#awareness under anesthesia

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 14 - Urgent Care

I love whumperless medical whump SO much so this has been eating me alive

TWs: Surgery, awareness under anesthesia, gore, blood, stabbing mention

Tuesday night was going well, Liam thought. He'd only had to help with one surgery that night, and was forty-five minutes into his break when he was paged. "Emergency Room" flashed across the tiny screen.

With a sigh, he slid his hands through short black hair and stood. The rest of his mid-shift meal would have to wait. He was the only anesthesiologist on site at the moment, so whichever poor sap was showing up soon would need him there, just in case.

Pale blue walls passed by in a flash as Liam's shoes squeaked against the tile floors. His favorite nurse, Jesse, met up with him as he neared the emergency room where the others were waiting. "Doctor Beryl!" He said, stark white bangs pinned back, and nervous, light eyes meeting Liam's. "EMS is four minutes away. A young transgender male, severe blood loss reported, apparent knife wounds, it's looking bad."

"Well, good thing I already chugged half a monster, yeah?" Liam said, watching the dark glass of the sliding doors for the ambulance. "Were there any other victims?"

"No, no, just the one. And there's someone already on the way from the nurses' station to meet the...family member? Partner? Whoever the guy is." Jesse checked his watch as flashing lights and sirens screamed into the parking lot. "Oh—and you have your station set up?"

"Always. And we're still on for Sunday brunch? It's your turn to pick, Jess."

"You know it. My turn to pick, your turn to pay." Jesse's eyes crinkling with his smile was the last thing Liam saw before the patient was wheeled in.

A flurry of noise heralded the doors swinging open, and the EMTs rushed in, surrounding a gurney. Clothes had already been stripped away, leaving dark, scarred, bloodied skin open for scrutiny. Gloved hands and gauze kept deep, vicious wounds from letting blood rush forward. Long, black hair was tied back, and equally dark eyes were open and dazed. They wandered, lingering on faces, seemingly trying to follow the ping-pong match of orders and answers.

Liam fell into step with his colleagues as they swapped with the EMTs, replacing their hands and whisking the whole crowd down the hall to the trauma bay. They poked and prodded, setting IV lines and attempting to get answers from the man they worked on as they walked—no one seemed to mind when he couldn't quite answer.

The trauma bay doors swung open to let them into the pristine room, and Liam saw Jesse dart to the blood products. "Grabbing O-negative, two liters."

"Good, good, get the warmer going too. We don't need him going hypothermic." Liam called as the trauma surgeon started to scrub in. "And help Doctor Gene gown up."

He looked to Mariano then as the gurney came to a stop and Doctor Gene spoke up. "Doctor Beryl, start getting him under. His name is Mariano Ortiz."

"On it." Liam pressed sticky leads onto Mariano's skin, then pulled the oxygen mask from his respirator forward, catching Mariano's attention. "I'm Doctor Beryl, I'll be your anesthesiologist." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jesse double-checking the blood was being warmed and the infusion rate was set properly. "All you have to do is breathe and count backwards from ten."

Mariano didn't try to pull away, but Liam saw the peaks and valleys of his already-too-quick heartbeat quicken further. "Hey, hey, it's alright. You don't have to stay awake anymore." He said, pressing the cushioned plastic over Mariano's nose and mouth. "I'll be right next to you the whole time that you're asleep. Close your eyes, Mariano."

Mariano's expression never changed, but Liam smiled behind his mask as he watched him purposely take a deeper breath. Dark eyes grew visibly heavier, fluttering like his lashes suddenly weighed a ton. "That’s it. We have you." Not seconds later, he was asleep, and Liam shifted his attention to the monitors. He watched Mariano fall into deeper sleep, reaching to start tapering the sedative dose into something less heavy.

"Alright, he's under." Liam called, Doctor Gene began to take over and the techs began to swarm again. Electricity filled the air, everyone focused on their specific tasks, guided by Doctor Gene's easy demeanor.

"Analgesics being administered now, paralytic following."

"Let's find this bleed then, start the suction."

"Should we set up the curtain?"

"No, it'll be fine. We can't waste any more time."

Liam let it all fall away, his attention fixed on making sure that Mariano was breathing well as the others worked. Once his airway was secured and he saw that the respirator was doing its job, Liam sat back. Doctor Gene had the most intense job, but the junior doctors didn't call him the hospital's bloodhound for nothing.

Mariano picked a good day to get stabbed three times, at least.

He kept glancing between his three points of concern in regular intervals. Five seconds on his monitors, five on the actual machinery, then five on Mariano's face, always on the lookout for changes. It was routine. Familiar. It kept everyone who came through the operating room safe.

Thirty minutes in, Jesse spoke up. "...Does he look tense?"

One of the others hummed. "Maybe, what was his weight?"

"Two-seventy-one." Jesse answered. "Should we dose him a little more with the painkillers, Doctor Gene?"

"Yes, please. Ten more milligrams, to be on the safe side."

Liam gave the painkillers, watching how Mariano almost immediately started to relax again, then glanced back at the monitors. The numbers were looking good, he was breathing well, and color was even starting to return to his face with the fresh blood circulating through him. Liam breathed just a little bit easier.

Another page came through, almost making him jump. "Emergency Room" it read. "God dammit--" Liam groaned. "We have another coming in, someone keep an eye on the monitors, Doctor Gene knows what to do if he starts to decline."

He hurried out, tossing his gloves as he did in favor of new ones. The ambulance arrived, Liam accompanied the patient back, and after getting them under so that their broken tibia could be reset, he hurried back towards the first trauma bay. With the snap of fresh, clean gloves, Liam took his place at Mariano's shoulder again, and his heart almost stopped.

Almost-black met Liam's eyes, searching, pleading almost. Mariano was awake. His pulse was speeding up. Mariano was afraid. He needed to move. If he didn't fix this, his patient might be traumatized.

Why hadn't anyone noticed?

"Hey Mariano, I see you. We had another emergency come in, but I'm here again." He said, leaning closer and resting a hand on his forehead. His voice was far, far steadier than he felt. He shifted himself to block Mariano's view of his own opened, bloodied body. "Eyes on me, now, I'm the prettiest person here anyway. I'm gonna help you get back to sleep."

Dark eyes locked onto Liam's and he nodded at Mariano. "That's it, I'm going to take care of you, just like I promised." He reached his free hand over to the IV bag that held the anesthetic cocktail. "This is going to hit you in just a few seconds, close your eyes now."

Mariano hesitated, and Liam started sliding his thumb along his brow. Back and forth, like he was trying to soothe a kitten to sleep, Liam kept up the predictable, gentle motion. He eased the dosage upwards, eyes switching between Mariano's face and the monitor showing his vitals. "I'm going to try to make sure that you don't remember this, I know it's not fun." Mariano's eyes started to drift closed again, and Liam felt his own heart start to relax.

He only leaned back again with a sigh when he was sure that Mariano was properly under again.

"C'mon Beryl, you know I'm the real beauty queen here." Doctor Gene teased, before his voice softened. "Sorry we didn't catch that."

"Well--can't say I blame you, those stabs were deep. It happens." Liam admitted. "How's he looking?"

"Just about got him done, then we'll head over for a CT, make sure nothing else is waiting to rear its head. Are you coming with?"

"The other one's a broken leg, and Anise has it locked down until the on-call gets here." Liam kept his hand on Mariano's forehead, watching as Doctor Gene started stitching up the last stab wound. "So yeah, I can actually keep my promise, now."

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper @bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125

[anamericangirl]

Up until the late 1980’s it was a commonly held belief in the medical community that babies could not feel pain. It was standard practice to perform procedures on infants without using anesthesia.

This was essentially because the professionals in the field and the studies done failed to understand pain responses in infants. But they weren’t aware they didn’t understand. They believed they were correct. Which is why several babies underwent surgical procedures with only muscle relaxants.

Some places had started using anesthesia on infants in the 70s but it was still standard practice not to use anesthesia on babies under 15 months old until 1987.

It was only recently discovered that babies can feel pain even though they were able to all along. Think of how many children were hurt because of that kind of ignorance.

So when people, even medical studies and doctors, say that babies in the womb don’t feel pain just know they don’t actually know that. They are basing that assumption on the currently held ideas about the sensation of pain. They aren’t basing it on actual knowledge on what children in the womb can perceive. There is still a lot we don’t know regarding consciousness and sensory perception in the womb.

And they could be wrong. 36 years ago they thought babies couldn’t feel pain even after being born and they were wrong. But they were convinced they were right. They didn’t know everything then and they don’t know everything now. Some recent research has even suggested that babies in the womb might be able to feel pain as early as the first trimester.

This is just to caution people against accepting and repeating claims like “fetuses can’t feel pain” uncritically when we don’t actually know that for a fact. Our understanding of pain and fetal development is something we are continuing to learn about so if you’re among the people who go around claiming babies in the womb can’t feel pain you need to stop because you don’t actually know that. No one knows that. It’s the current assumption but that assumption could very easily be wrong.

Abortion, however, is wrong regardless of whether the baby can feel pain or not. I just think it’s important to remind people that doctors are not infallible. They make mistakes all the time. Big ones. They are wrong about a lot. Medical history is filled with standard medical practices that were absolutely insane and incredibly harmful to people. So just because we know more now doesn’t mean we know everything. And the medical field is still prone to error. No one actually knows what a child in the womb can feel so if you make a definitive statement about it you’re operating from blind faith in an assumption that may very well be 100% wrong. Just like it was up until 36 years ago.

[jamiebluewind]

Warning! Pet illness, xray

A friend of mine a few states away had a pregnant female cat walk onto her porch and decide she lives now. She had 3 kittens. Since my friend/roommate @winterpower98 was looking for her first cat, we (other roommate/bestie, Winter/Gaia, and I) decided to take a trip down to visit and see if one of the kittens would work for her.

The thing is, she did fall in love with one! He's black with white markings, so the 6 year old had been calling him Eclipse. He's, curious, playful, and always trying to get into something. He loves Gaia. I mean LOVES her. And she loves him. Like... emptying her savings loves him.

Right before we arrived, our friend noticed a little lump on his belly. They thought nothing of it. And then, it got bigger. And bigger. And bigger.

After a week, we took him to a local vet to get checked out. He had a umbilical hernia. Luckily it stopped before his diaphragm, but the hernia was severe enough that he would need surgery to close it (a lot of articles talked about smaller ones closing on their own which is why we waited). He would also need special care for IBS symptoms and to keep his hernia from getting injured or obstructed before repair (which couldn't happen until he was big enough to go under anesthesia). He would need to come indoors for his safety and be separated from the others as his sisters pouncing on the hernia was causing issues (a week earlier than the 8 week mark).

I was honestly expecting Gaia to say it was too much for her to handle. Even told her that nobody would judge her for not being ready for that level of responsibility. That we could find an organization that could take him and get him the help he needed and find him a good home. He has two sisters she could consider, there were plenty of shelters back home with cats under a year old, and we could even check the town we were visiting and places on the way back home, so there were options. I knew how much it took to care for a kitten with health issues (my current cat required months of specialized care and there were plenty of scares along the way) and Gaia has no previous experience with cats outside of hanging out with our cats, so that's just starting on hard mode.

After a long serious talk on the responsibilities she was about to take on, she said she knew it would be hard but the thought of giving him up made her sick. That she would do whatever it took to give him a happy life for however long she has him. We aren't rich people, she's going back to college full time, she had only decided on him over one of his sisters that morning, and (again) this would be the first cat she has ever had. She went all in without a second thought.

The original quotes from various vets willing to do the surgery (not all vets can) were pretty insane, but luckily I found a non-profit that did the surgery for about half. My other roommate and I fully support her and chipping in what we can.

Eclipse is 8 week old and his surgery is scheduled in a month, but we are going to call in and check for cancelations since he's reached the minimum weight and age for anesthesia. Winter has been so busy caring for him that she's not had a chance to post about him, so I decided to do it on the drive home. I think the story is important because it raises awareness about an issue most don't know about and shows someone genuinely caring about a pet with special needs. As a disabled person who's went through a lot of ableism and survived abuse, it really hit me to see how much she loves him with her whole chest and doesn't ever approach his issues with anger or blame.

I don't ask for reblogs much, but I wanted to ask you guys to boost this. I linked Gaia's PayPal below if anyone wants to help take some of the financial burden off her, but you can also support her with messages and boosting this and her future post/s about Eclipse (cut her some slack guys, she's currently in tired new mom mode). I don't expect anyone to donate because I know you guys are mostly in the same shape as us, but I think showing Gaia support is just as important.

Now if you'll excuse me, the hyperactive boy got the zoomies and just jumped in the toilet XD

Edit: Late thing to add on, but a few days after posting this my other roommate/bestie Sarah decided to adopt his sister! Her name is Melanite, but her honey eyes have earned her the nickname Miel. Her and Eclipse have always been very close (often laying on top of each other), so it's great that they'll get to stay together.

[importantanimalstories]

"Well, today didn't go as we hoped but it's in the hardest of times we learn the best lessons and feel the most gratitude.

Buffy was scheduled to have her teeth cleaned and removed today but Dr. Mac had a gut feeling she needed to look at some lab work before putting her under anesthesia. She was right; Buffy showed signs of advanced kidney failure so anesthesia was not an option and as a family we decided that the kindest and most loving thing to do would be to let her go before she lost her will to live and stopped eating and drinking.

I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving Robbie out of this decision or not allowing him to be part of the entire process so I immediately went and picked him up from school. On the way there he told me he wanted to be the one to hold her when she went to heaven. And of course, I gave him that honor. On the way home I told him how proud I was of him for understanding the importance of caring for old animals and helping to make sure they never ever suffer.

This is what he said...

(And for those of you who don't know, Robbie was adopted from the foster care system after years of severe abuse and neglect.)

"I know how it feels not to be loved or cared for and I don't want any animal of mine to ever feel that way. It's only sad for us when they go to heaven. It's a happy day for them. Thank you for being proud of me. Are you ok, Mom?"

From the mouths of babes.

(As our story is being shared more and more I feel like I need to add a little more context and also give you a deeper glimpse into the heart of my son. We adopt senior dogs. Robbie LOVES adopting senior dogs. He is sadly aware the longer a child remains in foster care the less likely they are to be adopted. He told me once "if all you guys had wanted was a baby, you would have never gotten me." He relates to our "old people" (that's what we call our senior dogs) in much the same way.

He has also reminded me on several occasions that it doesn't matter how long you have something for how much you love it. I asked him what he meant and he said "well you've only known me for two years but you love me like it's been forever." Yes, my son is the coolest.)

[shalomniscient]

woah…..that zoya post…………now make them kiss (pretty please 🙏)

this took centuries. im so sorry

breaking point || zoya x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

cw. medical talk (or attempts at), kind of graphic descriptions of injuries (?), power bottom reader and service top zoya, unsafe sex in the sense reader wants to be dicked down so bad they diss condoms (practice safe sex gamers), fingering, creampie

notes. i dunno i just think zoya would like a partner with a little fire to them yk?? reader is just internally very horny for zoya but would not admit it even upon threat of death. also head in hands this is so disjointed im so sorry

taglist. @sinsmockingbird for when you awaken my liege

As an ER doctor, being able to keep a cool head even in intense situations is a priceless skill. You clarity and calmness could be the difference between a life saved and a life lost. Thankfully, you and your sister have always been good at being clinically cold—but even you both have your limits. For Iron, it was when she was forced to amputate her arm.

For you, it's watching a few legionnaires haul their Commander into the ER, barely conscious and looking half-dead.

"Trauma room 2, now," you snap, tossing your clipboard aside and pulling your coat tighter around yourself. Of course this had to happen on the one day Iron was in Eastside picking up supplies. Your mind races as you march alongside the legionnaires as they drag Zoya—hardly responsive, head hanging low, pallor to her skin—onto a cot. Your nurses swarm you like a well trained unit, moths to a light, awaiting your orders. You suck in a breath, let each molecule of air settle in your cells, before you dive headfirst into action.

"Four units of O-negative, and two large bore IVs," you command, your voice even as you move to stand next to the cot. The wound on her abdomen is substantial, and for once you're grateful for her frankly ridiculous fashion choices since it lets you save time on cutting her clothes off. Your gloved hands reach up to cup Zoya's pale face, your eyes cold as you look down at her. "Get the OR prepped and call anesthesia now."

"Zoya," you say firmly, gently shaking her head. "Oi, brute. Can you hear me?"

The commander remains silent, and you frown. Perhaps the situation is worse than you thought. One of the legionnaires, just a girl, shifts anxiously next to the bed. "Boss got hit by a Mania weapon," she explains, her voice trembling as if she's near tears. "It was supposed to be for me, but—"

"Do you know what kind?" you cut her off, and internally you flinch at the way she recedes from the iciness of your gaze. But she shakes her head, and you bite your tongue. The pieces of the diagnosis align in your mind's eye—Mania weapon, unknown effect, caused severe lacerations and subsequent hemorrhaging. High possibility of additional Mania contamination within her bloodstream, although as a Sinner risk of further complication on that avenue is reduced.

You draw in another breath. Okay. You can do this.

"You owe me for this, brute," you mutter, before you kick the locks off the cot wheels and start pushing her to the OR. The double doors greet you like the gateway to purgatory, and you push everything beyond your clinical expertise to the furthest recesses of your mind.

Under the bright OR lights, your form casts a long shadow over Zoya's still one. You exhale.

"Let's begin."

You only finish six hours later.

Your scrubs are stained red up to your elbows, and you can barely feel your feet after being on them for so long. But the heart monitor beeps steadily, and it is the only sound you want to hear now. You thank your nurses and tell them to get some rest. Once they're out of sight, you stumble back and lean against the wall, your eyes slipping shut.

Your hands are shaking.

You exhale. You're barely aware of the fact that you're sliding down the wall until you end up on the floor, the coldness of the tile seeping through your scrubs. The surgery hadn't been easy. Fishing remnants of Mania crystals out of flesh equally as red is always a challenge—often, the patient doesn't survive. Corruption sets in quickly, and all you can do is hand them over to Iron to nip the bud before it blooms.

But you saved her. She's alive, breathing, stable, so why does your heart tremble in your chest? Why does the sight of her blood on your arms make you sick?

Deep down, you know why. But the words knot on your tongue and catch against your teeth every time you try to say them. So instead, you settle for something else. A different emotion, but no less potent. And you pretend that the rush you felt that other day was nothing more than loathing. And whatever it is you're feeling now is just irritation that you had to spend 6 hours stitching her abdomen back together.

"Stupid fucking brute," you mutter to yourself, resting your head on your knees, pulled close to your chest. "Going out and getting yourself hurt like that. Aren't you supposed to be strong?"

You sit on the cold tile for a while, before forcing yourself back onto your feet. Your eyes roam impassively over Zoya's sleeping face, and you can't help but think how... soft she looks, peacefully asleep like this thanks to the anesthesia. It almost makes you want to reach out and stroke her cheek—but you don't, and instead turn on your heel and walk right out of the room.

After all, there’s no point lingering on pipe dreams.

"Doctor!"

You sigh, feeling a headache build between your temples. You turn to the nurse, scowling. "Yes?"

"The, um... the patient in trauma room two is awake," she answers nervously. "And she's trying to—"

Whatever your poor nurse is trying to say is cut off by none other than said patient striding down the hallway, unbothered, even as five of the other strongest nurses you have try to hold her back. She simply drags them along with each confident step. Also, she somehow managed to get her clothes back? You mentally add another thing to your to-do list—you'll have to have a stern talk with whoever manages patient belongings. Zoya stops in front of the front desk and eyes you up and down, and you shoot an unimpressed glare right back at her.

"What do you think you're doing?" you ask flatly, and Zoya shrugs.

"I'm here to say thanks," she responds, and you blink. That... wasn't what you were expecting.

"Oh."

"I'm also going to leave," she adds, and then you scoff, feeling the moment crumble in an instant.

"In your dreams. You're not due to be discharged for three more days." You round the counter to stand defiantly in front of her, and she raises a brow. Around you, your staff shift nervously. If Zoya decides to force her way out, there really is no one who can stop her.

"I'm perfectly fine," she counters, placing a hand on her hip. Your eyes flick down to it, and yes—the glaring wound in her side is healed up, almost beautifully. Such are the 'benefits' of being a Sinner. But you shake your head nonetheless, stubbornly digging your heels in. If Zoya is an unstoppable force, then by God will you be the immovable object.

"You're fine when I say you're fine," you roll your eyes. "Now do I have to put you on a leash or are you going to go back to your room on your own?"

Something flickers in Zoya's eyes, and she makes a derisive noise that has your brow twitching. You can feel your blood starting to simmer just beneath your skin. Really, one of these days she's probably going to give you an aneurysm.

“Hmm, how about this, then? You check me over, and if anything isn’t in already healthy condition, I’ll stay,” Zoya offers, and you cross your arms.

“And if not?”

“Then I’ll leave,” she answers coolly. “Deal?”

Your head throbs. “Fine. Just get in the triage room, I’ll make this quick.”

You stalk your way to the room, Zoya following on your heels like an obedient dog. Like this, it is she who casts a shadow on you, with her once again ridiculous height. It makes you want to see her on her knees.

You banish the though away as quickly as it came and sit Zoya down on the cot. She leans back on both her palms, relaxed as ever, watching as you flit about, pulling on gloves and putting on your stethoscope.

“Breathe in,” you order, and she does. Her lungs sound clear, which is good. You don’t hear the light chime of embedded Mania crystals, which is a relief. Your hand trails down her back before moving to her front, ghosting over her abs.

The injury that had left her bleeding all over your floors is practically gone now—only a thin white line proof it was ever there. You brush your thumb against the scar, and you feel the way her muscles tense beneath your touch.

You do your due diligence, pressing along her abdomen as part of a standard checkup. It’s a perfectly normal procedure to check for organ size, pain and abnormalities, but the thought that this is Zoya you’re touching almost makes your hands tremble. And the way she’s reacting—tense and breathing deep with each inhale—is certainly not helping.

Once you finally finish the exam, there’s a distinct charged feeling in the air. You glance up at Zoya, and her eyes are dark; just like the way they were back then. It makes you swallow reflexively, your blood feeling almost unbearably warm beneath your skin.

You’re still close to her. Your hands are still on her abdomen. You should pull away, but you don’t really want to. A part of you doesn’t even think it can.

“Did I pass, princess?” Zoya breathes, her warm breath fanning across your face. Your eyes narrow, and you look directly into her dark ones like a challenge.

“It’s doctor.”

She smirks. You want to kiss it off her. “Whatever you say, princess.”

“Fuck you,” you snarl, ready to pull away, irritation overtaking the lust in your system before Zoya grabs both your wrists and keeps you close.

“Fuck me yourself,” she whispers, dangerously close to your lips, both an invitation and a challenge.

A better doctor would’ve stepped away. Good thing, then, that you never were the best, because you meet Zoya’s challenge in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. Zoya grins against you, slipping off the cot to tower over you. Her hands move your arms around her neck as she walks you backwards, all while her tongue plunders your mouth.

Zoya pushes you against a wall with enough force to make you gasp, air rushing from your lungs. Her lips and teeth descend on your neck as her hands travel down to your ass, squeezing once before they find your thighs, guiding them to wrap your legs around her waist. You sigh in pleasure at the kisses she presses against the skin of your neck, one of your hands winding in her silvery hair while the other digs into her shoulder to steady yourself.

You’re now completely held up by her, but the fear of falling doesn’t cross your mind even once. You’re pretty sure Zoya can keep you in place by just pinning you to the wall with her hips. You grind your front against her pelvis, and you both groan at the friction against her growing bulge. Zoya’s fingers find the waistband of your scrubs, and she tugs them down roughly.

You tighten your grip in her hair at that, and she hisses in both slight pain and pleasure. “Careful,” you mutter to her, “you’re not allowed to rip them.”

Zoya scoffs against your neck but nonetheless obeys, and you sigh when you feel her knuckles rub against your clothed clit. Zoya exhales as she feels your wetness seep through your panties and onto her skin.

“So fucking wet, princess,” she coos into your ear, dragging a finger along your slit. She presses lightly on the ruined cloth, delighting in the way it sticks to your drenched lower lips. You nip at her jaw, a scrape of your teeth along the defined bone, and Zoya takes the hint.

Her fingers push your panties to the side, and then sinks knuckle deep into your cunt.

You bite down on her shoulder to muffle your moans, your pussy fluttering around the intrusion. Fuck, her fingers are so thick—she’s hardly done anything and you’re already so close to your peak it’s embarassing. Your legs tighten around her waist as she starts pumping her fingers in and out of you, the wet sounds of her working your cunt open echoing in the room. Her thumb presses against your stiff clit and you squirm, burying your face in her neck and panting for breath.

“Gonna cum, princess?” Zoya asks, a breathless edge to her voice. “You’re—fuck—getting tighter, baby.”

“Keep going,” you snap, somewhere between a snarl and a sob. Your entire body is trembling. You seriously might kill her if she does. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Zoya growls, and pistons her fingers even faster all while her thumb draws harsh circles against your clit. You babble whispered praise into her neck before one final, perfect stroke against that spongy spot inside of you had you creaming all over her fingers. The gang leader grunts as she feels your tightness bear down on her, and wetness seep into her palm.

You pant against her neck as you come down from your high, legs twitching. Zoya withdraws her fingers with a wet squelch, and you shudder. But she doesn’t set you down, not just yet, and you know why—or rather, you can feel why. You pull back, leaning your head against the wall, and all while keeping your eyes locked with hers, let your hand brush against the tent in her pants.

Her hips jerk at the sensation, and you smirk. She’s just as pathetically desperate as you are. You brush your hand up and down the clothed length once, then twice, before finally tugging the zipper and her boxers down just enough for her cock to spring free.

Shit, you feel yourself get wetter at just the sight. Her cock slaps against her stomach, painfully hard and big enough that you’re glad she had the control to finger you open first. Zoya growls again when you pump your hand along her length, gathering sticky pre-cum from her drooling tip and laving it down her hardness.

“Wouldn’t happen to keep condoms in here, would you?” she asks, her voice deeper than usual. You roll your eyes at the question.

“No, we don’t keep condoms in the triage room,” you answer, shifting your hips so her cock now rests against your soaked lower lips. “But we do stock morning after pills.”

Zoya’s eyes flicker dangerously, and she grips your hips tight enough to bruise. “You’re playing with fire, princess.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” you retort, moving your hips up and down and letting her cock slide between your pussy lips and bump deliciously against your clit. “I’m on the pill anyway.”

Zoya buries her face in your neck and growls, then angles her cock with your entrance and slowly pushes in. You have to bite your tongue as she enters because fuck, she’s so fucking big. You can feel the way you cunt stretches to accomodate her size, more than it ever has for anyone else and you whimper reflexively.

Zoya squeezes your hips apologetically, kissing your neck as she keeps going. “Gotta relax, princess, c’mon, just relax for me…”

You do your best, and the moment she bottoms out it feels like all the breath has been forced from your lungs. Gravity ensures you have a particularly deep seat on her cock, and it leaves both of you breathless. Zoya meets your eyes, and slowy, she starts to thrust, drawing back before snaping forward in a smooth rhythm that soon has you seeing stars.

She fucks you against the wall with as much force as she can muster without being too loud—the rest of the hospital is just outside the door anyway. She smothers your moans with a kiss, hungry and demanding, her tongue tangling against yours. With each rut of her hips her cock bullies your g-spot and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighten once more.

“‘m going to cum,” you gasp out, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure, “‘m gonna cum, Zoya, please—“

“Go on, then, princess,” she encourages, her thumb starting to work your clit again. “Cum all over this cock like I know you want to.”

You writhe against her, your cunt squeezing her length like a vise. Zoya grunts at the sensation, her thrusts starting to get choppy as she rockets to her own high. Her lips travel from your own then down to your neck, her teeth ghosting the skin there. With one last drive of her hips she buries herself deep inside you and spills her hot cum into your eager cunt, while her teeth sink into the junction between your shoulder and your neck.

Your eyes roll back into your head at the feeling of being filled by and of her, your insides being painted white as she dumps rope after rope of cum into you. Fuck, you’re going to be dripping into your panties for a while after this, but you can’t bring yourself to care as nothing but sheer pleasure courses through your veins.

You don’t know how long it takes before both of you wind down from the high, but Zoya’s still hilted inside you, and a part of you doesn’t want her to leave. You’re both a panting mess, and Zoya draws away from your neck with a breathless sigh.

“So…” she begins, and you can barely manage a noise in response. “I take it I’m clear to be discharged, doctor?”

You only answer her with a quick smack to her shoulder that has her chuckling.

(But you agree, on the condition she comes back for regular check-ups. Zoya has no problems with this arrangement.)

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Author's note: This is birth and medical fiction. It's all fake, just a fantasy. Of course I don't want this to happen to me or anyone in real life.

I'd like to have a high risk twin pregnancy. The type where I have to fight my obstetrician to let me try to give birth vaginally and then they try to insist I have an epidural so they can cut into me without delay if something goes wrong. I'll finally get them to agree to let me try it natural if I am invasively monitored throughout and I understand I'm going under general anesthesia the second things go south.

When the day comes for me to be induced, I change into a hospital gown & follow nurses instructions as they put IV ports in both of my wrists. I'm catheterized -- a situation that isn't made any more pleasant by the twinges already squeezing my middle -- and by the time I'm being strapped into the stirrups for the doctor to swipe my membranes, I'm so trussed up I can barely move.

It's my first pregnancy & I didn't expect it to hurt so much just to be pregnant. My hips have been sore practically the whole nine months, in part because of how heavy and low I am carrying the twins. Baby A practically lodged himself between my hips last week and the pressure has been slowly increasing. My breasts are cumbersome and it's painful to even feel the hospital gown brush against my areolas. By the time the doctor is settling between my legs to start my labor, I'm eager to face whatever delivery holds for me to make this pregnancy end.

I'm singing a whole different tune 16 hours later. Or rather, screaming one at the top of my lungs. I am in the throes of transition and suffering the pinnacle of a truly agonizing labor. Baby A is posterior and the pain in my back has me at the edge of my sanity, especially now that the contractions are lasting for 90 seconds, with barely a minute in between.

I'm incoherent at this point. I'm in so much pain I'm only able to think about surviving the second I am living. I'm minimally aware when the nurses move my aching body back into the stirrups so I can push my son into the world. I bear down at their direction and it feels like my ass is gonna bust when his head plunges down.

What actually happens is his precious posterior facial features lodge against my clit as a desperate push shoves him just past crowning and my poor little nub starts to sting. It feels like it's being ripped off and I'm humiliated to find I'm begging my doctor to save my clitoris while I'm straining a massive baby out of me.

I don't know how long I howl a about the pain in my clitoris but the next thing I know the doctor is roughly pulling the shoulders and then the body out of my hole, tearing me more in the process.

I'm aware that my aching canal is empty for the moment. I don't realize I am gaped so badly my asshole is almost inverted. It stings something fierce as birth fluids continue to pour out of my loose, sopping cunt. I start to cry when I realize I am still going to have to push Baby B through my ruined pussy.

I drift in and out of consciousness, occasionally aware of the sharp stab of a contraction. I wake fully to a nurse tapping my cheek to see if I've passed out. When I force my eyes open, she informs me Baby B isn't face down anymore and the doctor is about to perform an internal version. She tells me to brace myself because it will be uncomfortable.

I didn't fully realize the medical actuality of an internal version was for a grown man to stick his entire grown man hand through my cervix and into my uterus. I'm in such utter agony I barely register that the nurses are holding me down by my arms and where my thighs are not strapped to the stirrups. I am experiencing the most pain I have experienced up to this point in my life and it seems to last forever.

I never stop screaming, even when they put a mask pumping gas over my face to try to give me some relief, but the tenor of my yell changes when something shifts and then I feel something rip deep inside of me.

Suddenly all the pain that has come before pales in comparison to what I am suddenly feeling in my abdomen. It is indescribable burning combined with a sudden sense of dread that takes over my body. I am 100% certain that my reproductive organs just gave way with my daughter trapped inside me and I am going to die if something isn't done very, very soon.

It must only be minutes, maybe not even that long, that I lay there while the medical team catches up to the realization that me and my baby are in mortal danger. Time slows down and I feel the rip in my uterus expanding as the contractions, one on top of another now, injure me more by the second. Despite no medical knowledge, I know instinctively that the renewed flood out of my pussy is blood and I am hemorrhaging, possibly to death.

I am utterly helpless now. Strapped down in stirrups, paralyzed by pain, my strength seeping from me as fast as the blood flowing between my legs. I faintly register the monitors start to alarm as I lose the battle with consciousness and my world goes dark.

*******

I wake up groggy and disoriented on a stretcher being wheeled somewhere. I immediately start to panic because there is a tube down my throat and I am really, brutally aware of a long, deep vertical incision that extends from above my belly button down to my public bone. I swear I can feel the layers upon layers they sliced through to deliver my baby. I won't know until later about the battle the surgeons waged, first to save my life and then to save my fertility.

Right now I am only aware of how much it hurts to be jostled on a stretcher with a massive cut down my middle. When the two male nurses move me into the bed, I plead for unconsciousness as my body is roughly transferred to a bed. My tailbone hits the mattress and reverberates in the form of a sharp pain through my pussy. I've still got a catheter and I feel like every inch down there has been stitched up.

I hope one of these nurses will realize I am aware and therefore in indescribable pain but it seems like the paralytic they gave me before intubating me is the only drug of the cocktail still in effect. I suffer as they lift my hips and put a pillow under my butt. Then they start taking off my hospital gown completely.

My confusion quickly turns to fear as one gloved hand on each side grabs one of my fat titties and starts tugging. Breast pumps are whipped out and the men make quick work of shoving as much of my massive milkers in to each before turning them on simultaneously.

My uterus, even after the brutal surgical repair, still tries to respond to my milk suddenly dropping. The pain of contracting after uterine repair and a cesarean combined with the sudden gush of warm pressure on my aching tits brings tears to my eyes. I must be a strange sight: intubated and naked, massive breasts attached to pumps, with my deflated belly sporting a huge incision hanging above a pussy so bruised and stitched it looks entirely purple.

The elder nurse pats my naked thigh just before he makes to leave. It jostles everything and our eyes meet as I wince at the pain it causes me. A chill runs through my body as I realize he knows I am awake and feeling way more than I should be.

He looks at me the entire time he lubes his gloved fist, a sinister smile on his face. He settles between my legs and pauses to look up at me again.

"I bet you wish you'd had that epidural, huh, dear?"

My vision goes white as I feel his whole fist plunge into my pussy with a force absolutely intended to cause me a fatal amount of pain. My vision goes white and I feel pressure building in my chest as the stitches holding my cervix together start ripping. The last thought I have before I go into cardiac arrest is how I don't want to my last memory to be of being brutally fisted in my obliterated, post-birth pussy while my heart explodes in my chest.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

good morning, local sex witch!

I'm aware that this may be a "ask your insurance" question, but... I currently have an IUD in and it's going to be due to be replaced soon. I think I *would* like to get another one, but the last insertion was extraordinarily traumatizing and so painful I nearly threw up. Apparently I have an extremely small vagina, to the point that their smallest speculum was still sigificantly too big. I don't know if I can go through with the procedure again while fully lucid.

Is there a way to get them to, like, spot me a single Vicodin and some n2o? Bottle of jack? Cute nurse to rub my shoulders at least? I'm joking around here, but like. I'm genuinely terrified. I've had bone infections that hurt less.

thank you for all your work!

hi anon,

like you said, this is going to vary HUGELY depending upon what's available through your insurance and your particular healthcare providers. while a bottle of jack and a nurse rubbing your shoulders aren't very likely, you may want to enquire about the possibility of going under anesthesia for the replacement, which has to be at least as good as drinking through the pain. I can't guarantee it will be available for you, but it's an option that's worked out for a lot of people and it never hurts to ask!

[bandits-whump-collection]

Anesthesia vs Analgesia vs Sedation vs Paralytic

So, what's the deal? Aren't they interchangeable?

Well, no! Though they can be similar in some ways.

Anesthesia

Good ol "knock out the character" drug. It induces unconsciousness, but will not reduce pain, and doesn't make our character sleepy weirdly enough, or unresponsive to being touched. If you stabbed an anesthetized character, they would still reflexively flinch back. They also won't be truly sleepy, though it will feel like it when they wake up, but that's ultimately just their body fighting off the agent.

Analgesic

This is what you REALLY want when a character's anesthetized. Analgesics are also known as painkillers, so we could stab a character under analgesics and they wouldn't feel anything more than pressure.

Sedation

This one's the sleepy one. It calms and soothes, and though it's possible to fall asleep with it, it's more likely to leave our favorite character pleasantly dazed, but still awake, aware, and feeling pain.

Paralytic

This one's the one that stops movement during surgery, since as mentioned before, our character could still move around, even when unconscious. This is NOT anesthesia, and even if a character is completely unable to move, they are still highly conscious and acutely aware of what pain they're in. Nothing's scarier than being unable to move and feeling a blade bite into you, especially when everyone's oblivious.

Just a brief resource for anyone looking to add some variety to their writing!

[god-of-fandoms]

Jay is so, so tired.

He’s only vaguely aware of his surroundings, but he can hear a lot of raised voices. It’s different from the usual jeers and laughter of the pirates, their mocking cries cutting into him almost as effectively as their blades. No, this feels more… more urgent, he supposes. People are calling out orders, their voices commanding and loud. Blearily, he wonders what they’re talking about.

“...Vitals are weak but stable for now…”

“...Needs an IV, stat!”

“...Several open wounds, possible concussion…”

He slowly realizes that he’s moving. Well, not him. He’s lying on something (a bed maybe? No, it’s hard and painful) that is seemingly being wheeled along at a very quick pace. A strange mask is covering his nose and mouth, air gently pushing its way into his lungs. He knows what this is, knows he’s used one before, but his mind is so foggy he can’t recall where or when or why. 

“... Going into shock?”

“...n’t tell, conscious but unresponsive…”

“...Fuck.”

Well, that at least he could understand.

Jay tries to move his head, but a bright flash of pain stops him. Everything fucking hurts, but that fact is barely news at this point. After all, since the beginning of his imprisonment on the Misfortune’s Keep there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by without gaining a new injury or two. (Or ten, when Nadakhan’s really mad.)

He does his best to mentally shake off the fog, trying to figure out what’s going on. He… doesn’t think he’s on the Misfortune anymore - if he was still there, there would be absolutely no lying down like he’s doing now. He’d probably be back in the Scrap N’ Tap arena or cleaning the deck or (FSM forbid) in Nadakhan’s quarters. The djinn is scarily determined to deny him any rest until he physically can’t function without it - no doubt part of his plan to make Jay give up and wish.

“... Bones healed incorrectly…”

“... Emergency surgery…”

“...ay! Jay! Is he ok?”

Now that he’s thinking, the events before his unconsciousness begin to trickle in. He remembers, with a minute jolt, the rescue attempt. How his heart had filled with relief and joy knowing that his friends did care, that they wanted to rescue him despite his lies. How that hope had faded into despair when they were recaptured, and how Cole had nearly been forced to walk the plank.

He remembers the fight, remembers the pure euphoria of his powers singing once again, without the vengestone cuffs made to suppress them. He remembers, with a wince, his friends’ decision to use their wishes to give the fight an edge, and how Nadakhan had twisted their commands into something unhelpful or dangerous. 

He remembers losing Kai and Cole to the djinnblade, the fear and sorrow as Lloyd used his last wish to help him get away. To escape, alongside…

NYA!

Jay thrashes suddenly, a reaction that seems to surprise the strangers wheeling him around. Their voices rise as they stop and try to restrain him, but that only increases his determination to move. 

“... wrong with him?”

“... hold him down…”

“...ould we use anesthesia?”

He feels hands pinning his arms and legs to the metal slab, and his panic only grows. No, he has to leave, has to find Nya, has to know that she’s ok-

He’s sobbing, he thinks, if the sudden dampness on his face has anything to say. He hears gasps as he thrashes harder, because he has to tell them, make them understand-

He manages to free one of his arms and rips off the mask. He has to tell them so they’ll let him go.

“Nya,” He cries out, his voice giving way at the end from dehydration and exhaustion. “H-have to find- find Nya, please, please…”

The voices are only getting louder as he pleads with them. His hand is once again pinned down and he screams, because he doesn’t have time for this when Nya is gone.

“Please! I need her, w-where is she, where where where-”

No one is listening to him, no one is letting him leave, and he’s quickly losing his strength. An IV slips under his skin, and whatever is in it makes his vision double. They’re drugging him, he realizes, so that he’ll calm down. 

The thought just makes him panic more.

“Nya!” He sobs, as he stops fighting the many hands holding him down because he’s so tired, so very tired, “Nya, where are you? Please...”

“Jay!”

The familiar voice calms him down before he even realizes. He sucks in a breath, tears running down his face long forgotten as he stops and listens, hoping, praying he wasn’t imagining it-

And then a figure is shoving past the strangers and leaning over his resting space. Her eyes are the first thing he recognizes, familiarity flooding him despite his exhaustion. He knows these eyes - the amount of times he’s caught himself staring into them out of the blue is honestly embarrassing. The rest of her details come pouring in immediately after, trickling into his mind like the tide. A mole just above her top lip. The small scar across her cheek from a throwing star. Cropped black hair, falling into her face amid her disarray. He knows these details. He knows this face. He knows this person.

Nya stares down at him, her eyes shining with tears. “Jay, I’m here. I’m here, you have to calm down for me, please.”

And Jay calms down. Maybe it’s the drugs entering his system, or the pain and fear and exhaustion that have been following him for months, or maybe it’s just because it’s Nya telling him to, but it’s suddenly so easy to stop thrashing and crying. He has no reason to do so anymore, after all - Nya is here and she’s alright.

“... doctors are here to help, I promise. They won’t hurt you but you need to be sedated so they can administer emergency surgery.”

Her eyes are so pretty, Jay notices drowsily. Looking into them gives him the same feeling as staring into the ocean from the Destiny’s Bounty. Like her element, Nya’s eyes have been a deep cyan ever since she mastered her abilities. His eyes are blue as well, but they’re nothing special. Nya’s are blue like the rolling waves, blue like the sea during a storm. 

“...gave me permission to be with you during surgery, you don’t have to worry about me leaving- Jay? Are you ok?”

He’s crying again, not like earlier. Before Nya arrived, he had been sobbing violently. Now, though, tears just trickle down his face as he looks into her eyes.

“Missed you,” He chokes out, and Nya’s face collapses. Her expression is a mix of sorrow and concern and, to his horror, guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” and FSM she sounds close to tears. “Jay, I’m so sorry I let this happen. We should have gone after you, but I convinced the others you’d be fine, and it’s all my fault-”

Shit, shit, shit, how could she say that? He’s the one who should be sorry, he should be begging for her forgiveness. She’s so wrong, so very very wrong, and he has to let her know.

Despite the drowsiness now pushing him down, he shakily reaches out. Nya takes his hand, squeezing gently.

“Don’t blame you,” He murmurs, “Never did, please don’t cry…”

She sniffs gently before wiping her eyes with her free hand. “I’ll try not to,” she whispers. And it’s true, she doesn’t seem like she’s about to break down anymore, but she still looks sad and guilty and Jay would rather die right now than let that look be the last thing he sees before going under. The overhead lamps of the building they’re in (a hospital, he’s now fairly sure) form a crown of light around her head. Nya might be obviously exhausted, dirty, and injured from their fight on the Misfortune, but with the way her eyes shine and the halo surrounding her, she looks breathtaking. Almost like…

“Y’r like an angel,” he mumbles, stifling a yawn. He doesn’t know why out of everything he chose to tell her that - after all, she’s made it clear by now that she doesn’t feel the same way as him anymore. But it’s true, and he’d honestly say anything to make her less sad at this point.

Through his blurring vision, he’s able to make out the slightly bemused expression Nya gets. 

“...An angel? Why?”

“Saved me,” Jay slurs. He’s getting more and more exhausted by the minute but he shakes it off as much as he can to squeeze her hand and offer her a grin. (FSM, he hopes she’s not too put out by those missing teeth.) “Came back and rescued me. Y’r my guardian angel now.”

Nya sucks in a breath. “All of us wanted to save you, Jay. I’m not special.”

“Y’ are, though. N’dakhan wanted you, but y’ still came. Brave.”

His eyes are closing again, so he can’t see Nya’s expression anymore, but she squeezes his hand back. 

“‘M sorry for ev’rything. Y’re an amazing ninja. Fans… fans are stupid. I was stupid. S’rry.”

A wet chuckle from above him.

“Thank you, Jay. That… that means a lot.”

He wants to say more, but Nya’s talking again before he can.

“I think this conversation should wait until you’re not about to fall asleep,” she says, and Jay’s relieved to hear the tone of voice that she only gets when smiling, “but for now, you need to relax. You’re about to go into surgery.”

Now that she mentions it, the stretcher (it’s a stretcher, he remembers now) had stopped moving a little while ago. The strangers - no, doctors - are bustling around the room, preparing for an operation. The thought makes him a little queasy (he’s never liked surgery, and knowing how fucked up his body is right now this one’s definitely gonna be invasive) but he doesn’t feel as scared as he would usually. Not with Nya here.

His eyes are glued shut, and fighting off the sweet tug of sleep is no longer working. He whines and holds Nya’s hand tighter. 

“Don’t leave…” he whispers.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sparky.”

He sighs contentedly at that, releasing his death grip on her hand. A doctor comes up to the stretcher and talks lowly to Nya. He’s so tired that he can barely make out what’s being said, but the meaning is clear.

It’s time.

Nya leans down to put their heads close together. Wisps of her hair gently tickle at his face.

“Sleep, Jay. I’ll be here with you until you wake up again.”

It’s with the sedative running through his veins and the soft whisper in his ear that Jay finally succumbs to his exhaustion. 

He slips into unconsciousness thinking only of ocean blue eyes.

---

Yall this is unedited and not beta read but I'm so tired.

I'll probably try and fix any mistakes tomorrow but for now I have to sleep - gotta wake up early for even more exams :(

Nevertheless I hope you like this :D tell me what you guys think, I'd love to hear your thoughts

Have a lovely day!

-Lee :)

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! So my main character is a woman whose leg has been crippled in a car accident; she struggles a lot with the pain and with the cane she uses to walk. One day she gets surgery for an unrelated issue, and while she's under anesthesia her partner, the surgeon, realizes he can also heal her leg during the same procedure, and he does, without consulting her because a) she's sleeping AND b) he suspects she wouldn't accept out of pride. I'd like to know whether this behaviour could be considered toxic regarding her disability specifically? He does it out of love, because he wants to make her life easier, but apart from the lack of consent, I'm afraid there is something wrong about him trying to heal a disability. Thank you very much!

Hello,

So, first of all, it's probably not the greatest stylistic choice to refer to her leg as crippled unless you as the writer are also physically disabled. It is still a slur and it's best not to use it unless you know exactly what it means.

And second, it's just not good of him to do that. Physically disabled people do often have our bodily autonomy denied in real life, and it's a huge problem that's only recently kind of being acknowledged as a bad thing. This is something that may resonate with some readers and if it's portrayed as a good, romantic thing, it could trigger them. It can also give abled readers the idea that this is an okay thing to do, maybe even that it's a thing that should be done, and that's not a good thing.

Also, from a disability perspective, it's also not great that he went and cut her open to try and fix her disability. Procedures to do stuff like that, especially at the hip or spine, where a surgery for something like this would likely be, come with a massive risk for complications. There's a very real chance that now she's still disabled, just in a different way. I'll use an example of knee replacements. Yeah, people need their knees replaced sometimes to prevent, mitigate, or end a disability, but it's a major procedure on a weight-bearing limb and it's pretty complex, so a lot can go wrong. When things go wrong, these people are now left with an entirely different disability, sometimes a new disability joining the one they already had. That's the risk of a knee replacement surgery and patients are to be informed of the potential complications before they agree to the surgery. It's called risk-aware informed consent and it's extremely important. Doing something major without informing the patient of the risks means operating them without their informed consent and causing the patient great risk, maybe even doing undue harm. The Hippocratic Oath is to do no harm, and he will have his ability to practice taken away if he does this.

If you're going to do this, don't portray it as a good, romantic thing. It's not.

Mod Aaron

[silvercap]

Medwhump May 01 -Under Anesthesia-

The first thing Leon becomes aware of is a faint pressure in his side, confusion filtering sluggishly through him as he struggles to remember why that might be a problem. His eyes won't open, his body relaxed and unwilling to obey his attempts to move, and Leon decides he must be trapped in some sort of dream. He feels like it---everything is a few layers removed from reality, like every sensation has been dulled. It's only when the pressure suddenly increases harshly, the smallest pinch of pain drawing him further out of the haze, that he begins to feel anxious.

He thinks he can hear voices. They refuse to make sense when he tries to listen in, babbling words that sound like jargon he can't understand, distant clinking and beeping soon rising above. Leon would frown if he could. Where the hell is he? The last thing he remembers, he was with Piers, a gunshot wound bleeding him dry from where it had been opened in his abdomen.

Leon's eyelids finally open with a flutter, fear pushing him past the cobweb barrier of sleep that holds him hostage. Bright lights immediately blind him, all sterile steel and clean white ceiling above. It looks like a hospital, but... Leon doesn't feel like he's in a hospital bed. He can't feel much of anything, actually, except for another flare of faint pain that prompts him to try and look downwards without moving his head.

He shouldn't have.

Fear trickles down his spine as Leon takes in the forms hovering over him, a cold sweat prickling the back of his neck. He's not breathing on his own---the tubes leading down his throat make sure of that---but he swears he can feel it catch, panic making it difficult to focus. He's about to start trying to scream when a sudden voice cuts through it all, nervous.

"Mr. Kennedy?" A young-looking woman meets his gaze when he rolls his eyes back to centre, face covered in a medical mask and hair swept up under a fabric cap. "Can you hear me?"

Leon blinks, unable to do much else. The woman's eyes widen further, and the entire room explodes into chaos. People move above him too quickly for him to follow, the young woman disappearing for a moment. Someone hovers over his arm with a syringe. Leon tries to swallow and panics when he can't, the pressure in his side suddenly overwhelming. He doesn't like this, not one bit.

The young woman appears again in the corner of his eye. "Go back to sleep," she says softly, reaching to adjust the tubes snaking around his face. "You're alright. We're going to get you back under, again."

Heaviness washes through Leon's system as she speaks, even the fear not enough to keep his eyelids from closing. He's never been more grateful to fall asleep.

[writing-whump]

Hi, Sol, our beloved host and provider. 🥰

I know this is your world and you will do what you want - and what you feel right for the story, but please, don't leave this hospital so quickly. 🥺 Let Isayah be stable at least, before you jump... somewhere else. 😉

Maybe Zaya's POV this time?

🐾.

After Surgery

Isaiah woke up to steady loud beeping in his ear. It was quite annoying. Could he have a moment of peace?

It was weirdly difficult to open his eyes. His eyelashes felt sticky, like they were glued together.

He turned his head slightly to follow the beeping noise to find...machines. Tubes were sticking out of different IVs, weird liquids, all leading back...to him.

He took a sharp breath from the panicked suprise, which had a stab of pain flaring in his chest.

Oh right. His chest. The gauze barely covering the gaping hole right to his insides.

His hand moved frustratingly slow as he reached towards his chest, only to find it covered in bandages. Maybe that's why he felt so stiff, trapped underneath the thick layers of white.

His mouth felt dry and after sand. There was pressure on his chest, the feeling like he couldn't breathe, and a flaring soreness in the center of his chest when he tried to move.

Isaiah looked at his hand, horrified how many tubes and needles were sticking out of it. Was there a part of him that wasn't hurt or pierced in some way?

"Hey, Zaya. You are awake." Matthew’s voice was hoarse with relief as his hand hovered just above Isaiah’s arm before he gently touched it. He sat on a chair on his left, making Isaiah take on the difficult task of turning his head towards him. There was no way he could acknowledge the gaping hole on his right.

Matthew looked...wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes and sickly paleness. Isaiah blinked a few times, the edges of his vision blurry, but he could see his best friend's expression just fine.

Finally. The first time he woke up everything was so confusing, the world coming in and out of focus, too many lights and colours attacking his eyes. This room was dimly lit and calm, aside the annoying machines.

Matthew's hand reached over to clasp his shoulder, his grip uncharacteristically hesistant. Careful.

"You...you look beat," Isaiah croaked, coughing against the raw sensation of his throat. There was a queasy feeling at the pit of his stomach, making him very aware where the organ was.

Matthew barked out a laugh. "Christ, that's just rude, man. Where are your manners?"

Isaiah had to smile at that. "S-somewhere off...with my suit. Have you...seen it...around?" He cringed at how strained his voice sounded, barely above a whisper.

Matthew's grip on his shoulder tightened though and the pained lines in his face relaxed. Some of the heavy feeling in Isaiah's chest eased at the sight too.

"Also could you tone...that thing down?" Isaiah rolled his eyes towards the beeping equipment. He took a shallow breath, trying not to aggravate the pain in his chest. "Trying to sleep 'ere."

Matthew laughed again. "I'll tell them you complained. No peace in the hospital, I'm telling you."

The word "hospital" seemed to have broken the spell. Isaiah felt his smile slipping away along with Matthew's surfacing frown. His stomach squeezed nervously at the reminder of where they were and what they had done to him.

The stupid machine started beeping more horribly at once.

"How...how long?" Isaiah asked, his voice barely audible, the effort making him dizzy.

"The first surgery was 5 hours long. You were in post op with that open...ehh chest...and then they closed it up. Been a few hours since the anesthesia started wearing off. Your shadow man, you should have seen it. You didn't come to and it was already healing you."

Isaiah’s hand twitched, trying to reach the bandages. “Then… why…?” His voice was so faint it almost disappeared, the question trailing off as another wave of pain made him shudder.

"It was rather deep, so it didn't heal all the way. Your shadow seems exhausted after too."

Isaiah nodded weakly, his head feeling too heavy to hold up. The nausea was getting worse, the tightness in his chest unbearable.

Another wave of queasyness swelled inside him. Isaiah took a deeper breath through his mouth, but that pulled at the little capacity of air his lungs were currently able to hold. His chest was a minefield of little stabbings and sores, muscles pulling at places he never registered before.

He coughed and winced as that aggravated the incision site further.

"Zaya? What's wrong?"

He gave Matt a tight smile. "Ahh...everything hurts. Nothing new." The pained grimace replaced the feeble smile attempt and he couldn't suppress a quiet moan.

Matthew brushed the hair out of his face, making him look up. "Should I get the nurse? You are on a pretty crazy mix of painkillers and antibiotics right now."

"Could you find out-" it was difficult to talk through the pressure getting stronger in his chest, "when I can go home?"

Matthew shook his head in exasperation. "When we can take care of you without the fear of killing you on accident, what about then?"

Isaiah scrunched his eyes shut, fingers digging into the thin sheets. "I don't feel right..." he murmured, each word a struggle, his fingers curking up in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.

Matthew was on his feet in an instant, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Zaya? Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?"

A harsh gag came out instead of an answer. His whole body shuddered in response, the pain in his chest shooting up to his back and arms. He gagged again, his body convulsing as the nausea peaked. Barely managing to turn his head before the dry heaves overtook him, his entire chest screamed in agony with each spasm.

Matthew grabbed a basin and held it under his chin, eyebrows knitting together in one thick line in the center of his forehead. Isaiah focused on it while his throat bobbed against his will.

There was nothing to bring up but bile. Isaiah spit a small amount of it, stomach still twisting painfully. He was drowning, trapped in the sheets while the nausea rose to his chest and throat. Another cough and a string of spit. It felt painful against how rough his throat felt.

He couldn't help another moan, shutting his eyes against the nausea and the pain it triggered, his whole body shaking from extertion.

Matthew put the basin away, his fingers carding through Isaiah's hair. "Okay. You are okay. Deep breaths."

"Can't-can't really," Isaiah protested. "Still...so...nauseous..." he gasped between breaths, his voice hoarse and strained.

"Yeah, I think they mentioned the mix of the meds and the anesthesia combo could do that." Matthew fumbled with the call button. "It's alright. They will give you something for it. Just a sec, man, hang on."

Isaiah nodded, opening his hand. Matthew didn't wait long to take it, squeezing it with a lot less carefulness.

"Hey, Matt?" Isaiah said. Bone-deep tiredness joined the chorus of different pains, the nausea still thick at the back of his throat. But he had to ask, he had to make himself ask what he had been dreading since he woke up. "Where's Sel?"

[3m0n3rd]

Please sign this petition to stop octopus farms!

Why should you sign this?

This is happening in Spain, as these farm hurt these intelligent animals. Because octopuses are emotionally aware and are able of social interactions. But these farms are taking these sentient creatures captive and it is well known that octupuses suffer greatly in captivity - which causes extreme boredom, stress, diseases and depression. They are also a major part of marine ecosystems, and taking them from their home is straight up ruining the bio-life under the water.

These farms in Spain raise about a million octopuses annually for food. Octupuses are solitary animals (unless mating) that live in deep sea waters that has little light. In captivity, octopuses are tightly packed in together and are shunned with light.

Farms in Spain use a method called the 'ice slurry' - "Ice slurry killing is a method of euthanizing fish or octopuses by lowering their body temperature to cause anesthesia and death" says humane slaughter association

In other words, they give these animals less and less oxygen and either warm up the temperature and or lower the temperature (depends on the species) until they die. So a slow and painful death to these well aware animals.

"Large numbers of octopuses should never be kept together in close proximity. Doing this leads to stress, conflict and high mortality …"

Around 350,000 tons of octopus are caught every year. With only 500,000 tons are in the wild. So basically even though the population is growing in the wild in enormous rates, these farms will just take almost half of the population that's growing and slaughter these classified sentient mollusk*. Octupuses are caught 10 times more since the year 1950 that's been recorded.

What can I do to help?

Well of course sign the petition! So far they have 580,304 signatures but they need to get to until 750K signatures!! You can also donate if you can, the donations are from 5$ up to whatever you have! This will help ban these farms and save these animals. Reposting also helps a lot! It takes one click to help the marine biolife and inhumane Slaughter toward these beautiful octupuses

*(A mollusk is "any of a large phylum of invertebrate animals (as snails, clams, and octopuses) with a soft body lacking segments and usually enclosed in a shell containing calcium.." - Merriam-Webster)

[cannabiscomrade]

What do I put on a medical ID?

I made a post 10mo ago about getting a medical ID and what to put on it. I've since made 3 other medical bracelets and I've learned a lot.

What should you put on it?

This is highly individualized to your specific conditions and needs, but you should prioritize the information that emergency services need to be aware of.

Allergies: are there any allergies that EMS needs to know that could have contributed to a medical emergency.

Medication: Do you have any meds that have serious interactions with common meds? Are you on blood thinners? Do you have rescue medications? Example: I am on Metformin and it can send you into lactic acidosis under anesthesia, so I have to stop it days before any scheduled surgeries. This isn't possible for emergency surgery so they need to know this.

Conditions/Past Medical History: if you're like me, it's possible not all of your medical conditions will fit onto one ID. Choose the ones that are most likely to cause a medical emergency or be relevant in one.

Implants/Medical devices: certain medical devices can interact with medical imaging. And it's important for EMS to just know it's there. I've had medical professionals almost tug on my GJ tube because they thought it was an IV tube or EKG lead.

Identification: up to you- but would be helpful to get access to your records at the hospital. If you carry your ID/license on you, you can probably get away with not listing your name and birthday. Be careful putting identity information if you think you could lose an ID bracelet easily.

Emergency contact

Other relevant information: blood type, diet considerations, where to find your rescue meds

Here are my medical bracelets! I have a general one, a medication ID, and a bracelet with my port details.

If you can't wear bracelets, they make other medical ID necklaces. they also make IDs that can go over your watch band. I prefer bracelets because there's more room.

I generally don't recommend the ones that require you to use a USB or scan a QR code, because I find it highly unlikely that EMS would waste time to do this. A lot of companies will send blank ID wallet cards that you can fill out with more extensive information.

Make it yours! Add as little or as much information as you want, but make sure it's medically relevant. Paramedics don't need to know you have seasonal allergies.

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Author's note: This is a fictional story about a graphic medical birth in which the pregnant woman is presumed to be in a vegetative state but feels every moment of her agonizing birth.

Tara Strahan, then 22, was seven months pregnant with her first child when she and her husband, Brian, were involved in a horrific car crash during a winter storm. Brian died at the scene; Tara was rushed to the hospital where doctors eventually declared her to be in a ‘vegetative state’ as a result of massive head injuries.

Two days later, Tara regained consciousness but quickly realized she couldn’t move or speak. 

“When I woke up, I immediately wanted to know if the baby and my husband were ok. Then I realized I had a tube down my throat, and I couldn’t move at all, even a finger.” 

Tara had become the victim of a rare condition called ‘locked-in syndrome,’ meaning she had full cognitive and physical awareness, but complete paralysis off all voluntary muscles. She was able to feel pain and understand conversations, but unable to let anyone know of her plight. 

“I realized pretty quickly something horrible had happened to Brian. Otherwise, he would have been there. Instead, it was just an endless parade of doctors, and all of them had already given up on me. All the conversations were about how long they needed to keep the baby inside me, and how they would get it out.” 

Tara’s doctors eventually concluded that the risks of anesthesia were too high to perform a c-section. Instead, they decided to induce her labor, and allow her to deliver the baby naturally. 

Tara, who’d told friends that her greatest fear about giving birth was the pain she’d feel before the epidural took effect, had almost two months with nothing to do but think about labor and delivery with no drugs, unable to move or scream or even regulate her own breathing.

“I was scared to death. It was pretty much all I could think about, and hearing people talking about it all the time made it even worse. There were a group of interns, every day during rounds, who’d joke about whether the labor pains would bring me out of my coma. But the worst was when one asked the head obstetrician if I’d be able to push. He said no, not in the usual way, but the force of the contractions would expel the baby from my body. I kept replaying that sentence in my head, wondering how long it would take.”

Because she was unable to tell doctors if she was having contractions, she was monitored closely throughout the rest of her pregnancy. She knew there wasn’t a set date for her to be induced; instead, the procedure would be performed when she started showing effacement or dilation. 

“There was this one nurse who’d talk to me while she cleaned me. She said, ‘today we’re going to induce your labor and you’re going to have your baby, but you’re so lucky, you won’t feel a thing.’ I wanted to scream so bad, let her know that, no, I was going to feel everything.” 

Three years later, Tara still has panic attacks when she remembers what happened that day. (Editor’s note: what follows is a graphic description of traumatic natural birth, and graphic medical procedures. Reader discretion is advised.) 

“There was an air of excitement, and there were about 15 obstetricians from around the country who’d come to watch. They’d given me muscle relaxants so they could spread my legs, because my muscles had started to atrophy. They strapped me into the stirrups right at the start, and my gown was pulled up to just under my boobs. I felt so exposed, but the crowd of people didn’t even shut up when my doctor reached up inside me and stripped my membranes. I remember thinking how humiliating this was gonna be, which I don’t think I’d considered before.” 

Doctors used pitocin to induce Tara’s labor. Unlike the slow build of natural labor, pitocin often induces strong contractions right away. 

“I could see the clock on the wall. About thirty minutes had passed between the shot of Pitocin and when I had the first contraction. It felt like a vice had been wrapped around my uterus. Had I been able to speak, I’d have been yelling from that very first one.” 

Tara endured ten hours of hard labor, with the contractions getting increasingly stronger. While she suffered, doctors and nurses made small talk about their weekend plans. As the labor went on, some started to complain about how long it was taking. 

“I was in agony. I’d never imagined anything could hurt that bad. I wanted to pant, like I’d seen in Lamaze videos, but the ventilator was controlling my breathing. I couldn’t move at all, and being strapped into the stirrups for my entire labor was torture. My hips hurt so bad, especially as the baby moved down farther and the pressure increased.

There was one doctor who kept talking about his dinner reservations. On and on about wishing I’d hurry up and pop it out. He actually walked over and tweaked my nipple, and made a joke about that speeding up labor. Not only did I feel violated, it set off a horrible contraction, like the worst one yet. I got no comfort, no words of support. I was going through the worst thing I’d ever experienced, and it was like no one even considered I could be suffering.”

As Tara went into transition -- the most difficult, painful part of labor -- she says she heard some of the female medical professionals in the room joking about how much pain she’d be in, if she weren’t in a coma.

“There was this machine, they could tell when I was having contractions. They’d started coming one right after another, lasting almost a minute. It felt like I was being stepped on by an elephant. My back hurt, my cunny and arse were starting to feel like they’d explode. One of the women in the room said, “Whew, we know she’s really in a coma, she’d be screaming her head off if she could feel this.” 

Tara was in transition for over an hour before she finally felt the overwhelming urge to push.

“It was the strangest sensation, I’m not ever sure I can describe it. I needed to push so bad, it physically hurt not to push. But I couldn’t. None of those muscles would obey my commands. And then it was like the doctor said, the contractions got even stronger to push the baby out. I could feel him moving down but it was so, so slow.”

Tara watched the clock on the wall for five hours as she endured the excruciating pain of her baby making its way down into her birth canal.

“I wanted to die. I thought it was never going to end. I was praying for a c-section. I knew they probably wouldn’t give me anything for the pain, but I figured I’d have a heart attack when they sliced into me and that would be better than the agony I was feeling.” 

Tara eventually started having chest pains, and the monitors on her and the baby started to alarm. 

“I remember my chest started hurting after the baby had been stuck just behind my entrance for about two hours. I was so hopeful that they’d finally noticed something was wrong with me, that I was dying in pain.”

In fact, the doctors still didn’t know Tara was in distress, but her baby’s vital signs indicated he was. 

“The air changed in the room. All the laughing and joking stopped. One guy started pressing his whole body weight down on my uterus while I was in the middle of a really bad contraction. It hurt so bad, I actually thought it ripped.

He did that for a while, and then I heard them call for the forceps. I was so afraid, my chest was aching, and my cunny was on fire. I just wanted it to be over. I couldn’t see anything over my big belly, so it was a complete surprise when they jammed the first one up there. It felt like the metal was cutting into my pelvic walls. By the time they got the second one in, I was having a horrible contraction, and it felt like my entire stomach had ruptured.

One of the things I remember so clearly was that they cut the episiotomies, on the top and near the bottom, while I was at the peak of a contraction. I was suffering so much, I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but I remember thinking, ‘those bastards just cut me during a contraction.’

Citing pending legal action, Tara’s doctors won’t confirm how long it took to pull the baby out. Tara says it was at least fifteen minutes.

“They kept tugging and tugging and it really felt like my insides were breaking. My cunny was a mess, and they were pulling so hard I kept getting slammed back down on the metal table.”

Tara suffered a separated pelvis in the attempt to get the head out; it’s the moment she calls the “worst pain anyone could ever suffer.” 

“I couldn’t really even think after my pelvis separated. It was all pain, and I didn’t think it would ever end. I know it took a while to get the shoulders out, because the doctor kept putting his hand inside me, trying to dislodge them.” 

Tara says she lay there, splayed and bleeding from her ravaged genitals, for forty minutes while they worked on the baby. She says she was worried for her child in an abstract way, but was hurting so bad she couldn’t focus on anything other than her gaping sex. 

Tara says she passed out when a doctor pulled her leg back to stick his hand inside her, jarring her broken pelvis in the process. She woke with a pelvic fixator, 40 stitches in her genitals, and absolutely no pain medication.

[beautifulblooms]

Tee hee tee hee!!!! Bestie I have a gift for you!

Hobie x retired Spider-Man!reader (established romance). They are the same age and all but the reader quit his title and went back to being a civilian and one day exposes who he was when saving a kid and was shot by a cop who was in charge of detaining Spider-Man a long time ago. Then Hobie gets a call say reader is in the hospital. What happens to the reader is up to you :>

Too Late to be a Hero - Hobie Brown x Male! Reader

so you said angst for this, and I got to decide what happened to the reader, suffer for that Valeria shit you pulled on me earlier

CIS Women and Female Aligned people, please DNI, this story and all of my others are for non-binary, masculine aligned and male readers!

Rushing into the hospital, Hobie was damn near frantic after the call he received mere minutes ago about his boyfriend (y/n). He never knew that (y/n) was once Spider-Man like him, hell the man had been surprised when Hobie told him that he was Spider-Man. So to now be running through a hospital, frantically searching for the operating theater with his boyfriend in it after he was shot by a cop, was something Hobie never expected. 

Making it outside the operating theater, Hobie demanded he be let in, but the doctors, nurses, and even some of the security guards told him to sit down and wait like everyone else. Begrudgingly so, Hobie sat down outside the operating room with a nervous and worried expression, the only thoughts floating in his mind being how this could have happened, how his boyfriend, seemingly normal and innocent, could’ve ever been Spider-Man before him and was now in surgery because of it. 

What Hobie didn’t know was that the reason (y/n) was fighting for his life was due to a near life-long grudge with a police officer who was tasked with catching Spider-Man while (y/n) was still taking on the role of the hero. (y/n) was only trying to save a child from a car that had skipped the red light by shooting a web to bring them back to the sidewalk, not caring that it outed him as his former secondary identity until it was too late and there was already a bullet through his torso. 

Now he lay in a medically induced coma with his chest opened and being operated on, his boyfriend nearly sick and crying with worry outside of the operating room praying for the first time in his life to any god or goddess that would listen to him. 

After less than an hour of being operated on, one of the doctors stepped out of the operating theatre to address Hobie, her clothes stained with (y/n)’s blood as she took a step closer to the man in front of her. 

“Sir, I hate to inform you…he won’t make it…we suggest you say your goodbyes while he’s stable.” Without another word, the doctor went back into the operating theater leaving Hobie in utter shock, this simply couldn’t happen, he had plans with (y/n), he’d made too many sacrifices and given too much to the relationship to lose him now. 

With shaky legs and wet cheeks, Hobie walked into the operating room and approached his boyfriend, a simple blue, medical cloth covering the very open cavity of his chest as (y/n) was still under the anesthesia, not awake or aware of his surroundings. Hobie grasped (y/n)’s hand gently and pressed a kiss to the back of it while he brought a hand to his boyfriend’s face to brush his thumb over his cheek, more tears slipping down his own.

“Please don’t leave me love…I can’t do this without you.” Those were the only words he could get out before the heart monitor started to hiccup, (y/n)’s heartbeat becoming increasingly unstable before it flatlined. Letting out a choked sob, Hobie pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead as he still held his hand, refusing to let go despite the doctors and nurses trying to pull him away as he mumbled a million “I love you”’s under his breath. He didn’t know what else to do as he watched the one person he’d ever consider taking a label for himself slip from his grasp, and he couldn’t even fix it