#guess what I’m having for lunch is it broth or broth? GOTCHA it’s broth

[facewithoutheart]

Personal update after the break ❤️ heed the tags

I’ve always been a bit of a TMI mess so just throwing this out there because a) I like people knowing this but hate updating people individually and b) it’s helping me process.

At the end of my 2.5 week South American vacation with my husband I came down with what I thought as food poisoning. (Or, at the very very start, acute hatred of crowds at museums.) Anyway I went back to our hotel and started puking for about 18 hours. Which was a problem, given we were meant to go home the next day. Eventually my husband agreed with me that I was not getting better and we delayed our flight for another day.

On Jan 3 at about 3pm I finally felt normal. Like, I got an appetite. It was amazing. I sent my husband on a mission to bring me food and took a celebratory nap.

This is likely when my appendix burst.

I woke up in severe pain. Like. Severe. 6 or 7 on the pain scale. We waited all night but nothing made it better. Eventually my husband got me dressed and ready for the flight because a) we still thought this was a really bad case of food poisoning (I made him google appendicitis since the pain was that bad but nothing we read made it sound like that’s what I was experiencing.) and b) whatever was hurting me we wanted to be back in our own country where we had access to more resources and spoke the same language. My husband can speak some Spanish, but struggles with vocabulary, and this wasn’t a situation where we wanted to miss things in translation.

I was under the delusion that if I could just curl up in my own bed everything would be better.

Onward through a bumpy cab ride, pre-customs (where I had to sit on my luggage to not pass out… keep in mind I’d barely eaten anything besides some water and Colombian pedialyte for 2.5 days), get through security, walk to the gate (by this point every movement of my feet felt Sisyphean), get through a second, special, just for me baggage check where I had to take off and put my shoes on (seriously cannot overstate how painful that was), and then suffer through a 6 hour turbulent flight. All without looking sick because we were afraid they wouldn’t fly us home if I looked sick.

Ok! So now we’re back in the states. I am holding on for my comfy bed (remember: delusionally). We get through US customs in a surprisingly efficient manner, then head for our Lyft with Larry. Oh, Larry. He was the world’s slowest driver, bless him.

We get home, I pout at the bed until my husband put the sheets on, and then immediately flopped onto them.

And did not feel better. Worse, actually.

After being betrayed by the bed that was meant to cure me, I made more sad noises at my husband until we decided to call in the A team: my sister, the nurse.

She didn’t answer.

So I called my mom. Or, I called my mom and made my husband talk to her while I continued to make sad noises. We all have our coping mechanisms. She told us to go to urgent care, which is a shock if you know my mom. She’s minimized my illnesses my whole life so when she said, “Christina doesn’t complain about being sick until she’s really sick so maybe you should get it checked out.” Then my sister called back and helped talk us into a stand-alone ER which has facilities much like a standard ER but much faster and with a private room.

That’s probably the purpose of this whole story so holding it again: I don’t think I’m being dramatic when I saying going to a stand-alone ER (in the US) saved my life. Or at least helped avoid an invasive longer recovery surgery. To find one, you’re basically looking for an ER associated with a main hospital group, but not inside the main hospital compound. They’re a little hard to find so that’s the best I can do.

Ok so onward to the stand-alone ER. I’ll remind you at this point we’re still operating under the idea that I have really bad food poisoning, maybe severe dehydration. We get to the ER, check in, get taken back to the room, sing our story for some IV fluids, and I even got a warmed up blanket.

Heaven, if you ask me.

Fast-forward: they do a series of tests on me and conclude that my appendix has ruptured, possibly some time ago, and it’s imperative that I get surgery. Like, appendix where are you? They can’t even see it lol. They do double check my gall bladder just in case, which is another common problem FYI keep that in mind people who were born female.

Now the only question is whether or not I get a bed. Keep in mind I’m sitting pretty. The warm blankets, remember? The hospitals nearby are all full. People in the hallways waiting for care. Not ideal! The doctor tells his own horror story about his father being unable to find a room in a hospital to wait for surgery that will come 🤷‍♀️. (Coincidence: this doctor was Peruvian so that was fun! Since we’d just been.)

Luck is on my side because there’s a surgeon who will take me straight to the operating room. I get an ambulance ride (no sirens ☹️) but I do have a fun, chatty EMT who gawks at the number of ambulances stuck in the ambulance dock at the hospital to which I’m transferred. (Another bonus: the hospital is five minutes from my house.)

I pretty much immediately go into surgery. “Teetering” is the word the surgeon used about how bad I was doing. My husband estimated that I likely wouldn’t have survived another 24 hours in that condition. Fun times! Something to process later.

Moving on. I’m two days post-op, feeling great (great enough to write this!) and I’ve moved onto clear liquids, which is so awesome you guys. JELLO! ON PRESCRIPTION! I had a grape slushee yesterday, things are swinging back my way. I do have recovery issues (need to poop ☹️ need to get my ng tube removed ☹️☹️☹️ need to be able to blow a little green tube until it reaches 2,000 or something), but I’ve reached a stage where recovery is measurable so omfg my engineer husband is so happy. He has notes. He is getting a whole thrill out of making doctors explain things to him like he’s an idiot. Aside from the fact, you know, his wife’s appendix tried to kill her or whatever and the fact he’s got to actually go into the grocery store.

Meanwhile I get to measure my success in farts, which is really fun. The surgeon was like “I know you ladies don’t like talking about gas” and I was like “sir you saved my life with minimally invasive surgery but I cannot begin to tell you how little I care about talking about farts. Farts, farts, farts.” And then tried to see if we knew any of the same doctors so he’d pull my ng tube faster. No dice. He used this thing called “logic” and also “your belly was full of puss that I had to suck out so maybe do what I say” blah blah blah (no seriously I am super grateful for him; modern medicine, hospital system mess aside, is a marvel and I’m so happy I live in a world where a laparoscopic surgery was able to treat my issues with minimal side effects).

Anyway, that’s my story! Appendixes: sleeping nightmares, apparently. Lurking. Even when you’re 36 and way past appendicitis phase if you ask me. Way more trendy for a woman my age to have gall bladder issues.

Also: props to every man who said there’s no way a man would ever let this issue get as bad as I did because of my insane pain tolerance 🤣 like, thanks for the shout-out but I could do without the hospital stay.

Second shout out to my amazing husband who has been such a champ, getting me things, pushing doctors for answers, advocating for me, and also taking time to slap my ass every time I accidentally flash him with my very sexy hospital gown. He knows how to make me feel both cared for and alive. Ugh I’m gonna cry just thinking about how grateful I am to him. I won’t even make fun of him for WALKING INTO A SONIC SERIOUSLY WHO DOES THAT YOU ANIMAL but I will tease him for googling appendix and saying, “Do you know they don’t even know what the purpose of an appendix is?” Like. Honey. Yes, everyone knows that. But I pretended to be surprised anyways because, like I said. Champ.

Also my husband said my lung exercise machine looks like it has “a dick” which was exactly what I was thinking. Fist bumps. Never grow up.

The end!

[captainamericasbeard]

I Owe You One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Just fluff. Fluff and too much food. 

Summary: Bucky steals your food and your heart in the process. Awwwwe.

A/N: This is my entry for @barnesrogersvstheworld ‘s writing challenge. My prompt was “I owe you one.” “You owe me three. At least” It’s in bold. I had a ton of fun writing it and I hope you love it. Sorry if I make your tummy rumble with all the delicious food references. Please like, comment, and reblog. I like the validation. 

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Bucky was always taking your food. You’d lost count of the number of times you’d walked into the kitchen and found him hunched over a meal you’d whipped up for yourself. Perfectly prepared BLTs gone in a few bites. Four bowls of spaghetti bolognese in the time it took you to take a shower. A whole pan of chorizo macaroni and cheese. You didn’t even get a bite. There was no limit to what he could eat and he seemed to have very little guilt about the whole thing. You’d walk back into the kitchen and find him hunched over your plate, a fleeting look of guilt in his eyes and he’d mumble around his mouth full of food, “I’ll owe you one.” He was deeply in your debt at this point.

You two were a match made in culinary heaven. You’re an excellent cook and he’s an indecent eater. He devours his food. He absolutely stuffs his face. He moans over your cooking in a way that makes you blush. He practically sings your praises while he eats and he would lick the plate if you’d let him. You don’t really mind. It makes you happy to make him happy and his sweet words makes your stomach somersault.

But lately you’ve taken to eating in strange places in an attempt to hide from him. A bowl of lemon chicken pasta on the floor of the server room. A plate of garlic and chili prawns with homemade crusty bread at the desk of a disused office. You even once considered taking your chicken schnitzel sandwich up into the vents but then you’d have to share with Clint. It wouldn’t have mattered, Bucky could find you anywhere. Just when you thought you’d found the perfect spot he’d whip open the door and shout “Aha!” He’d look pleadingly between your eyes and your plate of food with such longing until you handed over your meal resignedly. You’d never be able to resist that look.

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One day you were sitting at the table over a simple breakfast of coffee and banana bread slathered with ricotta cheese, honey, and cinnamon. Bucky was on his third slice and you realized this was the only slice you’d be getting. You got up to refill your coffee and Bucky asked “What’s something you love to eat that you can’t make?” You thought for a moment.

“Phở.”

“Phở?”

“Yeah, phở.”

“What the hell is phở?”

“It’s a Vietnamese soup. It’s got noddles and meat and herbs. It’s spicy and sweet and amazing. I’d be out of my depth trying to make it myself. And its so cheap you might as well just go to a restaurant for it.” Your eyes took on a dreamy far away look as you thought about tender pieces of sweet chicken floating in a broth that took two days to make.

“Let’s go. Let’s go get phở,” Bucky says snapping you out of your reverie.

“Yeah? You’d be up for trying it?” You ask.

“Yeah! I think its cool that you can get food from just about anywhere now. I never would have got a chance to try Vietnamese chicken noodle soup back in Brooklyn. Let’s go. Can we go now?” He starts getting up from his chair, his mouth watering at the dish you’ve described.

“Bucky, we're literally eating breakfast right now,” you roll your eyes at him, “can we at least wait until lunch?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he sits back down and grabs his fourth slice of banana bread.  

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Bucky hangs out with you in the kitchen while you spend some time cleaning bowls and loaf trays. You wipe down all the surfaces and cleaned out the fridge from countless containers of Chinese leftovers. “Damnit Clint,” you mutter as you fill up the trashcan. You whip up a batch of chocolate and caramel chip brownies and Bucky doesn’t even wait for them to cool before he devours half the tray and finishes the milk. He has started pacing at this point, ready to go. Finally you can’t handle his anxious energy any longer.

“Ok, ok, I’ll go get my jacket.” Bucky whoops and does a little dance as he rushes off to his room to grab his own jacket. You go to your room and while grabbing your jacket you decide you need to pull a brush through your hair and wash the flour off of your face. The few extra minutes you spend trying to look presentable has Bucky pounding at your door.

“What’s taking so long, Doll!?” The nickname puts a smile on your face.

“Sorry, just trying to look decent,” you say as you step out of your room and pull the door closed behind you. “You always look perfect, Doll. Don’t stress about it.” You dip your head down to hide your blushing under the pretense of zipping up your leather jacket. You look back up at Bucky to find him watching you intently. “Ready?” He asks with a smile playing on his lips.

“Ready,” you smile back.

It’s a perfect autumn day in New York City. The air is crisp and you both bury your hands in your jackets as you stroll down the sidewalk. There’s not much conversation happening but you don’t mind. Bucky’s presence makes you feel calm and collected. You always enjoy being around him and today was no different. Your favorite phở place was only a ten minute walk and you were there before you knew it.

The restaurant is a hole-in-the wall place, just as it should be. It was appropriately named Phở Noodles and as you opened the door you were greeted by the familiar tinkling of a bell and the soft brown eyes of the owner.

“Seat for two?” She asks with her thick accent, holding up two fingers to make herself clear. Her eyes twinkle mischievously. She’s used to you coming in by yourself.

“Yes please,” you respond with a wide smile. She seats you and Bucky next to the window and brings your waters. Bucky takes off his jacket as he sits and you watch him take in the decor, the kitchen in the back, and most importantly the bowls of phở at your neighbor’s table. He looks at you with childlike excitement in his eyes and you have to giggle at him. Your waitress comes over with a sweet smile and waits patiently for your order. You don’t even glance at the menu as you order two chicken phở, two Thai teas, and a share plate of egg rolls. The waitress nods and smiles and takes your menus as she walks back to the kitchen. You fold your hands on the table and turn back to Bucky who had watched the entire transaction with interest.

“So you come here a lot,” he asks, smirking.

“Yeah I guess. Three or four times a month. It’s comforting after a hard mission or a long day to just let someone else cook for dinner for once.”

“I think I owe you an apology,” Bucky says sheepishly and you raise your eyebrow. “I’m sorry I always steal your food.”

“Yeah, you do seem to have singled me out.”

“I can’t help it! You're just an amazing cook! I can always tell when its you in there and my mouth just starts watering and I just have to have some.” He looks at you, eyes pleading forgiveness.

“You know, you could just ask. I’d be happy to double the recipe so there’s enough for both of us. Where do you put it all anyways? You don’t look like you eat as much as you do.”

Bucky turns lightly pink at the implied compliment. “Hyperactive metabolism. Its a side affect of the serum. My metabolism runs about four times faster than yours. Steve’s is even worse. You see how many eggs he goes through.” You both laugh, Steve is famous for his daily dozen egg omelette.

“Gotcha. That makes sense. But why do you have such an indecent relationship with your meals.”

“Real answer or fake answer,” Bucky asks hesitantly.

“Real answer of course.”

“All the time I was with Hydra I never ate any real food. They kept me alive through IVs. I think I’m just making up for all the meals I missed” He was casual about it but you could tell it hurt him to relive any part of his time with Hydra. Meanwhile your heart had dropped out of your chest. You decided then and there you would never withhold food from Bucky Barnes ever again.

“I’m so sorry, Buck. I don’t know what else to say.”

“It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything.” He reaches his hand across the glass top table and gently holds yours. He was the one reliving the horrors of his past and here he was comforting you. Your brain goes fuzzy at the touch but luckily your food arrives before you can make a fool out of yourself.

Two huge, steaming bowls of broth, chicken, and rice noodles are placed in front of you. Next comes the plate with all the traditional toppings- mint and scallions, lime and sprouts, and more. Finally down comes your teas and the egg rolls with their light sauce full of shredded carrots. You teach Bucky how to add the toppings, which sauces were savory and which were spicy. You show him how to hold the chopsticks and the spoon for scooping up the broth. You both dig in and Bucky does not hold back his praises for his dish. He moans at the first bite. He loves each element of the soup and how they come together in perfect harmony. He slurps his broth oblivious to the glances of the other patrons. Before you’re halfway through your own bowl, Bucky is ordering his second.

“So you like it,” you comment between bites. Bucky nods his reply as he prepares and dives into his second bowl. Finally you’re too full to eat another bite so you slide your bowl over to Bucky as he’s finishing his. He doesn’t skip a beat as he pulls your bowl closer and keeps eating. You suppress a giggle and watch him enjoy one of your favourite things. Your heart swells knowing you’ve brought him the joy of a new discovery. Bucky finishes and sighs contentedly, his hands on his stomach and a smile on his face.

“Yeah,” he says seriously, “that’s pretty damn good. Thanks Y/N.”

“Anytime Buck.”

_______________________________________________________________________

You walk back to the tower in contented silence. Once inside you make a quick decision. “Come with me,” you say as you head towards your room. You open the door and move across the room to your closet. You stand on your tiptoes reaching into the top shelf while Bucky watches curiously from the foot of your bed. You pull out a decorative box wrapped in plastic wrap from underneath a pile of sweaters. “Come sit down,” you say as you begin to peel layers of plastic off of the box. “I’ve got dessert.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Y/L/N,” Bucky says as he sinks to the floor and inspects the contents of the box.

“Yeah sorry. It won’t happen again I promise,” you glance at him from the corner of your eye and he’s looking at you with a dopey smile on his face. “They’re my grandma’s cookies. She makes them every year and sends me a box. I tend to hoard them. They’re chocolate peanut butter pinwheels.” Bucky’s eyes light up as he starts to reach into the box. Quickly he clenches his fist and pulls back.

“Sorry. May I have some?” He asks looking down at you with the sweetest expression on his face.

“Of course, Buck,” you answer softly and you both dig into the box.

“Too bad we’re out of milk,” Bucky comments around a mouth full of cookie.

“And who’s fault is that?” Bucky laughs and goes in for what might be his fourth cookie. Together you polish off the box in one sitting, Bucky eating the lion’s share of the precious treat. After the last crumb has been picked off of the inside of the box you both sigh contentedly.

“Thanks for sharing, Y/N, I know they were pretty special. I owe you one, for sure.”

“For that you owe me three. At least.” You burst out laughing and Bucky joins. You’ve never felt so contented, sitting on the floor of your closet laughing with the man who has managed to capture your heart.

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It’s a week after the phở and it’s managed to be a particularly terrible day. You decide there’s no way you’re cooking and opt to order out Chinese instead. You settle on your favorite garlic and ginger chicken with rice and a few egg rolls. Hanging up the phone you move to your room for a quick shower and to change into some sweats and an old t-shirt. All you can think about is the newest episode of Brooklyn 99 and your dinner on it’s way to you. You open the door to your room and immediately smell trouble. Your food has arrived. You rush to the kitchen to see Bucky hunkered over a container of Chinese food. YOUR Chinese food. The delivery guy must have come while you were in the shower. You stomped your foot and threw your hands onto your hips. Your eyes were flashing in anger.

“James Buchanan Barnes. What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Bucky’s head snaps up. His body freezes with chopsticks in one hand and the box in the other. He gulped down his bite and looked so damn guilty you immediately softened your stance, dropping your hands down to your sides.

“Shit, Doll, I’m so sorry. I thought it was Clint’s! Can I owe you one?” He looked truly remorseful and your heart just fell apart.

“No, Bucky, you cannot owe me one. You owe me about a million. And you know what, I’m cashing in now.” You step towards him with your heart pounding out of your chest. You knew he could hear it but you didn’t care. You strode up to him and closed the gap between your bodies. You paused inches away from his face, giving him a chance to say something or push you away. He did nothing but swallow hard as his eyes flew from your bright, blazing eyes to your soft lips and back again. Before you could think about it you bring your lips to his in a tender kiss. He was frozen for a moment, food still in hand, but his lips quickly melt into yours. He throws the food onto the counter you have him pushed up against and wraps his arms around your waist, deepening the kiss. You rest your hands lightly on his chest for a moment before you move them up to tangle your fingers in his hair. He moans into your mouth like he did with that bowl of phở and you couldn’t help but smile. He pulls you closer to him as your passions grow and he tasted like garlic and ginger, savory and sweet all at once. You finally brake away to breath, locking eyes with each other.

“I'm glad one of us finally had the courage to do that,” Bucky whispers, his voice low and husky. “So I’m not in trouble for eating your dinner?” He smiles down at you with a devilish grin.

“You keep kissing me like that and you can steal all the food you want.” Your lips reconnect and you realized you were both hungry in a way food could never satisfy.