#Physical recovery

[aghealth]

AG Healthcare, Inc., a leading home care agency in Takoma Park, Maryland, recognizes the importance of integrating mental and emotional well-being into our comprehensive home health care services. Therapy can be a powerful tool for individuals receiving home health care, promoting physical recovery, a sense of emotional well-being, and a renewed zest for life.

[ghostjelliess]

I'm so sick of being the "interesting" patient to various general healthcare people. Dentist, orthodontist, oral surgeon, optometrist, general doc, everyone. They all gotta say something about how interesting my body is, as if I don't know that's code for "fucked up."

What's it like going anywhere for normal human maintenance with a working vehicle? I wouldn't know, I was born the modern equivalent of a 1957 amateur restoration project: guts out. It's only been wear and tear downhill since. But at least as an adult they stopped bringing all their friends in to look at the anomalies on the big projector screens in front of me so I could hyper fixate on all their big science words before bed for months.

Now when they bring their friends in, when they video conference and hold their phones to my face, flash-on, I call them my team and am much less embarrassed cus I know how weird all bodies are. But still, it must be nice to have been born with a make/model that matches your generation, or I guess to have had the expert mechanic to restore everything well, the investor to keep the timeline on-track.

Jokes on me though, cus there was no normalized procedure before, I was part of the experiment, I was lucky to be in the later batches that survived well enough to be handed over to normal doctors. This is good, I am grateful, but it's a weird third-culture kind of intersection. I guess in this metaphor I'm actually a UFO spaceship that the generalist-specialiats are a little confused and excited by. Cus the oral surgeon didn't even blink at the trauma lines in my mandible—man spends every single early morning surgery slot reconstructing spaceships, was not phased. Everyone else though? Everyone else gets a little too excited, and I'm just feeling a little self conscious about that today.

I guess this is why people stick with one person, cus then you only have to explain once. Unfortunately, explaining once is not an option in the New England healthcare landscape, cus even the optometrist I've had for six years forgets everything cus he has a billion patients. I'm known as "special hazel girl" and it doesn't sound weird in his old man accent, but we both know the special is just another word for interesting, and they both mean shaken, not stirred. I don't call him "my optometrist" either. I do, however, know his name.

Anyway, I have my first general dentist appointment next week after three years of reconstructing from a traumatic injury (as in: caused by blunt force trauma) that happened when I was ten. I'm never going to be able to not explain, no matter how much I look okay now, no matter how faint or hidden the massive scars become, or how many times I circle this country like a drain, because they're written on my bones, and sometimes it's embarrassing, but mostly I like it. No matter how I grow and recover to overcome twenty years of duct tape and WD-40 handcrafted poverty-solutions, the evidence remains. The suffering endured is still visible, but rather than a fresh bruise or a new line of stitches patched with those stupidly fat white square bandages, it's flexible, maybe even wise. I can think of myself as a classic and move on the road with ease, and maybe it's not so bad that the enthusiasts stop at gas stations to applaud the reconstruction, and maybe it's not the worst when amateurs ask what happened in that surreal gawk. Maybe it just means I'm still alive enough to endure the attention and aware enough to feel a little embarrassed by it. At least the guts are on the inside now, and doing pretty okay given the mileage.

But twenty years is a long time to run a malfunction, and now I'm learning what all these new dash lights mean. It's overwhelming. The stories are anticlimactic, the mental trauma recovered long before the physical, maybe numbed into acceptance, and caused different kinds of staccato bruises as I dragged myself up ladders. But now, the healthy and stable results I'm currently experiencing (not done, but almost there) gave me a functioning cloaked spaceship, and continue to confirm everything I knew. Angry road rage-y people have passed by my whole life while people around me said things like "that wasn't because of you, you can't even tell, it looks fine, if it still hurts, take some more Motrin," and now it doesn't hurt and it does look fine and you actually can't tell much if I don't want you to, and people don't road rage past me anymore.

I'm mad about it. I'm mad they lied to me, I'm mad I knew they were lying, and I'm mad I was right. It doesn't matter if the physical recovery allowed me to get up to speed and move more confidently or if the cloaking worked and people stopped rubbernecking past me, either way, my daily experience in the world is drastically changed. It's overwhelming and underwhelming in aggravatingly equal measure.

Except that when I go into the doctor or dentist or optometrist, I still become interesting and special. Maybe someday that will be a comfort, but right now it's still an anxiety-inducing irritation. Not because I don't want to be interesting or special, I was born a spaceship, it's fine, but because of the endless novacaine needles that follow, the exhausting choices to intentionally mutilate and endure pain because of improper healing and patches on patchjobs that have molded into me for decades and the other damages of coping for so long; to face the consequences of choices made for me, to trust the medical professionals standing over me despite a history of shoddy snake-oil promises by others wearing the same coats and charging half the price. I'm angry that people lie, to their children and themselves and each other in the name of comfort, and they never have to endure the repercussions. No matter how curious I am, I won't know the whole story of my own anomalies, and it's exhausting to walk into the same offices and be eroded with the same tidal questions: why is it like this? Why did they do that? Why didn't they try this? Why did this happen?

I don't know. I'm just a spaceship. Maybe this isn't even my home. Please don't hurt me if you don't have to. Please let me be mundane and uninteresting in the ways that don't matter to me.

But also, thank you.

[mkhealthcaremedical]

Imagine being hit with a sudden weakness in your body, confusion overwhelming your thoughts. That’s often how a stroke announces its arrival. Understanding this condition is crucial, and it’s something neurologists study closely.

[wellhealthhub]

Navigating the Remarkable Postpartum Journey: An Exhaustive and Insightful Guide

Embarking on the postpartum period, often hailed as the “fourth trimester,” propels individuals into a profoundly transformative and multifaceted chapter following childbirth. This epoch is awash with a cascade of physical, emotional, and psychological shifts, both for the nascent parent and the newborn. Amidst the undeniable exuberance of nurturing a new life, the postpartum journey unfurls with…

[perdamian]

hey guys… we all know that it’s okay for mithrun to have a caretaker for the rest of his life, right? that even after he heals and potentially regains his desires he will probably still need support?? that the goal of healing is not to become a “normal person”, but to build skills to navigate the world in a way that accommodates your disability??? that relying on the people around you is not a failure, but proof of your desire to live????

[neuroticboyfriend]

relapse is not a moral failure. substance use and addiction are not a moral failure. mental illness is not a moral failure. disability is not a moral failure. you have a health condition. you are struggling. recovery is not mean to be perfect, and if you're not in recovery, surviving is good too. i'm glad you're here, and i hope life treats you better soon. please know this is not your fault. you do not need to feel guilty over your own health.

[chantireviews]

A FRACTION STRONGER: Finding Belief and Possibility in Life's Impossible Moments by Mark Berridge - Memoirs, Motivational, Personal Transformation Self-Help

Mark Berridge knows the difficult path to recovery, both physical and mental. In A Fraction Stronger, he shares what he's learned, for those who need guidance. Highly recommended!

Author and businessman Mark Berridge, through the lived experience of himself and others after traumatic injuries, gained a wide understanding of overcoming disaster, and how to rehabilitate not only one’s body but mind and spirit as well. In sharing his wisdom, A Fraction Stronger is a must-read for anyone facing physical, emotional, or mental barriers. On March 10, 2019, Berridge, due to embark…

[spinzolliii]

People forget that recovering from an injury takes so much energy. It’s not just pain, but a constant exhaustion as your body dedicates all of its resources to repairing itself. This can last weeks or months.

The same is true in the aftermath of a severe illness. You’re not necessarily “well” after the infection passes. Your body has to recover from the damage done by the infection. It leaves a person weak and lethargic well after they’ve “recovered” from their illness.

So, imagine a Whumpee being forced to work again immediately after an illness or injury.

[sparrow-the-tired-lesbian]

here’s a friendly reminder for survivors of any sort of abuse that

It wasnt your fault

You are strong

You didnt ask for it

No one gets to invalidate your experience

If someone invalidates your experience, you get to dump their ass

[this-smile-is-real]

Hi, I’m Hannah.

I am trying to build my life after 49 hospital admissions in 8 years. After 20+ years of trauma, an eating disorder etc. I have diagnoses of cPTSD, Anorexia, Fibromyalgia, Functional Neurological Disorder and my large bowel no longer works. I have been on the disability pension since 2019 but have increasing medical costs, increase in rent, more and more specialists and appointments weekly, fortnightly and monthly. I currently have 11 people on my team but can only afford to see 2 regularly.

I am needing help financially that I can’t find elsewhere. I am doing all that I can and am also currently studying at university but have become so overwhelmed, in thousands of dollars debt and am always behind in bills. I would be so grateful for any donations. Thank you

[senseearly]

One thing that I always think about post-dungeon recovery Mithrun who got home is that people were probably used to talking about him while he was still in the room.

Misiril's squad used to that when he was still in their care. Questions towards him were quickly redirected to others when he wouldn't (couldn't) answer their questions -- where was the rest of his squad? what happened to the demon? how did he even end up like this? Asking or talking to Mithrun is a pointless effort. So they stopped doing that.

And Mithrun, he's gotten used to this set-up, not like he could bring himself to care.

When his caretakers and visiting family started doing it, he continued to be apathetic to them (although, the numbness from this large, gaping hole in his chest makes him think that he used to care).

The caretakers would do their duties, but behind his back, they would probably gossip about Mithrun's chances of recovery. Others think there is still hope, a lot of them think this is going to be permanent. Which is good, at least to their business, because Mithrun's brother pays a lot to make sure he is alive. And Mithrun...is not in the state to do that himself. They at least try to whisper when they're around Mithrun, keep their voices low or mention him under an alias or a codename. But Mithrun knows they are talking about him. He is the elephant in the room.

His visiting family is less nice. They take one look at him and weep -- not out of worry, or pity, or sadness -- but of shame. There is no way they can show him to others anymore, they bemoan. There is no way he can represent himself as a member of the House of Kerensil, they cry. He's just like his brother! And, once upon a time, that comment would've hurt Mithrun, a stab right into his heart. But all he feels is a gaping numbness that cannot be filled (It used to be full, he can't help but think).

I wish he had died, someone from his family said while he was within earshot. And Mithrun, barely alive but still breathing, cannot bring himself to care.

The only person that I think would be delighted to see him alive, at least, is his brother. I can see him visiting Mithrun whenever he can (at least in elf time terms). Talking to him as if he can respond, asking him about things when Mithrun can't bring himself to answer. At some point, Mithrun's brother stopped talking to him when he visits; instead, he would just sit next to Mithrun and watch the birds and the flowers. He would drink tea and Mithrun would do nothing.

But once in a while, Mithrun's brother would tell him, I'm glad you came home, I'm glad you're still alive.

[bakedbakermom]

The amount of self-fatphobia I encounter in my female friends regarding holiday treats is too damn high and it pisses me off. Twice this week I have told friends that it's okay to eat more in the winter (or when the fuck ever) because we are mammals and that's what we're supposed to do and both of them were like, "Teehee oh that's a great excuse!" And I'm like NO IT'S TRUE your body is responding to rhythms deeper than our modern concept of shame and it's absolutely fine to honor them and listen to your body! You don't need to generate some excuse in order to justify eating and being hungry and enjoying food.

I have had to do so much self-work regarding food and permission to eat and learning to be okay with enjoying food beyond its purpose as mere fuel. Like that was such a huge part of my recovery. My nutritionist once held my hand while I ate cheesecake and cried. And every time I encounter (milder versions of) those same food-phobic fat-shaming feelings in people I love I want to burn down the whole world because WHY ARE WE MADE TO FEEL LIKE THIS!?

Can we as a society just. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. about dieting and thinness and the morality of certain body shapes and just live in these physical bodies with their needs and desires and cravings!?!??

[sad-leon]

When your greif becomes so overpowering that you break shit, but now you're left empty and with just as much greif as you started with, if not more.

Anyways- guess who was listening to Lost One's Weeping again :D (it was me, i am so normal over that song)

[lefluoritesys]

TW: talk about physical abuse

Friendly reminder that physical abuse isn't just hitting or throwing something at someone. It's also knowing that you are injured and making you walk around for hours. It's putting you through physical labour that is causing you physical harm. Anything they make you do that causes you physical harm is physical abuse. Don't put it in a box. (At least for the sake of your own mental health)

-physical protector & external soother

[punkstylerecovery]

if my body keeps score, will she remember when i grab another blanket to keep her warm? will she remember when i use mobility aids to make things easier for her? will she remember when i put down the blade and take a shower instead? does she recall the days i rest, when i watch our favorite shows and settle in to treat her with all the kindness i'm trying to convince myself we deserve? does she remember the love? does she recall the kindness? does she remember when i run my hands across our wounds and apologize? does she keep score of our healing?

[after-witch]

Something Like Consolation [Yandere Alhaitham x Reader]

Title: Something Like Consolation [Yandere Alhaitham x Reader]

Synopsis: Follow up to this yandere Kaveh & Alhaitham imagine scenario. You don't want any comfort from Kaveh in this moment, but you don't imagine you can get any from Alhaitham, either.

I read this post from @j0succ last night about gentle lies and immediately got an idea for a line of dialogue that solved how I wanted to approach a lil follow up to this scenario. Mostly written on my phone so uhh yeah.

Word count: 1376

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

The sight in the bathroom mirror is a far cry from what you saw only minutes before. Daintily applied makeup, finished off with carefully painted star, are ruined--streaking. Ugly. That’s what you see in the mirror. Splotches of color and red eyes and a face scrunched from bitter sadness. 

You look ugly. Mouth quivering as you fight to keep your sounds in, the blur of Alhaitham behind you, moving to shut the door. 

It’s the soft click of the bathroom door shutting that does you in. And pitiful mouth-pinched sobs that shake your chest become thick, choking cries echo off the panels of the bathroom walls. 

You aren’t hoping for Alhaitham to take you in his arms and rub your back and pull you close to his chest, and he doesn’t. Instead he reaches for one of the cloths hanging on the wall and turns the sink on, the heavy sound of water mingling with your own cries. 

He holds it out. “Wash that off, then we’ll get you changed.” 

The thought of taking that cloth makes your arms feel leaden. 

You look up at him, mouth downturned and pitiful and quivering. 

He sighs, and shakes his head. 

“I’ll wash it off for you. Stay still.” 

And you do, coughing out your cries as he dutifully dips the cloth in water again and again, scrubbing your face with the same methodical firmness that he scrubs the rest of you when he deems you too unruly to bathe yourself. 

If it were Kaveh, you think, he would be using the softest of touches. Cooing in between strokes as he gently wipes the makeup away. Kissing your cheek to calm you down. 

But you don’t want Kaveh right now. Not when he hurt you. Not when he lied to you. And if he lied about this... what else was a lie, then?

The way his fingers nimbly stroked your back when you were upset, the soft downturn of his lips when Alhaitham was verbally berating you for being so disobedient, the sweet kisses tinged with wine from a bar you’ll never be able to set foot in? 

Were they all falsehoods, too? Pretty things he created to calm you and soothe you and shut you up? 

When Alhaitham deems your face clean enough, he pulls away the cloth and drops it in a wicker hamper to be taken care of later. 

“Wait.” You reach out and touch his forearm, your voice is soft and thick. A frog in your throat, but the frog is a heavy chest and broken dreams.

He pauses, and regards you with a frustratingly neutral expression. 

Your tongue unsticks from your mouth and you bite your lip to keep sobs from trembling out, so that you can say something to make him stay. Something that might make you feel better, even, if that can be managed. 

“Kaveh…” You fight for the words. You can’t say anything awful. Not just for your own sake--you can’t possibly thrust Kaveh entirely away, not here--but because you never know when Alhaitham would rather lecture you on proper respect than acknowledge when he or Kaveh has done something awful to you.

“Kaveh lied.” That’s what you decide on. It's a fact, and surely not something that you can get in trouble for saying. "Why... why did he do that?"

Alhaitham sighs. At first, you don’t think he’ll say anything. You think he’ll remove your hand from his arm and go get you dressed and tell you to read a book and be quiet.

But he does speak. And what he says takes you aback.

“He should not have lied to you.” He talks down to you even now, the same way he does when he’s instructing you on what you should be doing that day, or how you should sit or how you should eat. For the moment, it doesn’t bother you, because he's clearly on your side. Your side!

“The moment you asked to go to the festival, he should have told you no.” 

A pause, and his voice lowers. There’s something akin to softness in his tone. Maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe you’re so desperate for sweetness that you’re placing the gentle curves of Kaveh’s voice into the man before you. 

“Letting you get your hopes up like that was very cruel of him.”

And you nod--you nod, for once, agreeing with Alhaitham, and you’re so busy looking downcast that you don’t see the pleasant surprise that flickers in his expression for a moment. 

You don’t think before you move. You just do it. You step forward and wrap your arms around his back, pressing your head against his chest, the same way you do to Kaveh when  you need comfort. Which is often. 

Alhaitham is not one for gentle embraces and soft hugs. But you hear him sigh, an annoyed, resigned thing, and you feel his hand pat your back. Just the once. He doesn’t stroke it or pull you close and cluck and coo, but there’s something comforting about the solid weight of his chest underneath you.

His hand, too, is what breaks you again. You cry pitifully into his chest, turning your face this way and that, getting his clothing wet with hot tears and probably snot that he will make you clean up later.

“I… I…” What do you want to say? What can you say? You think about your outfit, the carefully embroidered flowers, the painfully tight stitching that took you hours upon hours. An outfit you sweat and quite literally bled for, the callused little pinpricks on your finger pads as proof.

“I worked hard on my outfit,” you say, squeezing Alhaitham tighter as your voice gets thinner and pinched. “I really did.” 

You worked hard on it, because it was your ticket to something you wanted, and what was the crux? It was something for you, for once. Not Kaveh. Not Alhaitham. You were going to run around that festival and breathe in the smell from the food stands and ask them to win you prizes and enjoy the exhilarating pounding in your chest from the fireworks at the end of the night. 

Every stitch you made was one step closer to that. Only it wasn’t. Only it was for nothing at all. And now you’re sobbing in a bathroom while Alhaitham listens, letting you cry it out, and what was any of it for? 

You’re about to pull away when Alhaitham hums underneath you. 

“The embroidery was well done.”

Your breath feels like it stops, and there’s a soft, stuttering sort of gasp that escapes your mouth. Alhaitham… never compliments you. Not like that. Not in a way that you can hold onto and carry with you. 

You pull back, sniffling, wiping at your face with your hands as you stare up at him. 

“It… it was?” You gulp down your cries, and your eyes widen, and you want so much from him in this moment that you don’t know what to do.

He nods, and his hands push you away a little, holding onto your arms with his fingers wrapped around your upper arms. Not to get you away from him, but to steady you, you think. To keep you firm in his embrace, and not the other way around.

“Yes. The stitches were remarkably straight. And you managed the flowers without having to redo them.” 

You offer a tearful smile. 

“I-I read about the flower techniques in the book you gave me about sewing, after I asked for some supplies.”

And is that a smile of his own? Aimed at you, no less? It makes you swallow your tears in the same way Kaveh’s kisses might have done. 

“Good. You should always take the time to read the books I give you. It’s better for your education.”

And you, weepy thing, distraught thing, nod again. Yes, Alhaitham. You’re right, Alhaitham. 

He does pull away this time, and regards you with a look that might almost be described as pleased. 

“Come. We will get you dressed and then you can sit with me while I read.”

And you, wiping at your tears, catching a stray bit of makeup that didn’t come up with the cloth, nod again. 

You follow him out the door and pretend not to see the figure of Kaveh in the corner of your eye, watching the two of you warily.