#i hope you are a slug in your next life xo

[handweavers]

if you give anyone the option between "be in severe pain every day for the rest of your life" or "have less pain but have to take these pills every single day for the rest of your life" the vast majority of people will pick the latter option. for some reason doctors are convinced it's better to suffer than to be addicted to something, but prolonged suffering just leads people to seek pain relief from unsafe sources rather than safe ones, and then be punished for it. i'd rather be on opiates i got at a safe and legal pharmacy for the rest of my life for my pain and be technically addicted to them than suffer in pain just so i can say i'm not an addict, or have to go looking for off the market pain relief and risk getting poisoned. but still so many people refuse to listen to addicts and disabled people, which are heavily overlapping categories lol

[queen-scribbles]

Got Your Back

Oh, look, a Keme/Jorgan fic that is 100% @haledamage‘s fault.

  ...Well, maybe 97%

---

Danger was to be expected.

It was a basic point of Republic military training, doubly so for SpecForce. Danger was normal. You should expect it, meet it head on, but not rashly, and worry about the unit and the mission before the individual.

Kementari Rand had apparently missed the day they reviewed the back half of that mandate. As evidenced by her wild yell as she flung herself across ten meters of uneven terrain to distract the Gamorrean menacing her XO.

Jorgan had been aware of the threat, of course. He had enough combat experience for that. He’d just gambled he could get off the shot he was lining up before the hulking Gamorrean reached him. His rifle spat an orange laser bolt half a second before the thug’s fist slammed into the side of his face and sent him sprawling.

Even as he struggled to shake out the stars behind his eyes, Rand was between him and the Gamorrean, whipping the butt of her rifle into the thug’s face. He gave a squealing grunt as he stumbled back, but recovered quickly. Rand ducked the backhand aimed at her head and slapped one hand against his chest, leaving behind something white and malleable the thug ignored to swing at her with his war axe.

She dodged the first swipe, but over-committed on her retaliation. Even as she slashed open the Gamorrean’s gut with her vibroshiv, he backhanded her hard across the face. As she spun from the force of the blow, a second swing of his axe opened a deep gash up her back.

Rand yelped in pain and stumbled to her knees in the same moment Jorgan staggered back to his feet. Still rubbing his jaw with one hand, he yanked out his blaster with the other and shot the plastique she’d jammed against the Gamorrean’s chest. The explosion sent the Gamorrean reeling and took a chunk out of his shoulder slightly larger than Jorgan’s fist. Jorgan tightened his grip on his blaster and shot the thug--twice, nearly point blank--in the face. Once assured the threat was neutralized, he turned to offer Rand a hand up.

She took it, wincing even as she dryly commented, “Belsavis is such a welcoming place, isn’t it?”

“It’s the height of hospitality,” Jorgan deadpanned as he hauled her to her feet. He scowled at the ugly gash and amount of blood soaking through around it. “Come on, I need to patch that up before you bleed out.”

He wasn’t nearly as good as Dorne, of course; this wasn’t his forte, but he’d gotten plenty of practice with the basics since they left Ord Mantell. Rand followed as he tugged her toward one of the wide tree roots spread out nearby. She hissed with the pain of moving and his heart beat faster. Risk came with the job, but she’d almost gotten herself killed this time and for what?

He nudged her down. “Sit.”

“Thought-ah!-Thought I was the boss,” she joked, even as pain tightened her jaw and she sat to start unbuckling her armor.

“Only when you’re not bleeding to death,” Jorgan growled. “Now hold still.”

The gash ran from near her hip up halfway to her shoulder blade, putting it in a very awkward spot to reach. He glared at it as he helped her work off her armor and pull up her shirt. A handful of centimeters to the left...

“You’re lucky he didn’t catch your spine,” he said gruffly, giving up on finding a comfortable position and settling in behind her, legs spread so she was between them.

Rand snorted. “Yeah, feelin’ real lucky right now.” Despite her flippancy, there was a ragged edge to the words. It made something in his chest clench.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, her sharp flinch as his fingers brushed the edge of the wound putting extra fire in his voice.

“I was thinking I didn’t want my XO getting his damn skull caved in by a Gamorrean with anger issues!” she snapped back.

Jorgan bristled, had to take a breath to steady his hands before he pressed the kolto injector to her shoulder. “Oh, better he cut you in half?”

“Better he does neither,” she said heatedly, hands curling into fists. Whether to outlast the pain or because she wanted to slug him, Jorgan wasn’t sure. He should be thanking her for saving his damn life, not chewing her--his commanding officer--out for almost getting killed. 

But it was like he couldn’t stop himself. “There are better ways to achieve that than flinging yourself--”

“Flinging myself into danger is what I do,” Rand cut him off, hissing at the momentary sting of shifting wrong. “Always has been, not sure why you’d think I’m gonna stop.”

Jorgan dug for the field cauterizer, watched some of the tenseness drain from her as the kolto kicked in, and swabbed away blood with one of the sterile pads. “I’m not saying you should stop,” he snapped, flicking on the cauterizer with an angry swipe of his thumb. “Just advising a little caution find its way into the process.”

“I can’t,” she said earnestly, leaning forward so he could better see what he was doing.

“Why not?” he shot back. He’d never figured her for one to get hooked on the rush of combat, but clearly-

She muttered something, and he paused just before the cauterizer met the wound.

 “What?”

“I just got you back,” she repeated, louder but not angry. Firm. Her head tilted to the side, gaze and hand drifting toward the still-shiny metal of the cybernetics that had replaced his lower left leg after the Gauntlet mission. She curled her fingers back before making contact, however, gaze shifting to fix on something in the distance. “I won’t lose you again.”

He was, for once in his life, tongue-tied. “Major-”

“I won’t,” she repeated. The words were sheathed in durasteel and brooked no argument.

Not that Jorgan was intending to argue; he didn’t plan on going anywhere, and was far happier with the Havoc assignment--with her--than he’d ever thought possible. But he couldn’t think of any reply, and so silence fell over them as he set to work closing up the wound. Rand was, as always, a model patient; holding perfectly still in her hunched forward position while he worked. She flinched a little once or twice, and he paused until she relaxed each time.

“You know,” he began as the last of the wound sealed up and he set aside the cauterizer to reach for bacta patches, “this is not what I had in mind when I said I wanted to do more than peek.”

Rand’s shoulders shook with her quiet laugh. “That’s a relief. Always good to know your second in command’s not wishing harm on you.”

Jorgan snorted a half laugh of his own, smoothing the patches against her back. It took three to cover the length of the gash and he frowned as he ran his thumb around the edges of the last one. “Exactly the opposite, actually. I’m thinking you should probably spend an hour or two in a kolto tank next time you get a chance.” He let his hand linger once the patch was secure. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”

She pulled in a breath that shook but made no reply. In the heavily expectant silence that followed, he let his gaze drift off the wound he’d been dressing and on to the other scars that marked her back. Too precise to be anything but intentional, too numerous to be medical, they intermingled with the striped pattern of her fur as if to complete or mock it. He wondered if they were from the same source as the ones that hooked back from the corners of her mouth. But she didn’t like to talk about those, so he didn’t ask. His thumb ran along the edge of the bacta patches--to make sure they were secure, obviously--and just brushed the trailing end to one of those older scars.

Rand flinched at the touch and the moment broke.

“You’re, uh.” Jorgan cleared his throat and turned his focus to repacking the medkit. “That’s deep enough it’ll probably scar no matter what, but kolto would make it less severe.”

“Right. Thanks.” She pulled down her shirt and turned to face him. “Jorgan? I’m glad I’ve got you watchin’ my back.” A smirk curled her lips, but there was a lingering seriousness to it. “Literally, sometimes.”

“And I’m glad I’ve got you watching mine, boss,” he replied, looking up from the medkit to catch her staring at him, sincerity in her eyes. He met her gaze, let the moment draw out, then added, “Good COs are hard to find.”

Rand snorted and looked away to pull her armor back on. “Try finding a good XO sometime.” A sly grin in his direction. “I really lucked out.”

His heart skipped a beat, then pounded through five to make up for it. Save it for the ship, Jorgan scolded himself. “Then that goes for both of us. Sir.”

She slid off the root and turned to offer him her hand, braced to help him stand as well. “Let’s hope that luck extends to finding Dagger Wing.”

He nodded, rubbed the back of his neck, and said the words he should’ve much earlier. “Major? Thanks for the save.”

Rand shrugged and winked at him. “I’ve got your back,” she said simply, and turned to head toward their next objective.

Jorgan let his gaze linger on the new hole in the back of her armor a moment before he fell in step behind her. And I’ve got yours, he promised silently. He didn’t need to say the words.

She knew.

---

Man, I’d forgotten how fun Jorgan POV is to write. :D Love the grumpy cat space husband.

[jordanmayhem]

Janky Panky; My Pain Journey

My journey with pain began back in August 2018 with a pain directly under my breastbone in the center of my body. My doctor saw nothing on my chest x-ray, excused it as acid reflux, prescribed me Omeprazole and life moved on. My pain seemed to lessen but came back with a vengeance around late September. Finally it got to the point where I had to go back to the doctor because the pain had escalated into excruciating (referred, which I’d find out later) back pain that was preventing me from sleeping. I was referred to a chiropractor, who I saw three times before he encouraged me to press my primary care physician once more. “It can’t be a mechanical issue,” he explained. 

I was starting to lose a little bit of hope. Each night was a complete drain on my soul. Pain that enveloped me wore me down to my core as I was wrapped in a heated blanket. I’d sob nightly to my husband, tell him how I just felt I couldn’t do this anymore. I didn’t enjoy my life anymore. Every day was a fight. I would stay up until 4 AM watching Friends on a loop just to distract my brain from the waging war inside my body. It was then that I could finally fall asleep from mere exhaustion. 

I woke up in the mornings feeling rejuvenated, like a blank canvas that hadn’t been touched by the violence I’d felt hours previous. I lived my life in utter normalcy by day, waiting for the night to wreak havoc on my nerves. I visited my doctor once more. She tested me this time for other issues related to pain that was now mostly localized on my left side. On my way to a prescribed ultrasound of my pancreas, she called and finally had an answer. “You definitely have pancreatitis,” she said as I had my hand on the push bar of the imaging center door. I took a step back, sat down on the leather chair out front, and asked what that meant. Pancreatitis: inflammation of the pancreas most commonly caused by gallstones, blocked ducts in the gallbladder, or alcoholism. After images of my pancreas told us I hadn’t had any indication of blocked ducts or gallstones, my only option left was to suffer through it at home on a restricted diet, or end up checking into the ER. 

For brevity sake, I’ll nutshell it from here. I ended up heading to the ER in excruciating pain. “Tell them I sent you,” my doctor said, as if it was a golden ticket to a fresh new room. That was not the case. It actually means nothing for your doctor to “call ahead” to the hospital for you. I was stuffed into the hallway of a multimillion dollar hospital where everyone could see me crying, being pumped full of drugs, submitting urine for a pregnancy test, and more. Oh, and the cherry on top was the literal prisoner in the room next to my hallway bed. He was shackled and had armed guards at his door. There I was, watching my mother absolutely gawk at the sight of it all. I got drugs to take home with me to weather the storm. I lasted 4 days and had to return to the ER again at the advice of my doctor. She said it’s just a very painful ailment, she was surprised they discharged me the first time so quickly. Back to the ER we went and ended up waiting 4 hours to be taken to the same hallway bed. This time I was admitted for 3-4 days. I was given fluids and pain meds to flush the pancreas, a heating pad to calm the breakthrough pain, poked, prodded and cared for by wonderful nurses. After 3 (or 4... I can’t quite remember) days, I was able to leave on a restricted diet and start the healing process again in the comfort of my own home. I hoped I could follow through with the strict diet. I was basically eating soup for the better part of two weeks before transitioning to more diverse bland foods. I had some bad nights, but by and large, I did feel like I was recovering. 

RECENTLY

I do have flare ups still, most recently about 3 nights in a row have been rough for me. I have started a food log in case I need to reflect on it with a nutritionist or doctor again, and possibly so I can identify my exacerbating factors. I’ve started to slug water much more than usual. I’ve also started to feel almost high when I’m NOT in pain, that’s how much relief my body feels when I am normal on the pain scale. 

That is my story so far. I’m planning to check in when I have flare ups, because it always makes me deeply emotional to go through it, and this might help me to channel it in a healthy way. Thanks for reading about my journey thus far. XO