#breathing treatments

[idyllghost]

RIP Arthur Morgan you would have loved nebuliser treatments

[oh-katsuki]

remind me to never ask ppl in college for favors ever again jessusssss...

[tea-cat-arts]

You know what, I've read enough fanfic. I'm confiscating Madame Yu from you guys

Free my girl- she did the things she's being accused of, but not as frequently or severely as the fandom pretends, her actions are being taken out of context, and her depth is being reduced to that of a Colleen Hoover antagonist

[mintytealfox]

Embrace ;;

I wasn't as shaky this evening so I quickly put proper lines that make sense over my slightly more shaky ones from earlier (I was going insane I NEEDED to draw NEEDED to even if it looks bad lol)

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Magnum P.I. (2018) 3x05 | Ethan Shot

[junespriince]

Hamilton, but it Slade.

Batfam: We? We fought him.

Terra: Me? I died for him.

Dick: Me? I trusted him.

Joey and Rose: We? We loved him.

Wally: and me? I'm the damn hero that shot him.

Slade, goans:

Wally, turned around unloading a mag into him again:

[bbqhooligan]

no👍not really👍

[kitsune-kaos]

Les Lap Dogs

[ssaalexblake]

dw is a mid kid's sci-fi tv show and it's quality level has been mostly entirely consistent (mid, basically, with the occasional very good episode to balance out with crimes against humanity it sometimes produces) the whole reboot, and anybody acting like the Only thing going into peoples opinions of the characters are writing preferences are either Deeply naive or are trying to hide something they know people will not take kindly to.

[chicago-geniza]

Pharmacy lost my prednisone prescription and said it didn't exist but I called them back with Evidence and they eventually found it and I will have steroids on Friday. Please can the US Healthcare system work for one single second, I was supposed to have these meds a week ago, my lungs suck so bad

[cassielsunstone]

Asking in advance! Does anyone have any healer Zora OCs that work in the domain, that I possibly may use for the comic I'm working on? I wanted to ask before starting the sketching process of the next pages!

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Weird question time, not really a medical question, more a question about doctors office response times? Below a read more in case you want to skip it:

So, last week I may or may not have passed out*, in a way different to the times I may or may not (almost definitely have) passed out before, because this time my blood pressure was not low and my heart rate was not high. I am someone with a long history of cardiac-adjacent issues, endocrine and/or brain related issues, and neurological issues**. I called my primary care doctor early afternoon on Wednesday and did not hear back from his office until after 5pm on Thursday, though the very helpful nurse I spoke to at the front desk squeezed me in for an appointment with a different doc at the same location on Thursday morning. I called my neurologist at the same time Wednesday, and I did not hear back from their office until today, the following Monday. They also were not calling to schedule an appointment. They were calling to see if I'd gotten my referral to an ENT that they send in five months ago, and mentioned they'd gotten my message that I'd "had an incident". I had to get transferred to someone else and say "I saw my primary care doctor already because you did not return my messages and I'd passed out. He did some bloodwork that all turned up normal and told me to talk to my neurologist" before they even considered getting me an appointment (which they did not do! They said they'd call me back tomorrow!) The question: Is that an unreasonable response time? It feels like an unreasonable response time to me, from both my PCP and my neurologist, honestly. Like, the nurse at the PCP's facility got me in to see another doctor, but my PCP didn't know and didn't respond for over a day, and my neurologist took five days and wouldn't schedule an appointment. I suspect the combo of past history of heart and neurological issues and passing out for the first time in years should be the sort of thing that rings alarm bells, right? *when I felt like I was going to fall down if I did not immediately lie down, I chose to lie down and had my eyes closed while lying down and I think I lost time? hard to tell though **I have tachycardia but it's never ever out of rhythm, so technically I don't have heart issues? The tachycardia tends to alarm new doctors though, like I get an express pass to an EKG immediately at the ER. The endocrine and/or brain issue is the salt wasting syndrome. Might be endocrine! Might be brain damage! Hard to tell! Thought it was endocrine for a long time but there's overlap. The neurological issues are migraines and brain fog.

[whumpbug]

whumperless whump event day 5: stealing my breath (give it back) @whumperless-whump-event

wheezing / light-headed

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Cassidy

whumpee: Gene

genuinely decided while writing this about gene having asthma. it flares up in situations like this or when he's sick. Good Whump Content......

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Sometimes, Gene wondered how people lived before having horses.

This sucked.

He silently cursed Sheriff Caufield for being the lazy bastard he was.

Gene was responsible for tracking down and arresting some members of Montana’s gang that had robbed a train car about 2 days ago. Rumor had it that the gang splintered off in order to hide, and were going to regroup in just a week. That meant it was now or never to try and find some of the more notorious offenders and lock them up for good.

The trouble was that the particular lead Gene had been sent to follow was up a complicated and winding mountain trail.

Now, Calliope was a very well trained and easy-going horse. That did not mean that she was scare-proof. If something startled her up there on the trail, and she bucked Gene off, the chance of him falling right down the side of the mountain was too high for comfort. 

So, he was forced to foot it up the steep trail.

And it was miserable.

Gene considered himself a fit man. He sort of had to be, with his line of work and all. Still, he was not this fit and he felt seconds away from toppling over on this damn hike.

One foot in front of the other. Come on, Delaney.

He used a stray root as a handle and hoisted himself up over a small ledge for what felt like the millionth time. He started to wonder if he was even going the right way.

He stole a quick glance at the sun and saw that it had hardly moved from the last time he checked.

He groaned.

Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to sit for a few moments. The smoke trail he’d been following had been steadily growing closer. If he rested now, he’d probably feel right as rain once he barged into the makeshift camp, and he’d probably perform a whole lot better too.

Without giving it too much more thought, he plunked down against a large rock to give himself some semblance of coverage, tilting his head back and trying to catch his breath.

Apparently, it was easier said than done.

Unfortunately, the unceremonious way he lowered himself to the ground kicked up dust all around him, and it was quickly becoming harder and harder to breathe around the particles.

Also, for some reason, his panting wasn’t seeming to slow down. On the contrary, his breathing only seemed to become more erratic.

He suddenly paled when a thought crossed his mind.

When he was a little boy, he remembered being rushed to the doctor after he caught a cold once. He had been struggling to breathe, and his mother didn’t know what else to do.

The doctor had told them that it had been something called an asthma attack. He said that Gene would likely outgrow it, but to be careful, because under the right circumstances, he could always relapse.

This sure as hell seemed like the "right circumstances". 

Gene scrambled to sit up, thumping at his chest with a fist in an attempt to get some air.  Strangled coughs left his mouth, returning as grating wheezes. He would have cursed if he could. 

He tried to cough again, he tried to do anything that would open his airways somehow, but it was no use. It felt like he was breathing through a straw-- like his body was simply going through the motions of inhaling without taking in any air.

He silently wondered if this was how he was going to die. There was no one around for miles except the very group of people that wanted him dead. The odds didn’t seem to be in his favor.

Still, he struggled valiantly for oxygen as black dots danced around his vision. He suddenly felt the strange sensation of his entire body tingling. He wheezed harder.

••••

“I’m gonna go check if there's anything useful down the mountain. I ain't gonna be far. Holler if you hear anything,” Cassidy called out, tucking his revolver into his hip holster and beginning down the rough trail.

The gang’s current situation was… less than ideal. The train job had gone south, and Montana made the quick decision to have everyone split up.

Cassidy ended up with mostly the women and children. He supposed Montana wanted someone he trusted with the less skilled gunslingers.

That was Montana; always thinking two steps ahead. If he trusted Cassidy enough to take care of all these people, then by God he was gonna do it.

And that started with investigating the strange sound coming from down the trail.

Cassidy hadn’t said anything earlier. He didn’t want to scare the little ones, but he was quite certain there was a dying bobcat or coyote or something just a few minutes down, and there was no way in hell he was gonna let it near his camp.

He carefully skidded down a ledge and hopped onto a little patch of dirt. The sound was getting louder now, and he reached a hand down to his hip.

He whipped out his gun as he rounded the corner, aiming it towards the sound and--

In front of him was, in fact, not a dying animal, but the last person Cassidy had expected (or wanted) to see.

And something was very wrong.

Gene was leaned back against a rock, hands clutching frantically at his chest. His eyes were wide and panicked, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear his vision. The worst part, though, were the sickly wheezes and gasps that left him. His lips were tinged pale blue as he fought for every breath he took.

“Shit, Delaney,” Cassidy hissed, crashing to his knees beside the deputy. Deft hands quickly unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt as Cassidy yanked him up to a sitting position.

Cassidy knew what this was. He was no stranger to these kinds of attacks. One of the younger boys in the gang had severe asthma as well. Cassidy was in charge of periodically stealing asthma cigarettes from the doctor when they went into town and--

Right. The box must be at camp.

“Alright, stay right here. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Gene’s eyes flashed with fear, a plea of “don’t leave me.” Another high-pitched wheeze escaped his lips, almost sounding like a word.

“S’lver,” Gene managed, trying to grab at his wrist.

“I know, I know. I’m gonna help. I ain’t gonna leave you. Just gimme a second, would ya?” He huffed, before sprinting away.

Ms. Holly, one of the mothers at camp, stepped forward when she saw Cassidy running to her tent like a maniac.

“Now just what exactly did you see out there-- what are you doing going through my boy’s stuff?!”

“Can’t talk,” was all Cassidy could manage before emerging with the box of cigarettes.

Her further questions were cut off by Cassidy bolting out and back down the mountain.

“Now what in the hell was that about?” She murmured.

Cassidy practically flew down the mountain this time, not caring about watching his step. He found Gene easily, but noted with horror that his wheezes were quieter now-- they were weaker. 

“You’re gonna owe me big time, cowboy,” Cassidy remarked, sparking up his lighter and lighting one of the medicated cigarettes.

Gene was flagging now, eyes glassy and unfocused. He hardly even reacted to Cassidy kneeling beside him and propping him up once again.

Cassidy carefully pressed the cigarette to Gene’s lips, stabilizing him with a gentle hand on his chest.

“C’mon, y’damn idiot, you gotta puff,” Cassidy urged, patting Gene’s chest lightly.

Gene coughed slightly, and attempted to do as he was told. He took a small, sputtering drag of the cigarette, coughing at the bitter taste of the smoke.

“Good, that’s real good. I know it tastes as foul as sin, but it’ll help you. Just keep goin’” Cassidy soothed, his voice surprisingly gentle.

After a few more choked drags from the cigarettes, the color began to return to Gene’s face. He was still wheezing, but he felt like he was actually taking some air in instead of just spasming. 

Cassidy hadn’t noticed that his hand was rubbing up and down the deputy’s spine the entire time.

When Gene's airways finally opened up enough to take a full breath, he collapsed listlessly against Cassidy, panting for sweet oxygen. He looked utterly spent.

“S’lver,” He coughed, reaching up to catch his wrist. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it." His eyes flitted up in the direction of the camp. "I assume this means you’ll turn a blind eye to this?”

Gene nodded, letting his eyes fall shut. He didn’t give a damn what the sheriff would say, he was just grateful to be alive.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[viric-dreams]

Whoops, more thoughts triggered.

Jones is fairly self-aware that there's something up with him. He knows about the compulsions. He knows why he responds in certain ways to different triggers. But he doesn't like to think about it, because that only makes them stronger in his mind. Instead, he tries to manage himself as best he can, to redirect into relatively harmless rituals, to extract himself from situations where some sort of an episode, and interpersonal consequences, seem inevitable.

Roberts isn't naïve, he's always known he was wired differently from most, and he was never particularly good at being able to hide nor compensate for it. Internally, there's very little denial happening in regards to either his mental or physical health. But what he can admit out loud is another matter. In the New Sequence, any sort of infirmity could've be seen as a weakness, or grounds to push him out of his position, so he was exceptionally careful to keep as much as he could out of public knowledge. Since leaving the navy, a lot of those anxieties are no longer as relevant, and Roberts feels more able to be open about it with trusted people. Roberts has recently found a therapist, and is also independently working through some things.

Ockham fully believes that there is absolutely nothing wrong with himherthem. Anyone who tries to bring up any of hishertheir behaviours as unusual or concerning is going to be shut down by virtue of being too English or too human or too overly-sensitive to know what they're talking about. Because Ockham does not see anything unusual or concerning about anything heshethey thinks or does, Ockham does not believe that heshethey needs to talk about it, and any sort of "help" would be seen as intrusive and unwelcome.

[chronicallycouchbound]

An important thing about me is that I fully support people who use substances, people in recovery, people who use in moderation, people who’ve never used, and none of those things contradict each other.

I’m very much pro-harm reduction and always will be. I support meeting people wherever they’re at, I support people having access to knowledge they need in order to make informed decisions around their use. I support people having access to safe means to use.

And more than anything, I filly support people in active use, including (especially) problematic use. I want my community to be safe. I don’t believe that offering support to people in active use is inherently enabling. I know that the only thing Narcan/Naloxone enables is breathing.

I’ve lost too many loved ones to sit on the sidelines and hope they’ll do what’s needed to keep themselves safe. The bare minimum I can do is emotionally support my community. I need harm reduction, we all do.

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Burnt Money (2000)

@of-wounds-and-woes has a lovely gifset of this here!