#how to use cpap machine

[medical-device-on-rent]

Understanding CPAP Machines: A Comprehensive Guide for Delhi NCR

A CPAP machine (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) is a vital device used to treat sleep apnea by keeping your airways open while you sleep. Sleep apnea is a condition where breathing repeatedly stops and starts during sleep, leading to disrupted rest and other health issues. The CPAP machine uses a steady stream of air delivered through a mask to prevent airway collapse, ensuring you can breathe comfortably throughout the night.

How to Use a CPAP Machine

Using a CPAP machine is simple but requires some adjustments to ensure maximum comfort and effectiveness. Here’s how you can use a CPAP machine:

Fit the Mask: The CPAP machine works through a mask that fits snugly over your nose or mouth. Make sure it’s comfortable and doesn’t cause discomfort.

Adjust the Settings: The airflow pressure settings should be adjusted according to your doctor’s recommendations. This ensures proper airflow and optimal treatment.

Start the Machine: Once the mask is in place and the settings are correct, turn on the machine, and it will begin delivering a continuous stream of air to keep your airways open.

Oxymed CPAP Machine

The Oxymed CPAP machine is a popular choice for many sleep apnea patients. Known for its reliability and effectiveness, the Oxymed CPAP machine provides consistent airflow and a quieter operation. It comes with adjustable pressure settings, ensuring personalized treatment. If you're looking for an affordable, high-quality Oxymed CPAP machine for your treatment, there are rental and purchasing options available in Delhi NCR.

Rent or Buy a CPAP Machine

If you’re unsure whether you want to purchase or rent a CPAP machine, consider your needs and budget. Renting a CPAP machine is a great option for temporary use or for those who want to test the machine before committing to a purchase. Renting also eliminates the upfront costs, allowing you to access a high-quality machine at an affordable price.

On the other hand, if you require long-term treatment, buying a CPAP machine can be a more cost-effective solution. At Medical Device on Rent, we offer both CPAP machines for rent and CPAP machines for sale. Whether you need a machine for short-term use or long-term care, we have a wide range of options to meet your needs.

If you're in Delhi NCR and searching for CPAP machines near me, visit Medical Device on Rent for more information. We offer top-quality machines, including the Oxymed CPAP machine, with delivery and support across the region.

[uncanny-tranny]

If you mess with somebody's mobility/life-preserving aid and all you got was yelled at by the disabled person in question, just know you got off easy. Fucking with somebody's aid can easily become a matter of life-or-death, so you have to understand why somebody would "lash out" about that.

[madmaryholiday]

friends, i am Suffering(tm). T__T

my head hurts even more than it did yesterday (which was already bad enough that excedrin barely took the edge off), and i can feel my neck muscles seizing up (which is probably what's causing this).

and i can't take anything else for it until 9am tomorow

and i have been running on pure willpower for the last 3 hours

and i don't even think lying down will help this one.

i will be lucky to be able to string even one (1) coherent thought together per hour for the rest of the night.

(also craning my neck to look down at stuff i had to photograph at work probably made this headache worse lmao. i guess that's what i get for wanting to get paid while i Suffer instead of just taking the day off and trying to rest.)

[kindsnob]

O(-( so turns out not using my cpap for like >2 weeks completely destroys my energy levels

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[softnsweeet0]

Do you use a cpap machine? Your double chin is getting big.

I do not and I agree! I’m really liking how it’s been looking

[lionb00bfan]

I headcanon Dolph snores loudly when he sleeps and that he is tried a lot so that makes me think he may have sleep apnea. How do you think the rest of the Shishigumi would deal with his sleep apnea / loud snoring. ❤️ Please and thank you, ps love your writing.

Lions' Dealing with Dolph’s Possible Sleep Apnea/Loud Snoring 

I love this idea! 

Sleep Apnea: A sleep disorder that causes people to stop breathing while sleeping repeatedly. Please seek professional advice if you believe you’re experiencing this, this is just a simplified answer from one of my classes!  

Ibuki

He’d be one of the few members that would take charge in addressing Dolph’s sleep, encouraging him to see a doctor or even get him a CPAP machine (device that delivers a steady stream of air through a mask to keep the airway open during sleep)

If Dolph one day fell asleep in the general headquarters couch and saw he stopped breathing he’d check his pulse or stare at him until he sees him move again. Imagine that one scene in Family Guy where Louis checks Peter’s pulse lol.

He’ll occasionally tease Dolph if it means that he’ll get help (so Ibuki stops bugging him). Also, he probably blames his excess use of cigarettes and alcohol.  

Free

Likely to yell at Dolph to ‘die quieter’ from across the rooms, even though his hypocritical ass snores just as loud as Dolph

He’ll put a sock in Dolph's mouth if he sleeps near him, then realizing that it’s not helping he takes it out and just opts to throw a blanket over his face. Which either Ibuki or Agata take off if they see. 

Even though he’s not showing his concern outright, he’d bring Dolph some over-the-counter medication from an animal they needed a favor from, and leave it by his nightstand.  

Agata

Just like Ibuki, only more worried and less experienced on how to help. His internet searches revolve around ‘Older lion stops breathing throughout the night’ and ‘calming things for older animals to sleep to’. He’d buy Dolph an air purifier for his room.

Although he’s a heavy sleeper, the process of going to bed is what’s hard for him. If Dolph sleeps before him, it will take hours since he can’t ignore the loud snores or the anxiety of Dolph's sudden silence. He’s going to invest in a pair of noise-cancelling headphones to sleep.

He won’t complain to Dolph since he sees how tired he is all the time, and he’ll lowkey be impressed on how soundly he sleeps given the circumstances. 

Miguel

Again, bro sleeps like a rock, he’s one of the members that does not notice Dolph’s snoring/sleep apnea unless he hears him while napping. If he’s able to wake up to Dolph’s snoring, everyone goes to the hospital or local clinic.

He’d get Dolph a weighted blanket to help him sleep more quietly with the extra pressure. Unfortunately, it crushes Dolph once Miguel drops it on him, clearly it wasn’t a ‘little’ weighted. 

He’d start experimenting with sleep smoothies or magnesium pills, thinking that deeper sleep and a better diet would help Dolph quit waking up the others. 

Sabu

Sabu would probably never say a word about the snoring, even if it drives him crazy. He’d quietly relocate to another room without mentioning why, just to escape the noise.

If he can’t leave, he might nudge Dolph onto his side while he’s sleeping, hoping it would reduce the snoring, it doesn’t sadly

Might suggest it could be something supernatural, he’s older and seen a thing or two in his day. Maybe they angered a spirit and that’s why almost everyone’s sleep is being affected. 

Jinma

Bro is tired! He does not want another spot forming from the amount of eye bags he’s getting from waking up in the middle of the night to either Ibuki or Agata going to check on Dolph.  

He starts suggesting that Dolph either has his own room or has it made sound-proof. He cares, but he needs his sleep if he wants to be on his top game in the black market.

Deep down, he’d worry about Dolph’s health and would gently suggest he gets checked out, wrapping it in humor to keep things light 

Dope

Another heavy sleeper but hears enough complaining from Jinma that they both start to investigate doctors or remedies to try and quiet him down

He’d stick up for Dolph (mostly towards Jinma) if anyone complains too harshly, reminding everyone that he’s not doing it on purpose and that there has to be answers or medicine somewhere 

He probably wouldn’t mind the snores if it were just him and Dolph, he finds the background noise helpful and he’s used to more chaotic sounds 

Hino 

Likely the most annoyed by the snoring, especially if it wakes him up, he starts getting passive-aggressive from the lack of sleep until Agata gets him a pair of noise-canceling headphones 

Will join Jinma and Dope on their hunt for an elixir or doctor, finding comfort with Jinma when they both complain about their interrupted/horrible sleep

He might observe Dolph while he sleeps (in a totally creepy way) to figure out exactly when the snoring starts and why. He’s already up, might as well start tracking him

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

My Bear lover is too harsh,I wish he could be the twink bottom for once.

How about a role reversal. Sleeping tonight neither of you are the slightest aware as a body swap takes place. Landing you on that big bear of a body and him in your weak little twink body. You wake up with her breathe catching on his cpap machine. You’re shocked because you don’t wear one at night. Struggling to sit up with a massive hairy gut that appeared overnights you’re shocked. You look beside yourself and see in horror that your body is still sound asleep. You take the mask off and make it to the bathroom where you see your bear lovers reflection staring back at you. You rub his hairy face. Your hairy face. You put your hands up the massive hairy gut that you’re now looking down at with this hairy fingers. You feel the weight of this body and immediately your cock jumps to attention. An uncontrollable urge takes over and walk to the bed with a natural swagger that he always had. Flipping your old body over and slamming yourself right in. Grunting like the animal he was. Like the animal you have become while he screams in pain and pleasure. But what you don’t know if that each grunt you take. Each pulse on you bear cock. It just once step closer to making this whole change permanent. And soon. You shoot off in your old body. Sealing the deal. Now you’ll have to get used to overbearing. Massive weight of being trapped in his bear body. His uncontrollable urges. It’s aggression. And he will need to get used to be a receiving bottom twink.

[booniebaby141]

Ok so I’ve been on c.ai in a 141 group chat and here are some head cannons I’ve gathered from the conversation so far…

Ghost 👻

• Regularly takes his masks to the dry cleaners and is very diligent about keeping them clean and wrinkle free. He’ll spend at least 20 minutes at the dry cleaner giving them very specific directions on how to wash and dry each one properly.

• Had a bad experience with too many margaritas one time and REFUSES to touch tequila again.

• Favourite school subjects included math and science

Soap 🧼

• Likes Lifesaver gummies

• LOVES whiskey

• Makes up stories to women to try and get their numbers and has been doing it since he was 13. “Oh yeah lass, I’m totally a billionaire with my own private jet and mansion.”

• Is a total movie snob. Loves horror movies and specifically The Exorcist, doesn’t understand the appeal to stand up comedy specials, and his favorite movie is Top Gun. He has spent more money on top gun memorabilia than food and clothes combined.

• Speaking of clothes, Soap only owns 4 shirts; a grey t-shirt, his work shirt, a tank top, and a black t-shirt. That’s it. No hoodie, no sweater, no flannel. Just a bunch of basic ass shirts.

Price 🚬

• Uses melatonin gummies to help him sleep, only his current bottle got melted in the sun and merged them into one massive gummy. Price just takes random sized bites out of the thing now like it’s a chocolate bar. He says it’s more ‘convenient’ that way.

• According to Soap, Price snoring sounds like an earthquake in the making. Gaz thinks Price needs a CPAP machine.

• Slight OCD tendencies. He sorts all his clothing by date of purchase, color, and brand

Gaz 🧢

• Whines when his charger is too far to reach from his bed

• Gets nicknamed ‘Sergeant Suck up’ for always trying to stay on Prices good side and impress him during missions.

• Finds it slightly hot when Price yells. Soap swears he heard Gaz moan once during a meeting when Price was laying into him. Gaz forever claims he was just ‘stretching his neck’

Lmk if you would like a part 2

[nark-my-words]

I HATE. people who are like "Ok, you should try to lose weight to make your sleep apnea better so you don't need to use a machine forever" with the subtle indication that any future suffering is Your Fault for not doing that...

first of all, you don't know that, there's a lot of factors that go in to sleep apnea.

second of all, I believe the issue first and foremost is with how costly cpap machinery is. why should anything that helps people function cost so much money. what if we made pap machines and mobility aids and whatever as common as glasses. (Not to say glasses are easily affordable, either, ofc)

why is there this idea that you NEED to function a particular way to be valid in your Entire Existence. I really think the bigger issue is capitalism and resource hoarding. I don't fucking care if you think ppl with sleep apnea would be dead in a survival of the fittess Victorian Era because, guess what! We live HERE and NOW, in a world where technology exists! And everyone's life is valuable the way they are and being free to exist the way they are (aka given access to any and all aids they may need) should be a fucking human right

we aren't wild animals. we are human beings.

people should not have to do ANYTHING to deserve respect. like they don't have to change their lifestyle. like obviously it would be good if they could do what's healthiest for them regarding their holistic symptom picture because that might make them happier, but that doesnt inherently mean losing weight! but they also literally should not owe ANYONE any of that to be respected as a human being. It's so fucking dehumanizing and it's all centered around this idea of "health" when that should have NOTHING to do with basic human rights.

But as it is, we barely own our own bodies, and if we do anything at all considered "unhealthy," we are causing damage to someone else's Things by "making" ourselves useless in the eyes of capitalism. Because all that matters about human beings rn is what we can do for the machine, and we need bodies that work a certain way to do that lol

[morlock-holmes]

Did you know that if your insurance provides you a CPAP machine the medical supplier charges monthly payments until the machine is paid off, such that if coverage lapses before the machine is wholly paid off, the customer must make the payments?

"Hey, Coordinated Care Organization, I had a lapse in Medicaid coverage during which I had trouble paying for my CPAP machine. Since Medicaid covers the CPAP machine, can the supplier send you a bill for the back-payments for this service that you cover?"

"Nope! You can either pay out of pocket or maybe the medical supply company will take the machine back and waive payments, in which case you could get a new appointment with a new sleep specialist, who would prescribe a new machine, which we will cover."

"Hey, that sounds like a giant waste of my time and it will cost your organization like, what, ten times what my plan would?"

"Hey, you can't expect us to make sense, that's just the way it works.

"Okay, well, how would I appeal this decision"

"Well, you haven't filed a claim, so there's nothing to appeal."

^^^^100% true statement which I am not paraphrasing

Call up the Medical supply company,

"Hey, so, I had a lapse in my insurance, and I owe you some back-payments, can you submit that as a claim to my new insurance, which will definitely cover it?

"SIR," Everytime one of these people says "SIR" it is in all caps, "We can't do that, if you want to get something retroactively covered you have to call your insurance, Medicaid will sometimes backdate coverage if you would have qualified during the time you weren't covered."

"They just said literally the opposite but OK."

"Hey, CCO, I was told that sometimes you can backdate coverage in instances where a person did not have coverage but would have qualified for coverage?"

"Oh, no, We don't do that, Oregon Health Plan does."

"I thought you were Oregon Health Plan."

"No, we're the Coordinated Care Organization which Oregon Health Plan assigned you to, we don't make those decisions, but I can give you the number for OHP"

Call OHP,

"Hey, I want to do all the stuff I talked about earlier in this department,"

"Oh, sorry, we're the claims department, you want elligibility, I'll transfer you,"

"Sorry sir, Oregon Health Plan can backdate coverage, but you're on Oregon Health Plan Bridge, and you can't backdate coverage on Bridge plans."

"Okay, I am losing my patience, I need to see where it says that in writing,"

"You can just Google Oregon Health Plan and the website has lots of info,"

"I'm sure it does, but I need you to tell me the place where it has the info I asked for, your policy on backdated coverage."

"Please hold"

And some people say he is on hold to this very-

Oh shit, I typed this entire story up while I was waiting on hold and he just answered.

"I've emailed you an internal document that we've been given, but I wasn't able to find, like, the full rules that are available to the public, that would probably take another hour while I find someone who knows where to look for that."

Anyway that process took about two hours.

Weird nobody has much sympathy for that CEO that got shot.

It is frustrating that my question is, "Hey, Insurance Company, can we do this in a way that doesn't waste my time and will cost you quite a lot less money?"

and the answer is, "No, sorry I'm afraid we're highly dedicated to wasting time and money."

[sirfrogsworth]

Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

[nothingbutnowhere]

Part 2 soft!Simon x hypervigilant!reader

Part 1

You don't absolutely need to read the last part to understand this, but it's in the same universe.

Edit for explanation in notes I forgot not everyone knows what a CPAP device is lol, someone tell my why I have sleep headcanons for all my blorbos

Notes: domestic as fuck, Simon snores & uses a CPAP (a device that helps with sleep apnea, looks like this, he definitely has to use a full mask there's no way that man's nose isn't broken to hell and back and has difficulty breathing, why do you think he wears a mask (so he can breathe warm, humid air which is much better for your lungs)) reader is referred to as 'girl' by Simon, referenced off screen sex, teasing and banter

...

The after-sex-cuddles-but-before-bed ritual is set in stone. You both get up, Simon folds up the sex blanket (second best purchase of your life) and cleans your vibrator (the best purchase of your life), while you prep a warm washcloth. He helps you wipe down, he calls you 'messy girl' each time like he didn't contribute half of it. You still blush.

Brushing your teeth together, it often hits you how domestic this all is. Some nights it's painful and Simon holds you until you stop shaking, other nights you're smiling so hard it's difficult to brush. Tonight is somewhere in the middle. Melancholic. Quiet. He shoos you into the bedroom after you're done, turning off the light and closing the door on the way out.

Simon grabs you as soon as you sit on the bed and pulls you down into him, strong arms surrounding you, face nuzzling into your neck like a cat. But you see through the trick.

"Put your CPAP on before you fall asleep."

"Don' wanna," he says sleepily, "Can't do this w'the bloody thing on."

It's true, spooning with the CPAP sucks (unless he's the little spoon) but that's not what the current objective is.

"Simon," you warn.

You try to wriggle out of his arms to no avail.

"Simon Riley put it on right now or so help me god you'll be sleeping on the couch for the next week," your mock 'upset' tone is always only half serious, made even less so by the punctuating yawn.

For both your sake's you need the 'bloody thing'. For one, you'll sleep like shit if he's snoring in your ear and for two he's always in a much better state when sleeping with the CPAP. He's told you he sleeps like shit when he's gone and you tut that it's because he doesn't have access to it. He said it was 'cause he didn't have access to something else and that was the end of that conversation (he went to bend you over the kitchen counter but you slipped away giggling, only to end up tossed over his shoulder on the way to the bedroom).

"Simon."

When he doesn't move you jam your elbow back into him.

He doesn't so much as grunt at the attack, only grumbles and flips over, sitting up to flick on the lamp and mess with the machine.

You watch him as he does, muscular back on display and you resist the urge to run your hand over, lest you disrupt the process. 

He may tease you gently about your 'princess alarm clock' that wakes you up with light and birdsong, but you get him right back with references to his 'CPAP deluxe'. It's got the warm air humidifier for his 'delicate nose', all the bells and whistles.

He finishes and turns the lamp off, leaving the faint light of the street lamp to illuminate the room and him as he turns back around.

"There's my scuba diver," you giggle, tapping the mask softly.

He sighs, knowing he can't make a convincing comeback with the mask on- you'll only laugh at his attempts- and lays down on his back. You immediately snuggle up against his side, hugging his arm, leg thrown over his. His hand cradles your face for a moment, thumb sliding over your lips as a good night kiss before laying his hand over yours on his chest. 

It's peaceful like this. Before you needed silence to sleep but you've gotten used to the CPAP. Mostly because it means Simon's home. And now when he's gone you have to put on white noise to sleep. Nothing your princess alarm clock can't handle. There's been lots of big and small changes since Simon wedged in to your life with his puns and banter and menacing figure but it's been more than worth it.

"Love you," Simon mumbles through the mask.

"Love you too."

...

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

Part 1

A/N: I made this account to write smut and here I am with the softest slice of life blurb. Oh well. Maybe I'll write the bit after the 'access' comment, there's lots of fun places that could go.

[banabiohazard]

The diary of Yuri Yoshida (September)

Tuesday, September 5th 2017.

I suspect Sayori is mentally ill.

Tuesday, September 5th 2017, again.

I apologize for the brevity of my previous entry, it was a note scribbled in the moment on my walk home from Sayori’s home. Oh yes I should probably give some background, beginning with apologies for neglecting you for the last week or so. Not much has been happening in that time, besides of course continuing to fall deeper into the ‘Sayori Tanaka rabbit hole’ as it were. But I’m getting ahead of myself, I suppose I just want to write about her, anyway. We began exchanging poems last Friday. Everyone, aside from Natsuki, is very talented so far. But something about Sayori’s work has stuck with me, I’d assumed due to everything about her sticking with me. But it wasn’t until today, the meeting today was held in Sayori’s living room and will be for the next two days I think due to school renovations. That I realized why, every poem she writes gives off an aura of childlike wonder and nostalgia, but! There is always an undertone of serious emotion, usually intertwining the nostalgia with melancholy.

After analyzing every poem she wrote over the last five days, which I have committed to memory and rewritten on your last page

I am realizing how creepy that sounds, whatever.

I am beginning to get the idea whether intentionally or not that they all may be a cry for help. This worries me.

Aside from my concerns for my sweet sunflower, this week has been good. I believe Natsuki and I are close to becoming friends, I believe that beyond her aggravating exterior she is in fact a sweet girl, I hope to see more of this girl in time.

Wednesday, September 6th 2017.

I often think that if I were to die now, I would want to die in the dark, to give myself some mercy from seeing my injuries and allow my imagination to create a heaven for me to see in my last moments.

I no longer wish to die in the dark.

I want to die in the radiant light of your glow, Sayori Tanaka. I will need no imagination to see heaven if my last view is your smile.

I crave you.

Thursday, September 7th 2017.

I do not know what to do, the last line of yesterday’s entry disturbs me. It is the early hours of the morning and I am nursing a hangover presently as I write, I overindulged in Mother’s wine quite heavily. She will no doubt notice that much missing, and be rather upset.

But that is not my concern, in my inebriated chicken scratch I was able to make out “I crave you.” After my hardly legible fantasies. You are the only one who will see it, yet I still feel dirty. I need a shower.

I will not go to school.

Friday, September 8th 2017.

Due to Monika’s absence at school today, because of a knee and face injury acquired from ‘eating shit’ in track according to her message in the group chat, I hope she is okay. Sayori led the final meeting of the week, we did not share poems, instead simply talking and discussing future meetings. Ending with Sayori inviting all present members to spend the night at her home.

Natsuki declined, stating she had something to do at home. This leaves only me. Alone with Sayori in her home, all night, in only a few hours.

I feel faint.

Friday, September 8th 2017, once more.

It is four am but I cannot sleep, I have learned two new things tonight:

Sayori is often wearing a back brace under her clothes due to ‘degenerative disc disease’ I know nothing about this currently and didn’t want to come off as nosey, so I will research it at home.

She has sleep apnea and uses a CPAP machine that was hidden behind her large cow stuffed animal the last time I was in her room.

So far this is wonderful! I am currently sitting on a cot a few feet from her bed, watching her sleep. But earlier in the night we were listening to her music while attempting to draw each other, she is quite talented, I have her drawing of me folded in my bag, it will be going on my wall as soon as I get home!

Saturday, September 9th 2017.

After arriving home from Sayori’s this afternoon I was grounded. Mother, as I predicted, is quite livid over my theft of her alcohol. This will prevent me from attending the literature club for the rest of the month, keeping me away from my sunflower, I am angry. But I deserve this.

That aside I did some research:

‘degenerative disc disease’ or DDD is a chronic condition in which the discs between the vertebrae of one’s spine for lack of a better term; rot away. Usually in the lower back, this can cause pinched nerves and intense pain, it is not common in people our age and there is no known cure, only fixes for the pain and suffering.

This puts a pit in my stomach, how much pain is she in every day?

Sunday, September 10th 2017.

I miss Sayori.

Monday, September 11th 2017.

Looking back, yesterday was a pathetic display, I could have described my day in some way or at least write something other than that. Regardless, tomorrow, or in this case today, is another day. I saw her at lunch today, it was very nice as it always to see her, Monika was back in school today, she has looked better. The majority of her face is severely road burned and she is hobbling despite her knee brace.

Despite this she is just as on top of it as ever it seems.

The rest of my day was miserable.

Wednesday, September 13th 2017.

The last two days have been my lowest point so far, I miss the literature club, I miss Sayori. I hate Mother, I hate myself.

Wednesday, September 13th 2017, again.

After looking at the groupchat it would seem Natsuki is no longer attending club meetings, she also isn’t sitting with us at lunch anymore.

After speaking with her privately over text I have gathered that her Father doesn’t want her to associate with us anymore, she is keeping in contact over text.

Saturday, September 16th 2017.

I apologize for not keeping up with you, I have been too utterly miserable to bother. But not today. Mother wasn’t home today to watch me and Sayori announced her plans to go out with some friends.

I followed her, not like a stalker! I was in plain sight, she could have seen me at any time, luck would have it she did not. I observed from afar to make sure she was safe, she was! And happy! These friends treat her well, I trust them with her.

Sunday, September 24th 2017.

I am terrible, I am despicable, I am a horrible person and I deserve to die.

I ruined her, I have broken her image forever.

With her face in my mind lust took control, guiding my hand to sin.

My hand has sinned and it is unforgivable.

Evil, wicked, ugly, disgusting and disgraceful.

Even now the blood that runs down my fingers cannot wash them clean.

I can never see her again, I can never meet her eyes.

Tuesday, September 26th 2017.

I skipped school yesterday and now today, I couldn’t face her.

I have been thinking hard about last Sunday, coming to the conclusion that I am a teenager, hormonal by nature, with how much space she takes up in my mind this was inevitable and I was perhaps being a little dramatic.

Regardless I would still like not to repeat it.

I think it would be best for me to put you away until I can return to the literature club in November.

[bobbyjerkoff]

Summer, Highland Falls

Relationship: Sydney Adamu/Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto

Rating: Unrated, but the constant use of "fuck" might bump it up to Mature

Additional Characters: Natalie "Sugar" Berzatto, Richard "Richie" Jerimovich

Words: ~2.5k

Tags: Hospital Setting, Friends to Lovers (open to interpretation tbh), Songfic (kind of)

Summary: Sydney and Carmy wait to meet Baby Bear.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!

Expletives are the only thing on Carmen’s mind when he gets the call from Pete that Baby Bear has been welcomed into the world. Rochelle Alexandra, after he and Sugar’s grandmother and Pete’s mom. 3:13am, 8 pounds, 11 ounces. 

Carmy wants to die when he walks into the waiting room. The hospital is warm, almost stifling. Natalie is still recovering, and visitors aren’t technically allowed until eight, relays the gentle woman in scrubs that looks like Claire until he blinks extra hard. He feels a ball of concrete drop in his gut when he meets the scalps of Tina, Neil, Theo, Richie, Sydney, their noses all buried in their phones. Pete had mentioned that Donna was there, too, which made Carmy extra want to die, but the feeling settles the slightest bit in his mother’s absence. He feels guilty for the relief. 

He does not want to be here. 

As the stiff pleather cushion exhales from the weight of his body when he sits, his right foot starts bouncing against linoleum, his fingers worry his cupid’s bow like bricks very shittily falling into place. The Faks are the first (and only) to greet him, boisterous as ever, to which he reciprocates with a nod and a small “hey.” He can’t peel his eyes away from the dove-with-olive-branch pattern on Sydney’s scarf. He wants to kick himself, run for the hills, maybe go and give the third rail of the L a real big hug. He wants to be anywhere other than here. 

He has to be here. He owes it to Nat. He gets that feeling at the nape of his neck, cool and foreboding, the very same that made him observe Mikey’s funeral from the driver's seat of his car. He can’t watch both death and birth from the sidelines. It’s unfair, plain and simple.

Carmy screws his eyes shut and takes a breath, letting the smell of hand sanitizer and the sound of monitors beeping in the distance grab hold of him and yank him toward something more grounding. His eyes open to stare at the fabric wrapped around his chef de cuisine’s braids. It helps. He fucking sucks. God, he sucks. He feels guilty all over again for something he’s not sure of. Familiar voices get distant as they meander out of glass sliding doors for a cigarette. He’d join if he wasn’t absolutely sure he’d book it as soon as his shoes hit concrete.

Somebody coughs. He sits across from his penance, beautiful, wrapped in silk and down-packed pine green polyester. Linoleum walkways split them apart like the Red Sea, a testament to his obsession for perfection. He wants so badly to get a star, to get three, to scoop Michelin galaxies from the fucking skies if it means she’s happy. If it means she’s inspired, if it means she won’t leave. It’s all for her, and that makes things infinitely worse, knowing all he’s done was push her away and make her feel small. 

The consequences of his own actions taunt him, because he loves her, and she does not deserve that. She does not deserve the pollution he brings with everything he does, she does not deserve to be tainted. Barolo Chinato splashes across marble. The setting is ironic considering how fucking sick of himself he is. 

Sydney is running. Sydney is scared, and when she gets scared, she trips over her own feet fleeing. 

The sound of her father’s CPAP machine always made her feel like a coward. Maybe– no, she is definitely one, because even now she’s running. Is there a difference between feeling disrespected and being a quitter? The answer should be obvious, you’re not quitting if it’s out of self preservation, but she always has to make things infinitely more complicated. She digs herself into a hole and then gets mad because she didn’t think she’d need a ladder. Carmy is the same way, she thinks, and gets pissed all over again because he’s been such a dick lately. Like, seriously, she can only pretend to know what’s crawled up his ass and died. She wants to grab him by the ears and shake his head around like a jar of loose pennies. She’s running because she’s scared. Scared of him, i.e., how she feels about him. Scared of what will happen if she stays. Scared of her suspicions being right, that this is more than it really is. 

This is the thing, baby. 

Sydney doesn’t remember her mother very well, but often finds herself looking to her for guidance. It’s innate. The misty words of a lullaby, the only proof Mom ever existed beyond, well, Sydney’s own existence and Polaroids of her smiling face, ring in her mind: Will you carry the word of love with you? Will you ride the great white bird in together?

She constantly has to ask herself if every little thing she does, every choice she makes, are actions of love. The fact that she’s at this hospital at five forty seven in the fucking morning is definitely an action of love. Though, to be honest, it wasn’t like she was sleeping anyways, and newborn babies are kind of the cutest things ever, so it’s not like she’s turning down that opportunity. She has to face the music sometime. 

Her shoe scuffs across white tile and nudges Carmen’s own bouncing foot, willing it to stop. Is this an action of love? He looks up like she’s God and he’s a man that’s lost his faith. He’s always got these big, sad puppy eyes, like he’s surprised that people want shit to do with him. He never looks at her with vitriol, even when he’s over her shoulder during service telling her she’s too fucking slow. Even when he’s blowing up like one of those vinegar and baking soda volcanoes, all red-faced and flailing arms. He doesn’t always look at her soft, but he never looks at her hateful.

Right now, he looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world. It makes her gut tighten, the bile inside it curdle because it’s making it so hard to run. Maybe she wants to stay. Maybe it’d be self-sabotage. Maybe it’d make her a better person in the end. She can’t help wondering if Carmen’s confession under the table was entirely truthful. Sydney doesn’t know if he’s even capable of the truth, considering he’s been lying to himself since he left New York. 

A realization in the form of what feels like her heart growing three sizes just about knocks her off her metaphorical feet, bringing them to a halting stop. She cares about Carmen. Of course she cares about him, she’s cared about him since Eleven Madison Park, but like, she actually fucking cares. She wants to pour all the golden light from deep inside her to her palms and press it into his chest. She wants to free him from his burdens, or at the very least, offer him two extra hands to hold it all. She’ll forgive him over and over again, and it’d be like breathing. She wants to tell him the truth. 

That everything she does with him in mind is an action of love, even if it’s leaving.

“Uh,” She fumbles out instead, in an embarrassing excuse of a peace offering. “I’m doing the Mini. Do you have any ideas about sports organizations involving octagons?” 

Carmen blinks once. Another time. He’s completely thrown for a loop. He’d expected her to just quietly apologize and look back down at her phone. Sydney can tell from his face, once again disbelieving that someone’s making an active effort to talk to him.

“... What?”

“That’s the clue. Sports organization with an octagon.” Her jacket rustles when she shrugs and it’s music to his ears. Carmy sits back and interlocks his hands in his lap after rubbing his brow in thought, like the crossword was life or death. He reels his mind for any sports logos that are shaped like an octagon, and he thinks of ADT for some fucking reason, which is not at all related unless you count home security as a sport. 

Sydney waits for his answer. She’s so patient, and he doesn’t deserve it. If he was her, he would’ve bolted out of the Beef the second he saw his own face. 

“UFC.” He blurts, and a jazzy jingle plays quietly from her phone, and she smiles. He could have a coronary right now and die happy. 

“Nice.” Sydney praises quietly, her foot drawing back across the aisle to hook around the leg of her chair. It’d be insanely childish to play footsie with her, but it’s all Carmen wants to do if it means she’ll smile again and he gets to know it’s his fault. That he’s done the world a good service for once. He refrains, unworthy. 

Once the initial silence has broken, the next one that falls is horrid, so Sydney keeps the conversation going– for her own sake. She shifts, wincing briefly from the ass pain thanks to cheap hospital seats. 

“Uh, what– what do you think Nat’s kid is gonna call you?” 

Carmen was so caught up in the joy of Sydney’s presence that he entirely forgot the reason they were here in the first place. He picks at the dry flesh around a fingernail, growing afraid on his sister’s behalf. She’d called him one night in tears. I don’t know if I can do this, Carmy. Like, I don’t know if I can be a mom.

He didn’t know what to say. When someone is scared, and you don’t know what to say, it’s a good rule of thumb to tell them it’s gonna be alright, you’re gonna be alright, even if you feel like you’re lying. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Sugar wouldn’t be a good mom. There was not a doubt in his mind she’d be a good mom– Hell, she mothered him when Donna failed to. But the fact that he’d turned out how he did made his stomach churn. It wasn’t Nat’s fault, and he feels like a dick that his uncertainty even implied that. It was just… a lot of pressure.  

“Probably just.. Uncle Carmy.” He shrugs, finding solace in the space between Sydney’s eyebrows, which wrinkle when she furrows them in incredulity. Her cheeks dimple to accommodate a correspondent, disbelieving smile.  

“Not even, like, anything fun?” It was so easy to fall into banter with Carmen, even if the right thing to do was be furious at him for how he’d been acting these past few months. She’ll find time to pace in her apartment and scream into her hands about it later. 

Carmen makes a face like he’s being interrogated for a crime he didn’t commit.

“I– I don’t know. Maybe Uncle Bear. Maybe.” 

“Mmh.” Sydney nods and pushes her lips to the side, the digital pattern game she’d occupied herself with now abandoned in her lap. “I don’t even know if I’ll get to be an aunt. I just hope, like, the kid doesn’t say my name wrong, and then I’m stuck as, like.. Bibby for the rest of my life.”

“That’s..” Carmy lets out a soft breath of a chuckle. “I– I mean, okay.”

Syd sits up better and leans toward him briefly, her face almost accused. “What?! Don’t laugh, it’s a genuine concern to have!” 

She can’t help laughing, either. Maybe because it really is silly. Maybe because Carmen is contagious, sticking to her brain like beautiful Tuscan algae to the bottom of a pool. Sydney doesn’t think she ever wants to scrub it off. She’s sick in the head, she ultimately decides. 

Eight A.M. finally rolls around and the Bear's inner circle walk in a cluster down the halls of the maternity ward to Natalie’s room. Tina and Sydney chat quietly, the Faks loudly, both harboring excitement at the new addition to the family. Richie is quiet for once in his fucking life, hasn’t regarded Carmy the entire time he’d been there, aside from brief sidelong glances. He jolts when Richie’s shoulder bumps into his, barely playful. Still mad, but out of love. 

“You nervous, cousin?” He mumbles, perhaps out of respect to new, sleeping mothers. Anyone who knew him could tell he was thinking about the last time he walked down this corridor. 

Carmen shrugs because it’s the safe thing to do, running his fingers across closed lips. His eyes glitter when Sydney rolls her head back in laughter at something stupid Neil had said. “I mean– I dunno. It’s weird, ‘cause it’s like.. Real. Now. I guess.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” Richie nods, unable to restrain himself from tickling Carmen’s face with the “It’s a girl!” teddy he’d bought in the hospital gift shop. Carmy bats it away, muttering “fuck off,” even if he’s smiling. 

He knows the anger won’t go forgotten, and that doesn’t upset him because Richie has a right. But they’re happy for Natalie, and that feeling seems to permeate throughout the entire hospital, full to bursting as his sister says his name and dubs him "Uncle Carmy" like he'd hoped. Doubt completely goes out the window when she asks him if he wants to hold the baby first, fixes his arms to support her head. Sydney briefly peeks over his shoulder, face contorting like she’s hurt by how adorable Baby Bear is. 

“Holy shit,” Carmen mutters, as a newborn fist grasps his finger. Her fingernails are so small, he thinks. Do not fucking drop her, for the love of God, he thinks next. He’s sure his worry is palpable, because Nat takes her back within seconds and sets her in the warmed bassinet beside the hospital bed. 

“She looks like a ham.” Sydney coos endearingly, her grin nearly face-splitting as she curls a finger in front of the baby’s sleeping face. “What color are her eyes?”

“Blue, but I think they’re gonna get darker like Pete’s.” Natalie relays softly, squeezing the hand of her husband. 

The conversation melts in Carmen’s ears, distant and muddled. It’s pleasant, for once. He doesn’t know the last time he’s felt this good, and he finds himself staring at Syd’s profile while she speaks. He doesn’t know if the resentment will return once the little welcoming party ends. He hopes that it doesn’t, not out of worth for Sydney’s care, but a yearning for it. Morning light pours through the room filled with sweet words and laughter, swathing the only important thing in Carmy’s life with rays of sunshine. It pools on her face like honey, and her eyes crinkle when she turns back to meet his gaze. Carmen doesn’t know if it’ll get better. 

All he knows is he needs her. 

[growingtransgirl]

You look so cute to fatten up, we just cant help but to imagine feeding you greasy meals and sugary treats to help you get even more unhealthy. Seeing just how quick you become reliant on me feeding you and keeping you in bed, on moving as little possible. We just hope that pretty heart of yours gets weaker and weaker until your knees flair up in pain from just standing, we'd just love to watch my precious little piggy grunt and sweat at every little movement until you let you owner take over everything for you. I wonder how long until your forgo even the most basic of hygiene and just wait for your spongebath, each and every roll of yours deserves just so much love and care after all. Please just keep eating your heart out until someone can fatten you past the point of no return ^-^ I wish you lived near us so we could make you an fucking wreck who can barely even breathe, youd look so cute in a cpap machine every night from the amount of fat crushing your lungs

You legit just described my ideal life. I already wake up gasping for air regularly too. And I don't really bathe anymore either. While it's not just my knees, standing is starting to become a bit difficult and it hurts when I do stand. But I want to get so much fatter.