faint scars on one arm when I fell into a thorn bush playing Predator/Prey at a 6th grade camp trip. A scar on my ankle from my beloved childhood cat. I have a bump on my head from tripping and being dragged a bit when the dog I was walking took off after a squirrel. My legs are covered in scars from my years as a tomboy as a kid—climbing trees, skinned knees, falling off my bike. Even scars from bug bites from battles with blood sucking pests. But those are only surface level.

My heart and brain are also riddled with scars. And those are harder to manage and accept. And they are harder to see, but they still mark me as a survivor. Abuse, bullying, poverty, trauma after trauma. But I keep going. Still. They make me an anxious mess. They make me insecure as shit. I’m… a mess of a girl. But I try. I keep trying. I keep trying to spread kindness, to come out of the shell I’ve made for myself (because I was never meant to live in a shell and it always feels too small), to heal myself in the face of absolute hopelessness. I won’t ever let what I’ve gone through harden my heart or make me turn my back on the world. That’s never been who I am. Shit knocks me down, but I always get back up. Even if it takes a while.

But back to the scars on my neck. I’m still trying to come to terms with them. To be ok with this being how I look now. I feel like they make me uglier somehow. I don’t show them off. I don’t hide them, because they are hard to hide, but certainly in pics I’m not trying to draw attention to them. But they are a part of me. They show me how I am. (Allegedly) a warrior princess who never stops fighting for herself (or at least that’s what a friend said).

No matter what I have faced in my 37 years, I keep going. But I’m getting so tired of merely surviving. But for now; keep fighting. Keep surviving. I won’t be laying my weapons or armor down anytime soon. I want to live.

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Wanna hear something interesting? There's Been So Many People Harmed By Dobbs That a Detailed List of Their Cases Exceeds the Tumblr Text Block Limit. The Complete List Won't Save in One Post Anymore. So Here's Part 1:

Marlena Stell had an incomplete miscarriage. That’s when the fetus starts to miscarry but doesn’t exit the body. She was forced to wait 2 weeks with a dead fetus inside her before she got treatment.

Amanda Zurawski had premature dilation. The pregnancy was previability, and the fetus would not survive. But it still had a heartbeat, so she had to wait before getting an abortion. She went into septic shock.

Mylissa Farmer’s water broke early. Too early for the baby to survive. The hospital said it couldn’t treat her. She reached out to her senator…who referred her to an antiabortion crisis pregnancy. She reached out to her state attorney general…who simply never got back to her. She had to travel out of state for an abortion.

The 10-year-old from Ohio was fucking raped, and she had to go out of state for an abortion. “Prolifers” said she should have been forced to give birth.

The 16-year-old from Florida was sentenced to parenthood by a judge who thought her grades showed she was too irresponsible for an abortion…but clearly responsible enough to raise a child…with no job or parents to support her.

The 15-year-old from Florida was raped and had to leave the state for an abortion.

Nancy Davis was pregnant with a headless fetus. She had to travel out of state for an abortion.

Elizabeth Weller’s water broke early. Previability. But the fetus had a heartbeat, so Elizabeth had to wait for infection to set in before she got an abortion.

Anya Cook had her water break early. But she had to lose almost half her blood before getting treated.

Kelly Shannon had a fetus with multiple health defects. Even if it survived to 9 months, it likely wouldn’t survive labor. She had to travel out of state for an abortion.

Jessica Bernardo’s fetus would have either died before birth or lived a few hours or days after birth. Jessica became very ill…but not ill enough to qualify for an abortion. So she had to travel out of state for one.

Kierstan Hogan’s water broke early. 19 weeks. The doctors couldn’t perform an abortion. She was told that if she left the hospital to seek treatment in another state, it could be used as evidence against her in a court of law. She had to give birth to her stillborn son in a bathroom.

Taylor Edwards had to leave the state to get an abortion for a nonviable fetus that was risking her health.

Kylie Beaton’s fetus had a fatal brain condition, but she was denied an abortion.

Samantha Casiano had a fetus missing most of the brain and skull. She couldn’t afford to travel out of state, so she was forced to give birth. She vomitted while recounting this in court. Forced birthers said they should have made her wipe it up and compared her to a dog.

Lauren Van Vleet had to leave the state to get an abortion for a nonviable fetus that was risking her health.

Austin Dennard had a fetus with ancephaly. She had to travel out of state for an abortion.

Lauren Miller was pregnant with twins, but one twin had a condition that endangered her life and the life of the other twin. She had to leave the state to have fetal reduction surgery.

Jaci Statton had a molar pregnancy. That’s cancerous. She was told to wait in the parking lot until she was sick enough to get an abortion.

Kristina Cruickshank had blood-filled cysts. She had to wait 5 days to get an abortion for a nonviable pregnancy.

Tara George’s fetus would not survive outside the womb. Giving birth would risk Tara’s life. She was forced to travel out of state for an abortion.

Kailee DeSpain’s fetus would be stillborn or die shortly after birth. Continuing the pregnancy would endanger Kailee’s life. She had to travel out of state for an abortion.

Deborah Dorbert’s fetus was nonviable. They knew that if he was born, he would live a short, painful life. Deborah wanted an abortion to prevent his pain, but she was denied one. So she gave birth to Milo. He lived 99 minutes. As his parents watched him die, he made hiccupping sounds. They soon realized that was him struggling to breathe. May every forced birther hear that sound in their dreams.

Mayron Hollis had to get a fucking hysterectomy because doctors didn’t give her an abortion.

Gabriella Gonzalez had to travel out of state to abort her abusive boyfriend’s fetus. When she returned, he murdered her. Forced birthers commented on a video showing her mother and sister sobbing that fathers had rights too, that it was her fault for being with the man, that she should have just swallowed.

Kristen Anya’s water broke early. She had to go into sepsis before being treated.

Heather Maberry was forced to travel out of state to abort a headless fetus.

Melissa Novak was miscarrying. She should have been given both mifepristone and misoprostol. But she was only given misoprostol. You know because how much litigation is going on around mifepristone. She went into septic shock.

Kayla Smith had to leave the state to get an abortion for a nonviable fetus that was risking her health.

Lauren Christensen’s fetus had organ failure, which would likely lead to Lauren’a organs failing. She had to leave the state for an abortion.

Beth Long’s fetus’ organs were outside its body. But her insurance doesn’t cover abortions that aren’t to save the life of the mother. Good old Hyde amendment! So she had to find an out of state hospital that gave them a discounted rate. When her husband wrote to DeWine, the same DeWine that once thought ectopic pregnancies could be saved, DeWine took months to reply, and never bothered to learn Beth’s name.

Anabely Lopes had to leave the state to abort a fetus with a fatal birth defect.

Christina Zielke was miscarrying. Despite filling diapers with blood, she was sent home. She passed the fuck out and needed to call paramedics.

Kaitlyn Joshua was miscarrying. Her jeans were soaked with blood. But the fetus had a heart beat. No D&C for Kaitlyn, she had to miscarry at home.

Lauren Hall had to leave the state to get an abortion for a nonviable fetus that was risking her health.

Carmen Broesder had to experience a 19-day miscarriage because of delays in treatment. She documented it on tiktok.

Jill Hartle had to leave the state to get an abortion for a nonviable fetus.

Brittany Vidrine had to leave the state to abort a headless fetus.

The Jane Doe had an ectopic pregnancy rupture after an anti-abortion pregnancy center told her she had a normal pregnancy

Emily Doe, whose fetus had lungs that wouldn’t develop and had no kidneys. The pregnancy had the potential to endanger her health…but it wasn’t endangering it yet. So she had to flee Missouri for an abortion. .

Victoria Doe from Louisiana, who had to go to Oregon

Ashley Brandt was carrying twins, but one had no skull. Continuing the pregnancy would have been dangerous to her and the other twin. But she had to leave the state for fetal reduction surgery.

Anna Zargarian’s membranes ruptured prematurely. She was at risk of sepsis and hemorrhaging. But Texas didn’t give a fuck. So she had to leave the state for an abortion.

Reverend and Doctor Love Holt was pregnant with an unwanted pregnancy. She tried to self-manage her abortion due restrictions in her state, but she ended up hemorrhaging. She had to go to the emergency room.

Michelle Mitchenor needed to go out of state to abort a fetus with no kidneys.

Brooke and Billy High are teenagers. Brooke wanted an abortion, but laws prevented it. Now they have twins and are trapped in an unhappy marriage.

Ashley from Mississippi was raped and forced to give birth to her rapist’s child. She’s 13.