#half of first aid is knowing how to apply things. knowing how to do cpr. knowing how to help someone who's choking. how to call for 911

[thedeafprophet]

sorry that last post is really bothering me. First Aid exists as the treatments/aid you give before someone is able to recieve full medical care.

Someone can bleed out long before you can make it to an ER. Serious injuries can happen inside your home. please please please if you are able, take a first aid course and have a first aid kit on hand, both at home and in a car if you have one. These things can make a huge difference when it comes to injury.

The human body is fragile

[seijohsremade]

ways to help protestors if you are unable to protest

everybody has to do their part. as a reference, this was posted on 1 june 2020. if any links are broken or direct to a place they should not, please feel free to add on with corrections. if there is new information with better knowledge, please feel free to share. thank you.

1. donate

do not donate to shaun king. he has repeatedly collected money to “support” black people, but no one knows where the money is.

BAIL FUNDS (ALPHABETICAL ORDER; NOT A COMPREHENSIVE LIST)

note: washington dc and new jersey have cashless bail systems.

bail fund google doc (also includes lawyers for protestors)

national bail fund network (directory of community bail funds)

community bail funds masterpost by @keplercryptids

resistance funds (google sheets; lists bail funds around the country)

nationwide bail funds (split a donation to the bail funds listed on the linked page with a single transaction)

atlanta bail fund

brooklyn bail fund

colorado freedom fund

columbus freedom fund

houston chapter of black lives matter

liberty fund (nyc based; focuses services on people from low-income communities)

los angeles freedom fund

louisville community fund

massachusetts bail fund

minnesota freedom fund (as of may 30, 2020, they are encouraging people to donate elsewhere since they have raised enough money; as of may 29, 2020, they do not have a venmo, as some fraudulent accounts have been claiming, source)

philadelphia bail out fund

richmond bail fund

MORE PLACES TO DONATE

note: more links are listed in the masterposts below.

northstar health collective (healthcare and medical aid for people on the front lines)

reclaim the block (aims to redistribute police funding to help the minneapolis community)

twin cities dsa (provides fresh groceries and hot meals to people in minneapolis)

2. educate yourself

it isn’t enough to sign petitions and reblog/retweet/etc. nonblack people, including people of color, owe it to black people to educate themselves and correct themselves and the people around them on anti-blackness.

note: more links are in the masterposts linked below.

resources and tools regarding racism and anti-blackness (google sheets compilation)

readings on society, racism, the prison system, etc. (twitter thread)

“where do we go after ferguson?” by michael eric dyson

official black lives matter website

3. give out supplies to protestors

people need supplies to protest safely, and even if they bring supplies with them, they can often run out. if you’re able, stock up and hand them out to people protesting. for more supplies to donate, see the “george floyd action” google docs link in section 5.

water bottles (dehydration and heatstroke are not things people should have to deal with alongside bastard cops. if the police in your area are particularly violent or known to use tear gas, get the ones with the sports cap/suction-thing/etc so people can use them as emergency eye-flushes.)

snacks (make sure to take into account that people have allergies of all sorts. foods will have a little label that says “may contain” and then list any potential allergens. write the allergens on the ziploc (or any container you use) in permanent marker, or better yet, write the snacks included in the pack.)

masks (don’t forget there’s still a pandemic going on. also it will aid in deterring facial recognition when the police try to track down protestors,  also part two, if the cops use tear gas, wearing a mask (with the combination of a scarf or bandana) will lessen the adverse effects. lessen, not stop.)

bandanas, scarves, etc. and goggles (ski goggles, swimming goggles, etc.) (see above for explanation on the scarves. same goes for the goggles. anti–tear gas and anti–facial recognition.)

clean shirts (for people who are heavily gassed. also helps deter recognition through clothing.)

wound care supplies (band-aids, packets of neosporin packets or a similar antibiotic, alcohol wipes, etc.; if you can, decant bactine into those little travel bottles.)

a sharpie or another type of marker (for writing bail numbers or emergency contacts on arms, hands, etc. it’s not enough to have your city’s bail fund number stored on your phone; the police won’t give it to you to look it up. give people a marker so they can write it down, preferably not washable so it isn’t easily removed.)

IMPORTANT: KNOWING FIRST AID

tear gas: if you’re hit, get out as fast and as soon as you can. take anyone you can with you. the longer you’re in the gas, the harder it will be for you to see, and it can irritate your airways, making it hard to breathe. if you’re hit, don’t run; it’ll only make things worse on your lungs. when you leave the area, take a cold shower. don’t use hot water (it will only reactivate the agent); don’t bathe (it will only spread the CS around). (source 1) (source 2) (cdc fact sheet on tear gas)

move them to a clean and ventilated area where it’s as safe as possible.

ask them if they’re wearing contact lenses. have them remove it. if they’re wearing glasses, rinse it with water.

solution of half liquid antacid, half water. spray from the inside going out, with the head tilted back and slightly towards the side being rinsed. if they say it’s okay, open the eye slightly while doing this. (source)

bullet wounds: the most important thing is to stop the bleeding. be sure to check for an exit wound and cover that as well. treat both wounds, but treat the worse one first.

stop the bleed (youtube video by uc san diego health)

first aid in active shooting scenarios

making a tourniquet (a commercial tourniquet is best, but improvised ones can work as well if done properly; the most important things to remember is that tourniquets are for limb injuries and are not meant for the head or torso and that they have to be very tightly wound on the injury.)

how to apply pressure dressings

miscellaneous

adult cpr tutorial (youtube video by cincinnati children’s; think of “staying alive” by the beegees or “uptown funk”)

4. be a source of information

be responsible with this. people’s lives are at stake. that being said, the media is a fucking joke and the best way to get accurate information in a grassroots rebellion is amongst ourselves. record everything, but if you are going to share any information at all, be sure to blur people’s faces.

signal (encrypted messenger app; messages delete after x amount of time): app store | google play

tool for scrubbing metadata from images and selectively blurring identifiable features

tech tips to protect yourself while protesting (by rey.nbows on tiktok, via vicent_efl on twitter)

cop spotting 101 (google docs)

know your rights (by personachuu on twitter)

NUMBERS TO CALL FOR ARRESTED PROTESTORS (ALPHABETICAL ORDER; SOURCES LINKED TO THE NUMBER)

remember to keep phones OFF unless absolutely necessary. cell phone towers, stingrays, location notifs can all be used to track you and other protestors. don’t fuck around. if your phone must be on, keep it on airplane mode as often as possible and only communicate using encrypted methods. no, snapchat doesn’t count. (a twitter thread on stingrays, for those interested)

lawyers assisting protestors pro-bono (by riyakatariax on twitter)

atlanta: 404-689-1519

chicago: 773-309-1198

minneapolis: 612-444-2654

5. miscellaneous links and links for protestors

masterpost of petitions to sign, numbers to call, places to donate, and more (carrd by dehyedration on twitter)

#blacklivesmatter (google docs by ambivaIcnt on twitter; includes information on relevant events, other masterposts, lists of petitions and donation links, how to protest safely and protests to go to, and more)

george floyd action (google docs; includes information on apps to download, supplies to buy and donate, places to donate to, protest safety, resources on unlearning racial bias, and more)

how to get out of ziptie “handcuffs” (by finnianj on tiktok, via katzerax on twitter)

how can i help? by @abbiheartstaylor

how to make a signal-blocking cell phone pouch

tips for protestors by @aurora00boredealis

twitter thread for protestors (by vantaemuseum on twitter)

also, if you’re protesting, change your passcode. make it at least 11 characters long and don’t use facial/thumb recognition.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

If you’re still doing Yu-Gi-Oh! Requests, could I get your headcanons on how the Ancient Egyptian characters would feel about a reader dragging them out of a river they fell into and giving them CPR? Bonus points if the reader insists on teaching them how CPR works after they recover?

Seto

I don’t have a clue how this guy could possibly fall into a river and almost die, but let’s pretend that happens, and that the worst problems aren’t the crocodiles.

As soon as you see bubbles surfacing on the sheen of the Nile, you realise that someone needed help, and you immediately jumped in to save the person in distress.

Despite how heavy they were, you managed to somehow pull them up on the surface and laid them down on the hot sand, making sure there are no animal predators around while you tried to save this man who looked to be a priest, someone important to the Pharaoh, based on his attire.

Applying chest compressions at a calculated, equal time with each press, you raised his head in the position needed and pressed your lips to him, giving him the Kiss of Life.

It wasn’t long before he jolted up, coughing up some water and hitting on his chest to get himself back to reality, grounded and rational.

He touched his lips, realising they were touched, before looking at you with wide, confused eyes, but his cheeks were mildly blushing, and he almost threw a fit.

Despite everything, he was interested in this “Kiss of Life” and wanted to learn about it, should he ever need to save someone in need, just as you did.

And he would insist on practicing on you.

- - -

Atem

Atem most likely fell down in the water when he was playing around with Mana, and fooling around like that, but Mana doesn’t know how to swim, and her magic usually backfires somehow, so she started screaming for help.

And that’s how she found you, and begged for you to save the Pharaoh from drowning.

Jumping in, you thanked the Gods for him being so light, and when you got to the surface, Mana helped you drag him on the land.

She wasn’t sure how to proceed with first aid, so she merely tried to help you up by encouraging you, but she stopped and gasped when she saw you kissing him.

But he magically woke up thanks to that, and she was sure that you were some kind of Goddess in disguise, oh dear!

Atem, on the other hand, could only look at you like you were the most divine being, and thanking you, immediately asked you to marry him.

But then he realised what he said, got flustered, hid his face in his cape, and instead, insisted you become the head of the Hospital and teach everyone how to do such a useful procedure.

Of course, he has to get private lessons.

- - - Isis

Poor Isis may or may not have been incredibly exhausted, or had all her energy drained after a fight, for her to just collapse like that, and fall into the river, nonetheless.

She was only semi-conscious, praying for her patron Goddess to have mercy on her, and she instinctively reached out her hand, seeing a divine light of purity.

In fact, the guardian sent by the Gods was you, and you dragged her out of the water, calling out her name, gently slapping her cheek to get her to be a bit responsive, but she could only look at you half-lidded from exhaustion and blurriness.

Realising that there was no other way, you started to apply chest compressions and “Kissed” her, which ultimately, had the expected result.

But the poor girl was flustered and had no idea how to react, except to offer a small thank you.

When she finally regathers herself properly, she would ask you to teach her how to do the “Kiss of Life”, since she’s the Pharaoh’s High Priestess and she has to know such important things.

Nonetheless, she will bring you to court with her, praise you for your remarkable expertise, and have you work side by side with her.

[acedesigns]

Triage [FF7: Rufus/Reader]

A/N: This is based more on the events in the original FF7 and NOT Remake! The guard dog with Rufus is named Dark Nation in the original game and can be killed. Dark Star is in Remake~

Word Count:  1730

--

Right when you clicked the button to clock out, the doors burst open. A man was covered in blood. Some of it looked like it was his own, but most of it looked like the guard dog in his arms. Your hands shot over towards the phone.

“Triage: code red. Gurney needed!” you exclaimed over the intercom and slammed the phone back down.

You ran through the doors separating you from the front desk and the rest of the lobby. You were about to try and take the guard dog away from the man when the vet techs burst through rolling a table. The dog was placed on the gurney and quickly rolled back towards treatment.

“Sir, let me get some information from you,” you stated and leaned over the counter to grab a clipboard. “We’ll go to room 2 to wait.” You quickly led him away from the lobby that had large puddles of blood.

You opened the door to an examination room and had him sit on the bench. He silently took the clipboard and pen from you. With one glance, you noticed he was indeed bleeding. Large lacerations covered different parts of his body.

“Shit. I’ll be right back with a first-aid kit,” you shouted as you ran out of the room. You nearly slammed into the door leading behind the front desk. Quickly, you opened a cabinet and grabbed the first-aid kit. You sprinted back, avoiding the puddles of blood.

“I’m sorry for the wait,” you gasped out and placed the first-aid kit on the examination table. You quickly washed your hands at the sink and then slipped on a pair of surgical gloves. “My name is [Y/N], I’m certified in first-aid. It looks like you have several lacerations, can I treat you until you can get better care?”

The man was silent as stared down at the form. There were some bits and pieces of information, but his hand was shaking. He couldn’t make anything he was writing to appear legible.

“Sir?” you asked softly and approached. “I can fill that out for you. But first, you need to get your wounds treated.” There was more silence. Slowly, you approached him and knelt down so you could look up into his eyes. “Sir, can you hear me?” Your mind was racing, thinking that he could possibly be in shock.

“Yes,” he stated in a soft tone. “I can hear you.”

“Okay, can I treat you?”

“Fill out the form first.”

“But—”

“You do not have my consent until that form is filled out and given to whoever needs it.”

You hesitated, but nodded and grabbed the pen. “Okay. What is your name?”

“Rufus Shinra.”

You blinked and looked away from the form and back at the man. He did look like the president. But no one has really seen Rufus for a few years while he was away on a business trip. Shaking your head, you continued to collect information on him and his guard dog.

“Dark Nation,” he stated when you asked for the name. Though, his voice broke ever so slightly when he gave more information on him.

“What happened to him?” you asked just above a whisper, not wanting to further upset the man that was struggling to keep it together.

“A fight ensued between us and an individual from the terrorist group, Avalanche.”

“My god,” you whispered. “Alright, the form is filled out. I’ll just take your signature to consent to treat and our critical care with CPR.” You handed him the form which he quickly signed. “I’m going to run this back and then I’ll be back to patch you up, okay?” He didn’t respond, just looked down at his hands that were covered in Dark Nation’s blood. “Do you want me to grab you some water or tea or something?” He shook his head.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly left and swiped your card to get into the treatment area. A vet and a tech were already in surgical garments. They glanced over to you and nodded their heads in approval when you flipped through the forms to show them that they could continue.

You walked away from the surgical area and towards the back with foods and medications. There was a wire shelf that held dozens of blankets. Most of the time, they were for euthanasia clients to help comfort them and the animal. But now, you figured that the man who no one has ever seen cry or bleed, the man who was starting to break down could use one.

“Alright,” you announced your entrance into the examination table. “They’re working on Dark Nation right now.” You walked over to the man and placed the blanket next to him. “Now, can I patch you up?”

Rufus didn’t meet your eyes. He only nodded his head numbly. Taking a deep breath, you disposed of the gloves you were wearing, washed your hands again, and put on a fresh pair of gloves. It was a waste, but the risk of infection was too great.

You quickly opened up the first-aid kit and grabbed disinfectant, butterfly bandages, gauze, and wraps. While you were organizing everything, you asked him the necessary questions: was he allergic to anything, what medications was he taking, what his medical history was, when did he last eat or drink, and what were his injuries? You started to work on the cut on arm. It was the one bleeding the most. Though, you had to help get his coat off and used scissors to cut off the sleeve.

“You’ll probably need stitches,” you muttered more to yourself than him. You grabbed the disinfectant. “This might sting a little, sorry.” You poured some of the disinfectant on a thing of gauze and gently dabbed at the wound. It bubbled ever so slightly, but Rufus didn’t even flinch. Taking a fresh thing of gauze, you held it firmly against the wound with one hand and awkwardly wrapped it.

“I’ll apply butterfly bandages in a little bit, but I’m going to work on your other wounds while the bleeding slows.” You were met with silence. You looked at his face. He was biting his lip tightly. So much so that it was starting to bleed.

“Hey, hey,” you whispered and took a hold of his shoulders. “Don’t hurt yourself more. We have some very skilled vets here that will do everything they can for Dark Nation, okay?”

“My father died tonight.” You looked up at him with alarm, but he continued. “My mother’s been dead. Same with my older half-brother. Why would this be any different?”

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed another gauze of disinfectant and started to work on a cut above his eyebrow. “I don’t know if this will be any different,” you stated honestly. “But I’ve seen some animals come back from a lot worse.” You moved some hair out of his face. “It might not be much, but I’ll stay here with you, okay? I’ll help you get through this.”

He was silent once more, but his lip wasn’t being abused. You continued to clean and dress his wounds. He’d need to see a doctor, but he would refuse to leave the veterinary hospital. The wounds would scar, but he’d live. There was also the matter of the blood from Dark Nation that you had to clean up. You did your best to get it off of his skin, but his white suit was stained.

“All done,” you whispered and went to take off your gloves and wash your hands. You moved back over to him and draped the blanket around his shoulders. With a sigh, you sat next to him.

After a moment or two, he finally spoke. “Don’t you have other work that needs to be done?” He was quiet. It was almost as though if he spoke any louder, he’d break down into tears.

“I clocked out just before you came in.” You closed your eyes and listened to the clock ticking. It was a ten-hour shift that you clocked out of, so you were exhausted. But now it was nearing eleven hours that you were at work. With what was going on, you’d probably be here for a couple more.

“Thank you.”

You looked over to the man. His hands were shaking again. Hesitantly, you took a hold of his hand and gave it a squeeze. He turned his hand over and returned the gesture.

A knock on the door caused him to quickly pull his hand away. You looked up seeing the vet come in. She held a clipboard and was free of the surgical gown she was wearing a while ago.

“How’s it go--? [Y/N]? Shouldn’t you be home?”

“It’s fine. I clocked out. He’s a friend, so I’m just staying here to make sure he’s okay.”

“If you say so.” She eyed you with suspicion. “Anyways, we believe Dark Nation is currently stable. We did, however, had to do a blood transfusion. With the amount of blood he lost, we want to keep him on a twenty-four-hour hold to keep an eye on his condition. We also want to place him on antibiotics with how many cuts he had and possible exposure. He’ll also do better if he’s on pain medication for a while. We’ll need about three weeks before his stitches can be removed, so you’ll need to keep a close eye on them.”

“That’s fine.”

“Alright, I’ll just have you sign here and we’ll need to collect the low-end estimate as a deposit. You’ll be good to go after that. We’ll call you with updates. If you have any questions, you can always call us, too.”

Rufus pulled out a card and signed a consent form. Though his signature wasn’t too legible, it was more than his earlier one. The vet left with the card to run the charge and quickly returned. With a brief farewell, she was gone.

You were about to stand form the bench to go home, but froze when you heard his breath stutter. Glancing over, you saw his face was in his hands. A clear drop fell from a gap between his fingers. With a soft smile, you turned your body towards him and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered and continued to quietly weep.

[skyflicker]

black coffee, no sugar (amasai week day two)

written for @amasaiweek2020, hosted by @toxicisnotapineapple and @storyflight! this is worse than the one yesterday i’m sorry i think i lost my touch lol,,, but i had to write this in a day so... anyways this is in the same universe as sea glass, and i really hope you guys enjoy it and all even if it’s not that good?

this also turned out much, much longer that i thought it would, and also got,,, way too angsty it was supposed to be fluffy but nevermind i suck at that :) enjoy!

-

Rantaro isn’t a stranger to hospitals. 

True, he’s not really the type of child to get hurt every other day- he has a knack for dealing with dangerous situations, and almost never gets injured, but some of his sisters are rather careless especially when they get passionate (Riku, especially, is prone to a lot of accidents, with how she bounces everywhere with such spirited bursts of fire), and he often finds himself there to support them.

But rarely does he find himself in such a bad spot that he has to visit the hospital. He isn’t even really hurt physically- he’d only hit his head a little, but the police had insisted on taking him here to get checked over by the doctor. 

The hospital is such a blinding alabaster that Rantaro flinches every time he blinks. It’s so quiet, too, so silent that he can hear clearly every buzz and tremble of the air conditioner. It feels creepy, in a way, and it’s even more obvious being completely alone here in this room. He feels the shivers running down his spine as he waits for the doctor to return.

He’s never been alone in the hospital before, not without at least one member of his family with him. After all, he has one biological mother, three other stepmothers, and twelve sisters, although admittedly most are missing, but no matter what had happened, there would always be at least one person by his side. It’s not that he doesn’t like the silence, he loves being alone, but at a time like this, he would give anything for any of his sisters to be here for him. 

(He still misses them every day: each and every of them was so special to him, the brightest stars in his night, the brightest blossoms in his gardens. He remembers every detail of each of the nine girls that have gone missing so vividly, as if it were burnt and imprinted onto his eyelids- Amaka’s fierce protectivity when things went wrong, Hanako’s vibrant liveliness when she was passionate, Ena’s composed calmness that always soothed him easily, Naoko’s energetic laughter when she led her sisters in activities, Akari’s wide smile that she constantly wore on her face, Rina’s tender, seamless care towards everyone she met, Yuki’s quiet thoughtfulness and curiosity towards everything she saw, Inori’s soft touch as her arms wrapped around Rantaro, Minori’s sweet innocence towards everyone… he misses them all dearly.) 

But it’s not something he could control. His father nearly killed a child, after all. They told him, after the interrogation and taking Rantaro’s testimony in this small room, that he could see his sisters and mothers again when the doctor had finished examining him and had given him a pass. After the numerous tests the medical team had run on him, they’d all disappeared, leaving Rantaro here alone, with the images of the boy (probably around his age, give or take a few months, which isn’t really saying much since Rantaro himself is only twelve and a half, but still. Rantaro has this thing, where he can’t help but feel a brotherly attachment to people younger than him) hit by the car, his father’s car, and he can’t help but feel the fear growing like crystal spikes in a chemical solution, in his heart, and feel the ice run down his spine. 

It’s just like there’s a ghost just behind him, berating him for not stopping his father in time, that it’s partly his fault, and truth be told, Rantaro knows that really well. The car was only driving along that road because they’d only just lost Amaka in Liechtenstein, and she was the one sister Rantaro could rely on and truly lean on for support when he couldn’t say anything to the others out of guilt for making them worry (maybe because she’s only a few months younger, and he feels less guilt for piling his burdens onto her?), and Rantaro had been really crushed over her loss, and his father had offered to take him along for a business outing to cheer him up, maybe just a little. His father had had to take a detour because of this, and this had happened as a result.

He wonders if the boy is alright. Rantaro still feels like he’s back in time, sitting shotgun in his father’s limo, staring at the unconscious body sprawled across the pavement. He feels as if the moment had frozen, and he was still there, watching his father freeze and do nothing. He feels himself move on instinct, grabbing his backpack, which fortunately still held first aid materials from his previous trip, harshly unlocking the door and kicking it open. It’s as if his body is on autopilot as he runs over to the boy’s side, ignoring the crimson colour flooding out and staining the pavement, like an infant’s grubby fingers spreading finger paint all over their canvas, running like rivers sliding through the slits between the tiny grey stones that padded the road so uniformly, like the life slipping out of the boy through the blood away from him.

The sanguine bleeds everywhere, weaving between the boy’s fingers and matting his midnight-coloured hair. In the twilight, the boy’s silhouette is coated with a sheen of warm muted periwinkle, rimmed in golden light from the sun that’s almost completely set, and it would be such a beautiful sight if not for the fact that Rantaro knows the boy can and will die if he doesn’t hurry. Rantaro kneels, not caring that the sticky liquid is soaking through his jeans, or that the stones are rough and brushes harshly against his knees, and takes the boy’s hand. It’s soft and his wrist is so small, he’s reminded of his sisters, but he brushes that thought away and takes his pulse. He sighs in complete relief as he detects one, and he lets one of his hands hover over the boy to find the wound, as he rummages through his bag to find his phone and call the ambulance. 

All this, though, is stopped, as his hand flits over his nose and feels the weak breathing. He’s so shocked and concerned all of a sudden that he nearly drops the phone in the middle of giving the address. He hastily finishes the call, and immediately goes to measure the breathing. It’s so weak, and he puts his hand on the boy’s lungs, immediately finding the huge wound spanning from his lungs to his upper torso. It’s probably deep, too. Rantaro can feel the fear and worry spike in his chest, he barely knows this kid but he doesn’t want him to die. He feels the suffocating helplessness, he doesn’t know what to do, and he desperately wants to help but he can’t and that seems like the greatest punishment of all, worse than dying himself- watching an innocent bystander, a mere child, die by his mistake, having innocent blood on his hands. With no other choice left, he inhales, and leans down to try applying CPR-

He opens his eyes as he screams until his throat is dry and parched, and it feels raw and exposed, but nothing can tear the images off his mind. He gasps and gasps for breath, as if the guilt formed a rope and was strangling him as he was off in his reverie, rubbing his eyes as they focus, and he’s still in the overwhelmingly bright hospital room, has been all along, and the pavement stained with cardinal is gone, in the past. He screams, and screams, but no one comes, and he only feels worse that he did.

He inhales, and he realizes that he’s been crying, the tears streaming past his cheeks. He doesn’t even know if the kid is alive, let alone alright. 

He hears the door slam open, and the light blue curtains (which were even more unsettlingly bright than the walls, if that was even possible- it’s like those kinds of blue that brightens white even more, like freshly fallen snow) were grabbed and pushed open with urgency. It’s the nurse who came to take his tests- Mikan Tsumiki-san, Rantaro remembers from previously looking at her name tag. She breathes deeply in complete relief when she sees Rantaro safe and unhurt, and her lavender eyes are so round and filled with fear that Rantaro instantly feels bad for alerting and scaring her.

“A-Amami-kun!” she exclaims, obviously shaken. “Are you alright? Y- you look-” she cuts herself off, and Rantaro realizes he must look really distraught, with tear tracks over his face and wide eyes full of distress. He nods, forcing a smile on his face, swiping at his face in an attempt to destroy all evidence of him crying.

The young nurse hands him a tissue wordlessly- she must’ve had a lot of experience with people like this, and he murmurs his thanks as he cleans his face. “Dr. Kamakura’s f-finished with your tests,” Mikan says, stuttering as she fumbles with the records she holds in her hand, “you’re clear and free to leave now. Your two sisters are waiting outside?”

“Two?” Rantaro asks in surprise immediately, faltering as Mikan seems to get nervous, “No, it’s okay, you probably didn’t count wrongly, maybe one’s just too busy to come around…”

He doesn’t blame them, either. He didn’t expect any of them to show up, close as he is with all of them, seeing as they’ve just lost another sibling- Sora’s own biological sister, no less- so he’s already pleasantly surprised. He smiles faintly at Mikan out of politeness, nods along as she talks him through all the procedures, tells him his father is at the police station. 

“Tsumiki-san?” he asks when she’s finished. “How’s the other boy? The one my father hit?”

The nurse looks rather surprised, “ Saihara-kun? H- he’s okay! The surgery was successful, and since he’s only eleven, and a child’s body has a quicker rate of mending itself, he’ll recover pretty soon! He’s still here for now, though, will be for the next month or so.”

Rantaro feels the relief spreading through his body. “That’s great,” he whispers. He thanks Mikan again before leaving, and soon enough he finds himself down the corridor to the main waiting lobby. The walls are painted a muted ivory, which soothes Rantaro’s eyes a little, despite still being white, and the wooden floorboards are a gorgeous light beige. It’s very clean, like one would expect in a hospital, but it’s still so.... Empty. Maybe people don’t really come along this side of the building, but Rantaro still finds it mildly unnerving.

He reaches the end of the hallway, and pushes open the door. His gaze immediately spots Riku, who sits quietly (what a contrast to her normal bubbly attitude) in one of the sofas in the corner of the lobby. He’s suddenly hit with a pang of emotion, as the image of a young girl, looking identical to Riku in every way except for her long hair when Riku keeps hers short, sitting in the exact same spot, quietly sitting still, but her cerulean eyes hold nothing but worry and concern and fear. He’s unable to stop a tear from rolling down his cheek as in his mind, five-year-old Rina does the same, her tiny hands trembling as they’re clasped on her knees. The image of her, her gorgeous azure eyes earnest and kind with the world in them, her long golden blonde hair like strands of sunlight woven into silk, pulled into her braid that Rantaro did for her every morning, her tiny feet tapping the air (she’s not tall enough for her feet to reach the ground) restlessly out of worry- he cannot unsee the young girl in her twin, even though they’re complete opposites. Where Riku is lively and spirited, Rina is quiet, but she had more kindness and sympathy in her tiny finger than most people had, like how Riku has more energy and laughter in hers than probably the whole world does. (except for maybe Naoko- that girl did nothing but laugh.)

Every time Riku had gotten into an accident, Rina had been there waiting for her without fail. The two were inseparable, two halves that complete each other perfectly, and they loved each other so much. It had completely broken Riku a year ago when Rina went missing in New Zealand that Riku had stopped being so reckless and while Rantaro was glad his sister didn’t get hurt so much anymore, it was disheartening and distressing to watch her of all people so utterly void of life.

He pushes the thought away, puts on his mask of smiles again, and heads towards his sisters. Shiori sits next to Riku, with her arm around the younger girl, whispering comforting things into her ear. Her light brown hair cascaded in curls down her back and draped over Riku’s shoulder, and her attention was completely focused on Riku. 

It’s Riku who spots him first, squealing and leaping to her feet, bouncing over to wrap her arms around Rantaro, “Rantaro! We were worried sick! Are you alright? Were you hurt?”

He laughs, “I’m alright, Riku, Shiori. Don’t worry.” It feels so good to have the comfort of his sisters with him. They’re his lifeline, his whole world, no matter what.

Shiori offers him a smile. “I’m glad. Sora was asleep when we received the news, which is why she isn’t here, but if she could I’m sure she’d be here without a single second of hesitation.” Rantaro realizes as his stomach sinks that Shiori has picked up on his distress and probably deduced why. Despite being only nine, Shiori is intuitive. Really intuitive. She’s clever, and picks up on emotions as easily as one completes the math question one plus one. It’s also why, despite being a middle child, she still has such a large presence in the house- Shiori simply cannot help but help everyone at every chance she gets, a trait she passed onto her younger biological sister, Inori. 

He grimaces slightly, and pushes away the thought of his second youngest sister. He can’t help but constantly think of his sisters, whenever he sees anything that might be remotely related to them. It’s something that constantly haunts him, a failure that he’s forced to live with. If only I hadn’t lost them at all…

Shoot. He completely forgot about Shiori, and he looks at her, dismayed, only to see her narrowing her eyes at him. She’s definitely caught on, considering that he confided in her more than once over this issue. (he’s not the type to keep things from his sisters, even though he tries not to stress them out as much as he can.) She walks closer, and hugs him once Riku releases him, whispering in his ear, “Rina and Inori would be relieved if they were here too. It’s not your fault,” before she pulls away and picks up RIku. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“You two go first,” Rantaro says, and his voice cracks as he thinks of the boy, hurting and aching as he sleeps. He feels the guilt drop into his stomach as he realizes that he’s happy and relieved while the boy is hurting because of him. “There’s something I have to check. Shiori, take care of Riku?”

Understanding flashes across Shiori’s face. “Alright. See you in the morning?” she searches his face, asking for an unspoken promise.

He nods. “See you in the morning.” Non-verbally, he promises his sister that he’ll come back, he’ll always come back.

He watches them leave until the shadows they leave behind are gone, then turns and runs to the counter urgently, “excuse me? May I ask where, uh,” he tries to recall the name Mikan told him, “Sa- Saihara-kun? I think? Is staying?”

The nurse at the counter looks mildly surprised, but after a brief explanation, Rantaro’s being led down countless corridors of white, to what probably is another side of the building. They reach a door, and the nurse pushes it open. He follows her out into the cool night air, the breeze immediately nestling into his hair and tousling it. In the night, the bright full moon hangs in the sky, glowing, and he wonders if his other sisters are also looking at the same night sky, looking up at the moon, across the world. 

He didn’t realize it was so late- that explains why there weren’t any people at all. The wind whistles in the air, winding around him, gentle and yet cold and sharp. It reminds him of Hanako and Ena, lost at the same time. They were lost unto the dark night, the cold and unforgiving, cruel span of darkness that covered half of the earth each night, and covered Rantaro’s whole world that one cold night in China. He wonders if they’re alright, if they’re adjusting to living in a communist country, a place where freedom is restricted and locked away in an unbreakable iron cell that will never see the light of day, a place with the life squeezed and pushed out of it, every single day dull and unmotivated. 

He’s led across the hospital gardens, into another wing of the hospital (apparently, it’s much bigger than he expected or anticipated it to be), and up a couple of floors. FInally, he’s led to a waiting room outside a single-patient hospital room. The waiting room is small, with a single sofa and a small coffee table, and the wall connected to the corridor is made of transparent glass.

“Visiting hours are over,” the nurse says, “but i can let you have a glimpse of him before you leave.” she goes to open the door, but Rantaro stops her, smiling politely when he looks at her. He’s not so rude to just leave, not when this child is injured because of him. 

“It’s okay, thank you,” he tells the nurse, “I’ll just stay here until I’m allowed in.”

The nurse tries to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t budge, and soon the nurse gives up and slips out of the door. She comes back after a few minutes, though, and she wordlessly puts down a cup of hot chocolate and a few biscuits, smiles at him, and leaves again after Rantaro thanks her profusely.

Rantaro sits down on the sofa, and opens his backpack to bring out a couple of books- he has a habit of always carrying around a few in case things happen and he’s left with time to spare. He opens one, and he begins to read, immersed in his books until morning.

He doesn’t even know it’s morning until he hears the door open again. He looks up, expecting to find a nurse, or maybe a doctor, but instead, he’s met with a boy his age, purple-haired with deep indigo eyes, and a girl behind him with long obsidian hair braided and falling to her waist, with vivid sanguine eyes. His eyes widen at the same time theirs do as he recognizes the girl.

“Maki,” he exclaims at the same time the girl says his name. Surprise fills him- he hadn’t seen his childhood friend since his sisters- specifically, Akari- first started going missing and they’d moved away, but when he was much younger and had all his sisters with him, Yuki liked going to the orphanage next door and helping out there, playing with the children her age. It was there he met Maki, the only girl his age there, and they became close friends almost instantly. They’d completely lost contact when Rantaro moved, though.

The boy looks between them, bewildered, “Harumaki, you know this boy?”

Maki sighs, and nods, launching into a short explanation, then introducing the boy as “an idiot, Kaito Momota”, and the boy, Kaito, interjects, claiming to be the ‘Luminary of the Stars’. Maki doesn’t seem to be amused by this, and glares at him as her cheeks redden, but Rantaro can tell even after all these years that there’s no malice behind her ruby eyes.

Rantaro, though, is rather amused, “Rantaro Amami,” he introduces himself, extending a hand that Kaito takes and shakes without hesitation. “I stayed here overnight so I could apologize. For, uh. My father ran over that guy inside with his car.”

Maki stares at him. “Your father. The extremely rich guy. Ran over him.” she points at the door to the hospital room.

He sheepishly nods. “Yea. And I, uh, may or may not have felt guilty, so I stayed here.” he feels vaguely uncomfortable with both Kaito (who Maki obviously likes) and Maki herself staring at him, but he knows he deserves it.

At last, Maki walks forward, and slaps him hard. “That one,” she says, “is for Shuichi. My friend whom your father ran over.” Rantaro stays still, not saying anything even if his left cheek stings and hurts, because he knows he deserves it, when he caused so much pain and worry.

She backhands him across the face again, and this time he sees the reluctance in her face, the concern her eyes are so full of, and he knows that for the emotionless facade she puts up, she’s genuinely really worried for her friend and him. “And that’s because you’re being stupid,” she whispers, and Rantaro feels as if he’s about to cry, again, because he’s missed Maki so much and he’s touched, that she still cares for him after all those years. Proud, that she’s finally expressing herself more openly. The old Maki would’ve been too scared to even show the slightest bit of emotion, so anxious and scared of being hated by the world. As an orphan, Maki’s always carried around the knowledge that even her own parents don’t want her, that she’s so unlikeable that she deserves to be alone and abandoned in the dark, and she was always too scared to befriend the others in the orphanage. Rantaro was her first friend, and she must have felt very hurt when the boy had moved so suddenly without warning.

He feels guilty, guilty for leaving Maki alone to furl up and cry all alone, but he feels so much pride, with the way she’s finally comfortable in her own skin, that she’s made friends with other kids their age. He smiles at her despite how his cheeks are stinging badly with eyes brimming with tears as Maki steps back, and she smiles back at him. “Visiting hours started,” she says finally, “you really should check the time, you idiot. It’s half past nine in the morning.”

Rantaro laughs, “thanks for the reminder.” he turns to push the door open, but steps back, looking at Kaito and Maki. “You should go in first. He doesn’t know me, after all.”

Maki nods, and Kaito practically breaks the door down as it bursts open and he races in, followed by the girl, and Rantaro last.

The room the boy is staying in is bright, but not lit by artificial lighting- early morning sunlight shines in through a large window on the other side of the room. Glass fractures the light into a thousand different rays, coating the room in an almost ethereal glow. There’s a tree right outside the window, and Rantaro can see a few sparrows resting on the branches. It reminds him of Minori, his youngest sister, who’d loved animals and nature, but she especially loved sparrows, loved how they were small but so adorable, and yearned to spread her wings and take flight like they did. 

The room itself is clean and mostly empty, creating a spacious feeling as one enters. A cupboard lies to the side of the hospital bed, and there’s a movable desk in front of the boy, who’s sitting up when they arrive. His face brightens as he greets his two friends with a strained smile- probably due to the stitches and the pain, Rantaro thinks, and feels the guilt in his heart weighing it down again.

He notices with a start that the boy is actually really pretty. Rantaro normally identifies as asexual, no sexual attraction, be he can’t not admit that with his long eyelashes and curious green-grey eyes, the boy is adorable, and he finds his eyes widening and that he can’t take his eyes off the boy.

The boy’s face goes on alert mode when he sees Rantaro, though. “Ah, who are you? Why are you here?” he seems so scared, so shy, that Rantaro immediately feels the guilt double.

Rantaro hesitates, but he introduces himself. “I’m Rantaro Amami. I’m here because, well- my father kind of ran over you. With his car. I’m here to apologize and see if you’re alright.” he wishes with all his might that he’d forgive him, for causing so much misery. So much pain.

It’s the boy’s turn to widen his eyes, and he almost drops the cup he’s holding. “Wait, you- you’re the one the doctor talked about? You gave me CPR, right?” all traces of his former shyness is gone as he stares, shocked, at Rantaro.

Kaito and Maki’s gazes immediately snap to Rantaro, and he reddens under all the attention he’s being given. “Y- yes, but I did what I thought I should do, it’s my fault it happened, I hope you aren’t hurt that bad-”

Maki cuts him off, scoffing, but she wears a small smile on her face, “Don’t be an idiot, Taro,” she says, and Rantaro smiles at the use of the childhood nickname, “it isn’t your fault and you know it. Your father was the one who ran over Shuichi. It was an accident.” she shrugs. “Those happen all the time. It’s really nothing to feel guilty about.” She turns to Shuichi. “This idiot stayed here without sleeping all night, because he wanted to apologize.”

The boy nods feverently, shock still evident in his eyes. “You saved my life,” he adds. “The doctor told me if you hadn’t saved me and bandaged my wounds to stop the bleeding in time I would’ve bled to death. Maki’s right, don’t apologize.”

Rantaro smiles faintly at him. “How can I make it up to you, though? Can I, like, get you a drink or something, at least?”

The boy’s eyes light up at once, and Rantaro finds himself smiling wider, genuinely. “Could you get me a coffee, please? Black coffee, no sugar.”

Kaito laughs as Rantaro looks at the boy, surprised. “Coffee? Right after your surgery?”

The boy suddenly seems very defensive, “Researches show it’s actually beneficial? It can shake off the woozy aftereffects of whatever drugs administered, boost my alertness, help with constipatio-”

“Right,” Rantaro laughs fully for the first time since the accident, “got it. Why such… bitter coffee, though?”

It’s Kaito that answers this time, a grin hanging on his face, “Shuichi only drinks bitter coffee. My sidekick can’t stand things that are too sweet!” The boy nods in agreement, and Rantaro’s heart warms. 

Before he leaves to get the coffee, though, he turns back and asks, “oh, and before I go, your name…”

The boy smiles, “It’s Shuichi Saihara.”

The name stays with Rantaro as he runs to get the coffee from a nearby local coffee shop he really likes. A lovely name for a lovely boy. The smile Rantaro gets from Shuichi as he hands him the lukewarm coffee, still out of breath, is stunning and to Rantaro, it’s so sweet and beautiful that it’s warmer than any sunlight the sun can give, and prettier than even the most gorgeous nature phenomenon. He goes on to visit Shuichi every day, staying for hours and hours on end, bringing a black coffee sans sugar with him every time, and the smile Shuichi gives him every time makes his day. They grow closer, and closer, and by the time the other boy is released from the hospital, they’ve become best friends. 

On the last day of Shuichi staying in the hospital, he hands Shuichi the usual coffee, and Shuichi’s smile sends butterflies into his stomach and a blush to his cheeks. Shuichi grabs his hand as he says thank you, and the other boy’s hand is so cold and small, but Rantaro feels as though everything is right in the world, and for the first time ever since his sisters went missing he feels genuinely happy.

When Shuichi’s released, he takes him to the coffee shop in person, and Shuichi’s curious eyes eagerly explore every detail of the warm cozy building. The series of actions lights up his world, and Rantaro smiles, and he doesn’t miss the grateful one on Shuichi’s face- sweet as the sugar he hates so much.

(it’s only when Rantaro is gone, and Kaede unknowingly passes him for the first time a black coffee without sugar from the same shop that she got for him on her way back from work, that Shuichi thinks back on all this, and cries.)

[hoopdiddies]

I'm Not Over You //Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 9)

A/N: All the fact checking had me reeling to be honest and this is one long-ass chapter, longer than the one where I said 'it's the longest I've written' but actually this wins the competition. I've used some lyrics from the song Photograph cos I felt like it would go nicely with the flow plus I am weak with hospital scenes because of the distresses that occur within it but I tried ya know ¯_(ツ)_/¯ It's a little messy and dramatic on a side note because I had to deal with some outside disturbances as well and my mind was on other things 😔 But again, thank you guys for supporting this series! Your feedbacks mean a lot ♥ Tag list is always open!! (seriously, I need more people to tag xd)

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you the two of you met in university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: That angst from 8? Yeah, it just upgraded, fluff if you, like, use a microscope, explicit description of blood and injuries, swearing but I kept it to a minimum, mentions of death but there's actually no death. Melodrama, ig? Sorry, I had a hard time writing consistently this week ^^'

WC: 6.5k (Someone got carried away.)

Tags: @haendel-me-with-care

@mrsdoradominguez-barnes

@mickmoon

@lakef

@mrsmazzello

@valeriecarolinaw

@queen-turtle-boiii

@loveandbeloved29

@hardzzellos

Parts: 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

"Someone please help! Help us! "

"Bloody bastard just drove off without even stopping! "

"Are you fu- you left your phone?! He's barely clinging on to life!! Ask a random person to dial 911!"

"Oh god, what- what do we do- his head, his freaking head! There is so much blood right now!"

"D-don't move his neck! He's critical!"

"Rosy. Rosy. Calm down...he has to be fine..he should be... "

"An ambulance is on its way!"

"His head is fucking bloody! Do you even want- fuck! Someone help here! Someone, please help! "

"Is he even breathing?! "

"Oh god, Y/N! He's not- he's not! "

"You better not be joking around!"

"Joe! He is bloody dying and you think I'm fucking joking?!"

"He has no pulse as well..."

"I got to- I have to make an attempt to resuscitate him. "

"Are you sure?"

"We're not waiting for that goddamn vehicle! If I don't do it, he's going to die!"

"Wake up, Ben! Please, wake up..."

Blur. That's what everything was. A huge, uncoordinated, focal blur. A sea of people had crowded the scene like a flock of sheep ready to graze on the pasture, except the only green they had for their eyes was the sight of six, dreadful friends taking it in their hands to keep the seventh one grounded while they wait for professional help.

The ones with flashing cameras hoisted up high to document the scene disgusted you down to the pits of your stomach and you had wished for them to scatter away. You all, especially you had to bear the agony of seeing him motionless on the asphalt ground– without breath, skin drained of color while the only color highlighted in the spectrum was the copious but graphic amount of blood that had tainted the spot he was lying in– his hair coated in the sticky, sanguinary puddle, creating a traumatizing mix of blond and deep red that you now couldn't forget. The tears pricking from your eyes when you had given him mouth to mouth mingling with his bleeding forehead.

He had lost all consciousness at a maximum.

You had ached to cradle his body right there and then but had you acted on impulse; it would've worsened the situation.

Medics had filled in the scene seconds after you had given Ben a well-thought out CPR undeterred by your raging adrenaline. He was then brought into the ambulance with Rosy tagging along to be there when they rush him into the ER. You had gone after with the others in Gwilym's car, your shaking hands coated with drying blood -his drying blood- as you made your way to the hospital in a blistering cruise.

You're still in your dress, only topped with Joe's designer blazer to shield you from the cold and a warm, half-empty cup of brew situated between your palms partially substituting the natural heat of your skin, waiting quietly in the lounging room. They had transferred Ben to a private room after performing an operation on his head and scanning him afterwards. One of the emergency doctors remarked that if it weren't for your initiative to follow first aid protocol and give him immediate resuscitation before help had arrived– he would have gone ten minutes early.

You've been waiting an hour and a half for the doctor to step out of the room and deliver the news about his condition. And while you do that, Joe and Lucy have gone off to collect a fresh pair of clothing from the hotel for you to change into. Rosy is stood at the entrance making some calls, Gwilym and Rami have gone back to their respective hotels to change clothes and come back for the news.

You felt light hearing that comment but it's nothing compared to the aftermath of the accident. It was a hit-and-run and the driver didn't even step on his breaks or bother to stop to take responsibility.

Rami's blazer that had been used to delay Ben's bleeding has been given back to him for dry cleaning. To complicate the situation, you're supposed to be boarded on a plane back to England eight hours from now yet that's something you have to cross out from the bucket list, entirely. You're not going anywhere unless Ben heaves out a single sigh of life.

Not a single step out the fucking institution unless he opens those eyes.

Unless he parts his lips.

Unless he says your name.

You owe it to him for saving your life, nearly costing his.

And it's just 2 in the morning.

You put down the cup on the space next to you, bringing your hands up to your lowered head, underneath your eyes watering from all of that's happened tonight.

"We're back." Two figures stand before you minutes after your eyelids have fluttered shut in despair. You lift your head to be met with Joe and Lucy in their casual clothes, smiling sadly at you with paperbags in hand.

You return that smile with a much weaker one. They settle the bags down and Joe sinks down on one knee in front of you, taking your face in his hands gently while he peeks up at you. "I see the news isn't out yet. You can change, we'll take care of it."

"You sure?" You mumble quietly. He nods and you prolong a sigh as you sit up, getting tenderly lulled into a hug by Lucy. "He's gonna be okay." She expresses definitely as she rubs your back. You thank her for the reassurance before taking one of the bags that contains your clothes.

Pulling the hem of your sweatshirt in place, you couldn't wait to escape the lavatory. It smells of newly applied bleach and the pungent odor is plain nauseating. You close the door with the bag in hand on your way out but freeze in your spot as a certain, exclusive news breaks out in the TV screen above you.

"Just 10pm tonight, Bohemian Rhapsody and EastEnders star, Ben Hardy, has reportedly been gravely involved and injured in a hit-and-run just outside of Wallis Annenberg Center during the ongoing Vanity Fair after party. Sources said that he had dashed headlong down the traffic-jammed streets to what they said was an attempt to save co-star's, Joe Mazzello, date from an incoming vehicle– which he had succeeded in as he failed to save himself–" The rest of the news anchor's words go unprocessed in your head as you hurriedly trace your way back to the lounging area, unwilling to hear recurring reports at yours or anyone's expense.

It already hurts enough that you think it's partly your fault for acting so careless.

By now, the attending physician should be out and conveying the news to Lucy and Joe and as you arrive– he is, hands in his lab coat pockets, informing them in the most serious of tones.

They see you approaching and you ask immediately, words stumbling out of your mouth like perceivable beats. "Doc, how is he? How's Ben?"

With Lucy and Joe already informed about it, the doctor decides to tell you himself to save them the hassle. "He should be fine soon. However I must be frank with you, miss," your heart loses a beat for a fraction of a second at the suspense rising, "he flat lined twice in the ER. It took three sets of defibs to get his heart beating again." Hearing him break to you that Ben was a simple step away from death as they tried to treat him drains the warm color palette in your face, even with the affirmation that he's going to be alright; knowing there were two moments in which he had slipped in and out of life at the same time just upsets your stomach.

The doctor continues with his report, telling you that he's suffered from a mild to severe head trauma caused by the blunt force when he had his scalp dragged along the asphalt. Apparently he fissured the the near front of his skull and underwent neurosurgery for it.  You quickly get the idea, having studied a series of medical topics of course, but it doesn't invalidate the fact that it still sounds like a bad thing.

The doctor sighs and adds. "Although he bled internally at a minimum, he's lucky to have bled externally for the most part."

Forming a steeple of your fingers and stealing a quick glimpse of Lucy and Joe, you gulp hard. "How long 'til he wakes up?"

"I'd say in about 48 hours. His scan results after the surgery showed promise for a stable recovery though he might wake up a little dazed at first due to the moderate concussion," at least you're getting the assurance that he's waking up, "your friend has a thick skull. He'll recover in time, but with short-term effects."

48 hours. Not enough time for you to stay or leave.

"Can we see him? Right now?" Setting your expectations to the highest, you ask with a glimmer of hope and the doctor approves, minding you to turn down the lights in the room as Ben would likely be sensitive to it by the time he wakes. "A nurse will come by and check on him every once in a while as well."

You nod weakly, thanking him professionally as you gradually hang your head in disappointment. He wishes Ben a speedy recovery before turning on his heels, leaving you to it.

Lucy brings her short hair up in a pigtail, asking as she lifts up her share of the paper bags. "Are we going in now? I mean, the doc said we're able to." She vaguely points at the door of the room and you and Joe swap looks before deciding on it. You collect your items from the seats and draw in breaths as you follow suit, stepping into the room and being welcomed by the almost odorless whiff of paint and medicine; along with the light to moderate blow of the air conditioner.

As the door clicks close, you stand motionless yet internally trembling at the heartbreaking sight of Ben lying unresponsive, surrounded by various machines working to keep him alive. Flanking his bed are the heart monitor -fully functional- and a medical ventilator from which he is breathing from. He's hooked up to an IV bag with a breathing tube put into his mouth, his left arm is propped upon his abdomen but protected around a plaster and supported within a blue arm sling and lastly, his head is wrapped in a layer of roller bandage– the giveaway of his major injury.

"Y/N..." Joe cooing breaks you off from your vacant gaze but you hand him a forlorn eye as bring yourself to Ben's side, glancing over his limp body. He's taken quite a hit to have fractured his arm like this. His complexion didn't appear as livid as it is now and marking his bottom lip -which has lost that luscious red tint as well- is a small bruise, parted from his upper lip as he involuntarily breathes through the tube in his mouth. You don't hear his slow exhales but the normal rise and fall of his chest consoles a small part of you; the stable beeping of the heart monitor being the only occuring noise in the room. Concerned with how awfully quiet you've gone, Lucy and Joe give each other fitting looks as they share the same thought on the situation. As one of them begins to step close to ensure you're taking it well, you pipe up before them, your once honey-laced voice diminished to a monotone. "It's...not my fault."

"Of course, it's not," Lucy, being the one who has taken that step close, tenderly agrees but you add.

"It's not but it feels like it is."

Now Joe steps up next but stop as you add once more.

"And I told him I wanted to forget him and for him to do the same." Now some tears are inevitable.

"Y/N-"

"As impractical as it is to think about it now, but what if he does?" your hand has now hovered over him, the nerves of the pads of your fingers itching to skim themselves over his free hand, "I don't want to go. But I have to and he's still not gonna wake up by the time I leave."

His condition just yearns for your touch but you don't want to lay a hand on him just yet, out of the fear that you might hurt a small part of him.

Joe sighs softly as he puts his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them with ease. "Why don't you just email the institution about it? Tell them you're gonna have to delay because of an urgent matter."

"I can do that, but only a day after. I can't take long."

"Rami and Gwilym are on their way," Lucy reminds as she gets off her phone from messaging them, "with some food and water."

"None of us are burning the midnight oil then," Joe stretches his limbs and returns to the couch to take a moment to relax, eyes snapping wide as he remembers something. "By the way, Y/N. If you spilled your heart out to him earlier, did you include the bit where our relationship was all but pretend?"

Surely the stare you and Lucy are sharing towards him could render the atmosphere painful but you answer regardless of the topic, shaking your head as you turn your attention to Ben once more. "No. But he's bound to question it. That is if he remembers what happened."

Lucy rests her hand on her hip as she glances at the heart monitor, the waves tempting her eyes to follow them. "Doctor never implied anything about amnesia."

The three of you fall silent again with you locking your gaze at the man who didn't want to let you go. Who chased you down a busy highway knowing he'd bite the dust if he did and ended up saving you at the expense of his own well-being.

And life.

And his own soul.

He'll recover in a short period, yes. But when you had gently grazed your trembling hand over his bloodied head in the middle of the street, it was as if he was bound to never wake up. A visual you want to shake off for the sake of composure.

Joe and Lucy take notice of your stilled silence again, their expressions low-spirited. Taking small steps towards you, Lucy wraps her arms around your shoulders from behind and pulls out a certain object from her back pocket, slipping it to you. "Found this in the inner pocket of Ben's tainted blazer when the doctors gave his clothes to us."

You cast your gaze to what she's holding and hear your heart shatter at what it is. You slowly take it from her and sweep your thumb over it.

Ben's share of your Homecoming picture.

And behind it, the same date and continuation of what was written on your half.

You piece it in your mind and feel your eyes cloud with tears, a droplet making a small patter as it lands on the polaroid.

He kept it. In his blazer. He brought it along with him.

_I'm not going... anywhere at all. _

"But I am." You mutter as opposed to  the words in your head. For as long as you love him and he doesn't in the way you do, distancing yourself is something that needs to be done to make sure you finally let go. You'd stick around but it would further fragment your soul.

Just in time to tear you from reaching your breakfing point, the door creaks open to two men and a red-haired woman, two of whom are grasping paper bags containing some food and water and one with an overwrought look, respectively.

Lucy leaves your side and walks over to Rami's, kissing his cheek and helping them unload their items on the coffee table. Gwilym gives the three of you, and Rosy who had followed in behind them, an individual hug– asking you about Ben's condition as he lays eyes on him.

You assure him of a smooth recovery and it unknots the lump of worry he's under.

"Oh, Ben, baby... " Breaks down Rosy, who whizzes past you to tear up over her injured fiance. She gazes down painfully at the man before her and delicately fondles his blanch cheek, eyes narrowed to the point where her face has contorted to a scowl which she throws directly at you. "This is all your fault. "

Your brows crease at her in absolute confusion. "What are you talking about?" Sensing that an altercation is about to take place, the rest stumble quiet in preparation for the worst. Joe readies himself to butt in in case it escalates further.

"What did you say to him?" She asks you in a form of a hiss.

"Nothing! I-"

"He chased you down! You must have said something that set him off!" Her demanding voice echoes off the walls, overlaying the beeping and whizzing of both the heart monitor and ventilator. You begin swearing to her that you didn't say anything of the sort but trail off as you realize that what you had actually said, was something that indeed hurt him.

You draw your lips between your teeth and clench your fist, unable to respond with the truth, fearing it might just fuel the fire.

"That's- that's not important now." You shake your head dismissively and turn around.

"It is. You led Ben out into the street, agitated."

"Rosy, please. Can we not talk about this now? We're squabbling in front of an unconscious man-"

"Okay girls. Our boy is out cold but that doesn't mean he can't hear, right?" Eager to quench the growing conflict, Gwilym slides in between the dangerous proximity you've put yourselves in and you huff an apology.

On the other hand, Rosy does the complete opposite. "No, Gwilym. He has been acting strange for weeks and to think tomorrow's supposed to be our wedding! And this is all because of her."

Gwilym turns to her firmly and tries calming - or rather shutting her up for the sake of the peace Ben needs to heal- her down. "We're not throwing fingers here. I know tomorrow's the day and you don't want to put him under pressure, right? I don't think he's going to succumb to waking up if this goes on."

Rami, Lucy and Joe have remained unbelievably quiet but are as keen as Gwilym to prevent something unnecessary as this. It's barely 3 am in the morning for the love of God and you're all in a hospital room. Sleeping patients could bang their fists on the walls from the other side any time.

You, on the other hand, have already made four steps towards the door, ready to leave the room to be alone with your thoughts for the night but you're unable to twist the knob as Rosy snaps once more with the hint, distressing with a clenched jaw.

She's unrelenting.

"Please Y/N, you're overstepping and frankly it's getting in the way of my relationship with Ben."

"You have no idea what I'm trying to do," You mumble in the most bitter of intonations for Rosy to get the message, your fingers clenching around the knob and producing a faint chink. "But he's my best friend. Let me be the person I've always been to him, " you whip your head at her -a stare you're certain could equal to a pelted javelin- and draw your brows together, pleading on account of choosing to be present in a crisis such as this, " he's all yours anyway."

With a strong swing of the door, you march angrily out of the room, making your way outside the building to blow off steam – the smooth rub of the polaroid between your fingers surrendering you to tears.

You give yourself exactly 48 hours to stay before heading back to England to board your flight for Spain.

10 hours

Ben's accident was a clean hit-and-run. Apparently some bystanders had snapped a shot of the license plate the moment the car slowed down and accelerated afterwards. It was then delivered to the police to be given further investigation. His parents have flown in from England to visit him and you badly wish you could greet them but some things are just too heavy to do right now. Back at the hospital, Ben's been given hourly checks and assessments, with each desired result constant. He's not responsive to any physical contact but the doctor is certain that he can perceive sound and sound only.  His body is asleep but his mind isn't.

The rest will be visiting him at dusk while you're going in late with Joe.

After sending an email to the university about your 24-hour delay, you spend the entire day just waiting to go down there and be by his side. Regarding your solitude in the hotel room, Rami had Lucy stay in with him for the meantime and being initially worried about leaving you, she had asked for your permission to which you said yes to.

Sometimes in the day, you can't hold back a few tears at the flashing memory.

17 hours

Loving can hurt

Standing in front of the private room, you clutch the collar of your shirt anxiously, hearing incoherent but distinct murmurs on the other side of the door. Joe looks down at you and squeezes your hand lightly to relieve you of pressure. He knows how much this is affecting you, and though not visually shown, he's taking it hard too.

Loving can hurt sometimes

The door opens to a couple you've familiarized yourself with for so long. Ben's parents.

"Y-Y/N?" Says his mum, unable to believe that it's you standing before her. Your breath hitches as you grin sadly, being pulled into her embrace. "It's been so long."

"It has, Mrs. Jones."

Joe shakes hands with his father as he introduces himself politely. Mr. Jones greets you in with a light hug as well and you can't help but spill a few tears.

But it's the only thing that I know

They give you full access to the room

as they themselves have to leave for a while, thereby trusting their son to his closest circle. Knowing how tight you and Ben are, they give you much of their trust on this one and you'd want nothing more than to make sure he'll wake up without any further complications. They obviously know about Rosy but witnessing how long you and Ben have grown on one another, they trust you the most.

They bid you and Joe goodbye, leaving access to the room exclusive.

When it gets hard

As you begin closing the door behind Joe, he insists that you have some alone time with him. Though it may feel weird but he feels as if you need this the most with time going against you now. Touched by his thoughtfulness, you give him a quick embrace before he leaves you to it.

You know it can get hard sometimes

The sight before you hasn't changed that much.

The same monitors and the same person.

Same feeling.

However you'd rather take everything

in a different light and situation.

You fiddle with your fingers as you accumulate the strength to swallow the lump in your throat, drawing yourself to his side. The mild, incessant whirring of both the air conditioner and ventilator occupies the silent atmosphere along with the steady beeps of the heart monitor, blocking the huge gulp you've taken.

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

Slowly taking a seat on the stool positioned beside the guard rails of the bed,  you let out a quavery sigh– the byproduct of all the tearing up you've  done today. You take his free hand in yours and stroke his pale knuckles with your thumb, leaning in to plant a kiss on it.

We keep this love in a photograph

"Ben? It's me. Can you hear me?"

One-sided conversations are helpful according to experts and this is the perfect opportunity to tell him everything without having to bear the flits in his expression.

But you beg to differ.

We made these memories for ourselves. Where our eyes are never closing.

You continue, allowing every crack and quiver to manifest in your voice no matter how relatively pathetic it will make you sound.

"Ben, please, you gotta wake up. You're leaving us in a hot mess here, bud. Hell, you gave your parents the scare of their lives. I know I'm starting off rough with this, but it's all cause you had to leap in like that. But then again, it was- it was not your fault. This- all of this is not your doing. I should've been more careful on that road. Would've been better if I had cut back on the melodrama, huh? Haha..."

You lick your lips and resume, owning the patters your tears have soiled on the tiled floor.

Hearts are never broken

"I'm sorry if I had to hide it all from you, " you build it up slowly, tears tenacious to leave your eyes, "it's just that I was afraid you'd soon forget me once you've married and I wouldn't be part of your life anymore. To make matters worse, I have always loved you, Ben. On every level and aspect, I still do. Sticking around to see you spend the rest of your life with someone else when that feeling is still present is just toxic. And to think you're supposed to be wedded tomorrow, "you sniffle, taking a few seconds to form your following words, "that's why it would be easier if we- if we...oh god, I'm actually much more of an actor than you are..." You want to chuckle for it, but nothing resembling a chuckle mopes out of your mouth. Just...short breaths.

Time is forever frozen-

"But I truly am happy for you. I really am. But I can't be happy myself when you've taken a huge portion of my heart and I'm just...I just want to make sure nothing will ever ruin your happiness," You close the distance between you and the bed, your hot tears dripping on his arm sling, the cloth absorbing it. You're really taking advantage of his inability to respond.

"I'm s-sorry, Ben. I don't know how long I can stay by your side like this. Literally like this. But as long as I am able, " you lower your head onto his chest, now shamelessly sobbing like you haven't broken down in centuries, squeezing his free but chilly hand like it's the only thing that'll give you warmth tonight, "I'm sorry if I'm going somewhere."

And still

Despite promising to give you a moment alone with him, Joe -having recurring, inquisitive tendencies- has acted as opposed to his promise and  eavesdropped on your unrequited talk due to having to wait too long, not realizing that after hearing all your words exit in sobs, you've fallen asleep with your head on Ben's chest.

Joe glances around the hall before budging the door open, careful not to disturb you as he sees you out cold next to him. He presses his lips into a hard line and chuckles quietly, amused as he grabs an available sheet from the couch and drapes it over you. The moment he notices a tear droplet stuck in the corner of your eye, he wipes it away with his thumb, sighing profoundly.

"Rosy's gonna flip when she gets back and sees this. So, " Joe, mumbling on his own, tumbles back down onto the couch and kicks back, "I'll be here just in case."

20 hours

So you can keep me

A nurse opens the door with a tray and clipboard in hand to conduct an hourly assessment of his condition, not minding your head placement on his chest. He's still unresponsive to anything external.

I**nside the pocket of your ripped jeans **

As the test ends and the nurse closes the door on her way out, his finger twitches.

30 hours

Holding me closer til our eyes meet

Joe wakes you up softly with a bowl of soup in hand– something he bought from the cafeteria upstairs. You lift your heavy head from its recent spot and blink your bleary eyes at him, giving away a wry smile and telling him you'll eat later on.

You won't ever be alone

"By they way, this slipped from your pocket." He slips something off the table and hands it to you with a knowing look, that something being the dual polaroids you've taped together the other night. You take it from him deliberately and turn your head to Ben, before staring down at the joint pictures, nostalgia ever so sudden like a whiplash.

Wait for me to come home

35 hours

Loving can heal

Rami and Lucy have stopped by to visit and take your 'shifts' considering Rosy is still absent and you and Joe had to return to the hotel to change. The attending physician and a nurse come in to replace his breathing tube with a nasal cannula, since the assessment done hours prior has shown that he's already capable of breathing on his own.

39 hours

Loving can mend your soul

"Funny how today is supposed to be his wedding but we're getting a funeral instead. " Morbidly comments one of Ben's visitors and closest friends. Every single person in the room who has come by to visit Ben shoots a death glare at him for making that joke within a two feet radius of Ben who is sure to give him a bop on the head the minute he gets up.

41 hours

And it's the only thing that I know

Meanwhile Rosy had spent the entire day rescheduling the wedding and the once volatile reactions she's had do a 360 and is brought down to one, constant look as she bumps into you on your way to Ben's room.

42 hours

I swear it will get easier, remember that with every piece of you

You both don't say a word until you've settled down on the couch as she strays to Ben's side and wipes the glistening speckle of sweat on his cheek with her thumb, the silence coming to a close as you pry the words out of your mouth.

"Rosy, believe me. I have never harboured the thought of coming between you both. I'm only ever there for him as a friend."

And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

Giving you an impassive eye, she ignores your words entirely and turns her attention back to her fiance.

45 hours

We keep this love in a photograph

You don't leave the room with the hours progressing to the moment he's timed to wake up. A lot of people have paid him a visit, cracking jokes and talking to him notwithstanding the fact that he's utterly unresponsive. They've done all they can to lighten the mood in the room, hoping all their antics and bliss would lure Ben out of his induced insensibility. But he's nowhere near the edge.

We made these memories for ourselves

47 hours

With Rosy snuggled up against his side, Ben retains immobility and it's a sight you're not used to since he's one of the most fidgety arseholes who's ever graced your life. You know you'd be bombed by her if you do this with her close by, but you had given yourself exactly 48 hours to stay before heading back.

Where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken

And so you wander to the opposite side of the bed and peer at down your wristwatch for the time.

Time's forever frozen and still.

48 hours

"Ben?" You whimper close to his ear. He's not responding. You know he wouldn't wake up that quickly at the strike of the exact hour but you're impatient to say goodbye to him with his forest, green eyes on full display and wandering around your (Y/E/C) ones to bolster you up.

"Hey." You coax into his ear again, still no response. The racing beat of your heart has matched the beeps of the heart monitor. His heart beats. The similarity is sketchy but nearly symbolic. You're leaving in the morning and he's not up and lively for you to fervently crush in a parting embrace.

"Bud, please. I can't force you to wake up but I'm leaving tomorrow. You have to help me...here." At this point, though how eager you are to, you can't let some tears stream down from your eyes since the possibility of Rosy waking up to you catching sobs is feasible, but Ben's involuntary stillness is not helping you with that ordeal. Losing all hope for a night, you straighten up and collect your things from the couch, deciding to come back one last time tomorrow prior to your departure.

You quickly open the door to the attending physician who's about to step in to take physical tests but you whisk past him without taking a second look.

Easy to say you didn't have a good night sleep with all the stresses weighing down on you that night. Either you hyperventilated in your slumber or remained asleep but with tears seeping from your half-closed eyes.

You've sent Lucy a text in the early hours of the morning notifying her about your departure today. She hasn't responded yet.

"Just a 24-hour delay? Are they that heartless?" Leaning on the door frame of your hotel room with a bitten donut in his hand, Joe questions as he watches you prop your luggage against the open door. "I had to reschedule the flight thrice last month, this one being the latest. It's only reasonable," You huff as a matter of fact, fixing the scarf that has dangled loose around your neck and staring into oblivion barely a second after going tight-lipped.

Finishing his donut, Joe pokes you out of your momentary trance. "You alright?"

You shake your head.

"I don't even know if he's awake now. It's past 48 hours and what if he-"

"There's only one way to find out," appeasing your elevating worry, he grabs you by the shoulders and looks you square in the eye, silently guaranteeing you of his recovery.

Since he'll be driving you to the airport, your things are neatly stored in the confines of the backseat but of course, you have to see Ben one last time, setting aside all the excruciating anticipation.

You scurry into the entrance with Joe by your side, out of breaths by the time you arrive at the door of Ben's room. Taking precautionary measures, you knock firmly on the surface expecting someone or Rosy to answer. But nada. You swap some looks with Joe and twist the knob gently, finding the room free of visitors and medical staff. Perhaps they've assessed him an hour prior.

"No one's around."

As you begin slipping a foot through the ajar door, Joe puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you mid-step.

"Lucy's on her way."

His update on her reply makes you smile and you continue into the room, seeing the curtains that had blocked the sunlight for two days cast aside, spilling some sunlight into the room.

You take small, wobbly steps along the floor, unable to accept that until now he hasn't fluttered open those orbs you loved staring into so much. You suddenly fear that a complication has risen and is causing his extended unconsciousness but that must be the least of your worries.

So you can keep me, inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

He has to hear you. He has to. He has to.

He's gone really pasty. Dark circles under his eyes despite being asleep for two days. He has grown a scruff and looks painfully unruly, but still a face of an angel. You crouch and take his free hand in yours– careful not to disconnect the IV tube from his wrist, caressing it and drawing in a sharp inhale to free yourself of any doubt to speak up. "Ben. It's Y/N. You're scaring us, you know. The doctor said you'd wake up earlier but why? Why haven't you? What are you doing in there?"

This being the end of the long haul for you, you're not forcing anything at bay anymore– not your tears, not your peeves and certainly not your feelings. You interlace your fingers around his and kiss the back of his hand, your cheeks growing scarlet and wet with tears.

Holding me closer til our eyes meet, you won't ever be alone.

You get up from crouching and throw your arm around him in defiance of the possibility of applying a lot of pressure on his chest. It feels so different holding him that way. For the time you have left, an overly emotional, one-sided conversation should make up for the lost times that would've been great for those.

And if you hurt me, that's okay baby only words bleed

"You really kept that Homecoming picture, didn't you? Coincidentally I did too, just forgot it was there as well. But I pieced it back, by the way. Ironic that we both made a promise on those polaroids the night before graduation. I-I have it with me here, just so you know. Just thought I'd bring it out since...I'll be going soon." You pull the pictures out from the pocket of your coat with trembling hands, eager to wave them in front of him. Once out, you place it on the bedside table for him to keep once more but with your share of the picture.

Inside these pages you just hold me, and I won't ever let you go

You lay your forehead on his, your tears dripping onto his closed lids as you sob his name to get him to wake, at the same time feeling his soft exhales brush against your chin. " I told you I'd be strong and I'm trying to be. I know it sounds like a selfish thing to do but you have to trust me on this one. I want to move on, Ben. You're bound to be wedded soon and have a family of your own. I want to be there for that. I want to be that aunt who'll spoil your kids and make them fight you for the craziest demands. Those things I'd gladly do...if I wasn't this hopeless for you," Little by little, your voice comes out as broken whisper– losing your strength to add any more things to say in the process. On the other side of the door, Joe is finally joined by Lucy who has arrived not a minute late and they can't help but tear up a little at how uncontrolled your crying is slowly turning out, it's become audible enough to be heard from outside.

"Ben, buddy. Come on." He huffs against the hardwood as he and Lucy are tempted to barge in.

Burying your face into the exposed column of his neck with your arm slackening from being draped across his chest, you utter a voiceless but heartfelt statement.

Wait for me to come home

"I love you, Benjamin Jones. Be happy for me."

Your words hang thinly in the fragile air as you pull away from that proximity and leave a long kiss on his forehead, walking back sadly to the door with your hand outstretched ready to grab ahold of the knob.

"H-how could I be..."

The words released sound like a mere memory resonating in your head but you are proved wrong once you turn around.

[wrunic]

How to Write an Accurate Lifeguard AU

So! It’s summer, which means everyone is writing lifeguarding AUs, and I, a lifeguard, am subjected to the same common mistakes being written over and over, so I’ve taken it upon myself to inform the public as best I can, because information is the best gift you can give anyone, especially a writer.

Before we begin, a PSA: I’m Canadian, so my information is valid primarily in Canada, and might be slightly different in other countries. I also guard at an outdoor summer pool, so my experience (and my advice) will be focused on how to write that experience, though I will talk a bit about guarding lakes and beaches. Cool? Cool! Let’s go!

Least to Most Dangerous Places to Guard:

Outdoor Pools: Low incident levels. Good visibility in the water, lots of people on shift at once, limited area for people to swim. Especially if you work at a private pool, like me, where people have to pay a membership fee, and are generally strong/experienced swimmers unlikely to experience a drowning incident.

Lakes (at a dock): Higher incident levels, and lower visibility in the water. With the added presence of things like rocks and branches in the water, injuries to feet are common. Drowning incidents are more common because it’s more difficult to tell where the bottom is, and you’ll probably be getting less experienced swimmers. Docks have a tendency to be very slippery, so you’ll probably get a few people hurting themselves there too. (Fun fact, if a lifeguard tells you not to run, it’s because they don’t want you to slip! We’re not just doing it to be annoying, spinal injuries and concussions are no fun for anyone.) Even if the area people are allowed to swim in is limited, people are liable to ignore it, which poses an added danger.

Beaches (with waves): Highest incident levels. The ocean is not to be fucked with. Visibility is low, and currents and tides are liable to drag even strong swimmers out. It’s actually not as uncommon as you’d hope for lifeguards trying to help a drowning victim to end up needing to be saved themselves. Beaches also attract a lot of people, which means there are a lot of people to keep track of, many of whom might not be strong swimmers, or might even be complete non-swimmers. Again, even if the area is limited, people might ignore it. A lifeguard working at a beach will be very good at their job.

And that pretty much exhausts my knowledge of things that aren’t outdoor pools. Everything from here on out will apply to those specifically.

The Basics:

1. If someone is on chair, they aren’t going to be talking to anyone

When you’re on chair, you’re watching the pool. You have to be paying attention, because you’re the one who’s supposed to notice an incident if it happens. Unless you want to show a lifeguard being terrible at their job, they won’t be chatting while watching the pool. Shifts on chair usually last fifteen minutes at one chair, fifteen minutes at the next, with two people guarding simultaneously, though this varies depending on the pool.

2. Lifeguards are not doctors, but they aren’t useless either

Lifeguards are trained in first aid, which means we know how to treat basic injuries, perform CPR, and use a spinal board. More often than not, if there’s a major incident, we’re calling 911. However, we do have to training. Where I live, the required qualifications are a Bronze Medallion Certification, a Bronze Cross Certification, a First Aid Certification, and a National Lifeguard Certification. It took me three years to be fully qualified. The qualifications in the U.S aren’t as strenuous, but I’m not an expert, so if you have a specific area you want to look into, I suggest doing it.

3. If your character is bad with kids, they’ll be a bad lifeguard

They don’t have to be amazing, but they should be able to treat a child with at least basic courtesy. You have to spend a lot of time with kids, usually injured ones, and if you’re not good at dealing with them, you’re screwed. More often than not, lifeguards are also swim instructors and coaches, (I teach swimming lessons and the U8 synchronized swimming team) so that’s even more kids. If you just want a very simple “they only watch the pool” lifeguard, that’s also a thing, and you’ll be able to ignore later sections of this post. Nevertheless, your lifeguard should still be at least okay with kids.

4. No swearing on shift

Like I mentioned, we work with kids. That also means we have to deal with crazy parents (more on that later) and they don’t like when people swear around their kids. So, no swearing at the pool! It’s a small detail, but it does a lot for realism.

5. Crazy parents

Pool parents are all the worst parts of entitled people yelling at retail workers, overprotective helicopter parents, and ridiculously competitive parents trying to relive their glory days through their children. They can also be really cool, but showing your character having to navigate dealing with an angry parent is, again, good realism, and a fun character  and relationship building tool! Lifeguards talk trash about crazy parents all the time, so if you’re writing a group, it’s a great way to show them bonding. They won’t do it on shift though (same deal as the swearing, you’ll get in trouble)

6. Not all lifeguards are equal

There is a hierarchy within the pool staff. The more years you work at a pool, the more you get payed, the better your shifts are, and the more say you get in the way the pool is run. You’ll never be fully in charge (the pool is usually managed by a committee of parents and owned by the city) but you get more responsibilities. We have supervisors we send troublesome members to, and newbies who get the worst shifts.

7. It’s not all sitting on a chair watching the pool

Lifeguards aren’t just lifeguards. They’re also custodians, teachers, and coaches. We clean the bathrooms and garbages, we sweep the deck, we vacuum the bottom of the pool, we skim the bugs off the surface, we put all the chairs and floaties away at the end of the day. That’s pretty universal, but beyond that is where things start getting more specialized, because I live in an area where most families basically live at their summer pools. I’m not sure if it’s even like this in other parts of Canada. However, if you want to add some excitement (and cute kids) to your story or AU, this is the way to do it.

I mentioned earlier that I teach swimming lessons. Everyone who wants to work as a lifeguard in my area has to take an additional course where they learn to teach the various levels of swimming lessons. If you want to get even more elaborate, pools also usually have swim teams, diving teams, synchro teams and waterpolo teams, along with things like aquafit and free swim. Adding any of those into your mix could be a fun twist on relationships, since there’s joking rivalry between a lot of the sports (especially synchro and waterpolo). Additional interaction with kids, parents, and young teenagers will be required if you plan on throwing any of these in.

8. The swimsuits are the uniform

This isn’t a huge thing, but it’s important. You have to potentially save a life in that suit. It’s going to be practical. For girls, if you’re teaching, it’s a one piece, but if you’re on chair it’s usually a bikini, which generally looks like some very full coverage underwear and a practical sports bra. Guys have swim trunks. You also aren’t allowed to wear shoes on shift, (other than flip-flops) because swimming in shoes is nigh on impossible.

9. The staff is super close

There’s drama sometimes, sure, but you have to spend your entire summer with these people. You see them every day, whether you’re working or going out together. You have bonding days, you see each other in swimsuits more often than clothes, you deal with the same annoying parents and maintenance problems. You’ve probably seen everyone drunk or at least dealing with other staff members being drunk. You go out regularly, (lifeguard parties are real, and most mornings at least half our staff is hungover) you exchange secrets and embarrassing stories during slow shifts. These are your best friends from June to September. They’re your family.

10. To be a lifeguard, you have to REALLY want it

I’ve talked about all the courses, the crazy parents, and the sheer amount of things you have to do, so this should be pretty clear. But in case you needed to be convinced further, my manager said at one of our staff meetings that they’re “trying to make sure no one’s working more than fifty hours a week”. We work all the time, in the blazing summer heat, doing a job that ranges from boring to wonderful to absolutely terrifying. If you aren’t guarding you’re teaching, if you aren’t teaching you’re coaching, if you aren’t coaching you’re actually still coaching except it’s at a different pool for a competition. It’s a lot, but if you love it, you really love it.

And Finally, a Breakdown of Why I Hate the “Fake Drowning to Get CPR” Trope

Putting aside the consent issues, it’s also stupid, and here’s why:

CPR is only performed on unconscious, non-breathing victims. That means you’d have to fake being unconscious, and hold your breath through the entire process, which is impossible. Believe me, playing victim in training is hard. Not to mention, you can’t stop your own heart, and we monitor heart rate.

Lets say you were able to fake it. It’s at this point that this bad boy come into play:

This is a pocket mask. You put it over a victim’s mouth to avoid direct mouth to mouth contact, because, you know, ew.

Now, pretend there was no pocket mask and you really think getting air violently blown into your mouth before having your ribs broken by someone desperately trying to restart your heart is a good way to get a “kiss” from the hot lifeguard. Bad news: it might not be them doing breaths.

Removing an unconscious person from the pool is hard, and is usually a two person job. So even if the object of your affections is the one getting you out of the water, they might be the one doing compressions, while the person who helped with the removal does breaths.

They’ll also be wearing gloves the whole time, because CPR can sometimes make people vomit, and they might have to scoop the vomit out of your mouth.

Romantic, right?

But wait, it gets worse, because there’s no way you’d get that far. You’d get caught as soon as they checked your breathing, your heart rate, or your consciousness level. Depending on at what point they caught you, EMS might already have been contacted, at which point you’d have several lifeguards and a whole crew of paramedics absolutely furious at you, and probably a ban from the pool.

Moral of the story, don’t do it.

Hope this was helpful to someone!

[appservicesbuy-blog]

How Does One Create An iPhone App?

The activity of an iPhone or Android application designer does not end when their yield is gotten underway. The new application ought to involve an item that must be elevated to speak to the correct customers. An individual would itself download your application in the event that they never realize what precisely it is iPad Buy iOS Reviews are exceptionally convenient is for sure a need gone over how to completely expand the utilization of a specific program. When this kind of thing happens you will welcome all the superb highlights the iPad has. You may even need to interlink the utilization of the iPad with the extra items by Apple. You'll presumably choose to exchange your iPod melody listed into your tablet for procedure. Perusing a Buy iOS App Reviews audit on most ideal approaches to do significantly more the undertaking much less demanding. Begin your arranging with multiple times. I realize I said have one rundown, yet precisely what me on this specific. Make one major rundown with the full parcel inside it that it is considered in light of the fact that. 

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Some are utilizing it for work in spite of the fact that is for school and stimulation. What's more, you need to understand the sorts of utilizations it needs to satisfy your requirements. By considering the reason and use on why you should need to buy this gadget, it is anything but difficult to get the right. Every day new applications are being composed by software engineers if up your expanding requests of its clients. So as to are intrigued to know some application realities, beginning first online Buy iOS audits was presented in 2 months after the fact September that the last number of applications that be appropriate for both iPhone and iPod iTouch aggregates to 3,000. In the eighth of April, Medical opened up to the world and report the availability to 3,500 applications for application iPad. Around 3 weeks after that another 2,000 applications were included the thought a normal of 100 new applications being made each working day. The whole paper segment is looking in the Daily to decide whether Murdoch can pull this off. Indeed, even Philadelphia Daily News has discharged a standard enrollment based computerized variant of the neighborhood paper with expectations of creating restored intrigue. 

So what exercises could be exchanged towards the private venture? To some degree two, expect to give look a couple of thoughts in regards to how your image notoriety can be upgraded with just half a month to your current procedures - paying little respect to whether you're selling an electronic advanced item conditioned man strolling physical a good.​

[dizzypinwheel]

Chapter Two: Flashback

**NOTES AT THE END**

CONNOR!” Hank yelled as he rushed into the interrogation room, kneeling next to his partner. Connor had crumpled to the floor, motionless. Examining his temple, Hank noticed his LED pulsing rhythmically, cycling between yellow and red. He fumbled with his walkie-talkie and switched it on. “Hank here, requesting backup. We’ve got a 10-53 in interrogation room two. If you can hear this, get the fuck back here!” Grabbing fistfuls of Connor’s jacket, he dragged him across the room and propped him against the wall.  He shook him by the shoulders, trying to rouse him. Nothing happened.

“Connor! Answer me, goddamn it!”

No response.  He ran his fingers through his hair and swore quietly. Years of training hadn’t prepared him for a situation like this. He knew all about life-saving skills like placing pressure on a bleeding wound to stop someone from bleeding out, applying tourniquets, CPR, but what good was human first-aid for an android? If they got out of this situation unscathed, he promised himself a sit-down with Connor to come up with a better plan in case something like this happened again. He preferred it to not happen at all, but he was knew Conner could be beyond reckless. He studied Connor helplessly, his mind racing.

Several officers burst into the interrogation room, guns drawn. Hank motioned to the suspect.

“Could somebody please take this fucker back to his cell?” He motioned to the officers on his left. “Something happened to Connor and he needs help. Call around. See if you can’t find someone who knows a thing or two about androids and how to fix them up.”

The cops nodded and left as quickly as they came. Sighing heavily, Hank sunk to the floor. He could so use a goddamn drink. Feeling numb would be a welcome sight compared to the emotions he found himself experiencing. Seeing Connor so helpless, so still, brought him back to his son Cole. He found himself reliving memories that he tried so hard to stuff down.

The roads were icy and visibility was poor. He had already fishtailed on a patchy spot of black ice, despite how carefully he had been driving. Windshield wipers squeaked as they worked overtime, pushing away the onslaught of snow that assailed the glass. He had taken the backroads since traffic on the freeway was gridlocked and it was a school night. He wanted to make sure Cole had enough time to finish his school project and get to bed before an ungodly hour. He half-listened to an AM sports talk show about the Detroit Gears as he kept his eyes glued to the road. Tense, he hunched over the steering wheel. Cole was sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, head leaning against the window.

He regretted leaving the house. The meteorologist had warned about a potential snowstorm, but Cole had joined a youth basketball team at the YMCA and had his heart set on playing the final game of the season. He had made some friends that did not go to his school and wanted to see them one last time. Hank tried to be firm, but it was hard to tell his son no. He had checked the window. Thick clouds covered the city, but snow had not fallen yet. Perhaps they could make it home before the snow got too bad. Everything looked promising as they parked at the YMCA, but leaving was entirely different. Heavy, wet snowflakes whirled around, blanketing Detroit in white. But home was just 20 minutes way. He could handle it. He’d just drive slower.

Bright headlights appeared from the opposite direction. Hank didn’t pay much mind at first, but as the approaching pickup truck got nearer and nearer, he started to realize it was crossing the center line, drifting into his lane. Hank swore and blared the horn. Whoever was behind the wheel must have finally woken up, because the pickup truck reacted immediately, slamming hard on their brakes. Wheels squealed as the truck began to skid. Hank turned the steering wheel, trying to avoid the truck, but it was spinning in circles, blocking the entire road. Hank clenched the steering wheel, bracing for impact. The pickup truck barreled into his car.

Hank was thrown forward, air knocked from his chest. Airbags deployed. Hank felt the bag hit him square in the face. It felt like a sucker punch. He heard his son scream. The car veered off the road into a steep rocky ditch and rolled over once, twice, three times. Time trickled to a halt. He heard glass shatter, metal twist. The car came to a rocky halt, resting on its roof.

Rattled and disoriented, Hank found himself swinging upside down, pinned in place by his seatbelt. His ears were ringing. He felt no pain. He had shock to thank for that. Suddenly, he remembered where he was. Cole. Was he okay? He glanced over. His son was unconscious, blood trickling from his forehead. No.

Fumbling with his seatbelt, he fell back first onto the roof of the car, landing on crunched glass. If the glass bit his hands, he didn’t notice. He crawled towards his son and undid his seatbelt. Gently, he laid him down and cradled him, checking for a pulse. It was very faint. The putrid stench of gas filled in the air. He had to find a way out. He tried to roll down the window. No luck. Swinging himself around, he viciously kicked at the window, forcing it open. He grabbed fistfuls of Cole’s winter coat and carefully dragged him from the wreckage. It was just the two of them in the dark, surrounded by swirling snow. There was no sign of the driver or the truck, which he assumed was still at the top of the ditch. He had a couple bars of cellphone service. Hank took out his cellphone, his fingers shaky, and dialed 911. Setting the phone down, he looked at his son, who had become unresponsive and was no longer breathing. He had experienced the full force of the airbag and Hank had no idea what impact it had on his body.

Years of training automatically kicked in as Hank knelt over his son. He placed his hands on Cole’s sternum and began to do chest compressions. One, two, three, four, five. He shakily counted to 30 under his breath. Inhaling deeply, he pinched his son’s nose, forcing air into his lungs. He was razor focused. Chest compressions. Pinch nose. Inhale. Exhale. Check for breath. Repeat. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll, but he kept going. Where was the fucking ambulance? Cole had to be okay. He had to make it. He had to.

“Lieutenant?”

An raspy, unsteady voice dragged Hank from his thoughts, back to present reality. Connor. Hank turned away, sniffing. He swiped away tears he didn’t realize had fallen with the back of his hand. Connor blinked at him, appearing uncertain. Hank felt a surge of anger. He shoved him, harder than he meant to.

“Christ, Conner,” Hank said harshly. “Why do you have to go and be so goddamn careless? Huh? You scared the hell outta me! Just what the fuck happened?”

Connor glanced away, wrapping his arms around his knees. Hank had never seen him look quite so vulnerable before. His expression softened a little and he placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder. Opening up wasn’t his strong suit. Connor could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge him one bit. He didn’t want to press, so he remained quiet, looking at him expectantly.

Connor pressed his lips together. He appeared to be deep in thought, considering what to say. After a brief moment, he began to speak.

******************************************************************************************

NOTES:  

I wrestled so much with this chapter. I especially struggled with Hank’s characterization and dialogue. I hope it came across okay. This chapter is entirely Hank’s perspective. Will switch back to Connor in the next one. I am nervous about sharing this, but here it is anyway.

[cprkansascity-blog]

Emergency Intervention During Choking

Choking is an incredibly serious incident that needs prompt attention as it is the fourth most common accidental death in the United States. It's critical to move quickly. You need to be prepared to step in right away if someone close to you starts to choke.

You must understand what to do if someone is choking to maintain your first aid certification. Although it can be challenging to apply these techniques to real people, knowing the fundamental principles could save a life. Here's a short reminder on what to do if someone chokes.

Evidence     of choking.

Choking     signs are typically widespread.

Throat     tightening.

Wheezing     or coughing that is uncontrollable.

Speech     impediment (this indicates the airway is completely blocked).

Panic.

Brain     function is lost.

The universal indication that someone is choking is a person clutching their throat. The most significant symptom to look out for is this one.

Blocked Airway Partially

A person may occasionally be able to partially breathe or even make sounds when an object in the airway is small enough to allow for this. Even though it's still a terrible condition, it might be easier to fix. To remove the blockage, lean the person forward and induce coughing. Verify again that the airway is now clean after having them spit out the foreign thing. It's time for more serious steps if coughing alone doesn't work.

Prepare yourself to save a life

Choking stops the flow of air to the lungs, deprives the brain of oxygen, and quickly brings about death. The ability to spot choking symptoms and respond accordingly could save a life. Prepare yourself to act if someone needs your assistance by reviewing what to do.

How to respond if a child is choking?

Since a baby's airway is so small, choking is a particularly hazardous risk because a baby's windpipe is the size of a drinking straw.

It's important to watch feeding times carefully. Food should be given to the infant in little portions, no bigger than one-half inch in any direction, and the infant should be sitting up while eating. Don't rush feeding time; instead, give the baby small meals. You should refrain from offering them white bread products, which can turn into a paste that sticks in their mouth and is spherical and firm (like hot dogs, almonds, and grapes).

All kinds of objects, including coins, pen caps, pet food, and balloons, are loved by babies to place in their mouths. Crawlers necessitate ongoing baby-proofing of the house. Obtain a "baby's-eye view" to assess the safety of the house. If there are any potential choking dangers, crawl on the ground and grab them. Additionally beneficial is routine vacuuming.

The best method is to get tutelage from a reputed institute like CPR Kansas to deal with unprecedented choking issues. If you are piqued by the stress-free training offered by the mentors of CPR Class Kansas, visit the site or call 913-998-7499.

[orbemnews]

Fire chiefs raise the alarm – too few young recruits MEREDITH — Cole Boggis knew he would make his career in the fire service since he was a boy and his father was a member of the Brookline Fire Department. “I was fortunate to grow up in the fire department in my hometown. All the guys were good enough to include me, and got me interested,” Boggis said. At 14, he joined a junior firefighter program in the neighboring town of Hollis, joined Brookline when he turned 18, and came to Meredith as an intern with the Fire Technology program at Lakes Region Community College. He’s now 21 and a member of the Meredith Department, covering the station during day shifts. Over in Franklin, Mike Mussey has been a full-time member of the department for seven months. He’s 23 and said he’s known he wanted to be a firefighter since he was 14, also through a junior program. Mussey grew up in Franklin, and said it’s “fantastic” to be able to serve the people of his hometown. People like Boggis and Mussey are increasingly hard to come by, though. Fire chiefs around the region report  difficulty filling their rosters. They might have once had 10, or even 20, applicants for each open position; now they have two or three, and those who are highly qualified are likely fielding multiple job offers. That’s leading some in the industry to warn that the shortage could soon become critical. “I think everybody knows it, the total amount of firefighters that we have applying statewide, everywhere, it’s much more difficult to hire firefighters now,” said Kirk Beattie, Laconia’s fire chief. “The numbers of them just aren’t out there. And if you factor in that we’re looking for paramedics as well, they are very hard to come by.” If he were fully staffed, Beattie said he would have 40 firefighters on his roster. He currently has 38, and pending retirements will soon drop that to 36. “We are in the process of trying to hire right now, but the total number of applicants is way down,” Beattie said, though he added that, so far, he has been able to land well-qualified candidates. “It would be nice to get back to the days of having 20-30 applicants, instead of 2 or 3.” Chief Michael Foss in Franklin said he has had to change his staffing levels for lack of firefighters. He would like to be able to have a crew of 5 on at all times, but now he has 3 firefighters for each 24-hour shift, with one additional crew member coming on for a 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. shift. Coverage drops back to 3 for the overnight hours. “We are set up well to handle one call at a time,” Foss said. However, about a quarter of their calls occur when the crew is already responding to a prior emergency, which leaves Franklin with a choice. Either try and call in already overworked firefighters on their day off, or rely on Lakes Region Mutual Fire Aid, which will rally help from a neighboring town. Meredith relies on on-call firefighters. It used to be, Meredith Chief Ken Jones said, that the town could handle most moderate incidents with their call firefighters, who work in town and could drop what they were doing to respond to an emergency. “It used to be a 45-man roster years ago,” Jones said, adding that he’s down to around 15 members who will reliably show up when their pagers tone. “We’re struggling. On any call, I don’t know who I’m going to have on that call,” he said. Depending on who shows up, he might not have people trained to attack a house fire from the interior, or operate the necessary equipment. Increasingly, Meredith has to call Mutual Fire Aid for help. “That’s how we are surviving at this time,” Jones said. Gilford uses a hybrid system, with 18 full-time firefighters and an equal number of on-call staff. Steve Carrier, Gilford chief, said his biggest problem is retaining personnel, especially on-call firefighters. “It’s a pretty demanding position to be in,” said Carrier. “You have a full-time job and a family, we’re telling you that you have to come in for training two or three times a month, if you don’t have certification we tell you to go somewhere you can get certification.” When the on-call staff drops out of rotation, Carrier said it’s usually because of the time commitment. They need to stay active in order to retain their skills, but they have to be willing to drop everything and respond when the big calls come in. “The opportunities aren’t there every day for them to be involved,” Carrier said. “I think it’s difficult for some of them to justify spending the time and training.” Deborah Pendergast said the problem has been brewing for years. She’s director of the state’s Fire Standards and Training Department, and said the drop in interest was first seen in smaller, rural departments that rely on call staff. “Now that is trickling to the full-time departments. It is regional, it is not a New Hampshire phenomenon. Overall, if you look at why is that, there are a couple of different things playing into that,” Pendergast said. One of the reasons is a public perception of the service that doesn’t accurately reflect the present reality. To begin a career in the fire service, a candidate would need to get certified as a firefighter, have at least some emergency medicine certification, and a commercial drivers license. Yet, said Pendergast, “The fire service is considered a blue-collar career, a hands-on trade.” That creates a problem. Ambitious young people who aren’t afraid of certification programs might not consider the fire service, but people who expect to be able to walk into a job might be turned off when they realize how much work it is to become a firefighter. Then there’s another perception problem, one which Pendergast confronted herself years ago. Her career started with a CPR class, which led to an EMT program, and when she was doing a ride-along on an ambulance, one of the firefighters suggested she take a firefighting course. She was about 30 at that time, and never thought of herself as a firefighter. That was decades ago, but the picture of a New Hampshire firefighter hasn’t changed too much. “New Hampshire is absolutely not where it needs to be with diversity of fire service,” Pendergast said. Women make up only about 5% of firefighters in the state, she said, a figure well below other states. “If we are only tapping the white males to be in the fire service, we are doing ourselves a disservice,” Pendergast said. She said local firehouses need to invite Girl Scouts, not just Boy Scouts, for tours. Recruiting efforts should take place at softball and field hockey tournaments, not just football games. “If we work hard to tap minorities and females, we can get people who said, ‘I never thought of myself doing that.’” The fire service can break through misconceptions by reviving junior firefighter programs, which were once prolific but have become rarer, Pendergast said, and by encouraging fire-science classes in high schools, which give young people a jump-start on basic training. Beattie, in Laconia, said it will likely take a scattershot approach “There isn’t one answer, I think there’s multiple things,” he said. He pointed to statistics that show significant decrease in active duty military service over the past 30 years – and fire service is a common second act after an honorable discharge. Foss, in Franklin, said some of the decline could be due to changes that have affected the value proposition for someone considering the career. The barrier to entry is now higher, considering the required certifications, while the payoff is farther away. Changes to the state retirement system did away with the possibility of collecting a pension as young as 45 years old. “The increase in age requirement to receive a benefit is a lot higher than it used to be,” Foss said. Jones, in addition to leading Meredith’s Fire Department, is currently serving as head of the NH Association of Fire Chiefs. He said the state recently adjusted the hours required to receive basic firefighting certification by reducing the amount of time spent on wildfire training, with a particular eye at making it easier to become a call firefighter – a frequent first step on the way to a full-time career. More will be necessary, Jones said. If his department is indicative of other call services, the forecast is troubling. Of those 12-15 call members he can rely on to respond to alarms, more than half of them are nearing retirement age. “It’s an issue that’s not going away. Municipalities are going to need to face this and decide what’s the next step,” Jones said, offering the possibility of full-time, regionalized service, though he added that would likely result in longer response times for far-flung neighborhoods. “It’s a question that’s on the horizon and will need to be answered in the near future.” Mussey, beginning his career in Franklin, said he was hooked as soon as he got a look at the career through a fire explorer program. “I found that I enjoyed everything it offered,” he said. He was attracted to the hours, the camaraderie, and the mission. “It’s got a lot to offer. You get to help people during the worst moments of their lives, you get to make connections with your co-workers that you wouldn’t make in other jobs,” Mussey said. Boggis said that it might sound cliche, but it’s true. “I like helping people. I like to be able to interact with different walks of life, and I like being able to put my touch on people’s lives.” Someone with decades in the service, Don Smith, a call firefighter with Meredith, said Mussey and Boggis will find a career doing just what they like to do. Smith said he joined the Meredith department because his father and his younger brother did. Forty-six years later, what keeps him answering the call? “I enjoy helping people,” Smith answered. “I just enjoy firefighting.” Source link Orbem News #Alarm #Chiefs #deborahpendergast #donsmith #Fire #Firefighter #kenjones #kirkbeattie #Meredith #michaelfoss #mikemussey #raise #recruits #Work #young

[squishysvt]

aren’t you supposed to save me? (lifeguard!wonwoo au)

Prompt: Jeon Wonwoo is a life guard. A new one actually. He can't keep his eyes off of you because you look amazing in your swimsuit so he's secretly watching you. You dive down into the water but being an idiot Wonwoo thinks you've drowned. He gets up ready to jump in but at that moment you rise from the water. He tries very hard to stop and not jump in and look dumb but whoops he slips and everyone's just like uhhh you ok?? You end up having to save the new lifeguard

Word Count: 2.4k A/N So this happened. I’m not sure how I like the end results but I’m sure it’ll grow on me. I had fun though, which is the main priority! Thank you to whoever gave me this prompt! You revived my creativity -Admin Madi

Wonwoo wasn’t sure why he applied to be a lifeguard.

While his friends were waiting tables, bagging groceries and operating amusement park rides throughout the duration of summer, Wonwoo was left to burn in the sun. He didn’t exactly know why he chose monitoring swimming pools over stocking shelves, but it definitely had something to do with the employees; especially you.

You were one of Wonwoo’s best friends siblings, and he had the occasional run in with you from time to time. You were clearly off limits, as he’s heard the threats his brother gave to all his friends, but seeing as how he wasn’t here, Wonwoo thought it was fair game. Especially now that you would be seeing a lot of each other, it was only natural that you two became friends, right?

His motivation to become a certified lifeguard only increased when he realized that he would be around you a lot more. He told himself that he wouldn’t mind showing up to work and jumping into freezing cold water if it meant getting to see your wet hair and sunkissed skin on the daily. Wonwoo accidentally let it slip to his friend Soonyoung that he would like to befriend you over the course of the summer, and was told that he was crazy for trying to overstep boundaries that were clearly set. Soonyoung had a point, and Wonwoo focused on other reasons as to why being a lifeguard wouldn’t be half bad.

-----

Wonwoo deduced that the entire appeal of the job was that he could sit around all day and do nothing. Maybe catch up on some reading, play games on his phone and text his friends when he wasn’t supposed to. He wouldn't mind having to slather on sunscreen and listen to kids screaming all day as they splashed around, he carried Tylenol in his bag and would make good use of it by the end of the day.

The reality of the whole situation was that Wonwoo was a strong swimmer, but had no experience in first aid or saving people from drowning. Training was the last thing on his mind, but he was thrown a swimsuit, bottle of SPF60, and shoved towards an instructor on his first day.

His swim trunks were an obnoxious red color that hurt your eyes if you stared too long, and he found himself squinting for the majority of the lesson. It was just him and a few other students who looked perplexed at everything the teacher said, but Wonwoo took directions well. He tried his best not to get distracted by how professional you looked as you helped the others, and was reassured that he would be working with someone who knew what they were doing most of the time. The fact that you were cute was an added bonus. He made sure that he wasn’t going to let that slip anytime soon.

The training was simple, they did laps, waded through water and carried weights as they did so. Wonwoo wasn’t the strongest person ever, but he definitely showed better results than some of the others.

He thought things were going well until his heart nearly fell into his stomach when the word “CPR” was said with no training dummies in sight. His heartbeat was erratic when you started to lay by the side of the pool and demonstrate where to push on the chest when performing the act. His head snapped up when he heard the words, “Wonwoo should try first,” from his instructor, and the only thing he wanted to do was find the nearest exit.

The thought of having to puts his lips on yours made his hands sweat and face heat, because there was no way he was going to do that infront of all the others. He was pretty damn sure that he would never use this anyway, because who the hell goes to a pool and doesn’t know how to swim? He swore.

“You want me to go first? Are you sure?” He took a step in advancement towards your figure, avoiding the confused look in your eyes. “Shouldn’t you show us first? You know..I don’t want to mess up or anything.”

The sound of your voice forced him to look your way. “Wonwoo, you’ll be fine. It’s not like you’re going to kill the dummy. They’re already technically dead.”

“Dummy..Oh yeah,” scratching the back of his head, he laughed nervously as the instructor carried them out. “Training dummies yeah, you’re right.”

The snickers behind him were an indicator that he indeed was under the impression that he had to give you CPR, and definitely wanted nothing more than to disappear.

You laughed as you sat up and gave his arm a reassuring pat before bringing over the proper equipment and handing it to him. Wonwoo looked cute when he was flustered. You took a mental note to do that to him more often.

----

After a continued routine of first aid practices and retrieving dead weight from the depths of the pool, Wonwoo was finally deemed ready to be an official lifeguard. He was given a whistle of the same firetruck red color, and handed a schedule of dates and times.

Two lifeguards were needed on deck at all times, one to supervise the pool for kids and the other for adults. You were most often assigned to watch the kids, but with the new influx of trainees and having the most experience, were moved to the adult pool. Wonwoo was the most promising of the newbies, so he had the pleasure of being partnered with you for his shifts. The lifeguard chairs were beside one another at one end of the pool, and the first few days on the job were...awkward to say the least.

Wonwoo didn’t really know what to say to you. There were the typical exchanges about the weather, how glad you were that it was summer and how you couldn’t wait to go home and take a nap. It took a total of 3 days of awkward silences until you found common ground to talk about.

“God, I know! Mingyu is such an annoying older brother. I don’t know how I’ve lived with him all these years.” Wonwoo found it cute how riled up you got when speaking about his best friend. Even more so when you furiously nodded along to the points he brought up.

“Yeah, Mingyu can be pretty disgusting too. He sneezes into his hand a lot and touches people like it’s no big deal. I gave him a bottle of hand sanitizer for his birthday but I don’t think he’s used it a single time.”

You shook your head in disbelief, scoffing as you crossed your arms. “You were the one to give him that? It sits on his bedside table untouched. Here I was thinking he was trying to be hygienic for once.”

“I doubt that’ll ever happen.” Looking at you with a smug expression, he nudged you with his elbow. “Does it run in the family? Should I start being wary of you?”

“Oh shut up! I’m the cleanest person you know.” You rolled your eyes in a teasing manner, but punched his shoulder anyway.

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. The cutest maybe, but not definitely the cleanest.”

Wonwoo watched as you avoided his gaze, smiling at how the tables have turned.

“Yeah, well...whatever.”

“Hm?” He slouched to place his ear by your mouth, silently laughing as he struggled to hear your mumbled words.

“I said whatever! Don’t be an ass, Won.”

This took him by surprise.

“Won? Mingyu used to call me that when we were seven.” Poking your side and watching you squirm, he chuckled. “Were you eavesdropping on me and your brother since we were children? Wow, Y/N. I didn’t know you liked me so much!”

Groaning, you stood from your chair, threw away the towel wrapped around your waist and climbed down the ladder, glaring at him in the process.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was just jealous that Mingyu could have friends over and I couldn’t. It had nothing to do with liking you.”  

Wonwoo watched as you walked away, a light feeling in his chest and thinking for the first time that summer that the bright red of your swimsuit didn’t look half bad.

----

At the end of Wonwoo’s first week of being a lifeguard, he achieved absolutely nothing. The only time he helped out was when a kid was swimming alone and wanted a friend to play with, making Wonwoo put down his book and remain damp for the rest of the day. You gave Wonwoo a towel in hopes of warming him up, but credited yourself for being the one responsible for his red cheeks and not the warmth the towel provided.

You and Wonwoo played this constant push and pull game of “I hate you, I love you,” and Wonwoo was growing tired of just being a fellow whatever to you. Wonwoo had to watch you walk around in that swimsuit all day and it was starting to distract him. Watching you discreetly from his chair was getting old and he wanted nothing more than to tell you how good you looked without getting a “shut up” in response. He was serious more often than not, and the fact that you took his genuine remarks as sarcasm drove him mad.

When he watched you walk around the perimeter of the pools and test for the levels of chlorine and urine in the water, he sighed. His head lay in his palm and leg continuously jittered as he thought of a plan of winning you over. Your shifts would be ending in the next half hour, but he couldn’t bring himself to fishing the net out of storage and cleaning the pools. You were his main concern.

He kept a particularly close eye on you as you stopped to look over the edge of the deep end. Your toes were hanging over the ledge and before he could even blink- you disappeared completely. The sound of a loud splash met his ears before his mind could process that hey, they just fell into the pool.

This caused Wonwoo to absolutely freak. He instantly stood to get a better view and could make out a distorted figure at the bottom, but discerning whether you were moving or not was another task. That damn red swimsuit threatened to blind him as the added reflection of the sun to the water met his eyes, causing him to swear and jump down the ladder.

Were you drowning? Breathing? Alive? Wonwoo didn’t know what the hell a drowning person looked like but had a hunch that this sort of accident was filed under that category. He threw his t-shirt to the side as he ran to the other end of the pool, arms coming up and into the position to dive when your figure re-emerged, completely unharmed.

His initial thought was thank god they’re okay, but his body didn’t correlate with his mind. His arms began to flail, heels digging into the tiles of the deck in attempts to stop, but he was going too fast and had already reached the edge. He fell flat onto his stomach with a resounding smuck and splash of water before sinking to the bottom. He didn’t have time to take a deep breathe and began to panic as the air escaped his lungs. Wonwoo shut his eyes in preparation for the worst before a pair of arms wrapped around his torso. They struggled to properly envelope his body and drag him up, but after a few tries he found himself meeting the blare of the sun once again.

“Holy shit. Won, are you okay?”

He struggled to breathe, gasping for air until his eyes could focus on the look of worry on your face. “Yeah,” his chest was heaving and he couldn’t get a sentence out, ”I’m...good.”

He pulled himself so that he was sitting on the edge of the pool, wallowing in a pit of embarassment when a fist to his chest made him cough. “Ow, what the hell? You can’t hit someone who just nearly drowned.”

“You scared me, you idiot! You just fell into the pool like some clumsy dumb ass and I thought you were playing some sick prank on me. You deserve to be beat.”

Wonwoo let his fingers wade through the water, too embarrassed to come to terms with the situation. “I-Uhm, you see. That wasn’t a prank. I sort of thought you were the one drowning so I was ready to save you, you see, but then you came up and I couldn’t stop myself and fell in but, just know that I didn’t need saving.” He shook his head defiantly. “Nope, definitely not.”

He watched you laugh, falling back and laying on the cool wet tiles as you held your stomach. “You’re kidding, right? You thought I was drowning? Dude, someone dropped money at the bottom, I was just collecting it. I can’t believe you misread the situation that badly!”

“Hey! It’s not like I know what someone in distress looks like! What do you expect from a newbie?”

“Ok ok, fine. Stupid mistake. I get it.” You sat up straight, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and moving the wet hair from his forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

A shaky sigh left his mouth, nodding and meeting your eyes meekly. “Wanna do me a solid and not tell anyone this happened?”

Your hand flew up and pointed a finger in Wonwoo’s face, “One condition.”

He groaned. “What? What could you possibly want from me?”

“I’m going to tell my brother that I like you. When he starts running after me for liking his best friend, I expect you to protect me- to save me. It’s only fair, right?”

Wonwoo tilted his head to the side, searching your eyes for any sign of a joke.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He laughed before running a hand through his wet hair, not believing what he just heard. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good, because I’ll definitely need saving, unlike you.”

You laughed as you walked away, throwing Wonwoo a smile from over your shoulder.

Wonwoo knew why he applied to be a lifeguard. It definitely had something to do with you.

[ashandcopper]

Basic Training at SEA Semester

I'm currently in a class at SEA in Falmouth, MA. The past week I have been in BT, or Basic Training, and next week I'll be taking Wilderness First Responder (WFR). If you are planning to work on boats that travel internationally, you will need an international endorsement. STCW-95 is a rating that is required for the entry-level endorsement, Ratings Forming Part of a Navigational Watch (RFPNW) - the international equivalent of the domestic OS/Wiper endorsement. I'll be talking more about ratings and endorsements in another post but for now, I just want to cover what you can expect while in the class.

Basic Training, previously known as Basic Safety Training, is made up of four modules that satisfy the training requirements of STCW, The Standards of Training, Certification, and Watchkeeping for Seafarers. It includes an 8-hr First Aid/CPR class, 12-hr Personal Survival Techniques, Firefighting & Fire Prevention, and 4-hr Personal Safety & Social Responsibility. The idea is to raise the knowledge base for sea-going sailors. Many topics in the class were already familiar to me and that was a good thing. I was able to build on my experience with safety equipment and emergency procedures and there was plenty of new material too.

First Aid / CPR On our first day, we had First Aid / CPR taught by Deborah Hayes, an experienced EMT / First Responder. This class was much more comprehensive than the one I took a couple years ago, with topics ranging from wound cleaning, emergency assessment, anaphylaxis, and hypoglycemia. This past year on Kalmar Nyckel we had a string of medical emergencies which I responded to as medical officer. I'm thankful that none of the topics in this class were breezed over; when you are on a ship you have to know this stuff. You must know how to approach patients, assess their condition, and determine if they need to be taken off the boat.

Personal Survival Techniques

This 12-hour class was split into two days and was taught by Jason Quilter and Allison Taylor, both instructors and crew at SEA. A good part of this class was spent in the pool, where we learned how to properly deploy self-inflating life rafts and don Personal Floatation Devices of PFDs. As safety officer on Kalmar, I was already familiar with the means of launching life rafts - either manually with the use of the painter or with the hydrostatic release if the carriage is held underwater by a sinking vessel. Once the life-rafts are deployed, the hard part begins - getting the raft righted, crewmembers inside, and survival at sea (rationing, controlling drift, signaling, etc). If there is time before abandoning a vessel, the crew would don immersion suits, sometimes referred to as "Gumby" suits. Imagine yourself as a floating, rubber, blob with limited dexterity. This is what it's like to be in one of these suits. They do keep you warm, afloat, and - unless you have to don one in the water - dry. A large part of our time in the pool was in these suits, practicing correct entry and chain linking techniques. Later in this class, we learned about flares (got to fire off a couple, too), and distress communications. Probably the dryest part of the class, but super relevant. Communications included major acronyms such as GMDSS, COSPAS-SARSAT, SSB, DSC, etc. Many of these were systems I had seen on Kalmar but knew nothing about. Probably a good topic to write about on its own.

Firefighting & Fire Prevention

This class was held at the Barnstable Fire and Rescue Station. It was comprised of an excruciatingly long lecture but an entirely fun, hands-on training the following day. The lecture focused on the construction of fire and strategies to fight and prevent them. Also discussed were the goals of fighting specific kinds of fires (Class A, B, C, D, K).  The hands-on training was probably the most informational. We learned how to don the SCBA masks and gear and practiced indirect and direct firefighting. We also learned how to use water as a barrier and suppress fires to achieve other goals (turning off gas valves, for instance). It was certainly an eye-opening part of the class.

Personal Safety & Social Responsibility

Much of the content for this class I already knew from volunteering at South Street Seaport and yard. How to protect yourself during maintenance work with rust, chipping metal, high VOC paint, particulates, etc. A lot of this is common sense but it does need to be said. Protect yourself or wreck yourself. The materials we work within the maritime industry can cause lots of harm from repeated exposure. Social Responsibility includes topics such as sexual harassment, waste management policy, interpersonal communication. In short, don't be an asshole to others or the earth.

--

I felt confident that by taking the class at SEA I would get a comprehensive instruction and I wasn't wrong. It would be easy to look at this class as a requirement for licensing, but it's practical and lifesaving knowledge. It was also fun!

On one last note, these classes are not cheap and I imagine for many tall ship sailors they might be even prohibitive. I was fortunate to be a recipient of the Arthur M. Kimberley Crew Development Grant from Tall Ships America, which reimbursed me with half of the cost of the BT class. If you are struggling to afford these classes I encourage you to apply. It only requires a letter of financial need and a reference letter from your captain. It was not hard at all. You also need to be a TSA member, which is $40 annually but your membership goes to supporting an important organization within our industry. It also comes with a subscription to Sea History magazine, which I think is a pretty great publication.

[medkltty-blog]

The Integrity of Medical School

I’ve been in medical school for a little over a semester and I have become very disillusioned with medical school as an institution. I’m glad I’m in medical school and I know how lucky I am to be in medical school, however, I’m struggling with the ethics of medical school as an institution.

It took me six years to get into medical school. In that time I got a bachelor’s degree, a graduate degree, I worked full-time and volunteered nearly 20 hours a week. I took the MCAT and went on interviews and paid for my applications. In that time, I also probably spent well over 30 thousand dollars trying to get into medical school, not including the student loans I had to take out to pay for my pre-med and graduate classes. The cost of my applications, alone, was 5 thousand dollars. And that was the second time I applied. The cost of my interviews were also easily 5 thousand dollars as well. 

When I got into medical school I was excited to become a doctor. I was proud of myself and felt vindicated that all of my hard work paid off. I was ready to start learning how to be a doctor. My first semester was absolutely miserable. The morale of my class was extremely low. We go to a school that heavily emphasizes wellness but a slew of new changes based on feedback from students ahead of us created a schedule that was unsustainable and didn’t leave time for any self-care practice or wellness at all. The idea of wellness became a running inside joke in our class where people would proudly state that they participated in self-care by taking a shower for the first time in two days or by sleeping in past 7am on a Saturday.

But we got through that first semester, propelled by second year students telling us that it would be all downhill after that and that once we started organ systems second semester, we’d be so much happier and have so much time to take care of ourselves and study (because our schedule was so jam-packed that it left very little time to study and our attendance in class is required). We had third year medical students telling us how they would rather repeat their entire third year of medical school and all the crazy rotations that go with it than repeat their first semester. And so we took all of our finals and set off for winter break looking forward to next semester.

Our second semester started a little over three weeks ago. News that we lost six of our classmates spread through the class. They chose to leave or weren’t allowed to come back by the administration. It was an elephant in the room that none of us can talk about because of privacy rules. Still, morale is higher when we start up our organs systems classes.

And that is when I realized what a money scam medical school is. I am required to go to class if I want my class rank to be high not because our classes actually teach us information but because your grade is connected to your attendance, so poor attendance = a poor grade = a lower class rank. I sit in class for up to 9 hours a day and have clinicians read powerpoint slides word-for-word to me, none of which are interesting or helpful to my actual learning and all of which I could have read to myself at home. I am told by our academic administrators to buy resources like First Aid to study for Step 1, they bought us a Q bank but we have to pay for everything else. $900 later, I have subscriptions to Pathoma, RX, Sketchy, and Firecracker. I wanted to buy a set of clinical case books recommended to us but the price on Amazon was $653. By the time I take Step 1 I will have taken out 150 THOUSAND dollars in student loans ON TOP OF the student loans I already have from two bachelor degrees and a master’s degree. 

I will need to pay the fees for the Step exams on my own. I am expected to join various professional societies and pay their yearly fees because it will make my residency application look better even though joining those professional societies has no impact on what kind of physician I will be, how much I care about others, or my Step 1 score. And, of course, those professional societies are so generous and give you a discount because you’re a medical student, so instead of paying $500 you’re asked to only pay $150. But isn’t it worth it to add some fake prestige to your residency application by saying you went to the AMA conference one year? The AMA that endorsed Tom Price for HHS secretary? The AMA that endorsed someone who wants to remove the ACA and condemn 43,000 additional people to death due to lack of insurance every year. Sign me the fuck up, right?

I am disgusted with the cost of medical school. I knew it would be expensive but I feel it is unethical to ask students to spend so much money applying to medical school and taking the MCAT and then asking them to pay EVEN MORE. Especially when there was so much hand-wringing from the AAMC and NBME about how to make medical school more affordable and how to increase the diversity among students and increase the number of first generation physicians (since studies show that children of doctors tend to be worse doctors than their first generation peers). I have an idea:

Get rid of the first two years of medical school. Make Step 1 the admissions exam for students. Get rid of application fees and the MCAT altogether. Start students up in January, give them a ten week course in gross anatomy, followed by a two week intensive clinical skills course and a first aid/CPR certification, and start them up on wards in April, a full 2 to 3 months earlier than most schools. This gives students 5 to 6 months to explore specialties after their required rotations instead of 2 to 3 which aren’t even really used for students to explore since those are the rotations they need to do in order to get the letters of rec they need for their residency applications (may be the lack of time to explore specialty options is why 60-90% of physicians hate their fucking jobs). 

And then, of course, you have to spend thousands of dollars on your residency applications and travel for interviews, which are not factored in to your student loan awards. 

This will never happen, though, because the AAMC makes billions of dollars in application fees, MCAT fees, and official test prep materials. The NBME makes billions of dollars off the backs of students paying for their exams and the LCME makes just as much. None of the organizations that could change the system have the incentive to do so because they are too busy milking medical students for all the money they have.

I know it sounds like I’m too money focused. The truth is, I’m not. I gave up hope of ever paying off my student loans years ago. I will never pay them back and I didn’t want to be a doctor because of the salary. My disillusionment with medical school as an institution is due to the ethics of it all. When I was applying to medical school there was a huge push to improve medical class diversity and encourage more minority and lower class students to apply. You can get fee waivers and financial assistance to cover the cost of your MCAT fees. But that doesn’t go far enough. Those application fee waivers don’t make booking flights for interviews any cheaper, they don’t lower the cost of having to rent a car or buy a suit for an interview. 

How can we expect students living in poverty to drop 5 grand on interview costs just to get in to medical school? How can we expect students living in underserved communities to afford the cost of Step 2 and the price of travel to and from the 6 locations in the country you can take it? Underserved communities NEED students who understand what living in those communities is like to go back and be their doctors. And, yes, there are scholarships and small-scale help, but I’m arguing that the entire system, right now, is designed to keep students who can’t afford to pay for medical school admittance out. Is a student whose family is on food stamps really going to have $150 to pay for the MCAT? No. 

I look around at the people in my class, which to my school’s credit is exceedingly diverse in race and religious background, however almost everyone in my class comes from a family that was middle class or above. Half of my classmates have parents who can afford to pay for their tuition and living expenses. I am part of the other class that has to take out loans. But when I was applying to medical school and there was a mix up with my teaching assistant stipend that lead to it being delayed, my dad was able to loan me the $2500 I needed to submit my AMCAS application on time. If I had not had a full-time job as a graduate student, though, I would not have been able to afford the cost of interviewing, and a third of the interviews I went on were local. 

In class, we are asked to think about treatment plans for patients and discuss them with each other. The girl sitting next to me says she thinks this ethics class is a waste of our time. The patient is an overweight child who we need to counsel, she lives in a run down part of a large city. We work together on her treatment plan and my partner comes up with a list of groceries to buy. I point out that the patient in question is a minor and likely not in charge of her food and that the education needs to be directed towards the parent and the patient. I also point out that due to the income level of the area they live in, the patient’s mother is likely relying on food stamps. I go over the grocery list and not a single thing is realistic. I point out that food stamps cannot be used to buy milk. My partner is shocked, her eyes widen; when I tell her how food stamps in my state can’t be used to buy rice, her entire world is turned upside down. I voice this in class when we are invited to share. A male classmate who is openly gay and voted for Trump comes up to me and asks me to explain why food stamps can’t be used to buy milk. I do and he doesn’t know what to say.

I look at my classmates who do not understand what poverty looks like in reality and I think about the people I know in rural towns who blew their entire savings trying to get into medical school only to be told when they didn’t get in that they needed to go take the MCAT again because the 29 they got wasn’t good enough, they needed a 30. The people suggesting this to my friend recommend taking an MCAT course not realizing the closest one would be two hours away and that the nearly 3 grand the course costs makes that impossible, not to mention the cost of taking the test again. It doesn’t matter, though, because she wouldn’t be able to afford all of the resources for Step 1 let alone the cost of THAT exam once she got into medical school. She works as a CNA in a nursing home.

How can we put such a financial burden on students applying to medical school? How can we ask medical students to pay so much money for residency applications, licensing exams, and tuition? How can we do that and then ask them to enter a profession that requires them to get permission from insurance providers and hospital administrators to order a damn chest CT? How can we ask them to pay so much money and then ignore the fact that there aren’t enough residency spots available for all of them to train in? How can we ask pre-med and medical students to pay so much money when the health care system is in shambles and the only people making money are hospital CEOs and insurance companies? How can we expect medical students to pay back their massive student loans in a system like that? Why are institutions like the AAMC so comfortable setting so many medical students up for failure?

Because my school emphasizes wellness, we have mandatory wellness classes we have to attend. Because, in medical school, giving students time to practice self-care isn’t as important as requiring them to attend a four hour class telling them they need to practice self-care and get lots of sleep, all while requiring them to be at school by 8am and making us sit in class until 5pm, giving us five hours of the day to study before we do it all again. And, of course, in those five hours of study time we also need to fit in time to exercise, feed ourselves, and maybe speak with our loved ones for five minutes to make sure they are still alive. Because self-care!

I wouldn’t say I’m jaded about medical school this early on but I am questioning why this system is in place. Why pay for two years of medical school when everyone just uses First Aid and Step resources to get a good score? I think medicine, as an institution, is really stuck in this idea of “well, I had to do it so you do, too” which I think is a really dangerous way of thinking. I think if medical students have extremely high rates of depression and anxiety (myself included, however mine was with me long before medical school) and it just gets worse through residency and becoming an attending there’s something wrong with the system. And if something isn’t working, why shouldn’t it be fixed? “Because I went through it and you should, too” isn’t a good enough answer for me. It’s also not accurate, right? The doctors who are saying that bullshit excuse went to medical school in a different time, where they could actually make decisions about patient care without having to call an insurance company for permission first. They went through medical school when it was actually affordable. They went through medical school when the idea of a woman being a doctor was either not allowed, unheard of, or looked down on, because who would take care of their kids at home while they went through residency if their wife was in medical school? 

So, yeah, they went through medical school and worked all of these hours and paid for medical school but the context was different, so I still want to know why such an archaic system that is already financially unattainable for people we NEED to be doctors and is quickly becoming financially unattainable for anyone who doesn’t have a trust fund is allowed to exist. I want to know why a 60-90% dissatisfaction rate is considered acceptable among physicians without any examination of the system that makes them into physicians.

[b-rainrot]

Nanny/Household Manager needed for 1-year-old baby in Edina (Edina)

As I write this, the countertop installation team is here fixing a little alignment issue they made with our dishwasher. I wish you had booked them and had gotten the dishes done before they came so my husband and I could have spent more time playing with our baby and going through a business training together. :)             We can’t wait to have you shine in what you do best and run our household so we can do what we do best and be a loving family and run a successful business.             We are definitely the coolest family ever and we live in Edina. We had a family friend temporarily in this position, and now we want you to keep our ship running smoothly.             I run my own company and work from home, and my husband works for me, so we are here literally all the time. We are hilarious, we tell fart jokes, and we both talk on the phone pretty often for my business and do a lot of pep talks and picker-uppers. You have to be super cool with that. Negative attitude-havers need not apply. If you describe yourself as optimistic, helpful, resourceful, kind, feminist, fun—we are on the right track.             I am a former San Francisco fashion blogger, first page of Google, and I care a lot about what my house looks like because home is The Most Important to me for a million reasons. So if you are the type that “just doesn’t notice” that you left crumbs on the table, thank u next. If you are going to judge me because I like to wear the occasional high fashion item, you’re on the wrong post.             If you are going to call my daughter a “princess” or make comments about how to “act like a lady,” BYE. This is not the job for you. If you are going to criticize her for being bossy, move on to a different post. If you are going to lament her wardrobe for its lack of pink, you should find somewhere else to apply. We have an “All are Welcome Here” sign in our yard. My daughter’s middle name is after a female presidential hopeful for 2020. She will never be told to hug someone unless she wants to. We will never buy red baseball caps. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? Fantastic!             I nannied all through high school and college and am still close with all my nanny families. So I have a lot of opinions, backed by research, on how to optimize my daughter’s development, and I know what it’s like to be a nanny. There is no shaming in our household. We do not cry it out. You can’t spoil a baby. We are not religious and ask you leave that to your personal time. Are you up for being The Best Nanny Ever that my daughter is going to remember always and forever and have adorable nicknames for you? My nanny kids called me RaRa. I still call hand sanitizer “hand sanimatizer” thanks to L at age 2.5, and we say we’re “going to the other side to see a cat” thanks to S at age 3.5. If you’re not looking for a lifetime relationship and view this as just a buck, not for you.             We are not fantastic cooks, but you are! Meal prep is fun for you and you’re excited to help take care of us. Also, I have celiac disease, so you can’t bring gluten into the house. If you don’t know what gluten is and you’re not resourceful enough to google it right now, this is not the job for you. I’m vegetarian. If you think that’s weird, we are definitely not the right family for you.             This position is all about owning the role and going above and beyond. The whole family does this. Our baby just hit 12 months and already says 13 words. We are 99% certain she just added another to the roster today; we will see if she still uses it again tomorrow. WE ARE SO PROUD!!! My husband and I go above and beyond with my business. You are the kind of person who rises to the challenge, gets the job done, and also helpfully points out how it can go even smoother the next time. And you notice that those T-shirts are wearing out when you do laundry, so you queue up an order for more…not because you were asked to, but because you are The Ship Runner.             Have you seen Sex and the City? I am looking for the Magda to my Miranda, minus the judgement. Basically, you have to help run the show, and love doing it.             No smoking of any kind. I have asthma so it’s not cool to bring that around, plus I’d like you to live a full life, so please quit, but still don’t apply. If you’re going to show up hungover, not for you. If you talk on the phone while you’re driving and don’t use Bluetooth or if you text at ALL while driving, ever, stop it, because you’re operating heavy machinery and you could kill yourself or someone else, but also, don’t even think of applying. I have never gotten a ticket, I don’t speed, I signal my turns 100 feet ahead, I come to a complete stop. If that bugs you, move on. If you’re going to do anything but that with my daughter in the vehicle, don’t apply, period.             If you think it’s cute to toss babies in the air, omg NOPE. If you have a temper; if your blood pressure goes up when a baby cries; if you think it’s funny to joke about hurting babies, GTFO. If you are passive-aggressive/Minnesota Nice and will dislike something, lie about it, and then hold it against us, go make a hot dish in someone else’s oven. We’re straight shooters, but honesty without tact is cruelty.             If you want a job that you can post the heck out of my kid on social media, sorry dude, not for you. You’re going to have to sign a non-disclosure for this position because I’m a Name in my vertical, and we are going to want to be friends in real life anyway so we will be friends on social media.             We’re in this together. So sometimes, because I am addicted to my baby and only want to stare at her rostro forevermore, I am going to be reticent to even hand her to you and in the beginning I will probably lurk over your shoulder. You also need to be able to do things like research gardening services, place an order on Amazon, run to Target or Jerry’s or Trader Joe’s, learn the way we Tetris our dishwasher. You have to love helping, and I love celebrating people who help, so then we will do great together.             Can you swim? Great. Will you get down on the floor to do tummy time? Necessary. Is singing made-up songs your cup of tea? Great, ours, too. Do you like dogs? Better, because we have two perfect little pups.             I have visions of us driving to Lake Harriet together and power-walking the lake with my baby in her stroller. In the summer, we’ll have picnics on the beach.             Taking care of her is top priority, but this job also needs you to happily do light housework, washing/drying/folding/putting away laundry for humans of all sizes in the house, doing the handwashing (bottles/pacis/snotsuckers), loading/unloading the dishwasher, running errands, etc. We have a weekly cleaning crew so no need to scrub toilets, but you get the idea.             The hours are 8 AM to 5 PM, Monday through Friday. Rate is $20/hour. Actual hours needed will vary up or down, so anything above 40 hours is paid at time-and-a-half. You should have multiple years of experience as a nanny, especially with infants. If you want to bring homework to do while she’s napping and you’ve already checked the household chores off the list, that’s totally fine. Or if you want to bring a book to read, great, or you can borrow one of my 9 million books on mindset/business/philosophy.             Still here? You rock. Reply to this post with the subject: Firstname Lastname, your new rock star nanny.             In the email:             Attach your resume as a PDF.             1. Tell me about yourself.       2. Why do you think you’re a fit for this position?       3. What is your favorite quote?       4. Are you certified in CPR and first aid?       5. Be honest: what kind of driver are you?             My favorite quote is from Dr. Seuss’ book, The King’s Stilts: “And when they played, they REALLY played. And when they worked, they REALLY worked.”             Let’s have the grandest adventure together. 

https://www.kraigslist.org/id/7055395893    

[payprosalaska]

Keys to FMLA, ADA Compliance for Mental Health Are Communication, Flexibility

​A mental health impairment is defined by the National Alliance on Mental Illness as a medical condition that disrupts a person’s thinking, feeling, mood, ability to relate to others and daily functioning. Such impairments often result in a diminished capacity to cope with the ordinary demands of life.

That means employers must navigate both the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) and the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) to help employees manage their mental health.

Debunking Misconceptions

One of the first steps an employer must take is to let go of misconceptions about mental illness. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, more than 50 percent of the population will be diagnosed with a mental health condition during their lifetime. And 1 out of every 5 Americans will experience mental illness in a given year, while 25 percent live with a serious mental illness such as major depression, schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. So the odds are that there are already employees with mental health conditions working in any organization.

When an employee who has not exhibited any telling behavior informs the employer that he or she needs an accommodation for a mental health condition, it can make some employers really nervous, said Melanie Whetzel, lead consultant on the Cognitive & Neurological Team at the Job Accommodation Network (JAN). JAN is a leading source of expert guidance on workplace accommodations and disability employment issues that is funded by a contract with the Office of Disability Employment Policy within the U.S. Department of Labor.

For example, “there’s just that misconception that people with PTSD [post-traumatic stress disorder] are going to be violent [and that] people with bipolar [disorder] are just up and down and don’t know what they’re doing. And that is really not the case,” she said.

When somebody’s mental health impairment is noticeable, there may be some disruption, she said. But a lot of people have mental health impairments that the employer isn’t aware of or doesn’t recognize because the employees are already receiving treatment. “Some people take medication; some people have therapy; or both. The important thing is to look at it on a case-by-case basis, because there are lots of differences within the same diagnosis—differences in severity or how it impacts the person.”

Tamara Rasberry, SHRM-CP, an HR manager for a national nonprofit organization and mental health awareness advocate, agrees that it’s important for employers to understand how different types of mental health disorders can present at different levels.

“Some people have depression, but at a low-grade level; some people have it at a major level. Some people have anxiety, but they can deal with it fairly easily, whereas other people have anxiety where they sometimes can’t come out of the house,” Rasberry explained. “There’s not one way to be anxious, there’s not one way to be depressed, there’s not one way to have bipolar disorder.”

Complying and Communicating

Mental health conditions can trigger compliance requirements under both the FMLA and the ADA.

An anxiety attack, PTSD episode, major depression or other mental health event may qualify as a serious health condition under the FMLA. Likewise, an employee who has a mental health condition that substantially limits one or more of his or her major life activities, who has a record of such an impairment, or who is regarded as having an impairment is likely to be covered by the ADA.

A key to complying with these laws with regard to mental health conditions is communication, both to determine the qualification and need for benefits and to provide an appropriate reasonable accommodation.

Jeff Nowak, a shareholder in Littler’s Chicago office whose practice focuses on the FMLA and the ADA, said an employer has three responsibilities:

Recognize situations in which an employee’s behavior is creating difficulties or concerns in the workplace. Identify those situations and be ready to address them.

Engage in a discussion with the employee to identify assistance that will help him or her perform the job and to manage any kind of mental health conditions that he or she is dealing with, without actually raising the term “mental health.”

Be consistent in the approach to these conversations and in the way that discipline is applied.

 Nowak suggests having a two-part conversation with the employee. In the first half of the conversation, the focus should be on performance. The employer needs to share what has been observed from the employee and explain the employer’s expectations. “Be specific with the employee about how he or she has fallen short of those expectations and express concern about how the work product does not meet the employer’s expectations,” he said. “Then if you need to issue discipline at that point, so be it.”

Then the conversation should transition to the second part, which is really the interactive process under the ADA. Nowak advises managers to ask if there is anything they can do to help the employee improve their performance. “The five words ‘How can I help you?’ can go a long way to initiating that conversation as to what the employee might need to overcome mental health issues that they’re dealing with and that are affecting their job performance,” he said.

[SHRM members-only form: ADA: Reasonable Accommodation Checklist]

Employers should be prepared for a potentially emotional reaction—whether it’s surprise, anger, denial or defensiveness—from the employee, Nowak warned, but should give the employee an opportunity to talk.

One of the reasons these conversations may get derailed is if managers fear engaging an individual who is dealing with mental health issues, according to Jon K. Drogheo, who specializes in recruitment for the mental and behavioral health field. “They’re not sure how to respond—what to do, where to take it and what to say.” He encouraged managers to remember that the individual may be afraid and not likely to admit to having a problem.

Managers can ask, without getting into detail, if everything is going OK and whether the employee is having any challenges at work in order to gain his or her confidence and trust. Then the manager has a good opportunity to segue into sharing available resources with the employee, like an employee assistance program. This is a way to show the employee that the employer cares about his or her performance and about him or her as a person, Drogheo said. “We want to be legally compliant, but we also want to be human.”

Providing Accommodations

Job accommodations can help employees with mental health challenges be successful at work. Although employers may fear that accommodations will be costly, that often is not the case.

Some of the common accommodations that tend to work well require flexibility in the employee’s schedule, Whetzel said.

For example, an employee who can’t get to work at an early time due to medications can be on a later schedule. Likewise, if an employee can work better when the office is quieter, he or she can come in and leave early in order to put in hours when nobody’s there. Or an employee may be allowed to telework when he or she may not be up to being around a lot of people. A flexible schedule also helps so an employee can get to medical and counseling appointments.

“We frequently recommend temporary or trial accommodations,” Whetzel said. “Try it and see if something works, and if it doesn’t work, then you’re not tied to it forever.”

There are two points where an employer should draw the line on accommodating an employee with a mental health issue, Nowak said: when there is a genuine concern about the safety of the employee or co-workers and when the employee’s attendance has become so sporadic that the employer cannot rely on the individual anymore. “Every employer has a different threshold for how much they’re going to tolerate in that area,” he said.

Creating an Inclusive Environment

The stigma often attached to mental health may make employees ashamed to talk about the fact they’re dealing with these issues and may keep them from reaching out for help. Employers can help by creating an inclusive work culture where people feel comfortable going to their HR representative or their supervisor about any workplace issue. “If employees believe they can go to their employer about issues in general, it would then make it easier for them to come if they’re dealing with some type of a mental health issue,” Rasberry said.

One of the ways an employer can demonstrate support for employees with mental health impairments is through the benefits package it offers. “Is mental health a component?” Rasberry asked. “Can people use [health benefits] to see a therapist without having to pay extra? Don’t make it harder for a person to get help when they’re dealing with an issue already.”

Drogheo advocates for providing mental health first-aid training for the organization, noting that a lot of the training is free and will help to ease the stigma of mental illness. “A lot of times managers and co-workers don’t know how to respond to mental illness, and training helps eliminate some of that fear,” he said. “I look at it as if you were getting CPR-trained.”

Perhaps most important, Rasberry said, is being open about mental health and not afraid to have needed conversations. She shares her own diagnosis with major depressive disorder to help combat the mental health stigma. “It definitely impacts me [from] day to day, including my work life. Part of my being an advocate for mental health awareness has to be me not being afraid to talk about my own situation.”

Nowak agrees, adding that employers that have had success in helping employees to manage mental health challenges are those whose leaders have invited the conversation. When someone at the top admits to dealing with mental health issues, employees know it is OK to have those discussions and the organization is committed to helping the employees succeed.

XpertHR’s 8 Tips for Handling Mental Health Issues and ADA/FMLA Compliance report and other mental health in the workplace guidance provide more tips about addressing employees’ mental health challenges and remaining FMLA- and ADA-compliant.

Robert S. Teachout, SHRM-SCP, is an XpertHR legal editor in Washington, D.C. 

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