#and she said 'id love for you to be a neurologist here with us'

[kirishwima]

why is it that the moment i get the tiniest bit of praise i become literal putty

[kyanitesaphire]

LightningIn A Bottle chaper 10

*smutt incoming *

Spencer and Éclair were curled up together on the porch sofa while Zeus and Raijin frolicked in the front yard. The sounds of their baritone barking was broken up with the rhythmic tinkling of Éclair’s bells as Spencer’s fingers toyed with her hair. An unexpected visitor sent the playful pooches into an excited frenzy.

Penelope must have called Derek earlier and got wind of the days events, because there she stood at the gate clutching a large tin of her signature cookies, waving frantically. Spencer untangled himself from Éclair’s embrace and escorted Penelope from the gate to the porch.

“Garcia, what are you doing here?” Spencer asked, allowing her to state the obvious.

“ Derek told me about what happened and I figured you and your lady friend would like something sweet to snack on tonight and I also made some for your friend in the hospital.” Penelope explained as she trotted along the walkway in her enormous colourful heels. She passed the tin to Spencer and gave both of the massive dogs affectionate ear scratches.

“ Are you sure it wasn’t just an excuse to see Éclair for yourself?” Spencer asked raising his eyebrows. He knew his friend and her motives all too well.

“ You honestly don’t expect to keep her away from us forever do you? How are we supposed to welcome her into the BAU family if you do that?” Garcia rebutted as she ascended the stairs onto the porch. Spencer simply rolled his eyes and shook his head at her logic and followed her up.

“Hibou, you didn’t tell me we were having guests! If I had known, I would have put the kettle on!” Éclair playfully scolded.

“Hibou?” Garcia parroted back, trying not to laugh. “ Please tell me that’s not something dirty I shouldn’t know.”

“It’s French for owl.” Spencer informed sheepishly. Garcia began to lose the fight against her laughter and a few breathy chuckles escaped her lips

“She calls you ‘owl’? That’s too cute!” Garcia cooed. She did her best to quickly compose herself before she introduced herself. “Hi, you must be Éclair. I’m Penelope. I work with Spencer.” She said approaching Éclair with her arms out, going in for a hug. Éclair accepted the affectionate gesture happily.

“He’s told me so much about you guys. I was wondering when I’d finally get to meet you all.” Éclair said. Garcia gave Spencer a pointed look as if to further prove the point she just made. “Did you want to come in? I can make us some tea or hot chocolate.”

“Tea sounds lovely!” Garcia piped up before Spencer had a chance to object.

“Great! I get the kettle started.” Éclair cheered as she opened the door and welcomed everyone in. “Spencer can show you where to put your shoes.” Once inside, Éclair disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the drinks and Spencer offered Garcia a seat in the living room.

“So how did you get her address anyway? Deep dive on Lurch or GPS ping on my phone?” Spencer asked as he took a seat on the couch opposite Garcia.

“Me? Use FBI resources to do an unauthorized deep dive on someone for personal reasons?” She said feigning innocence. Spencer clearly wasn’t buying it. “OK, maybe I did a tinsy bit of digging. But only like a level 1 check. You know, where he lives, where he works, that sort of stuff. I tried to see what there was on Éclair, but there’s nothing. Like I mean NOTHING. At this point she should have something. Social security number, ID, accessible medical records. But there’s nothing.”

“Yeah. I know. And that’s something she is painfully aware of too.” Spencer reined in the conversation , bringing it back down to a dull roar. “She doesn’t have a full name or date of birth, therefore she has no social insurance number. She can’t get a license or a job or a formal education.”

“What about the hospital stay she told you about? Or her visits with the neurologist? There should be records of that but there isn’t.” Garcia frantically explained.

“That’s probably because Dr. Jericho has been in charge of all that since the beginning and he isn’t one for sharing apparently. It’s been a problem for her Psychologist Dr. Deschamps as well.” Spencer tried not to sound too hostile while speaking to Garcia, but he'd developed a great hatred for Jericho during his time with Éclair and even speaking his name left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“That sounds more than a little hinky. I could take a closer look into him if you want. I’m sure I can find some filth on him, enough to put him away for a long time.” Garcia began bargaining with Spencer seeing his obvious disapproval of the not so good doctor.

“No. I don’t know his motives, if he’s working for someone else, or if anyone would be watching for that on the other end.” Spencer declined shaking his head. “ The last thing I want I’d for you to go digging and gain any unwanted attention.”

“But if this guy is bad news, shouldn’t we do something about it?” Penelope pleaded.

“Yeah. When I know what we’re dealing with. But until then, we need to keep things between us. As much as I don’t like the situation one bit, I’d hate to put you or Éclair in danger.” Éclair returned to the living room carrying a tray with three large mugs and all the fixings for tea and set it down on the coffee table.

“The kettle’s ready. I’ll let you guys get your cups ready and I’ll bring it out with the hot chocolate powder.” Éclair said before briefly heading back to the kitchen.

They made idle chit chat over their beverages, getting better acquainted. Penelope went on about some of their past cases where Spencer stood out in some humorous or unfortunate way. Like when they interviewed an entire community of homeless and disenfranchised people and every prostitute they spoke to propositioned him. Or when he had been shot in the leg and had lied about being cleared for duty so he had to stay behind and ‘be her bitch’ as she put it. She took great pleasure in the story where he had admitted he was still afraid of the dark and had to spend the night in the house of a suspected killer. Spencer anxiously interrupted her before she could go into the story of how he landed himself on the cover of a major tabloid magazine with a certain starlet he’d rather forget if that was at all possible.

“OK! I think that’s enough for one night, it’s getting late and it has been one very long day for everyone.” He exclaimed, getting up from his seat.

“As much as I’m having fun hearing about my Hibou in action, I have to admit I am getting kinna tired.” Éclair giggled. “ How about you see her off and I’ll set up a movie upstairs. It was nice to meet you, we should hang out again sometime!” she gave Penelope a big hug before dashing up the stairs.

“She’s quite something isn’t she.” Penelope commented, stepping into her enormous platform heels.

“If only you knew the half of it. I don’t even think I know the half of it.” Spencer joked.

“If I’m being totally honest, I did have my doubts about her. I don’t like when I can’t find anything on a person, that’s usually bad news. But she seems really sweet, and I can tell she makes you happy.” Penelope confessed.

“I appreciate the concern but I can look after myself on that front.” Spencer chuckled.

“I don’t know, Emily had a point. You see a pretty girl and that sky high IQ of yours drops like a rock.” She teased giving him a pat on the shoulder that was both condescending and consoling. “And she is very pretty.”

“Wait, are you saying I’m stupid now?” He asked out of delayed realization as he held the door open for her.

“You are If you can’t see her intentions for you tonight.” She replied with a laugh and an elbow nudge in her way out the door.

“Good night Garcia.” He said sternly as to scolding her for the impropriety of her statement.

“Alright, night lover boy. See you at work.” She called back before Spencer closed and locked the door.

When Spencer got to the bedroom, Éclair had already set up the DVD player with ‘Across The Universe’, the dogs were asleep in Lurch’s room, and was waiting for him under the covers.

“ I felt like watching a musical tonight. Hope that’s OK. And since the boys are sleeping in Lurch’s room, we have the whole bed to ourselves.” She said patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“Sound good.” He dug into his bag, pulled out some pajamas and got changed as she hit play and started the movie. The couple cuddled up under the covers and took in the artistic and occasionally abstract imagery of the film set to Beatles music.

Spencer’s attention drifted away from the movie to Éclair. Specifically that little spot on her neck just below her ear. The one he stumbled upon after their first date. The one that elicited the most euphoric response from her. He thought about how the response might be amplified. While her focus was fixed on the screen, he slowly leaned in and placed his parted lips on the sensitive spot. There was a slight push and pull sensation from the gentle pressure of his tongue passing over the area and the delicate suction formed by the seal he’d created. The amorous gesture tore her attention away from the show and she immediately grabbed both sides of his head, pulling him to her lips in a deep sensual kiss.

With no one to intrude on their intimate interlude, they were free to explore their more canal desires. Spencer’s touch was tender and passionate while Éclair’s was fierce and feral. She tore his shirt off and clawed at the buttons on the shirt she was wearing. Once her shirt was open, he gently dragged the shirt off her shoulders like a wave erasing footprints from the beach. His hands continued down her sides and dragged her bottoms down along the way, rendering her eager body exposed to him. As she pulled her feet out of the leg holes, she used her legs to pull him in closer to her. She clawed away at the fastenings on his pants and tore them from his hips, leaving him as bare to her as she was to him.

Spencer’s hands and lips freely roamed every inch of her body over and over, committing to memory every detail of her flesh that until now had been kept a mystery. He drank in the sweet exhilaration he felt hearing her mewls of ecstasy as his tongue lapped over her nipples and his dexterous fingers explored the slick of her blooming folds. He began to slowly migrate downward when he was abruptly pulled back up eye level with her.

“ Where do you think your going?” Éclair asked lustfully.

“I..I was going to…I wanted…” Spencer struggled to complete a single thought let alone sentence, and Éclair wasn’t making it any easier for him as she nipped and sucked at the left side of his neck hungrily. With one hand, she reached down and slowly stroked his stiff shaft, and with the other she lead Spencer’s hand up level with her head and under the pillow. There his fingers found the universally recognizable object. “Oh!.... I could… yup!” He was still unable to orchestrate proper speech, but this was a simple enough thought to follow through. It took a moment for him to open the pesky packaging and apply the contraceptive with Éclair continuing to make a meal of his neck but once he had, he placed a firm grip on her hip alerting her he was ready when she was. She positioned his tip to her entrance and with her leg wrapped around his hip, she pulled him deep inside of her. Spencer’s eyes closed as his jaw went slack and a few wanton moans tumbled past his plump, parted lips. Éclair bucked her hips up into his, spurring him into motion. He rolled his hips back and forth in fluid movements, growing stronger with each stroke like the ocean tide. Swept away in a sea of pleasure, she held onto Spencer tightly, her nails digging deep into his skin as she dragged them down his back. She latched on to the right side of his neck, gnawing and marking it up like she had the left. Spencer groaned from the sensation, he had reached a place where the line between pleasure and pain had become blurred and seeing Éclair quickly come undone at his touch only heightened the euphoria. He could feel the crescendo building rapidly within him and he could tell by her breathing she wasn’t far behind. He grabbed her throat and pushed her down just hard enough to detach her form his neck so he could return the favour. He sunk his teeth into the very same sweet spot that started this erotic entanglement and instantly he could feel her inner walls clench and grind against his cock like tectonic plates sending out the seismic waves of her climax and triggering the eruption of his own.

As the last ripples of their orgasm subsided, Spencer gradually relaxed his jaw and sweetly kissed the fresh dental imprint he’d made. Her body slowly went limp beneath him but she still held him close by gently pawing his hair and the back of his neck. He carefully slipped out of her and pushed himself up so he could safely dispose of his contained, spent load.

They took turns with their post coital clean up, Spencer insisting ‘ladies first’, before redressing and snuggling back into bed. Éclair admired her extensive handy work that littered Spencer’s neck and shoulders , while he had mixed feelings about the mark he’d left on her.

“I keep wanting to ask if it hurts, but then I remember you don’t register pain.” He remarked gently running his fingertips over the impression.

“You on the other hand do. Are you sure I didn’t go to far?” She asked brushing the collar of his shirt aside to look at the significantly more intense marks marring his skin.

“Uh…yeah, I’m sure. Although I may change my tune come morning when I take my shower. My back is getting kind of itchy.” He assured her while rolling his shoulders.

“Oh you mean here?” She teased as she ran her hand delicately over the covered scratches on his back making him hiss in discomfort.

“Yeah. Right about there.” He squeaked.

“Maybe I should go easier on you next time?” she said with a playful giggle.

“ I don’t know, it felt pretty good at the time.” He kissed her and held her so their chests were pressed together. “Out of curiosity, when did you buy condoms?” He asked feeling particularly foolish that it never occurred to him to do so himself.

“I didn’t. Lurch had been teasing me for a while now by leaving them on my pillow when he know you’d be over. Not like he’d give us the privacy to use them. So I told Yen about it and she’s like ‘That’s just mean. You clearly need more that just one at a time.” And promptly picked up the biggest variety pack she could find and gave it to me.” Éclair explained and she opened the nightstand drawer where the aforementioned package of contraceptives was stored.

“What the heck! Variety pack is an understatement!” Spencer cried out as he inspected the box. “Some of these I can understand. Flavoured, ribbed, extra lubricated. But who needs a glow in the dark penis?”

“I’m more worried about the warming ones. Isn’t that a sign of irritation or an allergic reaction?” Éclair pointed out the one she was referring to.

“Yeah that’s usually a bad thing. These ones look more like silly party balloons than condoms. Last I checked my dick wasn’t shaped like that. Or that. And is that a corkscrew?” He said in disbelief. “I really have to wonder about the efficacy of some of these.” Éclair because to laugh with that statement.

“ A few moments ago you couldn’t even finish a sentence. Now you’re going on about ‘efficacy’. I guess it’s true what they say about men thinking with a different head during sex.” She joked.

“Yeah, apparently that one only has an IQ of 60.”

[docholligay]

Day 3: I’m Sorry. I do love you, you know.

All of HON HON HON is here. 2,300 words no one asked for!

Forgive and Remember

There was a knock at the door, and Athena’s announcement, and even when he heard it, it felt like it couldn’t be true. It was the worst fight he and Tracer had ever had. Come to think of it, it was the worst fight he had with anyone. He felt maybe for one moment what it was to hate someone you loved so intensely, that what he’d heard about the line between love and hate being so slim was far truer than he ever had believed. It was the first time he’d ever said he didn’t want her around. It was the first time it could ever have been true. 

Emily had been by that morning. Winston had started off arguing before she’d even said something, and Emily, in her quiet, good way, had simply listened to him rant and rae and rage before nodding and telling him he was right. Tracer was wrong. Cruelly so. But she would be by later, and Emily didn’t want that sprung on him. 

“Winston,” she said, “I didn’t come to tell you to forgive her. I only came to say she’s scared like I’ve never seen her. So if you turn her away, be kind at it.” She shook her head, “But you won’t.” 

“I might.” He’d grumbled. 

“No,” she’d stood then, putting her jacket, ‘You won’t.” 

He wanted to argue with her, holler and stamp his foot, but there was something in Emily that didn’t allow for that, something that surrounded her and forced you onto an even keel. She never rose her voice, and could even be described as mousy, sometimes, but when she said things with that perfect, quiet conviction, you knew they were true, however much a lie they sounded. 

“She’s scared?” it echoed in his head as he heard Tracer’s insistent knocking. 

“I think,” Emily headed for the door then that Winston was headed for now, “Telling us has made it a true thing.” 

WInston opened the door. There she was, as Athena had said. He stared at her a moment before reacting, a picture locked into his mind. It was strange, how he could know that there was so much different about her now, and yet she looked the same as he always remembered. Chestnut hair up at all angles from running her hand through it, freckles dotted across her nose like stars, her dark eyes bright and attentive, flitting about the entryway. Her smile did not quite have its normal boldness, but her chest was puffed out in a show of courage, that beat leather jacket furrowed and creased against the purple of her sweater. She held a box of Chinese takeout in her hands, and he could smell the shrimp. 

How he loved her. How he hated her. 

“Win?” She brightened her smile, “Can I--this isn’t even for me, just for you, thought I might buy me way in, right love? For old time’s sake?” 

He went to turn her away. “Of course you can come in.” Was what came out of his mouth. 

Tracer walked in the door, her usual bounce considerably smaller, and she put the takeout on the coffee table by the couch. She headed toward the kitchen and began to take down the plates, fishing the chopsticks out of the little cup where they lived by the sink. 

“Lena, forget the food.” 

Tracer turned, her hands full of soy sauce and serving devices. “It’s your favorite place. Even got those little doughnuts.” 

“You can’t buy me off, so don’t try.” 

“I’m not!” Tears sprung to her eyes, and she blinked them back. 

He had wanted to hurt her, and he had done it, and it didn’t feel nearly as wonderful as he thought it might. He had thought it would make everything feel more fair. It just made him feel mean, and ugly, and small. It made him feel like he was hurting his best friend, who was dying.

“I--”He tossed a hand in the air, ‘I know you aren’t. Emily told me you were upset.” 

“Em came by?” she slowly walked to the living room and set down the dishes, but did not wait for any answer, “I was. I am, really. Was trying to avoid this--It doesn’t matter, really.” She looked up at him and set her jaw fiercely, strengthening her voice, “I did it, and you ‘ave to decide if you can forgive me.” 

Winston shuffled into the living room and sat down on the couch, looking at her from across the coffee table. 

“Lena.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to ask you some questions.”

“Right.”

“I need you to be honest with me. Not ‘don’t lie’,” he focused seriously on her, locking eyes, “Be as honest with me as you can possibly be.” 

Tracer nodded slowly. “All right, then.” 

Winston sat back. “How much longer do you have?” 

“I don’t know,” she gave a slight shake of her head, “Honest I don’t. Not sure Ang does. And I haven’t--we haven’t--properly given up, it’s only Ang--well her friend, really, ‘e’s rather running things, a neurologist, you see, more than Ang ever ‘as been--well, ‘e doesnt think it likely we’ll set it right in time. But who bloody knows what in time is? So I don’t know. Is the truth.” she shrugged and gave a small smile, ‘So honestly, if you look at it that way…”

“Lena,” he looked at her flatly, “Whatever you’re about to say, stop.” 

“Right.” She perched herself on the edge of the couch and rocked a little, staring at the ceiling as if she could fly right into it.  

“Who knows?”

“You, Emily, and Angela. That’s all.” 

“Okay,” he took a breath and pushed up his glasses, “Now, why did you lie--No, I’m not getting into that--why did you hide it from me?” 

Trracer gave a huff. “You’re always worrying over me, Win, why in the bloody name of England, Saint George, and the Angel and Crown would I possibly give you more of a reason to do that? Honestly though! 

Besides,” she stole a glance at him, “I’d been keeping that I was a bit off from you, since Fareeha and I was--you know--and I’d ‘ave ad to jump right to, ‘Leading professionals think I’m done for’ when I didn’t think it was that serious.” She stopped, ruffing her hand through her hair, “Or maybe I did think it was that serious. I feel like I knew the moment Moira did it, but I...this is hard to explain,” she leaned forward with a pitch and shook her finger at Winston, “and it genuinely is, I’m not putting you on. I’m not.” 

The silence hung as she tried to rearrange her thoughts. “It was like..do you remember when we was in Alberta? ‘Ow the storms would come in from far off, like a wall, almost? It was like that. I could see it, but it still felt like it might just...go round. I knew it was going to rain, but I didn’t know it would be like this. I don’t know. I’m trying, Win, really I am.” 

“You didn’t want me to worry. You kept this from me,” his voice took an edge, “all for my sake?” 

“No, didn’t say that,” she shook her head fiercely, “Want to ‘ear the selfish truth of it? You worry, yeah, and it can be just smothering. You were inspecting me like Fareeha does a pressed suit, after Moira, and I got tired of being treated like I’s made of china. So as soon as I got well enough to ‘ide it, I did.” She leaned forward, “I ‘ave always lived me life to the bloody ‘ilt. So when things started to crumble a bit, I kept it ‘idden, because I didn’t want to spend me life being asked if I was up for something, or didn’t I need to go to bed, telling people not to tire me. I like the way I live, is the truth, and I didn’t want to be responsible for ‘ow you felt about it.” 

“Sorry that I care about you.”

“Oh, get off the bloody cross, Win.” She scowled. “You asked me, and that isn’t fair.” 

Winston considered a moment. “No. It wasn’t. But neither were you.” 

“Not defending meself just now. Only asking you to listen.” 

They sat for a few moments, Tracer at her end of the couch, fidgeting quietly and looking around the room, Winston sitting in the corner of it where they so often sat together and watched movies, the Chinese food growing cold on the table in front of them. He watched her for a few seconds, until her eyes met his, and his voice choked a little. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not at all,” Tracer rushed off her edge of the couch and took him by the shoulder, shaking her head, “I’d ‘ardly notice, really, most of the time. Now,” she looked at him seriously, ‘In the name of honesty, I ‘ave no earthly idea what will ‘appen. But,” she perked back up, “I mean, it could just be that I’ll drop dead one day, and that wouldn’t be so bad, right? As endings go? So don’t lose too much sleep over me, love, because it’s really nothing, in the day to day.” 

“Yet.” He reached up and put his hand on her, letting his thumb rub across her cheek. “I wish you would have told me.”

“I tried. So many times. Honest I did.” 

He sighed heavily, and shook his head, withdrawing his hand and adjusting his glasses. 

“I have to move on from this, because I don’t want to waste what time you have left being angry with you. I love you too much for that. I would regret it forever. But, Lena, I am having a hard time forgiving you. You have put me in a terrible position. You,” he sighed, “You stole my right--no, my time, you stole my time to be mad at you. I don’t have it anymore.”

“Well, if I’d told you straight off, you wouldn’t be cross with me. So you wouldn’t need any.” 

“I’m trying--”

“Joking! Joking. RIght, maybe not the best time for it.” She snuggled up under his arm and lay against him. “I am sorry, really I am. I’ve been miserable the last few months, if that ‘elps.. I do love you, you know.” 

“I know you do.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Maybe. But,” he set his cheek on the top fo her head, “I’m letting it go for now, is all I promise. Just, I know I make you crazy sometimes, but, Lena you have to promise me you won’t hide things from me anymore. Not about this. It’s not fair.”

“RIght, right, I know you’re right. It’s only--let me set me own limits. I’ll say when I’ve ‘ad enough, or I need you, but you must let me be the one to decide.”

A long sigh. “Okay.”

“And--” She scooted away a little bit, and turned to look up at him. “Please don’t tell anyone else.” 

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. “Are you kidding me right now? Do you learn anything?” 

“Please, Win.” she clasped her hands in front of her chest, “ It’s enough I ‘ave to deal with ‘ow I feel about it, I can’t deal with everyone else, as well, promise I’ll tell them just not--not yet. Please.” 

Winston stared at her. “When?”

“At some point,” she said softly, giving a weak smile, ‘in the future.” 

“You are,” he closed his eyes, “so infuriating. Are you determined to get into a fight with everyone who’s ever loved you? And Pharah needs to--well--in time you’ll--”

“Oh,” Tracer grabbed a box from the table, “I’ll be turning it over to ‘ana. I’ve decided it, Fareeha doesn’t ‘ave to. Considerate, me. Rangoon?” 

“Lena, I love you. I need you to stop being flippant about this.” 

Tracer set down the box. “Win, let me tell you something,” she rubbed her hands together thoughtfully, “me whole life, I’ve whistled in the dark. It’s not as I don’t know what’s ‘appening. I do live in me body, and I notice more than anyone. But I can’t linger on the shadow of it. That isn’t me. I must, if nothing else, be meself to the end of it.” She looked up at Win, “I’ve told Ang you can ask ‘er anything, and she ‘as me permission to tell you. But--it’ll be me wedding in a fortnight-- I need think more about ‘ow to live the rest of me life, than ‘ow to die, just now.”

It was then that Winston saw what Emily had seen. That slim, cold line of fear at the edge of her, that little hummingbird beat of wings against a glass pane, the slight panic in her voice, even her laugh like light through a window on a winter’s night. He had spent so long thinking of her as the brave one, of the two of them, that he had forgotten she could be shaken. He had forgotten she had plenty of her own monsters lurking in the dark. 

How he loved her. How hard it was to hate her for long. How strangely easy it was to remain so furious with her, and want so deeply to hold her tight against that encroaching darkness.

“I won’t tell anyone,” He took a crab rangoon off the table, “But you should. If you want me to help you tell--”

“I know.” 

He touched her shoulder. “If Pharah finds out on her own, she’ll kill you.” He smiled. “She hates surprises.” 

“Yeah,” Tracer let out a laugh, “bet that isn’t in ‘er little binder of plans, is it? Can’t wait to see the bloody look on ‘er face when she realizes ‘er desire to captain the ship alone ‘as finally come to. Bit of a cat’s pa--.” 

Winston wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him, closing his eyes, the truth of it all hitting him so deeply in the moment he thought, for once, he might be granted the humanity of actual tears. Tracer hugged him back, softly whispering reassurances that barely came through the cloudiness of his mind. 

It didn’t matter how much time he’d been given. 

It would never be enough.

[bigbluebarns-blog]

ABLEISM REDUX

Well… There are so many different dimensions of disability that people can be ableist toward those with different disabilities than their own. …And it’s only in the last couple of generations (within my lifetime, at least) that Disability Rights groups have banded together in a common cause (Rather than, say: Rights groups for the blind working only for the blind, Rights groups for Cerebral Palsy working only for Cerebral Palsy, etc.).  Matter of fact, based on my own recollections, I think working together for universal access rights only really got any steam in the 1970s – when I was already a teenager.

Confession time: until relatively recently (like, the last 10 years, or so), as a physically disabled person, I was biased against those with intellectual disabilities, and would get quite insulted if anyone mistakenly thought I was “R

—–ed.”

@theborkplanet IDK HOW TO SEPARATE MY COMMENTS FROM YOURS AND COMMENTS FROM YOURS. HENCE THE CAPS. 

I WAS ALSO BIASED AND PROBABLY STILL AM SOMEWHAT, TOWARD PPL WITH INTELLECTUAL DISABILITIES(ID). I TOO USED THE R WORD. GROWING UP MY EXP WITH PPL W/ ID WERE NEGATIVE OR GROSS, AND NO ONE EVER BOTHERED TO EXPLAIN SOMEONE’S ID TO ME, SO ALL I KNEW WAS NEGATIVE BEHAVIORS EG JO GRABS STUFF AND SCREAMS; NO ONE EVER EXPLAINED HER AUTISM. MOE HAS DOWNS SYNDROME, IS OBSESSED WITH SAYING “BOOBIES” LOVES THE EFFING BEACH BOYS AND FARTS A LOT AND NEVER SHUTS UP; HOW ANNOYING; NO ONE EVER TOLD ME ABOUT PERSEVERATING, OR THAT DS CAN CAUSE GI PROBS SOMETIMES. AL MUTTERS, HE STINKS, AND HE KNOCKED OUT HIS AIDE SO I’M AFRAID THAT AL WILL GET ANGRY WITH ME AND KNOCK ME OUT; NO ONE EVER EXPLAINS HIS CONDITION, SO I GLEAN MY INFO FROM EAVESDROPPING and RUMORS. THE ABLE-BODIED ADULTS DIDN’T BOTHER TO PROMOTE UNDERSTANDING EVEN THO WE WERE ALL TRAPPED ON THE SAME SPECIAL ED BUS, SO THE PASSENGERS WITHOUT ID TALK SMACK ABOUT THE ONES WITH ID. THE ONE TIME I ASK, “WHAT’S AL HAVE?” ABLEBODIED ADULT SHAMES ME FOR ASKING AND BLATHERS ABOUT CONFIDENTIALITY. NOT TRYING TO JUSTIFY MY PREJUDICE; JUST RELATING EXP. I’M ALSO WORKING THRU IT BUT U R RIGHT; NEVER 100% DONE. 

I’m working through it, and like to think I’m getting better (and one huge part of that is learning just how deep and intertwined institutionalized ableism really is, in our societies). But as with being a White woman dealing with racism, I have to remember that it’s a case of continuing recovery, and not something I will ever be 100% over and done with.

Thanks for sharing, @aegipan-omnicorn. You’re lovely.

@bigbluebarns, I don’t personally know anything about suffering racism, being a white american myself. However, I do know a thing or two about suffering ableism, both at the hands of able-bodied people, and disabled people.

People are incredibly social animals and will band together in groups with other similar people. This is natural, and it is good. It can be healing and cathartic to hang out with people who “get it.” But this tendency can also have an extremely dark side, as we see with “isms.” This is going to get long, so I’m going to break it here in consideration of people’s dashboards. Again, I can only speak to ableism and sexism so please keep that in mind.

OMG, I LOVE THESE NAMES AND TRADEMARKS. DID U INVENT THEM?

Ableisms I have suffered at the hands of disabled people:

The Cripple Police™: These are the people who, in an overzealous bid for limited access available, arbitrarily decide who is disabled enough to use a mobility aid, bathroom stall, parking spot, and even sometimes the label of “disabled.” If you are not Crippled Enough, you can be subject to any form of social punishment they deem to be necessary.

I HATE THE CP AND I’M CONSTANTLY REMINDING PPL THAT U DO NOT HAVE TO APPEAR DISABLED IN ORDER TO USE HANDICAP PARKING. IT’S LIKE THEY WANT U TO WEAR A TAG STATING U R DISABLED SO THEN THEY CAN ASSESS IF U MEET THEIR RANDOM CRITERIA.

Example: I used to be able to walk longer distances with a service dog, but was still a high fall risk. My doctor (a licensed neurologist) prescribed me a parking placard so that none of us had to worry (as much) about me passing out in a parking lot where no one could see me, and getting run over. A lovely woman in a wheelchair, who just happened to park in the accessible spot next to me, proceeded to scream at me and my service dog all the way into the store. A manager rescued me by going along with my ruse of knowing him, and invited me into the back were I fucking hid away until they told me she had left the store. It. Was. Scary.

EGAD SOUNDS HORRIBLE. BUT YEAH THERE IS A DISABILITY HIERARCHY

The Born This Ways™ : The experience between people who were born disabled, and who acquired disability later in life, vary a great deal from one another. BTW ableist types actively minimize the experiences of other disabled people, simply because they hadn’t been baptized since birth by xyz. In other words, the suffering was not identical to their own, thus must be invalid.

Example: I became disabled after adulthood, and tried to find solace after being subjected to ableist responses from friends and family members who were unable to cope with the “broken me.” I found lots of great disabled people who helped me, but I also found people who routinely scoffed at my experiences, again informing me that I was not “disabled enough,” and suggested I was being deliberately weak, or histrionic. Sometimes it was almost eerily word for word what my ableist friends/family said. How strange…

I’VE SEEN THE ACQUIRED DISABILITY IS BETTER. TM ADIBS MIGHT IMPLY, “WELL I’M A QUAD, BUT AT LEAST I GOT TO EXP BEING ABLEBODIED; I’LL HAVE EXP U SADSACK LOSER BTWS WILL NEVER HAVE. I GOT TO BE NORMAL FOR A WHILE” MOST OFTEN I SAW IT COME FROM PARALYZED PPL WHO WISHED THEY COULD WALK AGAIN. I WAS BORN WITH CP AND AB PPL ACTUALLY ASKED ME “WOULD U RATHER BE BTW OR AD?” BEFORE I THOUGHT ABOUT IT, I SAID “BTW, CUZ THATS ALL I KNOW AND I’VE HAD IT FROM DAY1 FALSE EQUIVALENCY WHEREAS ADIBS HAVE TO ADJUST” NOW THO I KNOW THAT EVEN I AS BTW HAVE HAD TO ADJUST TO CHANGING SYMPTOMS. DO U WANT 2 BE A TREE OR A MOUSE...UHHH...FALSE EQUIVALENCY ALERT, CAN’T COMPAPARE APPLE N ORANGE.

The Faker Police™: I think anyone with an invisible illness has experience with this one. This is when people who “look disabled” refuse to believe someone who “does not look disabled,” and proceed to treat them as hysterical attention seekers instead of…well, anyone else. These people often practice double ableisms–I have noticed that many also tend to judge Disabled Enough based on mobility aids. Then, they try to chase the “fakers” out of the community, because everyone knows “fakers” are why we have additional burdens added (like further hurdles to access, government aid, etc).

ALSO IF U HAVE AN INVISIBLE DISABILITY LIKE YOURS AND ME ALSO, I SEE THE “WELL EVERYONE GETS DEPRESSED/SAD/TIRED.” I END UP FEELING LIKE I HAVE JUSTIFY THE DISABLING NATURE OF MY DEPRESSION/ANXIETY TO A WEG. 

Example: Before my condition had progressed to me needing a mobility aid, I was already facing discrimination in the workplace. I requested an accommodation to have the crappy fluorescent lights removed from above my desk, as they provoke bad neurological symptoms. You’d think it was a little thing, but when I asked for advice on dealing with skeptical and belligerent management, I met the same reactions in some disabled people, followed immediately by “Fakers like you are why we see knee-jerk reactions like the word ‘no!’ Come complain when you’re actually disabled and need to have a ramp installed! Until then suck it up!”

The Totally Qualified Disability Judges™: This one seems to arise from the natural tendency of people to compare their situations to the situations of others. If they arbitrarily judge another person’s situation to be better or more favorable, then that person is not As Disabled, or Disabled Enough, or Disabled At All. Then, based on that judgment, they try to socially punish the condemned, or to excommunicate them.

Example: Some conditions are really straightforward and don’t vary widely. People with the condition all seem to have similar limitations. My condition is the exact opposite of that. I have the chronic form of migraine disease. Lots of people get migraines, but not all of them have more than 15 a month, and migraines can last anywhere from a few hours to three days. To some people, pain is the most disabling feature of a migraine, to others, the accompanying neurological weirdness is. (Migraines are often proceeded by cortical spreading depression, a phenomenon also exhibited in epilepsy. Just for an example).

So, when people hear what my condition is, they remember that one lady they used to know who had to lay in the dark for a couple days each month, and wonder why the hell I’m in a wheelchair. It doesn’t make sense to them (who cares that migraines don’t make sense to the most brilliant neurologists in the world), so they decide that I just must not be disabled. Or, if I am, it’s hypochondria. 

 I’VE SEEN: YEAH HAVE U TRIED XYZ CURE? IT REALLY HELPED THAT 1 LADY. IF U DON’T TRY XYZ WELL THEN UR LAZY N ALSO PROBABLY FAKING THE EXTENT OF UR DISABILITY?

Fun fact: Internalizing ableism from medical doctors, and from some close friends and family, and THEN the disabled people I came into contact with later, and from whom I seeked guidance, prompted so much self doubt that I had a licensed psychologist work me up for hypochondria and other related psychological conditions. It…turns out that I am not a hypochondriac. I could not find relief from all of these experiences until I encountered a neurologist familiar with my condition, and fellow disabled people who have been around the block, and who are not so embittered by their experiences that they deigned to expose others to the same.

For that reason, I will always be vocally critical of ableism within our community. I will not sugar coat it, nor will I flatter ableist disableds by giving them another name. That goes for my own ableism, too. Now that I have worked through a lot of my own, I can use my aids with confidence and obtain a freedom that is at least emotionally similar to the one I had when I first formed my adult identity (which was as an abled person).

AH YES, IN MY CASE, INTERNALIZED ABLEISM=ANXIETY N DEPRESSION. STILL NOT SURE IF DISABLED PPL CAN BE TECHNICALLY DISABLED BUT THAT’S JUST LINGUISTIC SEMANTICS.

CLEAERLY WE BOTH KNOW DISABLED PPL ARE CAPABLE OF ASSHOLERY.

CAN SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO BOLD TEXT IN POSTS? #TUMBLR NOOB

For an example of sexism from women, see my post Never Underestimate Old Women, in which an old lady cashier schools us for self-righteous activism.

Thanks for the discussion!

[calmingforthemedicalcaregiver]

WELCOME!!

WARNING:  Near the end, talk of depression, implied talk of suicide and hurting yourself. (I never hurt myself, just so you know.)

Hello one and all!

    This is my new blog for caregivers. It’s a little inspired by some website I ran across around 2007, the year after I first started caregiving for my mom. (War flashbacks.) The site had funny jokes and things, intended for something for caregivers to do when they’re relaxing. I thought I’d do a similar idea, and throw in what I’ve learned over 10 years, (16 years this year), of doing this. Everyone needs a break sometimes.

About my experience (long!): My mom had multiple sclerosis for a long time. I remember her symptoms were starting to hit hard when I was in JR. high, but I think she first developed the disease in the late 80s or early 90s. For most of my life, we thought it was what’s called remitting-recurring, but it was primary progressive, which is just what it means. Her health declined over time. She went from walking, to being bedridden in 2006 sometime after a bad fall, with canes, wheelchairs and walkers in between. There was also this whole thing in 2005 when we were taking on a job and the stress may have brought on a flare up for her. We were never really sure. Unfortunately, her neurologist was frighteningly old. To this day I don’t know why she picked him. I will always blame him for misdiagnosing her, and I don’t even remember what the guys name was.

So, longer story, eventually her legs just gave out, but it got worse. She stopped eating and talking. As it turned out, her GP was on maternity leave, and on top of that, it took the better part of six months to even get her admitted into the hospital.  I know, it all sounds scary and it was scary. During those months BEFORE the hospital, I was sinking into depression and so was she. There was a lot of crying involved. (Also an incident where our roof was leaking and we had to stay at a hotel. Fun times (sarcasm.) I have mentally blocked a lot of it out, but that’s what happens with traumatic events. Your brain is so in shock, you’re so in shock, that your brain deletes those files. And that’s okay, for the most part. If you remember the basics of how you started caregiving and what’s going on with your “patient”, you don’t have to give doctors and nurses every single detail.

After she was finally admitted (and frick that whole hospital by the way), it was months she was there. We thought the worst was going to happen. Eventually she was released, and that’s when the denial started. You see, there’s things you don’t think about and no one tells you. When you’re 22, you don’t think about caregiving. And you don’t think about how the months your relative was drugged up on painkillers and how it’ll effect them after months. So, my mom came out of the hospital...how to put this...out of it and not there mentally. Like someone with Alzheimer's I guess. She was talking again, here and there, but everything was off. This lasted for months and we had no clue what to do. Eventually, we got her to her doctor, now back from maternity leave, and I asked about it. Her answer? “The (name of drugs) have been absorbed by the fat in her arms and that’s why she’s acting like this.” What the actual frick? So, more months of being lost and no answer if she was going to be like that forever or what. Cue sometime later and we’re having nurses come in. This nurse suggests putting her on X drug to stabilize her mind or whatever. (I can’t remember exactly what was said, it was so long ago.) I was ecstatic, but I was also in denial. I thought one day she was going to pull out of it and be back to normal mentally. Not sure if I felt the same about her maybe walking again, but it’s a moot point. So, got her on it, and it worked. She was now making more sense, but pretty euphoric all the time. Chatty. And eating again and off the feeding tube. (Yep, that happened.) I forgot to mention that she has dementia, but it’s not “true” dementia. As far as we can tell, the MS and lack of food just ate away at her brain, so brain damage.

So, things progressed and life went on. In situations like this, life does tend to get worse though. My attitude changed a lot. I went from being angry and depressed all the time to being less angry and sad sometimes. (I suspect-surprise-I may have functioning depression.) But my mom is miles from where she was. She doesn’t talk as much to us, but you get a new person in the room and they ask her the right questions, she’s awake and wants to talk. A year ago, she didn’t have ticks, but now she sucks in her lips about every three seconds. (I’ll be honest, it drives me insane.) I know she is bored, but her eyesight isn’t that great (nearsighted), and her hands are failing her to the point where we have to feed her if it’s not a finger food. And, as you may know, it’s hard to keep a bedridden or old person awake for long. If she’s tired, there’s no fighting it. I have tried to provide her with puzzles and things, but it depends on the time of day and how awake she is. I have NO IDEA how to keep her entertained. She used to love reading, but you hand her a magazine and she just stares at the cover. How do you entertain someone who can barely see with weak hands who wants to sleep all day? I’m still figuring that out. (I’ve looked at suggestions online, but haven’t done a lot of them. But, she does like music and listens to the TV more than really watches. That’s another thing, she’s gotten to the point where she repeats random things from shows. I’m not sure why, guess it’s just the degeneration. 

And as for me, I take it one day at a time. We’ve had 100+ nurses over the years, and our latest is a gem. Some nurses were “okay”  to “Please stay forever, here’s a bonus”.  My point with that is, I have so many stories I want to get out, but I’m not sure if that’s slander even if you keep the person anonymous. Back to me, I’m less upset, but I have a lot of resentment. I find it very hard to connect with my mom again. She doesn’t remember me at all, thinking I’m her mom (whut?) or her sister. (I look nothing like her actual sister.) So, the repeating soundtrack in my head is that my mother is gone. It’s heartbreaking, I know. It’s horrible. But horrible things happen. I’m still here. Like most caregivers, in the beginning I had a lot of bad thoughts and they scared me, but I wasn’t in so deep to want to act or hurt myself. Sure, I was miserable, but I had no outlet and many of my friends around my age at the time were, for the most part, not my friends. (Three of them got married in like the first five years I’d started caregiving. Never heard from them after that. That’s another rant I held with me for a long time after.)

I have repeated my mom’s story to various doctors, nurses, and inquiring friends over the years. Now I’m sharing it with the internet. If you’re a caregiver, you’re not alone, even if you feel like it. There’s thousands of us in the US, of various ages, and probably millions more the world over. (It’s popular in Asian countries for the elderly parents to live at home.)  I encourage you to have an outlet. Forums, support groups, chat rooms, it’s all out there. I don’t do forums anymore for the most part, but I enjoy a good twitter rant or just a good cry. And, of course, I believe in prayer and recommend it. 

My mom is 65. She used to be a nurses assistant. She liked British sitcoms, music, movies, loved reading, animals and spending time with my dad and family.

I’m almost 36. I’ve been taking care of her since I was 22. I like anime, drawing, reading, and lots of other stuff.  I’m strong and you are too. Rely on others, take breaks, connect with your charge the best you can and you’ll get through this. 

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