#bring masks back to healthcare

[theleftycanadianradical]

The Right uses a culture war over masks to attack our healthcare. They want it to collapse, they don't care if their base pays the price with their lives to get it done.

[jezabelle9299]

Broken Lungs S.R x FEM!Reader

CWs- Spoilers for season 5, depictions of asthma and use of a nebulizer, mentions of gunshot wounds, and health insurance not covering necessary medication.

Quick Infodump- Oxygen saturation levels should be 95-100%, lower than 93% should seek immediate help from a healthcare professional, and lower than 85% can cause severe damage to the brain because of a lack of oxygen.

Overture: Spencer is recovering from the knee surgery he needed after being shot in the field, when he sees a familiar face in the hospital being treated for an asthma attack.

A/N- This is based on my own experience with asthma, but it's different for everyone, so the relatability may vary with this one. But I was stuck at home all day because of an air quality alert so I did this instead of getting ready for the semester that starts in two weeks.

After one of his worst days in the field, Spencer ended the day in a hospital bed unable to walk. Hotch had been stabbed, and he had been shot. Both would be ok, and they were in separate hospitals to recover. The team alternated who would come to visit, and when. It usually took until the nurses kicked them out at the end of visiting hours, for them to actually leave. 

It’d been 2 days since his surgery, and the nurses had given him permission to walk around with his brace, on crutches. He’d never used them before, so he walked around the floor to the nurses’ station to get some more jell-o, and then around the hall back to his room. He allowed his curiosity (or nosiness) to get the better of him, occasionally glancing in at the people with their doors open, giving them a small smile or wave. Until he saw a familiar face. 

You’d worked for the FBI for a few years, working on the same floor as the BAU, but you weren’t in the field. You were sitting up in a hospital bed, playing solitaire in one hand, holding what looked like an oxygen mask to your face with the other. You looked up when you felt his eyes on you, and there he was, trapped in the doorway. You’d think you were hallucinating if not for the brace on his knee, and the crutches he was propping himself up on. He didn’t move from the threshold until you gave him a small wave, jumpstarting his movement into your room. 

You’d heard about Hotch’s incident, but you weren’t in the office yesterday, and since Spencer’s injury happened later in the day, you had no idea why he was here. You pulled the mask spraying (terrible tasting) medicine into your lungs from your face. You could stop for 30 seconds to see what he was here for. 

“Hey Spencer, what–um, what brings you here?” He hesitated, because you’d know since the 5th floor of the FBI building was the most gossip-ridden place he’d seen since high school. Yet he had no idea you’d be here. It’s not even as if you never talked, whenever he was in the office he’d stop by your desk to talk to you. He figured that you hadn’t gotten tired of him yet because he was gone a lot, although in reality you’d never tire of hearing his voice.

“I got shot in the knee, I’ll be fine, the real question is why are you here?” You’re sure it’s on government record, something Garcia could find in two minutes if she looked, but you still didn’t like talking about it. You knew it was stupid to be embarrassed of it, but you couldn’t help it. Every time it got brought up, you felt like the dorky character in a movie carting around their inhaler all the time, the butt of some cosmic joke. 

You preferred to think of it as an inconvenience more than anything. It didn’t come up often because you weren’t in the field, and when you needed to use an inhaler, you measured your breathing long enough to get to an empty bathroom or supply closet. You’d just blame the jitters that came after on too much coffee, and no one would ask any questions. This time, the inhaler wasn’t working, the next step in medication, a small machine similar to what you were supposed to be hooked up to now, wasn’t working either. So you drove to the ER feeling like you’d just run 10 miles, and they were making you stay 36 hours to give you stronger medication in intervals. 

“No reason.” You didn’t know why you even bothered with that response. Neither did Spencer, tossing you an apathetic look. He knew how squeamish you got when attention was drawn to something that made you look vulnerable, which is why he let it slide every time you walked into a supply closet looking flushed and panicked, with a soundtrack accompanying every time you took a breath, only to come out 5 minutes later with no supplies. 

 “Ok, really? Why would you even try it, you’re hooked up to a nebulizer and your oxygen saturation is at 90. What happened?” He was using the tone he only ever broke out for interrogations and proving Morgan wrong, but you still wanted to minimize the attention drawn to this not so glamorous piece of your life. You wanted Spencer to see you as someone he could date, even someone he could love, so this was not ideal to the image you’d been trying to show at work. 

“I have gross broken lungs. It’s really no big deal.” He laughed, but there was minimal humor behind it. Like he couldn’t even fathom you thinking this was ‘no big deal’. 

“I would venture to say you being in the hospital because you were unable to breathe is a very big deal.” While you loved when Spencer got a little bit cocky, you decided it would be more fun to make the little vein in his forehead appear again. So you tossed a vague shrug.

“Well I’d say getting shot is a much bigger deal. So why don’t you sit down, eat your jello, and tell me what happened to you, while I finish this thing.” He couldn’t argue with that, because at the very least he wanted you to feel better and the medicine currently going to waste while you were talking was the only way to accomplish that, so he relented. 

He didn’t want to move your things to the floor, but they were occupying the only chair in the room, so he made himself comfortable at the foot of your bed. He always wanted to be closer to you anyway. Setting his crutches next to him and opening the small cup of jello he’d somehow been holding this whole time, he reiterated his answer from before. 

“I told you already, I got shot in the knee, went into surgery, and now other than having to use these crutches for a while, I’m fine. Just need to spend a little longer in recovery before I can go back home to minimize the risk of infection.” He took a bite of jell-o just as a show of finality, like there was nothing more to say. Like a gunshot wound was not a huge deal. 

The whirr of the machine started to slow down, the medicine sputtering instead of coming out in a steady steam, meaning you could finally be done. You set it on the table by the bed, right next to your abandoned game of solitaire, and as soon as you set it down Spencer’s attention was back on your wellbeing. 

“Ok your turn, what happened?” 

“I’ve had asthma since I was a kid, and I just got unlucky today. It’s always worse this time of year, and my inhaler wasn’t really doing anything for me. Our health insurance plan doesn’t cover the more expensive meds unless I’m in the hospital, so here I am, for the next 36 hours.” You made a point to turn your exasperated expression into a cheesy smile, hoping to convince him to stay for just a little while longer.  “But the bright side is that since you're here I don’t have to play solitaire anymore. That was getting old fast.” You grabbed the cards, giving them a quick shuffle.

“So what do you say Vegas, are you up for a round of poker?” You hoped that would distract him from fussing over you, and luckily it did. He was satisfied you were ok, and the last thing he wanted was to push you too far, and for you to ask him to leave. So he let the smile take over his face. 

“Always. But i'm not going to go easy on you just because of your- what did you call them- broken lungs?” That got a good laugh out of you. Admittedly wheezy, but still one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to him. 

“Gross, broken lungs. And I wouldn’t dream of it.” You dealt the cards, already knowing you’d lose. You didn’t even know how to play poker. But word around the office was that most of your coworkers wouldn’t play with him since he always won. But you didn’t mind, you mostly just wanted someone to hang out with, and you were overjoyed that person was Spencer. He won, of course. Only gloating a little bit at how badly he beat you, and while you were dealing the second round of cards, you couldn’t help but vocalize what had been in the back of your mind for a few minutes now. 

“Hey Spencer, could I ask you a favor?” He had a mix of worry and willingness to help all over his face. 

“Anything.”

“Could you–not tell anyone in the office? Just. You know how they are, they would make a fuss about the whole hospital thing and it’s just not necessary.” 

“Where do they think you’re going to be for the next day and a half?”

You looked down like a kid who just got caught in a lie. “I kind of told Hotch I had a cold.” Spencer just sighed in response. 

“I really do think you should let them fuss over you. You deserve it, and you know Penelope lives for that sort of thing.” That you couldn’t deny, no matter how much you disagreed with him saying you deserved to be cared for. 

“Please, Spencer?” 

“Alright, but they might walk past your room in the morning. Garcia said she was coming, and you know she’ll drag at least one person along with her.” 

“Noted. I’ll close the door in the morning. Thank you Spencer, seriously, it means a lot.” You put your hand over his and it felt like every thought he’d ever had was gone from his brain at your touch. He couldn’t believe his dumb luck at meeting someone like you. Just to be in your orbit, to see and know you, felt like it could only be accomplished by divine intervention. Selfishly, he wished that you’d be staying a little longer, so that you could both leave together. Even more selfishly, he wished that you would leave with him, and come to his apartment. There he could take care of you, make you feel special until he could finally convince you that you deserved it. Deserved everything. 

You moved your hand to start tapping it on your leg, and while Spencer knew the side effects of respiratory steroids, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something was wrong. That maybe he did something wrong. 

“Is there something on your mind?” 

“No, it’s just the jitters. I used to get them so bad when I was a kid, my parents would have to practically hold me down. It’s like I have the energy to run a mile, but I can’t actually do it. I’ll calm down in a bit, but I’m probably going to get really rambly first.” 

“I’d love to listen to you talk, and I love being on the other side of a ramble.” It was just then that a nurse came in to ask if you were feeling better, charting your vials,  reminding you that you need to take your next dose in 4 hours, and telling you that an orderly would be in to set it up then.

Just when she was getting ready to leave she turned her attention to Spencer. “I’m sorry, but I am going to need you to go back to your room Dr. Reid. You both need to get some rest.”

He reluctantly told her that he would and just as soon as he’d come in, he disappeared again. He gave you a wave when he was gathering his crutches, but no real goodbye. You of course waved back, but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You really liked him, and you thought maybe he really liked you too. And yet, he only gave you a wave. 

All of the adrenaline moving through you, getting you all worked up finally won out, and stupid as it may sound, tears started to prick the corners of your eyes. Just as you closed the door to your room to get some privacy while you cried, your phone started to ring, and you couldn’t help but think; What now? You answered it without looking, and on the other side of the line was the person you wanted to hear from the most. 

“So what did you want to talk about? I have all the time in the world.”

[jacks347]

(Is this stupid enough to be considered a crack fic?? Idk, we're going with it)

To say Hipswitch was surprised to see a woman sitting in his base next to Albus would be an overstatement.

Now, to say he was surprised to see said woman be so...dressed while sipping a cup of tea, that was accurate.

He'd never seen the demon bring back anyone who wore so many layers. Hell, now that he was really thinking about it, he hadn't really seen Albus bring back anyone at all. From the headscarf covering her hair to the skirt that brushed at her ankles and all the fabric and layerage of jewelry in-between, Hipswitch was getting warm just watching her.

The woman turned, smiling politely at him. She was rather pretty, warm brown skin with dark green eyes. Not necessarily someone he'd consider Albus’s type but everyone had their exceptions. "Hello there. You must be Hipswitch." Her voice was quiet and flowed like honey. She reminded Hipswitch of the ladies of the church in town, always speaking softly with inviting smiles. Definitely not Albus’s usual type. What, had he really gotten that bored?

"That I am. And who might you be?" Hipswitch took a seat across from the odd duo, eyes darting between the two in bewilderment. Albus huffed out a laugh, wrapping an arm around the woman's shoulders. "This is Faith. She a, ah, friend of mine." The woman, Faith, rolled her eyes with a small chuckle. "Mm, sure, friend. Let's go with that." She hummed as she took a sip of her tea.

Hipswitch nodded slowly, still going back and forth between them. It was very strange but he couldn't say he didn't appreciate the change. Hell, he welcomed it. Faith was polite, she was far more dressed than he expected, and she seemed very sweet. It almost brought a tear to Hipswitch's eye. "Well it's very nice to meet you. I've gotta say Albus, she's certainly a might better for you than the others from the whore house."

There was an audible beat of silence before it was broken by both a roar of laughter from Albus and a rather impressive spit take from Faith who was now coughing like mad as she tried to regain her composure while Albus was nearly doubled over in hysterics. Hipswitch was left rather confused, not exactly understanding why what he said had caused such a visceral reaction. "Did I say something wrong?"

The statement only made Albus laugh harder as Faith finally recovered, her cheeks flaming red and her face a heavy mask of embarrassment before kicking Albus in the shin. "Stop laughing! I've never been so mortified in all my life." She dropped her face into her hands, shaking her head before pulling herself back up. "How do I put this lightly..." Faith mumbled as Albus’s laughter finally petered off. "Oh Switchy, Faith is a sister paladin." He corrected, making Hipswitch raise an eyebrow in confusion. "A what?"

"A nun." Came a surprised voice, making Hipswitch jump as he turned to find the source of it. "Hey Doc, how long have you been standing there? Almost gave me a heart attack. And how do you know that?" The doctor leaned against the doorframe, staring at Hipswitch with a wide-eyed expression between shock and horror. "When Albus came on I decided to do some research on the medical practices of New Tennessee. Maybe there would be something there to help better treat Albus if I needed to. And well, most of the information was from or about the sister paladins. They're the main form of healthcare, they're essentially priestesses who learn medicine to take of the knight paladins. But they're known to treat anyone who comes to their temples." The realization slowly dawned on Hipswitch, his eyes widening as it did. No wonder she reminded him so much of the women of the church, she was one of them! Oh he fucked up. He fucked up bad.

"So, in case you missed it in that grand fucking speech, you just called a nun a hooker directly to her face." Albus clarified, though he really didn't need to. Faith sighed, the initial embarrassment fading into a kind of indignant rage. "Can I slap him?" Albus snorted a laugh, flashing a sly grin at Hipswitch. "Oo, watch out there Switchy. She's got a mean backhand and I'm almost willing to let her do it. You kind of deserve it." Hipswitch wished he could disappear. "I-I am so sorry ma'am! I would never think of implying you would be that kind of woman, I just assumed-" He spluttered an embarrassed apology, making Albus burst into another round of hysterical laughter as Faith cut him off with a shake of her head. "Don't apologize, I know you didn't mean it. You worked with what you knew, I can't blame you for that. Though I do still want to slap you. And you do kind of deserve it."

Faith got to her feet stiffly, fixing the layers of her outfit and narrowing her eyes at a still laughing Albus. "I think I've seen enough of Maya for one day. I've got to pick Kerano up from school." She leaned down to poke a finger into the warrior's chest. "Don't make me come back out here to check up on you. Had me worried sick for nothing." Albus’s laughter faded as he lightly smacked her hand away. "Gods, yes, I know. I won't, I promise." She nodded with a satisfied huff before turning to the doctor. "I'm glad I could help with your research, you know how to reach me if you have any more questions." "Of course! Thank you again, Sister. It's been very insightful having you here. I should go continue to look over those notes." He turned and headed back into his office as Faith turned to Hipswitch. "And you." Hipswitch gulped, expecting the worst. Maybe that slap Albus had warned him about. "Maybe actually talk to someone before assuming they're some kind of common hooker. I take my faith very seriously and even if I didn't, I'd be far outside of his price range." She smiled warmly before turning on her heel and heading for the door. "See you again boys!"

Albus’s head dropped back onto the couch with a snort. "Outside my price range, she's crazy." He muttered. Hipswitch quietly got up and moved closer to punch Albus in the chest, making the demon wheeze out a breath as his head snapped up to glare at him. "Fucking hell, what was that for?" "For not warning me! I made a damn fool of myself in front of a nun because of you!" "Well, she's not really a nun, she's a priestess." "Regardless! She's a woman of faith and I disrespected her in the worst way possible!" Albus waved his concerns off. "Ah don't sweat it. Give it a week, she'll be laughing over it. It was damn funny." "You're actually the worst, you know that?" "Oh I am well aware Switchy. You're not the first to notice." Hipswitch could only roll his eyes. Why did he have to care about this idiot so much? "Okay but tell me one thing." "Whatcha got Switchy?" "Have you actually slept with her?" "Would you be jealous if I said yes?" "Albus..." Albus chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Sorry Switchy, this is one time I don't kiss and tell. That's up to you to figure out." He confessed with a shrug. "Out of all the escapades you've rambled on about, this is the one you keep quiet about?" "Faith is different, okay? She...she deserves to not have her story told. So I won't." He defended. Hipswitch sighed in defeat, stepping back. "I'll never understand how your head works." "Good, I don't either. So looks like we'll both be confused."

(...idfk how to end this so this is what you get. Yes I made this entire thing because there is a non-zero chance that Hipswitch would assume Faith is a hooker the first time he met her and that was so damn funny to me)

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Several Ontario hospitals are bringing back mask mandates for staff with COVID-19 cases on the rise once again – a clear sign the province has entered a new wave, an expert explains.

St. Joseph's Healthcare and Hamilton Health Sciences (HHS) updated their masking guidelines on Wednesday, requiring staff to wear masks when interacting with patients.

“While we anticipate requiring clinical masking through the peak of the respiratory season, we intend for this to be a temporary measure,” an internal memo sent to HHS hospital staff said on Monday.

Masks became required in clinical-areas at Guelph General Hospital on Sept. 11 while remaining optional in hallways and meeting rooms. Earlier this month, some eastern Ontario hospitals in Kingston and Ottawa also made moves towards masks.

At a number of Toronto-area hospitals, including at Mount Sinai, North York General, Women's College, Lakeridge, St. Josheph's and St. Michael's Unity Health, masks continue to be required in patient-care areas but are optional elsewhere. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[agitateandeducate]

This is an invitation to reflect for all the non-disabled folks who works towards justice or use the language of liberation, until anyone brings up Covid.

Please take some time to consider the following questions:

Why do you continue to dismiss disabled people and minimize Covid?

Why won't you use a mask in public?**

Why do you plan and host super spreader events (especially with zero mitigations)? Why do you feel comfortable putting workers forced into unsafe working conditions at more risk?

Feelings are bound to come up, whether it's shame, guilt, anger, despair, annoyance, fear.... do not let those stop you from listening, learning, and taking the simplest of actions that saves lives and reduces transmission of a deadly airborne pathogen. ⁠

Further Reflection Questions:

Why aren't disabled people a part of that just and liberated future you are imagining?

How do you feel liberated when your actions can kill and disable others?

What beliefs do you need to reflect on, if your idea of liberation leaves out disabled folks from every community impacted by systemic violence and oppression?

When you continue to live your life with no concern for yourself or others during a mass disabling and deadly pandemic, what systems are you perpetuating? Who actually benefits?⁠

** not everyone has access to purchasing high quality masks or can physically wear high quality masks, which is why access to these tools (masks, testing, clean air, etc) and collective care is important - especially as we have been abandoned by "leaders"! Everyone deserves access to food, shelter, healthcare, community and safer work settings and public spaces. Public =grocery and other stores, community centers and gyms, public transit, healthcare settings, etc).⁠ [this was originally posted back in 2023 but it still relevant]

– – – – Image Description – – – –

Square graphic with a light background with and outline of roses on the top and bottom in a purple blue pink gradient. Text reads: roses are red, violets are blue, why are disabled lives disposable to you. End id.

[redhairedwolfwitch]

In Sickness - Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

A/n: this fic is covid heavy and based on my personal experiences, so there is content involving covid, hospitals, detiled medical stuff, anxiety (because i felt a lot of it on that lovely day where i was in a&e for nearly two days...) so read at your own risk because i probably overshared. take care of yourselves. @grapefruit-personified enjoy:) especially because i wrote this months ago and part 2 is mainly written, i just lost motivation to finish anything.

do not repost this anywhere, i only post on this tumblr so unless it's a reblog, it was stolen.

///

You could remember the day you met her. You had just moved to Spain, knowing zero Spanish made you shy and you were struggling with school, not understanding much. She spotted you sitting on the grass, tying together daisies into chains one lunch time, eventually she went over to join you instead of playing her usual lunchtime football.

The on hold music finally stopped as the clinician returned to the phone, advising you to get to the closest A&E department within the hour, after asking you if you had some way to get there.

Checking the time on your phone, you grimaced at the 12% and decreasing battery before admitting you had no way to get to A&E, resulting in advice for an ambulance, but a taxi would be quicker.

Your teammates were already at training, so none of them would be answering their phones, and your partner, she was where you left her. Barcelona.

Her last message to you was a good morning one, a message you had mirrored before the stabbing pain in your ribs had gotten worse.

You’d been able to withstand the pain yesterday, but it was stabbing more and more, getting more intense and making it hard for you to do anything. Now you were masked up in the back of a taxi, your breathing laboured as you waited for the Manchester hospital you’d been given the address to to come into view.

Leila frowned as she looked around the Manchester City training ground, wondering where you were and if you were stuck in traffic or something.

It was ‘or something’. Sitting in the emergency department, it took over an hour for you to be moved from A&E to the major emergency department, but your blood pressure and heart rate were high enough that they did an ECG. The nausea from before had stopped, but the hot and cold flashes hadn’t.

Your phone was on 8% as you checked the notifications, having no internet connection meant you didn’t have many, but Leila had texted along with the staff asking where you were.

You were barely able to send a pin of your location to Leila before the 5% battery warning lit up your phone, but you were cut off as a healthcare worker approached, wheeling over the machine to check your vitals.

Vitals that were circling the toilet, especially after a sweet old woman had spotted you swaying in your half asleep state in the waiting room chair, helping you move to a recliner that enabled you to lean back safely.

The back and forth to and from the waiting room was draining, after emerging again to return to the waiting room with a cannula in your arm.

They’d taken blood to grow some blood cultures, apparently to see if it was bacterial or viral, before leaving you in the waiting room again, attaching a small bag of fluids to the cannula to hydrate you after taking more blood to check on your general functioning. It was the nasal swab that gave them all the information they needed though.

Your COVID test was positive, but that wasn’t the only concerning factor to your vitals. They were too high, even for an individual fighting a virus. They offered you paracetamol to try to bring your temperature down, but your blood pressure had dropped slightly, your heart was still racing and your d-dimer was slightly higher than normal. 

You couldn’t fight back the tears after that, the waterfalls hidden behind your mask as they discussed keeping you in observation even longer, asking about if you had a family history of blood clots in lungs or legs.

At this point you’d only had a couple of small packets of random biscuits to eat, eventually heading into the waiting room that you had been isolated from to protect other patients, to quickly grab a packet of crisps and some more water, but it was all too much.

You didn’t know Leila had gotten your location update once in the changing room after training, and when she got no response, she began to ask questions.

The club staff had no answers after discovering your emergency contact you had written down for the club knew nothing, and the hospital told Leila nothing after being given a name she hadn’t heard of for your emergency contact.

So Leila contacted someone who would know. Your partner. Even in Barcelona, Aitana would know who your hospital emergency contact was, Aitana knew everything about you, except that you were in hospital.

It was getting closer to dinner time, you had nothing with you but your wallet, nearly dead phone and your zip up hoodie that was one of Aitana’s old Barcelona ones. Your legs and bum were going numb under the crappy waiting room chair you’d been moved to, your vitals still far too high for anyone to be comfortable sending you home.

They’d talked about giving you a blood thinning medication but a change in doctor later had you recalling all of your family health history instead. This doctor said it was sounding unlikely that you had a blood clot in your lungs, but they still sent you for a chest x-ray.

Aitana hadn’t heard from you all day. The panic inside her kept restrained by the knowledge you were probably training and having fun with your team.

Until Leila called, asking about a family member who had been out of your life for years now. A family member who was apparently still your emergency contact in NHS systems. It didn’t take long for Aitana to read through what Leila had sent, realising immediately you were in hospital and nobody had heard from you since.

It was closer to 8pm when they gave you the blood thinning injection in your stomach, keeping you hydrated with more water and trying to control your fever with more paracetamol.

You had all of the notices on the walls of the hospital waiting rooms memorised at this point, but the ‘one visitor per patient’ in the hospital policy was useless when you had come to the hospital alone.

Your arms were freezing cold, but you couldn’t get your sleeve on over the cannula without almost crying in pain, so you wrapped the shoulders of the hoodie around your shoulders and hoped your hands wouldn’t feel so cold so much longer.

The next flight to Manchester from Barcelona would arrive at Manchester airport past 11pm, but Aitana had made it to the airport in time for it, especially after asking her teammates for help.

They didn’t move you far, but once you had curled up across the two waiting room chairs, you were moved into an isolated room with a small view through the door of the nurse’s station outside.

The walls were bare minus plug sockets for machinery, a table near the recliner you were able to set up for the night, a sink in the corner and a bin for clinical waste in the other. It was past 10pm when a healthcare worker came in, attaching a bag of fluids to the cannula in your arm and leaving you alone in the dark.

Exhaustion washed over you but the cold feeling of the fluids being administered into your arm kept you half awake. Your phone is barely holding on with its 5% battery but the message Aitana sent when it was closer to midnight gave you hope.

She had rented a car from Manchester airport, getting her spare key from Leila to sort of your home for the night. A home that she had helped you pick out when it was clear Barcelona’s A team had no room for you, and you had outgrown Barcelona Team B.

One glance around your Manchester home was all it took for her to calm her anxieties. You weren’t there. Your bed was a mess, bedding all but tossed on the floor as she moved to pick up the bedding, finding some pyjamas for your return.

You were going to be okay.

She convinced herself of such as she checked your fridge, rolling her eyes at the nearing emptiness of your fridge and cupboards. She’d have to figure out how to do an online food shop.

It was closer to midnight when the first big bag of fluids was finished, sticking your head out of the door to have the tubing removed from the cannula, you headed towards the toilet for what was one of many trips there during the night.

You’d stopped looking at your phone hours ago, but getting a glance at the time after each toilet trip, it was nearly 2am when the next bag of fluids was administered, once again leaving you laying on the recliner in the dark, listening to every beeping alarm and footsteps passing by.

You probably should have called Aitana and told her what was going on, but every time you got an update, it was from a different healthcare professional and they kept changing their minds. For example, the blood thinning injection had been talked about hours before it was eventually given. You had managed to send out a short text though. 

You were COVID positive.

It was after 4am that you finished the next round of fluids, two bags that looked like they were cloudier, perhaps full of nutrients but the writing on the bags were small and you were more interested in going to the toilet again after flagging down someone to detach the tubing from the cannula again.

Your temperature and heart rate were fluctuating throughout the night, going from 39 point something degrees celsius to an apparent normal of 37 degrees, before rising again to 38.1 degrees celsius.

Waiting until 8am, another doctor came in, explaining the goal to get you a CT scan of your chest early this morning to check for blood clots, and if there were none, they planned to discharge you to ride out the COVID at home. It was only then that you were able to request something to eat, since your last meal yesterday was a three pack of digestive biscuits.

One bowl of cornflakes and milk later, you were offered more paracetamol and left to wait until it was time for your CT scan.

Your arms were freezing despite attempts to keep warm under the one blanket you were given, plus a smaller blanket to act as a pillow for your head.

They didn’t want to increase your temperature by giving you another, so you worked with your hoodie, the softness of the fabric working to keep you calm as you waited, and waited.

Aitana hadn’t been able to sleep much. The worry of you still being in hospital consuming her, so she stayed up, using a multi-surface cleaner to wipe down the surfaces in your place, gather your medical supplies in case you needed them to fight off the COVID virus.

You didn’t hear from anyone until noon, but the CT scanner was ready for you, and after a quick check that you were okay to walk, you followed the healthcare worker to the CT scanner room, a different location entirely to where the emergency x-ray rooms were located.

They checked you weren’t allergic to the contrast dye they would administer via the cannula, before warning you of the warm feeling that often overtakes your body once administered, and how it would feel like you had wet yourself, even though you would not have actually wet yourself.

Your arms ached as you held them above your head for the chest CT, slamming your eyes shut at the horrid feeling of the scanner moving, you remained still as you were informed what was happening, and when they were administering the CT contrast dye.

The warm feeling was too hot to feel like you had actually wet yourself, but it was a horrid feeling that didn’t help the nausea at the CT scanner moving to get the required imagery of your chest. You just wanted to go home, but it would be a lot worse if you did in fact have blood clots on your lungs.

Walking back to your isolation room, you were playing a waiting game as you managed to send another text to Aitana, updating her that you had had the CT scan. 

It was getting towards 1pm when the vitals machine was wheeled into your room, checking your temperature (38.1 degrees celsius), your heart rate which had decreased from 140 beats per minute to 128 beats per minute.

Your oxygen levels had maintained high throughout but when it came to the healthcare worker checking your pulse, your wrists were still freezing to the touch.

There were no signs of your CT scan results, but the healthcare worker had been kind enough to ask if anyone had spoken to you about food, something you had not had since being brought the cornflakes hours ago.

The result of the conversation turned into a sandwich, some more water, and a yoghurt as you continued to play the waiting game for your scan results and whether you did or did not have blood clots in or on your lungs.

It was nearing 2pm when the doctor from this morning entered your room again, but the key piece of information you needed was given. Your CT scan was clear, you could be discharged and have your cannula removed. You could go home and ride out the COVID in your own bed.

Your phone was somehow holding on as you texted Aitana that your scan was clear so you could go home if she or someone else could pick you up from the main reception carpark, your phone sending the message and getting a thumbs up response before finally the battery dropped to 0%.

Sticking your head out of the door, the mask you had been wearing since yesterday felt damp and close to your face, but you did not remove it yet. Waiting for a nurse to come remove the cannula in your arm, you went for your final toilet break before the final hospital waiting game.

It was warm outside, and despite the clouds in the sky making it seem greyer than that one moment where you saw out a window when waiting for the CT scan, it was sunny too. Your phone was long dead, but you were alive.

Holding your hoodie in your arms, your phone and wallet in your pockets as you made the trek across the main reception disabled car park, lingering near the out of use bus stop that gave you a perfect vantage point of the entrance into the hospital from the main road.

You weren’t entirely sure who you were looking for, who would be your saviour and get you home until a car you didn’t recognise pulled up in front of you. The window going down to reveal a pair of eyes you had not seen in person since the two of you were in Italy together during the winter break.

“Mi dulce flor!” you exclaimed, shock in your tone but your throat felt like you were swallowing knives, barely getting into the passenger seat before you were almost hacking up your lungs into your mask.

“Cálmate, estoy aquí mi amor.” Aitana cooed, her hand lingering on your back as you coughed, eventually settling enough to put your seatbelt on so Aitana could drive you home.

“Are you hungry?” Aitana paused, going over the English in her head as she watched you walk over to your couch, appearing with several blankets before digging through your living room cabinets for something.

“Bebé?” Aitana broke the silence as you froze before letting out a hoarse cheer of victory.

“Found it!” Revealing the old box set that left Aitana smiling softly, watching as you went to play the series from the beginning, then disappearing to your room.

It was getting dark when Aitana realised your phone was charged, allowing you to finally message your teammates and staff at Manchester City with an update of what had happened. But it also gave Aitana a chance to message her teammates and the staff at Barcelona, sending a photo of you wrapped in blankets, half asleep as you watched the TV.

It was Alexia, Patri and Laia that messaged back first, Alexia having helped Aitana get to the airport the night before whilst Patri and Laia had held down the fort when Aitana had to leave.

“What happens when you miss training? You have the game against Atleti… and the game against Chelsea-”

“Shush, mi amor. You were alone in the hospital for more than a day, I am not leaving you again.” Aitana replied, passing you your drink as you began to cough.

“They worried you had, what did you call it? Blood clots on your lungs! Era serio!” Aitana exclaimed before quietening her voice as you grimaced at the loudness.

“Lo siento.”

“It is not your fault. The virus…” Aitana fell quiet, brushing away a tear as you reached for her hand, holding it gently, “I thought I would lose you, mi dulce flor. I cannot lose you.” Aitana admitted, feeling your fingers draw patterns in the back of her hand. Your eyes were glassy with exhaustion but the love for Aitana in them was undeniable. 

She wouldn’t admit it, but Aitana listened to your breathing for most of that night. It was heavier, but you kept breathing which was a relief to her. The windows were opened enough to air out the room from germs, your fear of giving Aitana the dreaded virus which was wreaking havoc on your body and mind overwhelming you.

You didn’t want to get out of bed, the way your body ached was not helping you but Aitana needed your help for an online order of food. You were running a fever that was kept at bay by paracetamol, tapping away on the touch screen to add things to the order, much to Aitana’s amusement at how quickly you were doing it.

She found you on the couch later, curled up under your blankets and clad in your dressing gown over your pyjamas. You were breathing heavily but you remained in deep slumber, the tv stuck replaying the menu music over and over as you’d gotten to the end of the disc. 

Feeling your forehead to check your temperature, Aitana froze as it sounded like you whimpered in your sleep, eyes cracking open as you smacked together your dried lips. “Your hands are cold.”

Aitana rolled her eyes playfully before disappearing for a moment, dropping something in your lap as she returned.

“Lip balm? Gracias mi dulce flor.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm but Aitana ignored it in favour of heading to your kitchen to make something that didn’t irritate your mouth.

You hadn’t admitted it at first, but you had been trying to hide the grimace at the toast you had this morning, the rough texture hurting the hard palate of your mouth.

Staring up at the ceiling of your living room, your eyes fluttered shut as memories flickered in your mind. The first time you met Aitana, the flower crowns the two of you would make together, and the dynamic duo the two of you became on the football pitch, despite the boys picking on Aitana for her height, and you for existing.

Aitana was 13 when she joined Barcelona’s youth team, whilst you took longer to join, the two hour rides by public transport to get to practice were not in your favour until you were travelling with Aitana and her father.

The two of you were moved up to Barcelona B close together, but when Aitana was 17, she was promoted by the manager to the first team, whilst you remained with Barcelona B. It didn’t take long for you to figure out why.

You had the talent, but Barcelona were full of talented players, they had no room for you. No matter how well you and Aitana played together, you would not get to play with Barcelona’s first team.

It broke your and Aitana’s heart to leave, but Manchester City gave you an offer that was better than any other club in Spain. Manchester City were not Barcelona, but you flourished there. You flourished into a player that Barcelona kept an eye on, until your contract with City began to run out in the summer and the talks to renew were at a stalemate.

And now you have covid. A virus that you’d seen and heard of other players getting back during the height of the pandemic, but none were so affected as you were now. None had to be hospitalised despite being clinically healthy. They bounced back, but despite Aitana’s remarks that you would be back stronger, you doubted it.

The exhaustion hadn’t left you alone, even days later. Your temperature was kept at bay by paracetamol, your coughing grew worse before it was better, your gums so sore that eating crunchy foods still hurt, and you felt like you had cotton wool in your ears and wrapped around your brain.

Even after you were testing negative, your energy levels remained low but Aitana had to leave for London for the match against Chelsea before returning with the team to Barcelona.

She had tested negative throughout somehow, and it broke her heart to leave you, but it wasn’t long until the end of the season and the two of you would be reunited again.

The match against Chelsea ended on good terms for Barcelona, with a 1-0 advantage in the first leg thanks to Caro, and whilst you watched Aitana struggle to get on the ball in the first half, the second half enabled your partner to have more of the ball, despite the lack of goals.

You weren’t the only player who wasn’t on the Manchester City squad list for the match against West Ham the day after though.

Sandy and Laia were both out with injuries, and you were still weak and recovering from the virus that rampaged your body and mind. You sat with the two of them as you observed the game against West Ham, City winning 6-2 against the Hammers.

Your cough didn’t fully leave you alone, but that wasn’t the only issue. Your joints hated you enough that your knee joints felt like cement, your ears felt like they had cotton wool stuffed in them, and because of this, you were more wobbly on your feet than you had ever been before.

Manchester City had ruled you out for the rest of the season too quickly for you to feel comfortable, but it wasn’t what was bothering you. The talks that were previously at a stalemate had fallen through. Manchester City had decided not to renew your contract, and you couldn’t help but blame yourself.

“City don’t want me anymore. They took me in when Barcelona had no place for me, but now… I feel like a broken toy cast away when I’m no use anymore.” You left a voicemail for Aitana, she was busy training for the next leg of the semifinals against Chelsea.

Your hands tingle as you begin to type up what you had to, what you needed to say, to get control over something in your life.

Although some people may be excited by the prospect of a player who originated from Barcelona’s youth teams being a free agent who could come home, you knew the reality was much worse.

City were still at least trying to help you with your recovery but your hopes of returning to your pre-covid state were fading, especially after they ruled you out for the remainder of the season.

‘It’s a bitter feeling. Realising that the last game I played would be my final game at Manchester City. A club that took me in when I was lost, you have taught me so much and I will always be grateful. Thank you for changing my life, but my part at Manchester City is over. I won’t forget any of it.’

It was an early goodbye, City still had four matches left, two at home and two away. You would get to attend the home matches in the crowds, but you wouldn’t get to step on the pitch in City colours again.

Your lungs were fine according to the staff at City, your cough coming and going but it was your joint and fatigue issues that were the problem.

Your energy levels came and went, and even though they had had you training alongside your teammates some days, you would be wiped out after.

You had even fallen asleep in the dressing room at one point, using a hoodie that Aitana had worn whilst she stayed with you as a makeshift pillow. Leila was the one who found you,  but it was Steph that convinced you to let her drive you home, your body too sore to walk this time.

Steph remained silent as you sat in her passenger seat, tears falling down your face as you sobbed, venting your feelings of everything.

How your illness had wrecked your body and mind, how much you missed the old you, how much you missed playing and how much it hurt to leave Manchester City at the end of the season.

How afraid you were for what was to come, and how far away you felt from your partner, the love of your life you’d known since you were both children.

Steph, who knew what it was like to be away from a team due to injury, then dropped from the squad, but instead of her club, it was her national team.

You hadn’t even thought about the World Cup, but you knew deep down you would not be called up. You could barely stay standing after training, you would not be able to play a full ninety minutes in your current state at all.

“Do you know where you’ll go in the transfer window? Will you go back to Spain?”

“My love is in Spain, and I have nothing here outside of Manchester City. I’m lucky that City helped me with my coaching qualification before I got sick. I hoped that I wouldn’t need it immediately, but I’ll be a free agent in the transfer window, and I don’t know if anyone wants a player recovering from covid. Everyone else bounced back from it so quickly, but the simplest of things hurt me now. Please, I just want to go home and sleep.” You vented, swiping at your eyes to get rid of the tears, but Steph frowned at the last sentence you said.

“Don’t shut yourself away from us, little one. You may be leaving the club but you’re not leaving our hearts or our thoughts. So please don’t shut yourself away.” Steph begged, hoping you would make some sort of promise, but you didn’t.

It was a promise you could not keep.

/// translations hopefully ///

mi dulce flor - my sweet flower

Cálmate, estoy aquí mi amor - calm down, i'm here my love

Bebé - baby

lo siento - i'm sorry

gracias - thank you

[anemicjellyfish]

Get Well Soon

A short, fluff-filled Stolitz fanfic.

Summary: Blitzø is sick & Stolas is a sweet caregiver.

Content warnings: illness, mentions of eating food and drinking water, medicine use (for illness), some sexual language.

Inspired by my current Covid situation. (I work in healthcare; it's inevitable for me. Please remember to wear a mask and be safe, everyone! 💖)

Blitzø shuffles himself onto his side, careful not to fall off his couch. Before he opens his eyes, the coughing resumes.

He didn't know where he'd picked up this bug, but like with most illnesses, he would bounce back in a few days. A few miserable days, full of coughing, fever, aching joints and muscles, and endless sneezing.

Blitzø reaches to move his blanket, only now noticing that it isn't his blanket. He's not on his couch, or even in his own apartment.

Groaning, Blitzø puts his head in his hands, remembering last night: he'd snuck through Stolas' window, as usual... and nearly collapsed from the effort. Despite Blitzø's insistence that he could live up to his part of the full moon arrangement they'd made, Stolas wouldn't allow him. And Blitzø ended up being placed in bed and falling asleep before he could protest further.

Blitzø glances at the bedside table. A beautiful crystal glass of water with two small tablets rests next to a piece of paper. In Stolas' too-perfect handwriting, it reads, "For Blitzy".

His throat too dry, Blitzø drinks most of the water before picking up the tablets. He considers sniffing them but knows he's unable to smell anything until the illness passes. Blitzø takes them with the rest of the water, shaking the glass a little to get every drop. Just as he sets it down, the door to the bedroom opens.

"Blitzy?" Stolas whispers, peeking in. "Oh, I hope I didn't wake you?"

"No, Stolas, I-" Blitzø's voice cracks a little, "I just woke up," he finished.

Stolas enters the bedroom, carrying a serving tray with fresh fruit, some type of bread, and a full pitcher of water. Blitzø's eyes widen, and he grabs the pitcher before Stolas can set the tray down. He doesn't care that Stolas should see him like this; his throat and body are screaming for water.

A look of concern on Stolas' face changes to amusement. "I'll call for more water," he says, sitting close to Blitzø on the side of the bed. "Are you feeling better?"

Blitzø pants and brushes away the water that had dripped down his chin. "I'm fine, Stols," he replied. "Or I will be in a few days, once this fuckin' bullshit is outta me. Don't you worry, when I'm better, I'll keep up my end of the deal. I'll show your feathered ass a real good time -"

"Easy, Blitzy," Stolas reached out, carefully removing the water pitcher with one hand and placing his other on Blitzø's cheek. "Not too much excitement, now. Why don't you rest here for a few days? Recover. Via and Stella will be gone for a while, visiting Stella's family. They never bother to invite me, anyway. Rest here."

Blitzø tries to protest, but when Stolas' hand slid down his back and settled between his spines - just where he liked it - his attempt turns into a weak cough.

"Fine," he finally says. Blitzø lets his eyes shut as he rests against Stolas' chest, letting the soft down feathers cover his face.

A small figure appears in the doorway, and Stolas uses his magic to bring over the new pitcher of water. The Goetia staff may talk amongst themselves about his affair, but Stolas can't bring himself to care now. The door shuts.

Letting Blitzø drink his fill of the water, Stolas set the pitcher aside and convinces him to eat. With the fever and cough now slightly better from the medicine, Stolas moves into the bed, pulling Blitzø onto his lap.

Without thinking too much about it, Blitzø wraps his tail around Stolas' leg and settles in once again. Stolas places his hand on Blitzø's back, letting his fingers slide in-between the spines.

"When I get better," Blitzø mumbles, almost asleep, "I swear I'm giving you the fucking of your life, Stols."

He feels Stolas laugh under him.

"I look forward to it, my darling Blitzy."

End.

[josephquinnswhore]

Good Girl

Pairing: Male Nurse Joel Miller x female patient reader.

Summary: the nurse in triage calls you a good girl.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: Joel Miller with curly hair and glasses, praise kink. Taking pills—painkillers and steroids. Implied age gap, older Joel—mid twenties reader. No outbreak.

Note: based off the sexy male nurse tonight at hospital that called me a good girl 😭 maybe it was innocent but I have a praise kink baby! Anyway, I’m high off painkillers and steroids and I’m super sick so this is probably a terrible fic. Anyway enjoy… or don’t!

You were worn from the endless beat down and busyness that work had drained you with. Your car keys in hand jingle in the silence of the night, glad you put on that ugly navy-blue hand knit old man’s sweater you’d brought from lowes. It was cold—perhaps a symptom of her sickness, or maybe it was just cold.

It was too quiet for your liking—never taking too kindly to hospitals, let alone at 10:00pm, in the complete darkness. It was silent, not one pair of footsteps, not a monitor beeping. It sets the anxiety on hold in your throat skyrocketing into nausea.

Your converse on the ugly off-white tile is comforting, at least you’re not completely alone in the eerie building. You look around the front desk, sighing in annoyance that to your surprise, there’s no one there. The box of masks and tissues occupy the space of the counter. And a sign; made by the staff.

The notice was printed on a foul-yellow in big bold writing.

“STAFF ON BREAK. GONE FOR 30 MINUTES. PLEASE SEE TRIAGE IF STAFF NOT AVAILABLE.”

Oh—okay, that’s fine. Everyone needs a break, especially healthcare workers in these dire times.

Walking back past the section of the building you’d come through initially, the permanently open sliding doors, you come to find again; no one at the triage.

But there’s no note, perhaps they’re just busy tonight. If so; why was it so silent? The ache in your ear dulled, but still caught the sound of someone shuffling in the background, through the window you could see an older lady, short with greying hair and rectangular glasses remaking a bed.

You decide to press the giant green button that says “call.” The woman notices the sound, turning the alarm off as she approaches the desk.

Her voice is irritable; like you’re interrupting the most important task of her damned life. “Can I help you?” She asks rudely.

A man in dark blue scrubs interrupts. “Are you here to see a doctor?” His voice is husky, tired sounding but still kind.

“Yes, please.” You plead tiredly, eyes dropping lazily and scoffing at how late it was, and how you’d have to be at work tomorrow.

Damn it all, right?

“Come in sweetheart.” He swipes his card on the door that’s attached to the pocket on his scrubs, unlocking the door with a beeping sound, he holds the door open for you.

“Thank you.” You wearily and slowly walk into the triage, the body aches infecting every limb of yours too to bottom.

“Just sit down here, and we’ll get some of your details. My name is Mr Miller, but you can call me Joel.” He grins cheekily.

You sit on the uncomfortable leather seat, a monitor right next to you, a second seat next to your own remains unoccupied as you arrived alone.

The details are boring, your name, birthdate, address and allergies are all rushed through quickly, although you did seem to notice how the man’s ears reddened at the sound of your name.

Great, now you’re sick and delusional.

He scoots his chair over to you, the wheels rolling along the slick floors, his legs guiding him to the monitor, he puts the cuff around your arm and checks your blood pressure.

He frowns at the result.

You refrain from looking until he’s back at his desk typing notes. That can’t be good.

“Alright, what brings you in tonight lovely?” The man’s attention was undivided. Those deep brown—chocolate eyes were watching you. It felt a little intimidating.

“I’ve had a cough for a few days, but I’m struggling to eat and drink due to how swollen my tonsils feel. There’s also an ache in my left ear.” You explain hoarsely, your voice seemed to have changed as a result of your withering condition, even had started losing your voice.

“Alright now, I’m going to check your temperature first, so I need you to slip this under your tongue, okay?” Enamoured by how soft this man’s voice was, you only nodded in compliance.

He puts a small disposable plastic cover over the thermometer and when it beeps he throws the cover in the bin and hums to himself. “Temperature is okay.”

“Just going to have a look in that ear and see if there’s anything unusual going on, just hold on tight.”

You remain patient, watching his every move, eyes veering back and forth as you watch him, noting how small the ear torch thingy looked in his hands, Christ, was that even normal?

“Ears look alright.” He states confidently. “Now I just want to check your mouth, open up wide for me.”

You comply, wordlessly, tongue hanging out of your mouth, he can’t seem to find his torch as he rummages through his things, deciding to use the torch off his phone.

A phone that seemed old school to be owned by a nurse. “Just try and relax that tongue for me.” His voice was soft, squinting as he tried to see the condition of your throat.

He jumps in thought, pulling the small pair of glasses from his top pocket, he looks so sweet with them on.

“Let’s try again, just try and relax your tongue, keep it down on the bottom of your mouth if you can.” He encouraged, “relax that tongue for me.”

He pulls away, turning the torch off on his phone.

“Sorry sweetheart I’m going to need to use the tongue compressor.” He chuckles, you let out a huff of a laugh, due to your hoarse and irritated voice.

“Sorry—I was trying to keep it still, it’s hard when you’re trying to consciously keep it from moving.”

The man walks to the other side of the room, he lets out a laugh. “It’s alright—we’ll get you sorted.”

You notice more things about him as he walks around, the half sleeve that covers his elbow. Black and grey mainly, but a cherry blossom flower in pink. Not entirely neat, the ink had faded, you could only presume it was a result of being tattooed many years ago. Perhaps before your time.

His arms were thick, muscly. The poor seams of his uniform sleeves were holding with all their might in the double stitch. His neck were thick, and even though you could only see a small portion of his chest, you notice the defined collarbones and black coarse chest hairs that come up to the base of his neck. His hair was slightly grown out, curly hair seemed free range. The grey hairs in his hair matched his patchy—but neatly shaven beard.

God he looked tired, his expression matching your own, he yawned underneath the mask he wore haphazardly. “Pardon me, it’s getting to that time of night.”

“I feel you,” you mumble, tiredness laced in every syllable.

He takes the paper wrapper off the wooden stick, holding it out as he sits back in his chair, across from you. “Just gonna hold your tongue down and get a look.” He firmly presses the stick into your mouth, holding your tongue down to prevent it blocking where he needs to see.

Your tongue seems to dispute the sudden constriction and wiggles which he laughs at.

“Good girl, thank you.” He praises, sparing a glance before wheeling back to his desk to throw the wooden stick in the bin, going back to his computer to type in his notes.

Good what now? Surely that’s not apart of a normal checkup, or procedure, right? Your whole body tingles and you feel yourself feeling warm, almost faint at his praise.

“Alright darlin, if you wanna sit in the waiting room and wait for the doctor you’ll be right in,” he gives a polite smile, you miss the way he looks you up and down. He holds the door open for you, slowly you’re able to lift your aching body off the seat that's noulded around you, offering him a small smile as you walk past him. “Thank you so much.”

You hobble to the stiff seats, taking a spot in the second row from the front—directly across from the front desk.. where typically the attendant had turned the light on and sat back down, she stares at you as she takes down her sign.

The tv was quiet, but it depicted a movie you were quite fond of; Kingsman: The Golden Circle.

Well—your love for Pedro Pascal made the movie more enjoyable.

He made a fine cowboy after all.

After a few minutes of watching the scene on the quiet tv, and snap chatting with your friends to let you know that you’d been praised by a sexy nurse, you’re called into the doctor's office. In which; the sexy nurse himself was there, assisting the doctor.

“I hear you’re not feeling too well, young lady.” The doctor was an older man, lean and tall, one white patch at the front of his otherwise untouched brown hair.

“I’m just going to check a few things out, we’ll get this all sorted for you so you can go home.” He said cheerfully.

The doctor, same as Mr Miller—Joel.. checked your mouth, tongue, ears and asked a few of the same questions. After assessing you; he finally had an answer.

“Sounds like a viral infection—we’ll get you some pain killers, steroids and a list of symptoms we’ll need you to come back for, if you experience them. I’ll be back in one moment!” The lanky doctor exclaimed.

The nurse—Joel, stayed. “Why don’t we get you seated, you don’t look well.” His large hand guides your mid-lower back, taking your hand to sit you onto the freshly made bed, the linen now tainted with your sickness.

“Thank you,” a whisper is all your aching throat can manage.

The moment is ruined by the doctor. “These are the steroids and pain relief. I forgot to ask—do you need a medical certificate?” He tilted his head, handing you the small white paper cup that had 4 pills, two large and two small. With a cup of water.

“Yes please, I’m scheduled to work tomorrow but I don’t feel fit enough to work.” You manage softly, although feeling a little embarrassed to complain about working in your condition.

Joel looked tired and stressed, yet here you were complaining. You begin swallowing the tablets, the two large first, unable to stop yourself from gagging as the pill gets lodged in your throat—the swelling of your tonsils makes it difficult to swallow.

But you manage, thank t to the encouragement of Joel. “It’s alright, easy now, don’t rush.” He croons, standing a little too close to you.

You take his advise, taking a few moments to swallow the pills and eventually you’re done. “There you go, easy now sweetheart,” he murmurs gently. Your body halts it’s shuffling to get off the bed, but the man takes your plastic and paper cup and put it in the bin for you. You’re stunned by how thoughtful and beautiful this older man was.

“Medical certificate and some pain killers to take home.” The doctor stated, interrupting your delusion, sitting them down on the work bench across from your position on the bed. “If you start to feel worse, fevers, vomiting, shortness of breath please come back.”

You stand, suppressing a groan as your stiff ankles hold the ache for your weight. “Thank you so much. Have a good evening.”

He bids his farewells, and you pick up your paperwork and medication, noting how once again, the nurse is holding the door open for you, the stronger man gives you a soft smile.

“Feel better sweetheart. Don’t hesitate to come back. Want you looked after, yeah?” It sounded like a coo, like he was pleading for your condition to improve.

“Thank you for all your help.” You muster, feeling better already thanks to the fast working medication.

“See you around.” His hand brushed against your lower back as you walk past. “Have something to eat when you get home, won’t you?”

Your cheeks felt inflamed, not from sickness, but bashfulness. “I’ll do that.” You promised, making your exit out of that stale smelling room. Your stomach grumbled, as if it also wished to comply to this man’s sweet demands.

The only thought of that handsome man on your mind, was she imagining things.. surely not?

Either way, your immune system was no good, it was almost a guarantee you’d be back sooner or later.. you just hoped, nurse Joel Miller would be on the clock to assist you back to health.

[kishavo]

plagued by memories tonight so I’m going to spit them up and hopefully that brings me relief.

I was an EMT for about 5 years and I think these things are tattooed on my bones. trigger warning under the cut for…upsetting healthcare-related experiences? and the f-slur

I remember bringing a wheelchair-bound elderly man up to his shoebox apartment in the inner city, 12 floors up a derelict building in a tiny, shaky elevator, and being hit with the stink of smoke as soon as I opened the door - cigarette butts stubbed out on every surface, ashtrays overflowing, carpet that started out as brown matted down to black. I offered to help him into bed but he refused. he took off his vietnam veteran baseball cap and picked up a stale pack of cigarettes and told me to go

I remember the man who had been attacked by his neighbors’ dogs, two Rottweilers. his legs were mangled; huge scoops of flesh just gone. he was kind. he asked me how my day was going.

I remember the dead woman in the ER who I was told to bag up and bring down to the morgue. she looked familiar. I remember putting a tag on her thumb but I don’t remember her name. I remember making small talk with the ER tech who was helping me on the elevator ride down to the basement. that sounds like the start of a joke, doesn’t it? a girl, a man, and a dead body get in an elevator. if you think of a punchline let me know

I remember the frequent-flyer patient with a chronic mystery skin infection that caused his legs to leak so much fluid that we had to wrap them in plastic bags or else the gurney would get flooded and it would soak into his pants and spill over the edge onto the floor of the ambulance. the first time I got his call I thought we’d been sent to a haunted house. it was an old victorian in downtown, made of rotting wood and peeling paint. The knob in the front door had been ripped out so I bent down and looked through. There was no answer when I knocked so I yelled ‘hello’ through the hole until eventually someone came down the stairs and silently let us in. Our patient’s apartment was one room, it was dark, it smelled, the bed was as dirty as the floor, beer cans and cigarettes everywhere. There was a tiny, square, box TV playing static. There were spoiled diapers kicked under his desk. He lived alone and apparently had no family. I and every EMT who had ever been sent there reported the situation to social services but nothing was ever done.

there was the woman coming down from a meth binge who kept asking me if I was going to eat her brains. we dropped her off at a psych facility and a few days later I was back with another patient. I saw her again, sober now. when she saw me she averted her eyes and retreated into her room

there was another woman in the middle of a severe psychotic episode who, within 5 minutes of meeting me, looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’re a fat fucking faggot and I want you to die.” She had pissed on all her personal belongings and the back of the ambulance stank so bad of stale human urine that I had to kick the fan on and spray air freshener into my face mask. She spent most of the call insulting and trying to spit on me and my partner. My partner snapped at her but I just ate it. Later, when we were outside cleaning the gurney and waiting for the next call, a stray cat slipped out from behind a nearby dumpster and curled around my boots. he booped my knuckles and mewled when I pet him and the night was good again

I remember being in and out of psych facilities so often and feeling like a fucking imposter because I was burning out, depressed out of my mind and regularly experiencing suicidal ideation. I wondered when I would call 911 and end up there myself. I wondered if it would be my coworkers who would pick me up. the thought of it scared me enough that I never made the call, even when I should have. I started getting high instead

I remember the middle-aged woman having a panic attack. that was at my on-location job, at my city’s arena, where all the concerts and games were held. it was a slow night and too many of us responded. this woman was hyperventilating, the bass from the concert was everywhere, and a crowd of strangers was closing in on her. I got there first, so by default it became my call, which always made me nervous. I sat her down, I kneeled in front of her, she grabbed my hands reflexively and I let her grip on. I coached her breathing. I waved my coworkers back to give her space. I convinced her that everyone there just wanted to help her and that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. it worked. I was soothing, and sure, and strong. it worked.

when it was over she held my shoulder and thanked me. patients don’t usually thank us. when it was over I went to the bathroom and cried. I handled it so well because I had been talking my mom down from her panic attacks for years.

I talked about that call in group therapy the week after. I thought I was going to be proud, that it would be a positive share, but I cried again.

when people ask about what it's like being an EMT, I don’t think they want to hear any of this, they only want the cool stories. they want to hear about the lights and the sirens and to thank you for your service but please, please, don’t. There’s a quote by Anaïs Nin: “I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.”

[spooniestrong]

Friends,

I wrote a letter for the Action Network letter campaign: Take action for masks in healthcare settings.

It's a very important cause.

As a disabled & immunocompromised person, being able to access the necessary healthcare I need is imperative. I can't tell you how many times I've had to ask nurses & doctors to mask around me, not to mention how many times I've had to cancel an appointment because I didn't feel safe.

Join us in writing to the president, our governors, state and federal representatives and telling them to take action to bring back masks in healthcare. When you finish sending a letter, use our call-in toolkit to reinforce the message: the current COVID surge endangers us all. Bring back universal masking in healthcare. Our letter to elected officials is below. You may send it using our form, or borrow our letter in part or full to communicate with your representatives or community leaders. Requiring masks in healthcare is urgent for patient, visitor and staff safety. Much COVID transmission is asymptomatic. Multiple studies show universal masking lowers transmission, particularly if using N95s. Universal masking is crucial, especially in today’s COVID, flu and RSV surge, to reduce aerosol transmission of viruses in healthcare. Ending healthcare mask requirements endangered us all, especially elderly, immunocompromised and disabled people – and healthcare workers. Hospital-acquired COVID has a 5-10% mortality rate. Many people now are delaying care to avoid needlessly infectious settings. Healthcare systems are overwhelmed. An estimated 47 million US residents already suffered Long COVID by late 2022, and we still lack treatments. We need layered protection, including masks, tests, air filters and ventilation. Please take action to make universal masking the standard of care, with respirator masks provided to workers, patients and visitors in healthcare settings.

Can you join me and write a letter? Click here: https://actionnetwork.org/letters/take-action-for-masks-in-healthcare-settings?source=email&

Thanks!

- Stephanie // SpoonieStrong 💙🥄

[medsocionwheels]

Mask Week of Action 2023 - Recap

ICYMI we called on healthcare workers to mask up and protect patients last week. Here are some highlights from my own "Mask Week of Action" posts promoting the push to keep masks in healthcare (and bring them back in places that dropped them long ago).

[bruciemilf]

No, but Battinson and Simon "Ghost" Riley? Copy and paste. Emo in italics vs Emo in Bold.

For my " Alfred trained Ghost at some point and of course Bruce grows up with an annoying ass older brother" agenda.

I'm sorry, but I simply can't help but drool and cry and scream over Clark visiting the manor because Bruce demanded to keep traction of his powers, -

(translation: Bruce is worried and wants to offer healthcare to the indestructible Kryptonian in the best way he knows how)

-, and look. He can't exactly HELP peeking through privacy. But, honestly? A part of him feels like it's better.

He hasn't felt an ounce of awkwardness around Damian ever since he heard that " how to make friends" tutorial from his room. It's easier to make eye contact with Jason when Clark knows he cries at Little Women. (He gets it. He does, too.)

And Tim can't really intimidate him like he used to now that Clark knows he needs a tutorial on how to grill cheese.

He likes it. Its not a bridge, not quite yet, but it IS a foundation.

One thing IS curious, thought. Alfred.

Alfred, whose warm voice is very comforting, like a spoon of sugar In a cup of mint tea,

" I don't suppose you'll be visiting soon, love?"

There's one detail that actually MAKES Clark want to listen. He didn't know Alfred's accent had a twang of Manchester to it.

But it's the voice on the other line, - gruff, grainy but pleasant, deep and whispery, - that stirs his curiosity,

" Don't tell me Bambi's dyin' to see me?"

Bambi?

" He specifically instructed me not to invite you again, actually. He's never quite recovered from that tea bag incident."

Faint gun sounds. Then a deep, chilling silence, " Ain't my fault no one thought 'em street combat. Soap says hi, by the way. Price still waitin' on that dinner date."

" Tell him to come here and get it. If he dares. And bring John at once! This silent pining of yours won't get you anywhere."

A pause, in which Clark feels an invisible pressure settle over him. He feels cornered. It's foreign, and nasty, on the wrong side of admiration.

" ...I'll see you in a blink, Pop."

" See you then, love."

When Bruce comes back, elegant, dainty, violence stained hands full with sweet treats Clark has no taste for, entirely for him only, he burns to ask about this mystery son.

But then again, it's really funny seeing Bruce on the receiving end of being investigated. He has no clue how Clark finds these things out, putting Superman above petty things like eavesdropping.

Clark Kent, however, won't bother. It's way too much fun.

If he had half a mind to ask, then maybe future Clark would know how to prepare for Simon "Ghost - AKA Bruce Wayne's Tank Older Brother " Riley better.

Why Am I looking up why am I looking up why am I looking, -

"You're hard to kill."

" ...Thank you."

" It's not a compliment. "

Bruce pouts, - and a fragment of Clark, who's currently doing his best not to hide behind his cape like an overfed 6 year old (because good lord, that mask), is endeared.

It's nice to see Bruce like this, - grumpy but relaxed and filled with loving annoyance. " This could've been a Facebook message."

Ghost shrugs, big hand messing up Bruce's hair, all bored and affectionate, " We celebratin' Jay's 9th birthday, don't we? Can't do that over call."

" Jay is 23."

Ghost shrugs, " I stopped counting after Dick, Bambi."

That...Was adorable. In a messed up, way too accurate manner.

"Besides," And Jason clearly learned " stabs you with a single stare" from the right person, " I heard it's open season in Gotham."

Clark gulps behind his smile.

[kodoandsangha]

Project 2025 and how they're going to strip healthcare from everyone

I know everyone is focused on Gaza. The genocide happening there is unconscionable.

But, back here, in the States, where most of us live, there's this. This is the plan starting January 1. This is just ONE section - Health and Human Services.

I'm currently involved in a grassroots project to present the entirety of the 923 pages in this form to get the information out. Their plan is literally Gilead.

I want to be clear that nowhere in their policies, goals and rhetoric does it account for what happens to all of us when these things happen.

Summary

Scary vague thing:

Investigate, expose, and remediate any instances in which HHS violated people’s rights by:

Colluding with Big Tech to censor dissenting opinions during COVID

Colluding with abortion advocates and LGBT advocates to violate conscience-protection laws and the Hyde Amendment

P. 488

Public health entities (CDC, NIH, ACL, OASH)

Can’t prescribe any behavior (meaning masking/quarantine would never have happened) (454)

Can’t use fetal cells for research (454, 461)

No mask/vaccine mandates in hospitals (475)

LGBTQ

CDC - No data collection on gender identity (456)

Medicare - No national coverage determination for Gender Reassignment Surgery (474)

Allow discrimination

in healthcare

Reverse ACA’s prohibition on discrimination against gender identity and sexual orientation in health programs/activities (475)

Withdraw Ryan White guidance (aims at reducing barriers to HIV care, medication, and support for transgender people living with HIV) (485)

OASH will withdraw support for gender-affirming care (490)

Allow LGBTQ folks to be discriminated against in healthcare (remove Biden protections - 495) and intend to have the DOJ bring the discrimination protections to the supreme court (496) which could potentially set a precedent.

In adoption (477)

Possibly take children away from LGBTQ couples if they didn’t conceive them? “married men and women are the ideal, natural family structure because all children have a right to be raised by the men and women who conceived them” (489)

Prioritize faith-based education programs & grants (that don’t acknowledge LGBTQ folks’ existence) (480, 481)

Reproductive rights

Programs/education

CDC - Implies the Division of Reproductive Health and the 6|18 initiative will be cut (454)

Fewer doctors trained in abortions - Make abortion training opt-in rather than opt-out in all medical schools (485)

No “approved curriculum” or “evidence-based lists” in Teen Pregnancy Prevention or Personal Responsibility Education Programs (477)

Deal with STDs and unwanted pregnancy by focusing on abstinence and strengthening marriage (490)

Remove the experts - Install pro-life advocates in the Health Resources & Services Administration advisory committee (who makes the mandates around abortion) and cut ties with American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (484)

eliminate the HHS Reproductive Healthcare Access Task Force and install a pro-life task force (489)

Foreign aid - Require foreign non-government orgs to certify that they wouldn’t perform/promote abortion as a condition of receiving funding. (493)

Protections

Remove protections from the woman and enforce protections for born-alive infants (including criminal consequences) (474)

Make it harder for people to understand how/where their protected health information is protected (rescind guidance - 497)

Drug/contraception access

FDA - Reverse approval of chemical abortion drugs (458)

Limit pills to 49 days gestation, in-person dispensing, report all adverse events (459)

Reduce access to contraception - Allow insurance providers to morally object to providing contraception on nonreligious grounds (it’s already allowed for religious grounds) (483)

Male condoms will no longer be mandated coverage (485)

No more Ella (week-after-pill) in the contraceptive mandate (485)

Make access harder - Withdraw OCR’s pharmacy abortion mandate guidance which prohibits discrimination when providing abortion meds (496)

Travel

Prohibit abortion travel funding (eliminate the section 1115 waivers that allow funds to help cross state lines) (471)

No abortions for refugees (478)

Government funds

No funds for Planned Parenthood (471) 

prohibit family planning grants from going to entities that perform abortions or provide funding to other entities that perform abortions (491)

Cut up to 10% of medicaid funds from states that require abortion insurance coverage (CA, IL, Maine, MD, NY, OR, WA, Vermont, Hawaii, Connecticut) (472)

Oversight

Track every abortion in every state (455)

New mission statement “furthering the health and well-being of all Americans ‘from conception to natural death.’” (489)

Require health care workers to report abortion pill complications (459)

Medicare

Use AI to detect fraud (463)

Lots of regulations impacting healthcare system reporting/fund-access/insurance pool etc.

Would be good to get someone in healthcare to analyze, I’m betting these gut the ACA

“Separate the subsidized ACA exchange market from the nonsubsidized insurance market” (469)

Eliminated programs

Medicare Shared Savings Program (465)

Inflation Reduction Act (465)

Medicaid

Add work requirements and lifetime caps (468)

Eliminate benefit requirements/mandates and middle/upper income recipients (468)

Cut up to 10% of medicaid funds from states that require abortion insurance coverage (CA, IL, Maine, MD, NY, OR, WA, Vermont, Hawaii, Connecticut) (472)

Child/family welfare (some overlap with lgbtq, copied in here)

Combine child support with visitation support court (implied via example, 479)

Prioritize faith-based HMRE (healthy marriage & relationship education) programs & grants and don’t pressure them to conform to “nonreligious definitions of marriage” (480, 481)

“in cases where the father or mother does not make a sincere or serious effort to be involved in the child’s upbringing, termination of parental rights for children in foster care should be swift” (482)

Eliminate the Head Start program (482)

Potentially (implied) cut programs related to bullying prevention, children’s safety, health disparities, early childhood support, poisoning and SUID prevention. (486)

Take children away from LGBTQ couples if they didn’t conceive them? “married men and women are the ideal, natural family structure because all children have a right to be raised by the men and women who conceived them” (489)

Housing

“Rescind legal analysis that authorized HHS to impose a moratorium on rental evictions during COVID” (492)

[invisibleicewands]

Nye at the National Theatre review: Micheal Sheen brings zest to this lumpy story of the founder of the NHS

Michael Sheen’s performance as the creator of the NHS Aneurin Bevan here is, fittingly, a triumph against the odds. The Welsh Labour MP known as ‘Nye’ faced down doctors, oppositional Tories led by Churchill, and sceptics in his own party to bring in our universal healthcare system in 1948.

Sheen, by turn, is battling a lumpy and obvious script by Tim Price and the challenges of Nye’s stutter, schoolboyish zeal and “f***ing stupid hair”. He’s also barefoot and in podgily unflattering pyjamas throughout, like a soft toy bought in haste in a hospital gift shop.

Yet his charisma, along with goodwill toward the NHS, gets Rufus Norris’s playfully earnest co-production for the National and Wales Millennium Centre over the line.

Nye’s in his jim-jams because we first meet him in 1960, in hospital for an op on an ulcer that turns out to be something more serious. The show unfolds as a deathbed flashback.

Nye’s challenges and triumphs are ticked off one by one. Guilt about his miner father dying of “black lung”? Check. Poverty and unemployment? Check. Becoming an autodidact, a campaigning councillor and a maverick socialist MP? Check, check, check.

Bevan’s exceptionalism shines through, but with so much history to cover the show feels skimpy at times. His role in the General Strike of 1926 is skipped over: the Second World War and subsequent Labour landslide are condensed into four minutes.

The comparisons Price draws between self-serving, right-wing politicians then and now feel heavy handed, even to a knee-jerk lefty like me. “You don’t need to steamroller everyone all the time,” as Nye’s future wife Jennie Lee (Sharon Small) tells him. Quite.

On the plus side, the general air of reverence is frequently undercut with humour. Tony Jayawardena is a hilariously brazen Churchill. Stephanie Jacob’s Attlee glides around the stage behind a motorised Prime Ministerial desk like a beady, centrist Davros. Nye and his rivals, and Jennie and his childhood friend Archie (Roger Evans), often descend into juvenile, sweary abuse.

Norris and designer Vicki Mortimer also use the large cast rather than massive sets to invoke a sense of scale and scope. Legions of the impoverished and ranks of implacable, masked doctors are projected onto the hospital curtains that whisk back and forth across the stage.

[thescrumblingmidwife]

So I actually have a separate hymen and want to talk a little about it and ask a question.

I first started my period at 12, and that was no big deal. It was always spaced out by about 6 months. But when I started synchronized swimming and water polo, it became a problem. I had tried to use tampons, but my body just wouldn't let me. My mom kept telling me I must've been too tensed up. Finally, when I was 15, I was able to use one so I could go to a pool party.

Party ended, I got home, tried to change the tampon...

And I couldn't.

I kept trying to remove it, but it felt like it was caught on something. So my mom and I went to the ER and the lady who helped me was very kind and suggested I use sports tampons due to how they absorb and open up.

A few other instances of things feeling like they got "hooked" on something and finally feeling around, I realized there was that extra tissue there.

Even with tampons that don't unfurl like a massive block of cotton, it still hurts and takes me a few tries to remove tampons, but the problem is that I'm terrified of surgery. I know it would improve my quality of life in regards to menstruation, but I don't know how to broach the topic with family (fyi I am an adult, but still live with my parents and I am unable to drive) or my doctor.

Do you have any advice on how to bring it up and what to expect/how to not be so nervous?

Also, apologies for the long ask!

Hi Anon!

Thank you so much for sharing your experience with us!

I will share one with you: I also had a septate hymen, and I know exactly what you're talking about with the pain of tampon use. I lived with it for years - even managing to have sex around it, until one day it finally snapped, causing a lot of bleeding and pain. The result was a lot of scar tissue, that caused painful intercourse for years. All of which I thought was completely normal, because no one ever told me otherwise. When I finally had the procedure (called a "hymenotomy") to remove the extra tissue, it changed my life.

Because I had that experience, I can also tell you what will happen with a hymenotomy. I hope reading this will help ease your anxiety:

You'll go to the facility where your doctor performs procedures (may be a hospital, outpatient clinic, or surgical center). You'll be asked to put on a gown and sit on a gurney. They'll probably cover you in warm blankets. A nurse will give you an IV. Then, they will either wheel or walk you down to the procedure room. You'll be asked to sit on a high table, and probably to scoot your bottom close to the edge. Your doctor will be there, as well as an anesthetist and a nurse. They will put a mask over your face, and have you count back from 10. You'll get to about 8 or 7 before you get SO TIRED you fall quickly into the best sleep you've ever had. When you wake up, it will be like no time passed, and it will be done. The postprocedure discomfort is pretty mild and can be handled with Tylenol. You may have a couple of stitches, which will either dissolve on their own, or may be the kind the doctor will remove at a follow-up to check your healing. And then you'll never have to worry about snagging tampons ever again!

---

Now, Anon, how to bring it up?

Do you currently see a gynecologic healthcare provider? If not, that's where you need to start. As an adult with a vagina, you should regularly see one for well-woman care and screenings. If you need your parents' help finding one, you don't need to share any information beyond "current best practice guidelines state that I should be receiving gynecologic care and I would like to do so." You're entitled to medical confidentiality, even from parents, even from parents you live with and whose insurance you are on, and who drive you places.

Once you've gotten an appointment with a gynecologic provider, I think you'll find the topic can come up quite naturally. The provider will ask if you have any concerns you want to discuss. You will want to tell a provider about your issues with an obstruction before they perform any kind of exam - and it should be visually obvious to a provider as well. (The provider will always look before touching, and warn you every step of the way). The provider will then have a conversation with you about your options, and give you the information you need to make a decision. She should also be able to help you decide how much you need or want to explain to your parents.

I hope this was helpful to you, and maybe ameliorated a tiny bit of your anxiety. The unknown is so much scarier than the real thing!

[butterflyinthewell]

The latest dad drama…

My dad is in the hospital and we get a break from him.

His hip is so severely bruised after his falls on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and then New Year’s Eve that he’s in agony and we can’t take care of him in this condition.

TW: emotional abuse, swearing, hospital mention

He kept falling partway off his bed between the mattress and the wall, waking us up all hours of the night to pull him back onto the bed, wailing in pain anytime we had to move him, and he was totally unable to sit up or stand and swing over to sit on his toilet commode.

Parkinson’s already limits his mobility, so any injury that makes him unable to handle his own weight or help us move him means we can’t take care of him. We had no way to get him out of the house except to call the paramedics to take him to the ER. They almost wouldn’t do it until my sister said “he has advanced Parkinson’s and he can’t help us move him around, we can’t take care of him like this.”

I tried to speak up and say dad’s needs are getting beyond us, that mom keeps hurting her back trying to deal with him and we need long term help, but both mom and my sister yelled at me to shut up. As always I got silenced and never got a chance to say what I needed to say. 🤬

Dad will be discharged from the hospital to a rehab facility for however long insurance will allow it and hopefully he will heal enough to be able to help us help him.

He should be in a nursing home, but my family is trapped in that crack of “too much income (a pittance from the government) to qualify for assistance of any kind, but not enough to afford any long term care” and I hate it so much.

I’m tired of useless “help” that still ends with us struggling to take care of him once a crisis passes. The way things are going we’re going to continue in this vicious cycle of fall, misery, hospital, rehab, home over and over until he finally dies, and I don’t know if insurance will keep covering that either.

This ER run didn’t make me panic because I know why dad had to go there and that it’s not life or death. There’s the COVID risk, but at this point I just don’t care if we all get sick anymore. I’m careful to wear my mask whenever I leave the house so I won’t spread it if I catch it, and will stay home if I end up sick from somebody else bringing it home. (I didn’t go to the ER with everybody.)

But we are tired and stressed out from dealing with dad day in and day out with no rest or break. This is a break we’re desperately in need of.

As much as his emotionally abusive ass pisses me off, I don’t want him suffering in pain like he was. He’s got pain relief and that’s what’s important to me.

I’m just grateful for a break and I think mom will be too once she calms down.

A part of me hopes a social worker looks at the situation and gives us options or some kind of loophole to get dad into long term care, but I won’t hope too hard. I know American healthcare is shit and they don’t care about disabled poor people at all.

Caregiving is a thankless slog and even the most loving person will slowly be destroyed by the nonstop stress of it. It hurts when you see how people pull away like you’re a plague. I’ve watched it happen to my family, it’s pretty disgusting, and it’s the most unfair to disabled people who aren’t getting the care they desperately need.