#i’m on antibiotics and like i’ve had too many painkillers so if this doesn’t make sense that’s my bad

[cuttoothed]

For the second day of @jonmartinweek, mostly for the prompt "injury", though also a little bit "love confession" (by omission).

Set directly after episode 92. Content warnings for mild descriptions of Jon’s canonical injuries (blood, burns).

*

Things are...tense, when they go back down to the Archives. Actually, “tense” is probably an understatement, after finding out that Elias murdered not only Gertrude Robinson, but also the unknown man in Document Storage—who as it turned out was none other than Juergen bloody Leitner.

A lot to take on board, all in all.

Basira seems to have accepted her new employment status with eerie calm, and starts setting up at Sasha’s old desk (oh god, Sasha’s dead, has been for months), fetching notebooks and folders from the stationery cupboard and arranging pens and highlighters in a desk tidy. Daisy is nowhere to be seen—thankfully, Martin thinks, because she was even scarier than usual in Elias’ office. Melanie storms off into the stacks and there are sounds of shouting and things hitting the floor, which Martin is in no hurry to investigate. Tim sits at his desk with his feet propped up for about five minutes, then stands up and says: “Fuck this, I’m off to the pub.” He doesn’t invite anyone else to go with him, and Martin thinks their presence probably wouldn’t be welcome.

Jon arrives in about half an hour later, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke. Normally Martin would disapprove, but the way things are right now he’s tempted to take up a few bad habits himself. Jon looks...exhausted, defeated, his shoulders slumped wearily. His clothes are smudged with dirt, and there’s drying blood crusted around the injury on his neck; the bandages on his hand are starting to slip, revealing the angry, raw burns beneath.

Martin’s not sure he’s ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

Jon gives him a small, tired smile as he passes, then heads into his office and shuts the door. Martin knows that no sane person would try to go straight back to work looking like they’d just been through a war zone and still with an open wound; he is also aware that Jonathan Sims is the sort of person to do precisely that. He hesitates for a few moments, then makes a decision.

He fetches the first aid kit from the break room, and goes and knocks on Jon’s door. It’s a firm knock, a knock that he hopes says “I’m coming in whether you like it or not”, because it’s not beyond Jon to try to avoid them all for an extended period.

“Come in,” Jon calls, and even his voice sounds exhausted. When he sees Martin enter the room, his expression softens in a way that’s difficult to parse. Is he just relieved that it isn’t one of the others? Or is he actually pleased that it’s Martin?

It’s been two months since Jon went into hiding while suspected of murder, and the last time Martin saw him he had been quite sure Jon was planning to—to hurt himself, somehow. Before that, though, there had been a time when they were...well, close, in a way. Jon had let his guard down around Martin, in the midst of being so suspicious and afraid. He had trusted Martin, when he didn’t trust anyone else, had eaten lunch with him and talked about boring, ordinary things, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing just a little. He had even laughed, sometimes. It had been, despite everything, one of the happier times in Martin’s life, and if that’s not pathetic he doesn’t know what is.

“Hi, Jon,” he says.

“Martin,” says Jon, his tone soft. “It’s so—ahh, how are you?”

“How am I? You’re the one with a bloody great gash in your neck and looking like you put your hand in a fire.” Martin brandishes the first aid kit. “You really should go to the hospital, but I know it would be a waste of my time suggesting it.”

“Thank you for bringing that,” Jon says. “I appreciate it. You can just leave it on the desk.”

“Nope,” Martin tells him cheerily, setting the kit down and opening it. “I know you, Jon. If I leave it with you it’ll still be sitting here untouched tomorrow. Plus, I got my first aid certification when I was working in the library. It’s probably expired now, but I think it still counts.”

Jon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he huffs a breath that might be a laugh, and nods in concession.

“All right then,” he says.

Martin snaps on a pair of disposable gloves and directs Jon to sit on the desk and undo the top two buttons on his shirt, so Martin can examine the wound on his neck. It’s shallow, fortunately, and the bleeding seems to have already stopped. Martin cleans away the crusted blood as gently as he can, though Jon still winces a few times.

“What happened?” Martin asks, as he smears on antibiotic cream.

“Daisy. She, ah, she decided that I was dangerous. Needed to be dealt with. Fortunately Basira was able to convince her otherwise.”

“Bloody hell,” Martin mutters. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he’s always felt afraid around Daisy, like a rabbit being in the same room with a fox. But he just sort of assumed it was typical Martin fear of, well, everything. He never thought Daisy would actually hurt any of them. He applies a bandage carefully over the wound, and then turns his attention to Jon’s hand. Unwrapping the bandages reveals the red, blistered mess beneath, and Martin hisses in sympathy.

“Please tell me you went to the hospital for this.”

“I went to a walk-in clinic,” Jon says. “They cleaned it up, gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. They, uh, they did recommend I see my GP for follow up monitoring, and that I should get a referral to a physiotherapist, but, well, it’s been a busy few days.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, exasperated, and Jon smiles a bit shakily.

“I know,” he says. “I will go to a GP, I promise. It’s just a bit tricky when you’re wanted for murder. Anyway, it seems to be healing rather well, all things considered.”

Martin considers whether to apply antibiotic cream, but the skin doesn’t seem to be broken, and he knows it’s best not to touch the area more than needed. Instead, he rewraps it with clean, dry bandages, being sure to keep them loose.

“How did this happen?” he asks, to distract himself from the fact that he is, technically, holding Jon’s hand. Jon gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“I, uh, I was trying to get information from a devotee of the Lightless Flame. This was her price.”

“The Lightless Flame? That cult—from the statements?”

“The same. As it turns out, a—a lot of things from the statements are real. Unpleasantly so.”

“I—yeah, I sort of figured that out when Tim and I got trapped in these weird corridors for days by that Michael...thing.”

Jon’s face blanches, his brows furrowing.

“You—god, Martin, I didn’t know. Are you—I mean, you’re okay, obviously, but— Have you seen Michael since?”

“No, and I hope I don’t.” Martin feels faintly nauseous at the memory. He doesn’t realize his hands are trembling slightly until the fingers of Jon’s hand, the unburned one, touch his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he says. “When I realized a-about Sasha, about that thing, I hoped I could take care of it myself, spare you and Tim. I never wanted to drag you into all this.”

“I don’t think there’s much avoiding it,” Martin mutters miserably. “And you didn’t seem to mind dragging Melanie into it, while you were on the lam.”

“I shouldn’t have asked her for help either. It wasn’t fair to put any of you in the position of aiding a suspected murderer.”

“I never believed you did it,” Martin tells him fiercely. “It just would have been nice to know you were okay, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I—I wanted to contact you, but it seemed too risky. I knew the police would be watching you, since we’re friends. Or—or at least friendly.”

Everyone I’ve talked to says you and him were close. Martin had been ridiculously pleased by the accusation at the time, and he feels the same now, with Jon’s injured hand cradled in both of his. Jon trusts Martin with his wounds, his vulnerability. Jon wanted to contact him; Jon thinks they’re friends.

“I—” Martin starts to say, and he doesn’t know if his next words will be I missed you or I worry about you or some humiliating romantic confession blurted out and impossible to take back. He draws a deep breath, and instead says: “I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose one.”

He says it like a joke, and mercifully, Jon takes it as one, and gives a relieved laugh. Martin realizes he’s long since finished bandaging the burn and is now just sort of...holding Jon’s hand; he releases it, reluctantly, and Jon smiles, lifting his other hand to touch the bandage on his throat.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, hopping down from the desk. “I appreciate it, really.”

“As a token of your appreciation, you can go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for that hand,” says Martin firmly, closing up the first aid kit.

“I will,” Jon says solemnly, and Martin believes him, but he’s also going to check in and remind him at the end of the day because Jon has a tendency to forget about trivial things like his own wellbeing. It’s just who he is, and Martin’s made his peace with it, like he’s made his peace with being utterly, hopelessly gone for Jonathan Sims.

“I was going to make some tea, if you fancy,” he says as he opens the door. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Oh, and Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m back as well. I—” Jon hesitates a moment, then says: “I missed your tea.”

It’s not much of a declaration, but Martin understands what Jon means by it; for the two of them, it means a lot.

[captain-josslett]

Hospitalised Part Two

(Part One) 

Summary: Emma gets very ill while having sister night with Kara and Alex.

Words: 4.5k+

Warnings: Vomit, Needles, Mentions of Blood, Pain, Claustrophobia, Angst, Fluff

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor (Eventual), Alex Danvers x Sam Arias

Okayyyy. So I’ve been working on this all week. Humming and ahhing it this was good enough. But I’m just gonna most it. There should be a part 3 at some point! I hope this is okay!

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated.

Taglist: @thewitchandtheassassin , @natasha-danvers , @life-is-hella-unfair , @finleyfray​, @supergirl-writingz​

It has been five days since Emma Danvers was admitted into the hospital and her own private room. Many tests have been performed, one being an ultrasound where the technician confirmed Emma’s gallbladder was overflowing with stones. Causing her sister’s to hug her close.

More tests were scheduled for later in the week after the antibiotics should have taken out most of the infection in Emma’s liver. The test Emma is dreading the most is getting an MRI. Alex had to tell her all the calming techniques she knew to prepare Emma for when she is slid into the claustrophobic space.

But in the early hours of the morning Emma’s jaundice, hazel green eyes snap open as a familiar pain shoots through her body.

“Fuck!” She cries through gritted teeth. She slowly sits up and rocks her body to try and relieve the stabbing pain in her chest, right shoulder and back. But she feels no relief. “Please stop!” Emma whimpers desperately.

“Em?” Kara’s sleepy voice calls out from the bed next to her in the darkened hospital room.

But all Emma can do is respond in pained gasps and moans. She’s suddenly blinded by a light being turned on. Revealing Kara standing next to her bed.

“Oh Em!” Kara reaches out and feel’s Emma’s sweaty forehead. “I’m gonna get help!” Kara turns to rush out of the hospital room but stops when her baby sister takes a hold of her arm.

“Stay.” Emma wheezes. “Button.”

“Duh, sorry.” Kara rolls her eyes at herself, in her sleepy mind she forgot about the simple technology in the room. She presses the button on the wall to alert the nurse on duty.

The corner of Emma’s right lip goes up slightly in a smile and she weaves her fingers through Kara’s. Her sister gently squeezes her hand, hating how helpless she feels and at how yellow and pale Emma looks. How she’s constantly rocking.

“Glasses. Please.” Emma hates her thick rimmed glasses but she hates not being able to see more.

“Of course! Here.” Kara opens up the glasses and places them in Emma’s other hand. Emma puts them on and the room focuses.

“Good Morning Emma.” Emma’s favourite nurse, Sarah, enters the room and approaches the sister’s immediately. Looking over the machines and tapping on her tablet. “Where’s the pain?”

“The usual. Was. Asleep.” Emma gasps out, trying to breathe through the pain. Her head lolled back and forth repeatedly.

“Okay, from a scale of 1 to 10?”

“9.” Emma grits out. Kara gently squeezes her hand again and Emma weakly squeezes back.

“Okay, I’m going to give you some more morphine to help you feel more comfortable.” Sarah quickly gets to work and after a while Emma is able to lean back on the raised bed. The morphine taking effect and helping her body start to relax. “Better?” Sarah asks as she takes Emma’s temperature and blood pressure.

“Yea, a 7.”

Sarah nods and writes some notes on the tablet in her hand. “I’ll contact the Doctors to let them know you’ve had another attack. We’ll need to do another blood test.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders at her. Needles used to scare her but after being poked and prodded so much her fear has lessened.

“Atta girl!” The nurse smiles brightly and starts the process of the blood test.

“So I was thinking.” Kara starts suddenly making Emma look at her in surprise. “I still can’t see why you prefer The Little Mermaid to Beauty and The Beast!”

A laugh escapes Emma’s lips. Knowing Kara is trying to distract her. “It’s because of Ursula. I mean her voice is incredible. And the laugh! Plus I love ‘Part Of Your World’ more than any song in Beauty and The Beast.”

“But the ballroom scene -!”

“Sharp scratch.” Sarah calls out.

“Is wonderful and I still cry at it.” Emma smiles at Kara’s horrified face. She grimaces slightly when she feels the needle go in. “But it always bugs me how a Prince doesn’t know how to read. Or the fact the fairy turned him into the beast when he was a kid.”

“All done!” The nurse smiles at the sister’s and cleans Emma up.

“Thank you Sarah.” Emma says gratefully and she waits for the nurse to leave the room. “Sorry I woke you.” Emma says softly to her sister.

“Don’t be, it’s what I’m here for.” Kara reaches up and cups Emma’s face. Rubbing her thumb over her cheek.

“But you’ve had a busy day.” Emma whines, knowing Kara worked at Catco and then many hours Supergirling around the city.

“The joys of the work I do.” Kara jokes. “But you are so much more important Em.”

Emma smiles but she feels her eyes growing heavy. The painkillers taking full effect.

“Looks like someone needs to go back to sleep.” Kara says while kissing Emma’s head.

Emma nods slightly. She can’t remember the last time she’s slept solidly and feels refreshed after. Which annoys Emma greatly as she loves sleep.

Kara turns to go back to the spare bed but Emma holds on to her hand. “Stay?” Her weak voice broke Kara’s heart.

“Sure.”

Emma budges over and Kara climbs up on the bed. holding Emma close to her.

“Love you.” Emma says while yawning.

“Love you too little one.” Kara carefully removes Emma’s glasses and places them on the table next to them.

“Only a year younger.” Emma breathes out, feeling herself relaxing in her sister’s arms.

“Yea.” Kara strokes Emma’s blonde hair trying to soothe her. She smiles while listening to her sister’s breathing getting deeper and her heart rate slowing down as she falls asleep.

Kara wakes up to the sound of soft voices. The superhero slowly lifts her head and blinks the sleep away. Across the room on the sofa’s is Alex and Eliza, looking over a tablet.

It seems her mother instinct kicks in because Eliza looks up at her two daughters on the bed and sees Kara is awake. Eliza smiles, quietly gets up and makes her way to the bed. Alex follows behind her, still looking over the tablet in her hands.

“Morning Kara.” Eliza says as she leans down and gives Kara a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes shifted to Emma, snuggled into Kara’s neck.

“Morning.” Kara can’t help but let out a yawn.

“I see she had another attack last night.” Alex whispers scrolling through the information on the tablet.

Kara sighs heavily. “Yea, she was fine when we went to sleep but I woke up to her cursing in pain.”

“My poor baby.” Eliza reaches down and strokes Emma’s blonde hair. “I can see what you mean by how jaundice she looks. And you said it suddenly happened?”

“Yes.” Alex looks up from the tablet. “She was fine a week ago, nothing was wrong other than how tired she was.”

“Yea, but she was sleeping a lot more. I just took it as her period was coming up.” Kara whispers as she rubs a hand against Emma’s back.

“But the day she was admitted I did think her colour looked off. I did notice the signs and I’m angry I didn’t do anything about it.” Alex growls in frustration.

“We can’t change what’s in the past.” Eliza says gently.

Alex nods and goes to get a chair for her Mom and herself. Kara happily stays on the bed, being Emma’s pillow. The three women quietly talk until suddenly Emma bolts up.

“I’m gonna be sick!”

Alex leaps into action and grabs a sick bowl just in time. Kara jumps off the bed, aware her body heat could cause Emma more discomfort. She presses the call button again. Eliza holds Emma’s hair back and puts it in a loose ponytail. She frowns at the pain Emma is in. How her baby daughter rocks back and forth as she heaves. The tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

“Another one?” Sarah says as she quickly rushes in.

“Yes, she suddenly sat up saying she was about to be sick.”

“Poor Emma. Here.” Sarah hands Alex a new bowl while taking the partly full one. She gathers more painkillers and anti sickness medication and injects them into Emma’s cannula. “There you go Emma, you should feel that relief soon.”

Emma nods weakly as she dry heaves. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I wanna go home.” She whimpers causing her sisters and Mom’s heart to break.

“I know baby girl.” Eliza tries to soothe her daughter. Looking on helplessly as she rubs her back.

“Mama?” Emma gasps out before throwing up again.

“I’m here.”

Emma subconsciously leans into her Mom, who has to take the bowl as Alex almost had to lean over the bed due to Emma’s movement.

“I’ve got you baby girl.” Eliza coos and holds her daughter close.

Finally Emma stops heaving and Sarah makes more notes. “Pain level Emma?”

“I-I-I do-don-’t-”

Alex and Kara frown at each other. Worried at how slurred Emma’s speech was.

“That’s okay Emma, lean back and rest okay?” Sarah says kindly. Taking the bowl from Eliza and disposing of it.

Emma feels her Mom slowly lay her back down and immediately falls back asleep, holding her Mom’s hand.

Sarah reenters the room and picks up her tablet, typing away. Finally she looks up at the worried women around the bed. “I’ll alert the Doctors immediately. They should be here soon and generally they have a meeting before going around the wards.”

“Is this normal?” Kara asks, biting her lip.

“Generally no. But each case can be different. Unfortunately Emma seems to have the worst end of the stick.”

The nurse leaves and Kara changes into the clothes she brought with her. Both sister’s decide they are going to take time off work and stay with Emma. Both knowing they won’t be able to concentrate with how Emma is deteriorating. J’onn readily agrees and will cover as director and for Supergirl.

An hour later the door opens. All three women look over and they give Sam and Lena barely their smiles.

“Don’t look too happy to see us!” Sam jokes as she reaches Alex and gives her a kiss on the lips.

“Sorry, Emma had two more attacks in quick succession.”

“Oh no.” Sam breathes out and looks at the blonde in the bed. “She… She does look more yellow… Or am I imagining that?”

“No, she has got worse.” Kara says rubbing a hand over her forehead. Her worry for her baby sister makes her feel anxious and helpless. Realising Lena hasn’t said anything Kara looks up at the raven haired women standing at the end of the bed. “Lena?”

The CEO is staring at Emma intently, looking over every part that she can see. Analysing and running through ways she can help the woman she loves.

“Lena?”

Lena jumps when Kara calls for her again.

“Sorry.” She says quickly and sits in the chair by Kara.

“Don’t be. It’s not easy seeing her like this.” Kara wraps an arm around Lena’s shoulder and pulls her in for a hug.

“Have the Doctors been in?” Sam asks Alex, who shakes her head.

“Not yet.” Alex answers softly, running a hand through her hair. “Sarah said they need to get the MRI done so they can have a better picture of what’s going on. There may be a chance a stone has got caught somewhere and we don’t want that getting left behind when they operate.”

“Poor Em.” Sam looks at the blonde sympathetically and focuses on the hand Eliza is holding. She wonders how Eliza is keeping everything together. If this was happening to Ruby, Sam knows she would be a frantic mess.

Another hour passes. Lena and Sam reluctantly have to leave. Lena is especially sad she didn’t get to talk to Emma and feeling guilty for how busy she’s been the past few days. Even though she’s been leaving work in record time to spend the evenings with Emma, it never seems to be enough time. Lena places a kiss on Emma’s cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark, which she quickly wipes off. Not realising her kiss had woken Emma up.

After they leave there’s a knock on the door. Emma stirs more, taking a deep breath in as she starts to open her eyes.

“May we come in?” Dr Stevens asks as they open the door.

Eliza nods and Dr Stevens, Sarah and a few interns filter into the room.

“Ah Emma! You're awake.” Dr Stevens smiles kindly at the blonde. Who gives a weak smile back. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Emma’s voice is low and gruff. She coughs and Alex immediately grabs the cup of water by the bed and hands it to Emma. Who takes it gratefully, taking small sips. Alex picks up Emma’s glasses and carefully places them on her baby sister. Making sure they go on properly.

“What level is the pain?”

Emma thinks for a moment as she assesses how she feels. “Between 7 and an 8.”

“That isn’t good.” Dr Stevens looks down at their tablet. “Sarah, once Emma has her MRI can you set up a morphine drip? That way we can keep Emma more comfortable.”

Sarah nods and taps on her tablet the new information.

“Due to the recent attacks we are putting you ahead of the MRI queue. One of my interns will take you down in a moment. You need to take anything that has metal off, including jewellery, bras, little pieces of metal in clothes etc.”

Emma nods sluggishly at the surgeon.

“Do you have any questions?” Dr Stevens keeps their focus on Emma who looks at those around her.

“No, I think we are okay for the moment.” Eliza says squeezing Emma’s hand.

“Actually.” Alex pipes up causing everyone to look at her. “Have you got the results from the recent blood test?”

“We do, but I want to see what the MRI shows first.”

Alex nods at this and leans back into her chair. The surgeon bids them goodbye and all of the interns follow them out.

Emma reaches up and tries to unclasp her ear studs. When she struggles Kara stands and helps her remove them.

“Thanks Kar.” Emma says gratefully while Kara places them in a small pot by Emma’s bed. Emma turns her head looking at Eliza, who holds her hand again. “Hey Mom.” Emma has wanted her Mom terribly but due to Eliza’s work she couldn’t get to her baby daughter quick enough. Something that has frustrated Eliza greatly.

“Hi baby girl.” Eliza stands and holds her daughter close. A sniff escapes the blonde until the damn breaks and she’s sobbing into her Mom’s arms. The feeling of safety and home overwhelming her.

“Sorry.” Emma chokes out, feeling embarrassed by her outburst.

“Oh Emma. It’s okay.” Her Mom says while kissing the top of her head.

“But it’s stupid.”

“No it isn’t. You’re in pain and very unwell. You’re allowed to cry.”

“Yea.” Alex stands and hugs Emma’s back. Kara reaches out and takes a hold of Emma’s hand. “We don’t think any less of you for crying Em.”

“Sorry to interrupt but I need to take Emma down.” A female intern stood in the doorway. Kara, Alex and Eliza pull away. Emma shoots Alex a look of panic and Alex motioned with her hand for Emma to take deep breaths. Which Emma copies, but she still looks terrified.

“Remember to keep your eyes closed and think of nice things.” Alex says encouragingly.

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.” Kara starts singing ‘My Favourite Things” from The Sound Of Music.

“Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.” Emma sings with a smile on her face. They both sing the next few lines to each other.

“Brown paper packages tied up with string. These are a few of my favourite things.”

Alex rolls her eyes but smiles at her two musical loving sisters.

The intern smiles too and steps forward making Emma focus on her. “And I just need to check your clothing for metal. Is that okay?”

Emma nods and the intern lifts the blanket and sheets back. Checking the holes and drawstring in Emma’s sweatpants. They pull the sheet and blanket up over Emma.

“Are you wearing a bra?”

“No.”

“Great! And your earrings are out.” The intern pulls the bars up either side of Emma and everyone moves out of the way. Emma looks at Alex again in a panic.

“You’ll be fine Em.” Alex reaches out and holds Emma’s hand.

“You can have someone come down with you. They won’t be in the room with you though.” The intern offers kindly.

Emma looks at Alex and bites her lip.

“Would you like me to come down with you?” Alex asks softly, smiling at how much Emma looks like the child she remembers from their youth. All wide eyed and scared.

Emma nods and Alex keeps a hold of her hand.

“We’ll be here when you get back.” Eliza kisses Emma’s forehead and holds her daughter close. Next Kara gives Emma a crushing hug. Trying to convey all her love in that moment.

“Can’t. Breathe.” Emma gasps out.

“Sorry!” Kara flies back causing Emma to laugh but reaches for her sister again, pulling her into another, more gentle hug.

“I’m sorry but we really have to go.” The intern disengages the break and starts pushing the trolley forward.

Kara lets go of Emma and stands with Eliza in the room. They watch Emma being wheeled out with Alex by her side.

“Al…” Emma says quietly as they wait in the elevator. Alex looks down at her and squeezes her hand.

“Yea?”

“I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay to be nervous Em. But you got this. The doctors need this scan to know the best way to perform the surgery.” Alex reaches up and strokes her thumb across Emma’s yellow cheek. “You remember all the breathing exercises I taught you?”

Emma nods. “But what if I freak out?”

“Honestly, Em, we don’t have time for you to freak out. You need this scan. Keep your mind busy with things you like and focus on your breathing. The machine will let you know when to hold your breath and all that.”

“Okay.” But Emma didn’t feel okay. If she was linked to a heart monitor she was sure it would be going haywire at the moment.

The elevator doors slide open and the intern wheels them to the MRI room. Emma is immediately intimated by the huge machine, and the small gap in its centre. The technician greets them and goes through everything with Emma and asks the usual questions “Are you pregnant?” Which earned a snort from Emma before confirming she wasn’t.

“Okay, so we are all ready for you. Can you stand and walk to the slab?”

“Yes.”

The intern lowers one side of the railing around the bed and Emma slowly lifts her legs over the side. Alex stands by her side, helping Emma get to her feet. Emma closes her eyes for a moment as the room spins around her. Causing Alex to hold onto her.

“Em?”

“M’okay.” Taking a deep breath she opens her eyes again, taking a few cautious steps with Alex holding onto her shoulders and walking with her. They reach the slab and Alex helps her sit down.

“Going to need you to take your glasses I’m afraid.”

“Okay.” Emma takes them off and hands them to Alex. Her sister leans down and hugs her.

“You’ll be fine.” Alex says reassuringly and places a kiss on Emma’s cheek.

“Thanks Al.” Emma thinks she smiles at Alex, but she can no longer see Alex’s face. Just a blob of colour.

The voice of the technician is what she hears next.“Put these earbuds in, they will drown out most of the noise and you’ll hear when the machine instructs you to breathe and when to hold your breath.”

Emma holds out her hand and the ear buds are placed in it.  Emma puts them in her ear and immediately the noises of the room dims. She then lies on the slab and the technician places a shield over her chest and lower body. She is strapped onto the slab and the technician gives her the thumbs up. Or what looks like the thumbs up.

“Ready?” A muffled voice calls out.

“Re-ready.”

The machine suddenly slides her in and she has no problem seeing the top right in front of her face. For a split second panic floods through Emma and she feels like she’s in a coffin. But Emma immediately closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing.

After a while Emma starts imagining she is on a plane. The hum of the machine being similar to that of a plane. The cold air being pumped around her, reminding her of the air con on a plane. How Emma always needs to wrap up and take a blanket with her. The feeling of being squished into the machine, just like being squished in a small seat on a plane.

She pictures herself sitting next to Lena, on their way to Paris or Rome or Athens. Places Emma is desperate to visit one day.

“When you hear the beep, take a deep breath and hold for 15 seconds until you hear the next beep.” An automated voice calls out. Emma follows the instructions and holds her breath and releases when she hears the beeps. This continues for some time. Emma starts getting annoyed every time the automated voice interrupts her day dream of being in a city with Lena. Like visiting the Eiffel Tower or the Colosseum. All the different foods they could try.

Finally Emma feels the machine sliding her out.

“Well done! You’re a very good breather!” The technician jokes causing Emma to snort.

“Well that's good… I guess.” Emma says while the technician unstraps her and removes the shields.

“Here.” Alex says while holding out her glasses.

Emma takes them and puts them on. She looks up at her sister who smiles brightly at her.

“Told you you could do it!”

Emma smiles back at her before slowly sitting up. Alex helps her to her feet again and they walk to the gurney.

“One of our top guys is looking over the scans now, they should let your surgeon know ASAP.” The technician says kindly as the intern pulls the sides up again.

“Thank you.” Emma smiles at the and waves when she’s being wheeled out. “Please don’t make me do that for a long time.”

“I promise.” Alex says while taking a hold of her sister’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.”

“Unfortunately you may not be able to eat. You will probably be nil by mouth until we know if your surgery will be today.” The intern interrupts.

Subconsciously Emma lowers her head and squeezes Alex’s hand tightly. Alex looks down at her sister, seeing how defeated Emma looks.

“Hey.” Scared yellow eyes look up at her. “You’ll be okay.”

Emma nods but remains quiet, lowering her head again as they make the way back to her room.

“Emma! How’d it go?” Kara’s cheerful voice makes Emma lookup as the gurney is put back in place.

“Was okay.” Emma softly says while Sarah installs the morphine drip.

“When you need pain relief just press this button.” Sarah says and Emma nods. Pressing the button immediately. The movement earlier had aggravated her pain.

A voice Emma didn’t expect spoke next. “Was it as bad as you thought?” Green eyes connect with Emma’s jaundice ones. A small smile breaks across Emma’s face.

“No. Though I didn’t shut my eyes quick enough when they slid me in. But I just imagined I was on a plane.”

“That’s a good way of describing it actually.” Eliza says while sitting next to Emma’s bed.

“And I don’t want to sound rude, but, Lee?” Emma’s gaze focuses back on her crush. “What are you doing here? I thought today you had back to back meetings.”

“I managed to do some rearranging. As it’s Friday many were happy to reschedule as it meant they could start their weekend sooner. And as it’s lunch time I brought everyone something.” Lena goes over to the coffee table and picks up the take away bags with Alex and Emma’s food in.

“Oh! I er…” Emma pale cheeks colour in a blush.

“She’s not allowed to eat anything at the moment.” Alex says as she takes the bag Lena holds out to her.

“Why not?!” Kara looks at her sister outraged.

“Incase I have surgery today.”

“Oh! I’m sorry Em.” Lena looks guiltily at the blonde, putting the bag containing Emma’s food back on the coffee table, out of Emma’s view. Though Emma knows Kara will likely be eating it soon anyway.

“Would you rather we ate somewhere else?” Emma notices Sam by the sofa, already eating her lunch. She quickly looks at everyone, almost laughing loudly at how conflicted Kara looks.

“No it’s fine.”

“Phew!” Kara starts eating again, in record time to make up for the few seconds she wasn’t eating.

“So where did you imagine you were flying too?” Sam asks to break up the silence.

“Either Paris, Rome or Athens.”

“Oo nice! Have you been there?” Sam asks with a bright smile.

Emma shakes her head. “No.”

“Maybe I can take you sometime?” Lena tilts her head at Emma and smiles at her.

“CanIcome?” Kara says with a mouth full of food.

“Kara!” Eliza scoffs.

“Was that in english?” Emma laughs loudly.

Kara swallows before trying again. “Sorry, I said, can I come?”

Alex wanted to kick her sister’s shin and shoot her a glare. Instead she looks at Sam who gently rolls her eyes. Alex smirks into her lunch.

“I’ll take you another time.” Lena smiles at her best friend. Secretly making a plan in her head of taking Emma on a week, maybe two week holiday to these cities. Maybe add a few more in that Emma would love.

“Aw okay.” Kara sighs heavily.

‘So oblivious!’ Alex thinks as she shakes her head slightly.

Suddenly a big yawn escapes Emma. “How am I so tired?” She rubs her face frustrated.

“Cause your body is going through a lot.” Alex says between mouthfuls. “Plus you haven’t been sleeping well. Not good quality sleep anyway.”

“Yea… What is that again?”

“You poor thing.” Kara reaches out and strokes Emma’s arm. Careful not to tug the wires attached to the morphine drip.

Emma smiles at her sister and feels her eyes growing heavy. She blinks, trying to keep sleep away as long as possible.

“Emma, sleep, it’s okay.” Her Mom stands and strokes Emma’s head.

“Lee’s here.” Emma says wearily. “Specially.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up Em.” Lena stands next to Eliza. She watches Emma’s yellow eyes slide close and open quickly before closing again repeating. Reaching out Lena takes Emma’s hand and rubs her thumb over it. “Sleep darling.”

Emma finally can’t fight it anymore and her eyes remain close.

[zephyr-together]

it’s been exactly one month since top surgery! here’s a summary of what all went down! disclaimer: please do not feel that you need to feel pressured to remember things from this post or any other, your doctor should instruct you on the most important things to do or not do, and also this is my experience and everyone’s will be different! 

I saw Dr. Kenneth Wolf! I highly recommend him if you’re in the area or able to get to him, very skilled and very cheap (only was $5400, $5900 if you get nipple grafts which I ended up deciding not to have) there is a 250 lb weight limit though, they weigh you the day of surgery so if you’re unsure if you’ll be able to make it I’d suggest seeing a surgeon who operates more on plus sized folks

he was/is SUPER booked, I had my consultation in October and had to schedule surgery in June. this made me confident I made the right decision though because of how many people go to him, and having to be stuck in the body I didn’t want for a lot longer than I thought made me more eager to have it so I wasn’t as scared as I would have been otherwise. that being said, it might be smart to ask ahead how long the wait time is so that you can save during that time! because I didn’t know about the wait I had already had most of my money that I got together since last June so I could’ve had it about four months sooner, but hey everything worked out in the end :) 

speaking of saving money, for this doctor there’s a $500 down payment that I paid when I went to the consultation visit (if you’re out of the area they can do consultation over email btw!) the rest was collected about a week and a half before surgery. I have a debit card so it had to be split up in three transactions. I’m very thankful they worked with me on that!

I went into a small room where the doctor met me, marked me up and took my picture. then he said the anesthesiologist would meet me, which she did in a few minutes and went over a bit of questions/paperwork and took me to the operating room! 

I lied down on a table with my arms out, it felt like I was an alien getting vivisected, that combined with my needlephobia made that a bit scary but I’ve been waiting so long so it was exciting too. they had me hooked up to an IV but I think they did that while I was under because I felt the needle go in and then out. and then in a minute I was out! 

I wasn’t aware of this because it was during the surgery but they have a machine to massage your legs to keep up circulation and I had a tube down my throat too. when I woke up the first thing I hear is “the surgery was a success!! :D” and it felt like a weird dream because of anesthesia but in what felt like a few minutes I was almost as awake as normal which was surprising because I was out of it for hours after getting wisdom teeth out so I thought this would be way worse in that way

I had three intense sensations when I woke up: nausea, tightness and hunger. they asked right away if I was nauseous and gave me an alcohol patch to put on my nose which immediately took the feeling completely away. I had a very specific craving for Burger King’s impossible whopper, I think that’s because of not being able to eat I wanted something substantial like meat (vegetarian so closest thing to it) and something QUICK because hungy 

the tightness was pretty intense and unexpected, I felt desperate to rip off my surgical vest but they assured me it’s actually fairly loose. I think it’s just the incisions that give you a tight sensation but what you see and feel on your body is the vest so your brain says that’s the culprit I think. as time went on I ended up feeling desperate for the vest actually but I’ll go into that later

when I got the whopper I’m VERY thankful my dad who met us after picking it up also got the milkshake because I couldn’t produce saliva at all and didn’t know that would happen. I think that’s from having the tube in my mouth. I also could barely hold anything with my left hand because of that being the arm I had the IV in, but both the no saliva and limp left hand things went away in a few hours I think

by the time we got home which was I think an hour and a half after I woke up, I had really intense pain in my throat and under my armpits. the painkillers they gave me eventually kicked in about an hour or so after I took them, I’d suggest to bring them to surgery maybe if possible so you can take them asap, I think I wouldn’t have had that at all if I did, at that level of intensity anyway. for my throat I basically went nuts and drank water, had popsicles, ice cream, fruit, cough syrup, etc and it went away in 2-3 days or so

speaking of the pain under my armpits, that was from the tubes in me to drain extra unwanted blood and puss and stuff like that, it sounds super awful but I wasn’t allowed to remove the vest for five days and I’m naturally sweaty so I didn’t even know there were tubes in me or that I was draining until like four days later. I was stuffed with tons of gauze under the vest so eventually when I did notice the drainage we pulled out the dirty ones and pushed in some clean ones (they provide you with the same kind of gauze). the main awful thing about it was just the idea of having tubes in me, it didn’t bother me so much when I thought it was part of the incision haha...

now that I complained about the tube and throat pain I will say the “pain” for me of the actual incision area was almost nothing for me at all, just a bit of a weird tingly or pokey sensation every so often and that’s all really. but again everyone is different ! 

appetite was funny because it felt like I’d feel really hungry and eat hardly anything and feel good! another post suggested to have pineapple to help with bruising and I think it worked because I ate pineapple constantly and had pretty much no bruising at all

also I hope this isn’t too gross but I couldn’t pee and I was constipated. it wasn’t too much trouble because for the. pee I could just push and it’d come and for constipation that’s a problem that happens for me in general. both took about a week to wear off. they’re side effects of anesthesia I believe. other side effects I had from that were my legs and arms would feel pretty sore at times and my legs were wobbly, they said that I’d need to move my legs around a bit every once in a while to prevent clotting and I got a bit nervous about that so I ended up going for two walks a day! probably not needed to do that much but I think it helped speed up leg recovery 

after that more intense pain was gone after just a few hours I felt fine to watch shows and play viddy games! I thought I’d be zonked out for days or something but I was pretty alert after just a few minutes of coming out like I said. I could’ve probably drawn or made plushies too but it just felt so weird to move my arms at that point and was probably for the best I didn’t and just watched stuff and played games and slept a lot. it felt a bit frustrating how boring it was at times after a week or so but I just focused on how much of my life I’ll feel good now because of this so the recovery time isn’t that bad knowing that

five days after the surgery I had my first post op appointment! this was for the doctor to inspect the incisions, give us ointment to put on the scars and more gauze, and to finally be able to throw away all of the gauze that was under the vest! at this point I was allowed to take off the vest to replace the gauze and put ointment on as well as shower, and was given bandaids to put on the tubes for showering. however the sensation of not having the vest on at this point was SO horrible to me, I felt like a doll that was being pulled and unraveled apart, it made me want to throw up too so I took a shower as fast as possible and then just opted to get my hair shampooed at salons every other day for a couple weeks, so in retrospect I could have not gone five days with no shampoo but nothing can go absolutely perfectly after all!

a couple days later I ran out of oxycodone and tried replacing it with motrin which gave me three vivid nightmares in a row of having really bad fights with my parents and friend over dumb things which sounds silly but it messed me up emotionally and I kept sobbing uncontrollably out of nowhere that I felt like such a burden to take care of. I thought I was just emotional from the surgery but as soon as I switched to tylenol that went away completely! I don’t think it’s that motrin is bad because I looked it up and it’s a rare side effect, it’s just either that my body specifically doesn’t like it or it was the way it was combined with the antibiotic I had 

the second post op was to remove the tubes and it was 13 days after the first post op. they said if you live out of the area you can remove the tubes yourself so I’m very thankful we’re in the area haha. the left tube came out so smooth and quick that I didn’t feel it even come out at all! the second hurt for a second but I think because it kept getting bent backwards but it didn’t hurt too much. the tubes were SUPER wiggly and actually pretty flat so I think they’re constantly improving them to make them less and less noticeable. 

I was told I had to use the bandaids on my holes for showering and keep gauze on them too for just two more days and I could also throw the vest away then. I still felt too sensitive to get rid of the vest yet and wore it for another week, I still have it in case I want it for now (been going without it for about three days at this point) it still feels very strange without it since it feels like it’s holding you together but I think no matter how healed you are it will a shock to your body to not have that on anymore...also the “holes” from the tubes are more like slits which just look like slightly more open areas of the incisions so it’s barely noticeable. there’s some swelling where that used to be but that’s going down! 

now at this point where I’m at, I still feel best putting ointment on with gauze and bandage wraps I bought as a transition from the vest to nothing under the shirt which seems to be working pretty well! it might be that I’m autistic that I’m so sensitive to that feeling and had to have my vest on longer and now this instead of nothing. also I took three weeks off of work initially (I work a desk job) and asked for a couple more weeks of working from home before going back to the office to be able to adjust

also I will say if you live alone, I think you can handle surgery and taking care of yourself if you’re determined, as long as nothing you need to use to feed yourself and whatnot is up too high, too low, or too heavy. but if you can I’d highly suggest staying with someone who can help take care of you, it really helps easy the transition. in my summary I will say there was almost no pain at all but a whole lot of WEIRD stuff I wasn’t used to, but in the end it’s not a whole lot to deal with, considering! 

[semperama]

Verbs: 4, Pinto!

I apologize, this got a little too long, and I probably should have posted it to AO3 instead, but I’m too lazy to think of a title and all that jazz right now. So hopefully it isn’t too much of a pain to read here!

pinto, convalesce

"So how many 'break a leg' jokes have you heard in the past few days?" Zach asks as he follows Chris into the house, close on his heels in case he trips. He wanted to rent a wheelchair to bring Chris home in, but of course Chris wouldn't hear of it. He always seems to think he has something to prove, even when sporting a cast that extends from foot to thigh and a bulky boot to go with it.

"I lost count," Chris says, leaning for a moment against the wall in the foyer and looking over his shoulder at Zach. "But you know what? I didn't mind it."

"You do love a corny joke." Zach drops Chris's duffel on the floor, then goes to his side, hands hovering in the air as he tries to decide how best to help. "Not sure what that says about your sense of humor. Alright. Too bed now, right?"

"The couch?" Chris says, turning wide, pleading eyes Zach's direction. "I've been laying in bed for days. I don't want to shut myself away in the bedroom until I have to."

Zach purses his lips, but he can't think of a good reason to refuse him. "Fine," he says, "but you aren't going to go hobbling around the house every time you want something. Once you're on the couch, your ass is staying on the couch."

Chris doesn't argue now, but Zach guesses there will be arguments later. And really, it's not like Zach blames him. He can imagine how frustrating it must be to have your mobility limited, to need someone else to take care of you. Chris has always been independent. He doesn't like relying on others--not for anything. Even as Zach leads him to the couch and helps him prop up his leg on a stack of pillows, he wonders how much Chris is bristling at him, how much he wishes Zach would just go away.

Still, Zach has to ask, "What can I get you?"

Chris sighs. "Water, I guess. And hand me the remotes? They're over there next to the TV."

Zach knows where the remotes are. He knows where everything in this house is, and he knew it long before he moved in two months ago. But Chris is still adjusting--they both are--and this whole mess with his leg has only thrown a wrench in things, so Zach lets this one slide and goes to retrieve the remotes.

On the way back from the kitchen with Chris's water, he digs two prescription bottles out of the duffel. Painkillers and antibiotics, both of which need to be taken on a regular schedule. One more thing for Zach to keep track of, and one more thing for Chris to potentially resent him for. Maybe it would be easier if he set alarms on Chris's phone, so he isn't bugging Chris himself, but even that feels like it might be too invasive.

"Here," he says as he sets the water down close enough for Chris to reach it. "And here are your meds. You're about due for more oxy now, if you want."

Chris waves him away absently, his eyes fixed on the TV screen as he flips through the channels. "That stuff makes me feel awful. The doctor said I could switch to ibuprofen whenever."

Zach sighs. Chris has three pins in his leg, but trust him to try to play the tough guy now. Who doesn't want to take the good shit when they have it? But he bites his tongue. "Do you want ibuprofen now then?"

"Nah, I'm good. I'll wait until dinner."

Nodding, Zach looks from Chris to the TV to Chris again. What is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to help? "I guess I'll go start a load of laundry then. Mind if I get your clothes out of the bag?"

Chris looks at him then, eyebrows pinching together. "You don't have to do that. I can wash them later."

"Chris." Zach throws up his hands. "How are you going to do that, huh?"

"Right." The troughs in his forehead deepen. "Okay. Sorry."

Sorry? Zach frowns, but he finds he isn't in the mood to unpack all that baggage in that one word now, so he goes to unpack the physical baggage instead. It's a relief, in some ways, to go through the motions of sorting the clothes in the hamper and tossing them into the washer. He feels far more useful now than he did hovering over Chris in the living room, or back at the hospital, where friends and family came and went and all Zach could do was sit and watch Chris's pale face for signs of fatigue. He thought he was going to cry when Chris's dad offered to have him come stay with them while he was recovering, but luckily Chris shut that one down quickly. But was it because he trusted Zach to take care of him, or because he didn't want to put his family out? Is he only putting up with Zach now because he has to?

Zach realizes he's spiraling and takes a deep breath to rein himself in. This is all too new. He moved in with Chris just a couple weeks before filming on the new Star Trek started, and though it seemed like a good idea at the time, it's been a big adjustment. Going from a long-distance relationship to a live-in one--plus filming twelve-plus hours a day--hasn't been easy on either of them, and Chris's injury has made things that much more awkward. Now he knows Chris feels guilty for delaying production and guilty that Zach almost took the poor stunt coordinator's head off after the fact and guilty that he screwed up the stunt in the first place. And what's Zach supposed to do with all that? He can't fix Chris's leg and he can't fix all the emotional shit surrounding it either, so all he's good for now is fetching Chris water and making him feel uncomfortable in his own damn house.

Back in the living room, Chris is still scrolling through the channels, though his eyes look unfocused, like he might not really be paying attention to what he's seeing. Zach wishes they hadn't taken the dogs over to Mark's. Maybe if they were here, they would cheer Chris up better than Zach can. 

"Hey," Zach says, leaning against the door frame and offering a tentative smile. They used to be able to communicate so much to each other with just smiles, and Zach has no idea what he may be communicating now, but he hopes it's something. He hopes Chris can still read him like this.

Chris clicks the TV off again and tosses the remote on the coffee table, and only then does he look up at Zach's face. "Hey," he says wearily. Then, after a double-take, he stretches out his hand. "Hey," he says again, softer. "Come here."

Zach goes to him and slips his fingers into Chris's, a hopeful nervousness unfurling in his chest. Before he can protest, Chris tugs at him and sends him sprawling into his lap. He only barely manages to catch himself and avoid falling against Chris's injured leg.

"Careful!" Zach digs his fingers into Chris's shoulders. "They'll have us both killed if you reinjure that leg, you moron."

"Relax," Chris says, offering up the first real smile Zach has seen in days, then hiding it in Zach's neck. "I mean it. You need to relax. You're acting like I'm on my deathbed."

"I'm not--" Zach huffs and tries to rearrange himself, get some of his weight off Chris's stomach. "It's not that. I know you're going to be fine."

"Then what is it?" Chris reaches up and brushes a few strands of hair off Zach's forehead. And God, Zach loves it when he does that. He used to be so neurotic about his hair, would duck instinctively out of the way whenever anyone reached for it, but something about Chris doing it, the intimacy of it--it makes his stomach flip over every time.

"This isn't exactly how I thought living together would go," Zach says, and then it's his turn to hide his face, pressing his mouth against Chris's temple. He still smells like hospital, but he doubts either of them want to think about the work it'll take to get him in the shower right now. "Doesn't this feel like...I don't know, some kind of bad omen?"

"Bad omen? Jesus." Chris chuckles and snatches up one of Zach's hands, brings it up to his mouth and kisses the edge of his palm. "Look, I know I've been really fucking cranky. We were both sleep-deprived even before all of this, and now I feel like I've let everybody down, and I hate being..." He gestures down the length of his body. "Helpless."

"Yeah, I know," Zach says, because he does. Of course he does.

"But none of that has anything to do with you and me," Chris says. "There are no bad omens, Zach. Only bad luck."

He turns his head to the side and captures Zach's mouth--a quick peck first, then a harder one, the kind that has them both drawing an anticipatory breath. Not that they have anything to anticipate at the moment. Chris is out of commission in every possible way.

"I just don't want you to regret this," Zach says when they break apart. He is painfully aware of how it sounds--almost childishly needy, not at all like a man who's spent most of his adult life in therapy for his abandonment issues.

Luckily for him, Chris only grin at him and shakes his head. "The only thing I regret right now is not asking you to move in with me sooner." He rubs his thumb across Zach's bottom lip. "We shouldn't have had to spend the first months of our relationship to tired or too--injured to fuck."

Zach barks out a laugh at that and swats Chris on the stomach. "One-track mind," he admonishes. 

Chris's eyes sparkle, even as the smile fades from his lips. "But seriously, do you think I don't worry about the same thing? Don't you know all I can think about is how unfair it is that you'll have to wait on me hand and foot for the next few weeks?"

"But I'm happy to do it, Chris," Zach says, brushing his fingers across Chris's cheekbone. "I'd do it even if you weren't bedridden, if you wanted me to."

Chris crinkles his nose. "Yeah, no. That sounds like a nightmare."

"Why's that?" Zach tries not to sound too hurt.

"Because I want a partner, Zach." Before Zach can argue, Chris puts a finger to his lips. "And yes, I'm aware that partners sometimes have to take care of each other, which is why I'm going to try to get over myself and let you take care of me and not be grumpy about it." He presses a loud, smacking kiss to Zach's cheek. "But in return you have to stop acting like you have to earn your right to be here, okay?"

That sentence has another ten years of therapy packed into it, but Zach pushes it away for now and focuses on the important part: that Chris wants him here, and not just for what Zach can do for him. 

"Deal," Zach says, and presses his mouth Chris's temple again. He'll do his best, anyway--which is all either of them can do. It helps, at least, that their issues are complementary. 

"Good." Chris kisses him on the mouth. "Now get me my phone, so I can order us burritos, because you are not cooking. And then you are going to sit here with me and watch a dumb action movie. And then--and then we can figure out how I'm going to shower with this thing on."

His mouth twists on that last part, and Zach can't help but smile. He scratches his fingers along Chris's scalp and then gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. "Maybe I can make the shower part worth your while," he says, brushing his mouth against Chris's jaw. "Provided it's safe enough, that is."

"Hmm," Chris hums, clutching the back of Zach's head to keep him there. "In that case, maybe we'll do the shower first."

[kuriquinn]

The Job Offer [part 2]

General Disclaimer

Rating: PG 13

Author’s Note: I was planning to do all random one-shots that weren’t connected to anything. But this was the only thing I could think of writing when I saw the prompt was “medicine”. So...here’s the next part of that mafia fic I started like two years ago. If you want to read the first part, you can find it here.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“So, I hear you’re refusing your medication unless I give it to you,” Sakura says as she enters the private room without preamble, two IV bags in hand. “Care to share why? And it better not be some macho, stoic bullshit.”

She should probably be a little more polite, but she’s way beyond sleep deprived at this point.

Uchiha Sasuke is propped up in his bed, glaring at her. His chest is a swath of thick bandages, turning what she has learned is a stunning physic into a comically shapeless square. They are incongruent with the vibrant colours of sleeve tattoos that depict snakes winding up either arm against a black background with red clouds. She knows there’s something on his back, too, but she was a little too preoccupied with his life-saving surgery at the time to identify it; some kind of bird.

“Your people are refusing to allow my men in here. I can’t be sure I’m not being poisoned.”

“After the show they put on in the emergency room, they’re lucky they’re even allowed in the waiting room,” she grumbles and begins to set the bags into the apparatus. “Why do you trust me not to poison you? I mean, you’ve been a bit of a pain since I met you, so you’d totally deserve it…”

She chances a glance over at her patient, who hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she walked in. She has a brief moment of being lost in endless black, and then he turns away with a noncommittal noise.

“You’ve already proven you have principles. Since a dozen Uchiha-gumi couldn’t make you waver, I doubt anything else could.”

He goes quiet, staring at the wall with a slight frown in his forehead, and long bangs framing his face rather fetchingly despite the fact he probably hasn’t had a chance to wash his hair in three days.

He is really, unfairly and ridiculously pretty.

Sakura swallows at that thought, hastily grabbing for his chart so he doesn’t catch her looking.

No! None of that! Bad idea! That is the worst idea. Just look at his arms, they tell you exactly why this is a bad idea!

“What are you giving me, anyhow?” he asks. “I don’t allow just anything in my body.”

“I’m trying not to find that ironic,” Sakura quips. “Anyhow, these are your next round of antibiotics and painkillers—and no, it’s not morphine, you already made it clear to my interns what you thought about that.”

“As I said.”

“Yeah, well, you could have been a little nicer about it. I think Dr. Ise is about to go to the administration and tender his resignation because of you. And they’re in enough of a tizzy already, they’d accept it.”

Uchiha watches her face, and something flashes in his gaze.

“You haven’t had any issues, have you?” he asks, frowning. “With regards to your employment?”

Sakura’s cheeks flame. “You mean since your boys were trying to intimidate Senju-sensei and the rest of the Board of Directors?”

“It would be remiss of them to suspend your privileges considering the situation.”

“Do you know how much of a problem their interference could be for me?!”

“Was it effective?”

“In this case…yes,” she admits grudgingly. He smirks at that, like he predicted this, and she clenches her fists. “But the Board’s going to make my life hell in other ways from now on! Constant reviews and check ins and…” She sighs, reigning in her temper. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you’re making my life more complicated—”

“Complicated enough to leave?” he suggests, and there’s something too blank about his face just then.

Suspicion rears its head, along with a memory of the night they met.

“So what? Just come work for me.”

“I’m not quitting my job. I have responsibilities—"

“Take a sabbatical,” he suggests. “I’ve heard that’s common among the medical profession, either due to burnout or the desire to research areas of interest.”

“Not to go work for the mob!”

He doesn’t appear to hear her. “You doctors engage in research, right? Life-saving practices, new methods?”

“…Yes?”

“And that requires funding, if I understand it. Which is difficult to come by, considering you don’t exactly get paid much…”

Sakura narrows her eyes. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“I consider it more of an investment.”

“No offense, but even if I were at the point in my career where I was trying to get funding for something, I’d rather not have the money attached to my name and methods be dirty. Especially not if I want to be taken seriously.”

“We maintain entirely legal businesses,” he dismisses. “My branch of the family has a thriving private security business, which has been very lucrative so far. Any funding you receive through us would be through legal channels and with clean funds.”

Sakura blinks, not entirely sure she’s understanding what she’s hearing.

“Why are you trying so hard to recruit me?”

“You have a good image.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not like that,” he rolls his eyes. Then as if in opposition to what he just said, his gazes flicks up and down in a way that has her blushing and torn between wanting to cover up in a blanket or shrug out of her scrubs in front of him.

Oh. My. God. What the hell is wrong with me?

“You are small and unassuming,” he continues. “No one would know to look at you that you’re anything more than that. And in addition to being able to fight, you have medical skills and respect discretion. In my experience, that is hard to come by without a lot of money being thrown around. And money doesn’t buy loyalty. You already have principles, so money wouldn’t be necessary. You’re a warrior and a healer. That’s valuable.”

“I…”

What the hell do I say to that?

“As it happens, I’m looking for another member of my security team. Suigetsu’s wife is having a baby soon, and she’s demanding. I don’t see him being able to maintain his commitments to my schedule for the next little while. You have no family connections or commitments to speak of, nor any time-consuming romantic relationships most women your age do.”

“How the— how do you know that?! Are you— did you have someone look into me?”

She’s entirely thrown off balance by this.

“My brother is very thorough. He and my parents wished to make sure of your credentials.” There aren’t many yakuza that the general populace are able to name off the top of their head, but Uchiha Itachi is one of them. If any of the stories about him are true… “You will likely meet him when I’m permitted to leave here.”

Sakura is only just able to hold back the choke of fear, but her patient notices, nonetheless.

“There’s no need for you to worry about him,” he says, bored. “He already likes you, from what Suigetsu told him. Something amuses him about the fact you can—what’s the expression? ‘Get me to take my medicine’? Anyhow, he’ll have a formal offer of employment drawn up for you.”

He is looking at her with a superior look, as if to say, this hospital may be your kingdom, but I have my own domain.

That confidence is simultaneously terrifying and sexy in a way it shouldn’t be.

“You may have time to consider the proposition,” he tells her, indicating the door; a clear dismissal.

Sakura bristles a little at that, irritated. “And if I still decline?”

He shrugs. “Then you decline. I’m not about to have your fingers cut off because you’ve done something I don’t like.” His eyes rest on her hands, then flick up to her with something indecipherable in them. “That would be a waste.”

And then he smiles.

Sakura feels a surge of want slam into her and oh, whether she takes the job or not, this is not going to turn out well for her, is it?

栗

[apartyofone]

My 2020 – a not-short-enough story.

(Because the 2.7 people still following this blog want to know)

“Ouch”, I said rubbing my left foot in January. Huh – there’s a nasty cut. And swelling.

Hospital stay 1. MRIs. Xrays.

Hospital stay 2. CAT scan. More Xrays. Two exploratory surgeries in foot. Learn that many hospital meals include green jello.

“You’ve had a big staple embedded in your foot for years” says Dr.  “Huh,” I said. Never felt it.  Guess I really am an unfeeling bastard.

“Oh….and your bone is infected – we have to hack it out,” says Dr.

Two options:

1.       Chop whole foot off at heel, wear silly faux shoes rest of my life and I’m back hobbling around in 4 weeks.

2.       Remove infected bone. Insert temporary pins and spacer. More surgery 6 weeks later to place permanent cadaver bone with pins, rods, plates and everything else from some aisle at Home Depot. And a 4-6 month rehab but with my same foot, sans embedded ouchie metal staple.

Spent a sleepless night in hospital thinking it through.

“Dr, is Option 2 kind of a ‘Hail Mary’ play to save my foot?,” I ask.

He considers the question. “No,” he says. “More like a Philly Special.”

Game on then. Surgery 1 is on March 3. “Thumbs up,” said the sweaty Dr to me in post op. He spent 5 hours opening my foot up with a can opener and rearranging all the parts. No problems and I’m gonna be sprung from the joint very soon.

Or not. The next day my kidneys decide to go on vacation. Maybe jealous of all the attention to the lower body parts?  Maybe there was a staple in there,too?

Now I’m in a 10-day haze of dialysis, antibiotics, painkillers and countless doctors shaking their heads.  My kids and even my cold bastard of a brother is concerned.

Me, I’m just enjoying the hell out that green jello.

For absolutely no good reason, my kidneys suddenly return from the dead. Numbers stabilize. What happened? Docs have no clue. They’re more interested in something I’m just now hearing about: some new virus that’s filling up the ICU and other hospital beds. What’s a “covid19”?

Quarantine stops life but I’m blissfully unaware. Until the nurses tell me they’re getting worried about me being surrounded by people dying of this dreaded plague. Pushed out of the hospital in late March after a 26 day long stay. 

No more fucking green jello. Ever.

My medical odyssey scorecard to this point:

Minus: 1 old staple.

Add: Lots of stitches and hardware in my foot

Minus: About 60 lbs, or so I reckon looking in the mirror. 

Home health nurses, physical and occupational therapy folks come and go through a revolving door at my house for a month. My kids cater to my every need. Feeling blessed by both great health insurance and my family.

Everyone chafing from the locked down experience. Meanwhile I’m happy as hell to just be home. I’m in a bubble inside of a bubble of a world of mask, face shields and social distancing.

Hospital stay 3 is mercifully short. Follow up surgery goes according to plan. I decided to name the cadaver bone in my foot as “Kobe” to piss off a co worker who is a huge Lakers fan.

Now it’s just a matter of rest and keeping all weight off my foot. While I’m flat on my ass through April and May a plan starts to form. An adventure. Exactly what I need for today and tomorrow.

More Xrays. Bone graft is doing nicely. I ask my accountant if my cadaver bone implant qualifies as another dependent on my taxes. (Accountants have little  imagination and no sense of humor) 

Still no walking but at least I can start working from home.

June 1 and I’m back to work – albeit 30 miles from my old office. Love the new commute – stepping over two large and snoring yellow cats. Miss the workplace camaraderie and casual conversations that are part of my management style. Really miss walking back to the print shop and watching all the different books come off the press.

Learn Zoom. Move some pictures on my wall behind me to get a better backdrop. Immediately wish I had bought stock in the company that produced it. Takes awhile to get back into the swing of things at work.

I’m admittedly distracted. The afore mentioned plan pops up into my thoughts more and more. Already told my kids about it back in May as a “maybe”. It’s now a “oh hell yes.”

I surprised my financial advisors when I let them in on it. Spending evenings and weekends doing researching, reading books on the topic and formulating my own plans. When I get serious about something I make spreadsheets. Lots and lots of them.

So now it’s mid July and the plan is in full bloom.

I’m going to stay gainfully employed as the president of my company until around March, 2022.

On or around May 2022 I’m moving. Far away. Really far.

France. Or maybe Portugal, Greece or Spain. Or maybe all four for a little while because that’s what you can do when you retire.

I’m very happily leaving the (not) United States of America within 22 months. My decision has something to do with the ongoing political and social climate but it goes deeper. America now seems like a very backward place in so many important ways. Here’s one: Even though we lacked the good sense and discipline to obey scientists, wear masks and social distance, our idiot leader in Washington, D.C. insists that we risk our children’s lives to send them to school this fall.

Does this sound like a civilized nation? Because it doesn’t to me.

Love it, or leave it – say the cult45ers. M’OK.

I’ve offered the chance to live to Europe to both kids. Looks like my son is signing on – and I’m thrilled about that. Yeah, I could have handled this challenge alone. But it’s going to be easier – and nicer – to share it. And this could be an amazing fresh start for him.

Going to keep the house in the Philly suburbs. Daughter can live here as long as she likes. If she moves out I’ll probably rent it. Selling the house and completely pulling up stakes is the number one mistake people make when they go the ex-pat route.  I learned that early in my planning. And I’m keeping notes because….

All those books I was reading on the subject of retiring overseas? Horrible. Just plain awful. Every single one. So, yeah, I’m going to write my own book on the topic that will be THE end-all, be-all guide to the experience.

And if you need any advice on the ex-pat topic before the book comes out – such as how you can live large on $2500 a month in the south of France – give me a shout. Preferably not in French – I’m going to start learning the language sometime next year. 

FYI - ‘vert jello’ is the french translation of “green jello”. 

The best I advice I can give all 2.7 of you reading this – staying or leaving this country – is this:

Don’t step on staples.

[antique-darling]

12 steps backwards

Hi, I’m Carys and I’m an alcoholic. 

It started the same way as practically everyone else; understanding the intoxicating beauty of alcohol, a true social lubricant - and a firm willing suspension of disbelief that it’ll ever happen to you. 

The whole sordid affair began around Christmastime 2006. I was extremely young and very beautiful, and dressed the part of a perfect outcast with my various studs and spikes, my facial piercings mostly resembling that of one who has headbutted a box of map pins. But I was horrifically shy, the shackles of post-puberty still lingering. 

We’re in the UK, so I was handed a bottle of Smirnoff Ice at a house party. The more I drank, the more confident I became. I felt vibrant and stunning, although I was most likely being annoying. Even caught myself my first boyfriend that night, something which I’d never successfully been able to do. I managed to forget the two-day hangover which ensued. 

Thus began a bitter relationship with alcohol, my best friend of over a decade who betrayed me, in the end. 

I lived a 3-minute walk away from my high school, so I would frequently nip home at lunch to swindle some booze my mum had unsuccessfully ‘hidden’ away. She worked every weekday, and my parents had just separated at this point, which definitely made the whole debacle easier. In retrospect, the separation and eventual divorce probably affected me more than I realised.

A string of failed relationships, including an engagement, before I’d even turned 18 shaped me more into this polyp of self-loathing, and a glass of wine would ease the hatred a little more, or I’d down a bottle of something stronger.

By the time I’d reached 16, I decided that I was an adult, and panicked because I wasn’t getting pregnant. Somehow, in my mind, I neglected to recall that stress and abusing alcohol is the opposite of a good environment for a foetus. Over the past decade, I’ve lost count of the number of dead babies to drop out of me. 

 I’m fairly certain I fell in love with the devil when I was 17. He was strong and handsome, and an alcoholic himself. Although at this time, my true alcoholism had not yet fully manifested. This man made it a reality. 

He told me to stop taking my pill because it was making me “moody”. I acquiesced, assuming I was barren anyway. Discovering I was around 6 weeks pregnant was a shock, to say the least. 

I was still in school and he was jobless due to a health condition I like to call chronic laziness and taking all of my money to supplement his drug and alcohol habits. I’d been in abusive relationships before him, and they’re honestly what I probably deserve. I’m constantly drawn to the same sorts of people, despite my better judgment. The problem, therein, lies in me. 

But this man was king. I have endured nothing like the hell he dragged me through since. 

So, the option he gave me was crystal clear; “it’s not very nice being a single mum”. I had just turned 18, and I was so very vulnerable. I had already been corrupted by the 4 men who had came before him, so my self-worth was absolutely nothing. Again, I acquiesced to his demands. 

If I knew all those years ago what I know now, I would have left him and had my child. But he took my choice away from me, he forced a child into me and forced it back out again. He caused me to betray every part of my moral integrity, every single belief that I held dear. And it still feels, to this very day, as painful as it did in 2012. I wish I’d killed myself instead of my baby. I haven’t spoken to this man in many years, but he haunts me daily. The saddest truth is that I’m sure he doesn’t even remember I exist. I know he never loved me, but I loved him with a ferocity which I’ve not felt since.

And I so desperately wanted a child. I still do. It still won’t happen - I’ve cursed myself and I am dealing with the wrath of eternity. Hell is on earth and I have created it. 

So, to absolutely no surprise to anyone, I hit the bottle hard after that. I had to take a week off after the abortion due to antibiotics and opioid painkillers, but the minute I could, I drowned. 

After all, I was 18. I had a drinking permit. 

I spent my entire university career after that point getting blind drunk daily. At my peak, I’d drink cheap bottled cider (but not Frosty Jack’s or White Lightning - I had some class) as if it was cola or something. I’d have wine on a Friday and Saturday night, typically two bottles, and a bottle of vodka every day. This went on for 5 years. 

During this time I was engaged again, to someone I’d met at university. We were together for 4 years, living together, and I remember virtually nothing of the relationship. It was the longest relationship I had ever been in, and sometimes I forget his name. I certainly don’t remember what he looked like. 

Naturally, that relationship broke down when, on the 11th of September 2018, I surrendered. My 12-year relationship with alcohol was over. 

I would wake up next to my partner every day, and the more time I spent not drinking, the more I realised he was a total stranger in my bed. After a month of sobriety, I awoke to the fact I had absolutely no recollection of this person at all, apart from the two times we traveled to Belfast to see his family and friends. Even then, I only remember the actual traveling part. 

We had to live together a month after we had separated, during which time he constantly demanded to know why I’d left him. Simply, “I sobered up”. He had been the most violent, piggish creature of all the men I had ever been with, memories which have only been returning to me in the past year. Sometimes I think, he wasn’t looking for a partner, he was looking for a sex slave. And he still wasn’t as bad as the devil of my younger years. 

Probably ‘coz I was really drunk the whole time. 

So I’m 16 months sober, as of Saturday of this month. I still can’t sleep, I still have headaches and I’ve put on so much weight I can barely recognise myself. It’s bittersweet. I have achieved great things in my life, but I feel like a stranger looking in. I feel like a confused 12-year-old, shy with no confidence and no place in the world. Like the degrees I have are someone else’s, and sure I have my graduation pictures but that’s a different me. That’s not me, surely. My day job is, ironically, bartending. I know I’m fantastic at my persona, but the customers see through the cracks. They’ll ask me “What’s the nicest x? What mixer goes with y?”, and I can never just say “oh, it’s z”, I always have to say “other people usually have this with z”. 

I don’t keep my alcoholism a secret, and most of my regular customers know. And I’ll get the typical diatribe of “oh aren’t you strong and brave, working here and struggling with your recovery??”. I know they mean well, and it’s a lovely compliment to pay. But I don’t feel strong, although it is cathartic when I get to pour drinks away. I feel like a failure. 

I am a fully qualified English teacher in the process of doing my Master’s degree. Staying up til 3am cleaning, after spending 6 hours serving poison to toxic people (although a lot of my regular customers are genuine angels), makes me believe that, despite my achievements on paper, that that is all I’m worth. 

I want to end this monologue on a positive note. In over a year of sobriety, I have learned to go out with my friends, or hang out after work, and not feel so left out. Coffee is now a luxury, opposed to a brown liquid to fix my constant hangover. I even know when coffee tastes burnt now, which is something my former self would never have even considered. I’m eternally grateful for my family of Alcoholics Anonymous. I haven’t been to a meeting in months due to work and uni, but every time I manage to go, it’s as if I’d not missed a single one. 

My family have been nothing but supportive, although my dad still doesn’t really understand it (we were great drinking buddies for a while). My friends are mainly my colleagues at work, and without their support I wouldn’t be alive, most likely. Also they will refuse to serve me alcohol - not that I’ve tried, but I’ve been told so, in order to continue supporting my recovery. 

Since being sober, I’ve surrounded myself with good people. The bad things don’t seem so bad, and every day I’m working on hating myself less. 

Alcohol and/or substance abuse feels like something that won’t happen to you. Unfortunately, it can happen to all of us, and so very quickly. Or, so slowly that you didn’t even register it until you’re sleeping on a bench in the middle of February. 

There is help, free help, and there are probably millions of people suffering too. If you’re suffering, you’re not alone. You never have to be alone. 

https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/

https://www.samaritans.org/

[mosylufanfic]

Prompts: "Tell me a joke" or "No! Don’t hurt them! Hurt me, leave them alone!” either for Killervibe. In retrospect that's kind of a weird spectrum of requests lol. Hope you have fun with these! :)

I’ve got your other one saved in my prompt list, so I may get to it! But here’s your first one.

33. “Tell me a joke.” Killervibe

Mosylu what’s this all about

Comedian

“Tell me a joke,” Caitlin said.

They were in her med lab. He was sitting backwards on a chair, his arms folded over the back. She was doing something he couldn’t quite see, just behind him.

“Now?” he said. “You want a joke right now? Just, like, on command?”

“Yes, please.”

“Weirdo. Okay. Um. Uh. What did the red light say to the green light?”

“What?”

“Don’t look, I’m changing.”

She gave a little snort. “Okay, another one.”

“What? Wow. Fine. Um, how did the hipster burn his mouth?”

“How?”

“He ate his pizza before it was cool.”

“That’s not even funny. Tell me another one.”

“Oh my god, so demanding.” He wracked his brain. “Okay, why don’t they play poker in the jungle?”

“Why not?”

“Too many cheetahs.”

“Do cheetahs live in the jungle?”

“What? I don’t know.”

“Well, if they don’t, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Please just go with the joke. Such a critic.”

“Keep going,” she said, sounding vaguely distracted.

He dredged the depths of his brain for the worst ones he could find. He told bad puns, every really terrible bartender we-don’t-serve-their-kind-here joke that he could think of (”I hardly ever got to say that, even to the real scumbags,” she said wistfully) and a few really dirty ones that made her say “Cisco,” like a maiden aunt.

“Okay,” she said, in the middle of a series of knock-knock jokes from the second grade. “We’re about done here. Just need to bandage it up.”

“Oh thank god,” he mumbled. “I was running out.”

“Did it help distract you?” Her hands, cool through her latex gloves, pressed soft gauze to his back and taped it down.

“From the fact that you were sewing my flesh back together? Yeah, sure did. How many stitches did you have to put in?” She’d numbed the shit out of his upper back, but he’d still been able to feel the pressure of the needle and the tug of the thread.

“Twenty-four,” she said.

He almost horked. “Sorry I asked.”

“You did great,” she said. “Really.”

He glanced over at the shirt he’d been wearing when a meta had tried to stab him to death with steel fingernails of doom before he’d opened up a direct line to Iron Heights and tossed them in. He would have been okay if he’d been wearing his suit, but come on, he’d been standing in line at the DMV. Who expected a meta attack at the DMV? “I guess that shirt’s a loss, isn’t it?”

She picked it up with her bloody gloves. The parts that weren’t hanging in rags were stiff with dried blood. “Nothing’s going to save it now.”

He sighed.

She gave him a scrunchy face of regret, and bundled it together with a pile of blood-soaked bandages, stuffing them in the biohazard container before stripping off her bloody gloves and tossing them in after.

While she washed her hands at the sink, he tugged at the open-backed hospital shirt she’d given him. At least his pants had escaped the worst of it. He liked these pants. The shirt was sliding down his arms, though - she’d left the back open to get at his wounds. He went to tie the ties behind his neck and grunted in pain as the movement pulled at his stitches.

She looked up and slapped the water off. “Stop! You can’t use that arm for a few days. I’ll give you a sling.”

“My shirt, though,” he said.

She got it for him, her hands damp and smelling of the powerful soap she used after medical procedures. She patted the base of his neck. “You should get some rest.”

Weariness from the fight and the injury dragged at him like hundred-pound weights. But the anesthetic she’d injected him with was wearing off, leaving his back throbbing painfully in three burning-hot lines where the meta had swiped at him. "Don’t know if I can.”

She brought him painkillers, antibiotics, and a sedative, and he swallowed them down. Either they were damn good drugs or he was just that tired, because they’d barely hit his stomach before he felt his eyes drooping.

“Sorry they were all so bad,” he mumbled as she helped him to the bed and got him into a position that wouldn’t put any pressure on his injury.

“They weren’t that bad,” she said. “Blanket?”

“Please,” he said, and it settled warm over him. “They were awful,” he went on, his words mushing together under the effect of the sedative. “Those were my very worst jokes.”

Her fingers, cool and soothing, brushed his hair out of his eyes. The last thing he saw before sleep took him was the soft expression on her face. “You can tell me better ones when you wake up.”

FINIS

[undiagnoseddrama]

11. Do you need an ambulance?...

So after the freakout episode in Berlin a couple of months went past - so I’m going to tie these all into one.

Throughout the month of March shortly after Berlin I noticed the pain in my side amplify more. It was there on a daily basis! I had a lot going on with uni, final year, exams, dissertation etc, so whether it’s stress-related I’m not sure but I found the searing, burning, aching, tenderness there most of the time now. It had kicked up a notch since my episode/flare.

29.04.19 - another follow-up appointment at urogynaecology. So I had been on cefalexin antibiotics for 3 months and hadn’t noticed improvements, I had the episode in Berlin, still had uncomfortableness most days and I hadn’t gone 3 months symptoms free, which they expected. The consultant I saw was a trainee consultant so even though he was already a doctor he was new to this type of investigation. After discussing my life all over again for 10 minutes, he palmed me off with ingesting more turmeric into my diet after noticing I had previously tried D-Mannose and cranberry juice. He said he would see me in 6 months with having no antibiotics and just focus on lifestyle choices.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I had finished uni, went on an amazing girls trip with my uni girlies and throughout the whole time I was FINE! Not amazing but fine! Obviously there was some uncomfortableness and the pain in my side doesn’t count as fine anyway haha😂 so skipping these boring ‘good’ times.

This does show stress is one of my major factors though! Doctors have told me to reduce stress but with uni and work this is physically impossible!🙄

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

29.06.19 - I travelled to the cotswolds in the south of England for my cousin’s wedding. I was panicking at the thought! The last wedding was hell so I mentally and physically prepped everything I could to avoid an episode.

It was the night before my 21st and I was loving life, I was surrounded by all my amazing family, dressed up and went for a lovely meal with my best💖 I also found out my brother and sister-in-law were having a baby! A little miracle✨

30.06.19 - My 21st!💖✨🎉💖✨🎉💖✨🎉💖

I woke up with gifts, cards and champagne what more could you ask for! Then had to get ready for my cousins wedding in the countryside!

I had felt a little on and off all day, some uncomfortableness but I was not letting that stop me I was 21 so the party began! Including cutting my foot on broken glass I didn’t even know happened but hey ho😂 P.S. a lot of birthday shots were involved.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

02.07.19 - So after a weekend of celebrations, my body gave me a big telling off!

The pain in my side became unbearable I say around a 7/10 compared to other pain I’ve been in before, however, I was struggling to breathe because it was in my back, radiating down to my hips all on my left side. The pain was hot and searing and became really uncomfortable.

04.07.19 - So the pain in my side had been there for 2 days straight! Something didn’t feel right at all😭 I got an emergency GP appointment and completed lots of different tests. All clear. I went to do a fresh samples for her, fine beforehand but going the toilet made the pains worse all over my

body to the point I had to stand up for the rest of the appointment. When she examined my abdomen she pressed my side and I almost shot off the bed in agony😩 she suspected I had kidney stones and wanted to send me to hospital straight away.

She rang Whiston hospital which is closest to my doctors and spoke to an emergency ward but not A&E🤷🏻‍♀️ I thought this meant I was seeing a doctor straight away rather than sitting in A&E. Whilst this was happening I was pacing the floor😖 She printed off the sheet including the details and a letter from her and then turned around and asked me “Do you need an ambulance?” She was not convinced I was okay.

I immediately said no, even though I was in so much pain I thought it was a waste of resources, someone else might need that before me! So I got in my car, rang my dad (so my mum wouldn’t freak out) and drove to Whiston hospital😑

It was a painful car ride. I eventually managed to find the ward, halfway across the hospital and checked in. Sat in a tiny waiting room and actually began to cry in the corner, trying to avoid anyone looking because I was in so much pain and didn’t know why😭

My phone also died, I had managed to text my dad the ward before it did but it felt like a lifetime before he arrived.

He eventually found me and we waited for the ‘appointment time’ 5:40pm bearing in mind I got there at 5pm because I just drove straight from the doctors.

We were seen at 12am that night.

I wasn’t given any pain relief in this time, I vomited 4 times with the pain, paced the floor a thousand times, sat down, stood up etc etc, until we were the last ones in the waiting room and my dad went to the nurses station to ask for some pain relief immediately.

A nurse came back and said they will have to wait but to do a urine sample and blood while we wait, this could’ve all been done in the time I was waiting😭 She took my bloods in that waiting room of all places and eventually the registrar doctor saw me. She was the only doctor on shift between this ward and A&E so she had to prioritise cases. Literally shows how crippling the NHS is.

The whole examination all over again, I actually near hit this lady when she touched my side with how much pain I was in, again jumping off the bed. A nurse also came in at this point to give me two cocodamol to take to ease the pain.

She sent me for x-ray to check for kidney stones, because I’ve had too many CTs, whilst they waiting for bloods. The x-ray was downstairs and literally took two seconds!

Back upstairs to wait and the cocodamol started to kick in😍🤪 I have never had this strong of a painkiller before. It was heaven😍 I could feel the pain slipping away from me, absolute bliss🤣

The doctor said I had some constipation after the x-ray results came back and could not see anything else. She said even though it does cause pain she was not convinced this was the ONLY reason for me literally jumping off the bed in pain and I had been the toilet that day too🧐She also said I couldn’t be constipated every day (I’m quite regular💩) so still doesn’t explain the pain I have.

Because I was under investigation at the Women’s they gave me the choice of either staying in overnight to do extra tests in the morning or come back and get an ultrasound to check everything else.

I was literally waiting with people who were just waiting for a bed on this ward. Again I was not going to take advantage and waste resources so I just came the next day for an ultrasound.

The ultrasound was one of the most painful ones I had as she made me roll one side to the next to try and find something. Again all clear😭

I had to go back upto the ward to wait for the results, literally another 4-5hours. I exclaimed to the nurses I’m not waiting for you to tell me the same as what the sonographer has just said. She said if I left, that’s discharging myself and I wouldn’t find out either way.

So we waited and the doctor saw me quickly because they knew they had nothing to report. She said I may as well wait to see what the hospital finds and just continue with the pain medication and laxatives they gave me the night before. (Cocodamol 30/500mg, Ibuprofen 400mg and Movicol satchets)

This was such a weird couple of months and long 24 hours but just shows I don’t make it up, the doctors were not convinced, sending me to hospital and wanted to investigate further but couldn’t find anything🤷🏻‍♀️...

[saycheese-louise]

What I’m Most Afraid Of - Mental Health

Trigger warning: discussion of mental illness, suicide, trauma

Reflecting on the past six years, my recovery from anxiety and depression has been long and wearisome. The only reason I am here today is that the lessons of creating good mental health have been forced upon me in the most tragic and painful ways possible. Only through the comparison, through being in a place where taking my own life felt like the only escape, through having people around me take their own lives, did I realise how ignorant and uneducated I was about my own health. 

I graduated dux of my high school and with a university scholarship; to the outside, I looked like your stereotypical high achiever and had almost convinced myself too. But it’s only now I realise how chaotic my home life was and acknowledge the emotional and psychological abuse I lived with. When it’s all you know, it’s hard to imagine otherwise, and my mental health was balancing on a knife edge I was oblivious to. When I lost the support and structure that my high school community gave me, it now seems obvious that I would have a mental breakdown halfway through my first year of university (hindsight is 20-20 after all). Add the financial insecurity of not having enough to live off, toxic part-time jobs, the loss of a sibling, and the habits and coping patterns of someone who grew up with abuse; of course I wasn’t going to magically bounce back. It took two more mental breakdowns for me to finally get the help I needed; at my lowest point, my mental illnesses had become so physically debilitating I could hardly leave my bed for more than a few hours a day. 

I have dragged those around me on this journey with me because the stigma around depression and anxiety (ironically, the two most widely understood and accepted mental illnesses) has been an extra hurdle which has tripped me up at every opportunity. I’ve vlogged while on the verge of a panic attack and written about the painful realities of living with a mental illness, and yet this might be my most vulnerable post yet. Because, despite all of this, hitting rock bottom again doesn’t really scare me. I have lived through poverty, grief, discrimination, and abuse and I am still here. Living through it has taught me the warning signs, the coping techniques, the sacrifices I have to make to survive despite it all, and if I can negotiate it all, I might even be able to live a life where times of happiness and peace outnumber the times of pain and heartbreak.

What truly scares me is the realisation of how many of the people I love are still sitting on that oblivious knife edge. When a friend of mine started to experience anxiety attacks, I tried my hardest to be there for them and share all the knowledge I have, but their understanding of how mental health works made it a very unsafe space for me. Every time we spoke, it came back to this underlying idea: “but you’ve had all these awful things happen to you, I’m not broken like you are, so how could I be developing a mental illness?”. Stigma is much more than a surface reaction, and it scares me how much more work needs to be done to create a solid understanding of mental health. 

Mental health shares a lot of similarities to physical health; for (a very simplified, generalised) example, some people have stronger immune systems, just like some people just have better mental health. Some people are inherently born with different brain chemistry, while some people might develop a mental illness due to circumstances or trauma; just like they might be born with a physical illness, or develop it later from injury or age. Some people might be able to cope with situations which could otherwise cause distress or a breakdown because they have better support and resources, just like access to painkillers and antibiotics might make a physical illness easier to recover from. (And of course, mental and physical health can also be very interlinked too!). But where the similarities stop is our understanding of when we need to get help. If you start to get a runny nose, you might not think much of it in the hope it goes away, but if we also get a sore throat, a fever, we might slow down and take extra steps to look after our physical health to stop it becoming worse, and if we become fatigued and our situation doesn’t improve in a few days or a week, we might seek professional help. 

The runny nose of my mental health is one bad feeling. Someone cutting in front of you at the supermarket. Something that by the end of the day, on its own, you’ll have forgotten about. A sore throat, a fever, is a bad day. Several things coincidentally piling up; especially things like an ongoing situation which I’m feeling anxious or stressed about. I’ll try to get to sleep earlier, do some mindfulness, send a quick email to my counsellor for an outside opinion - some easy self-care which gives me a mental break and allows me to evaluate things properly. Fatigue is developing anxiety attacks, insomnia, hopelessness, and (non-metaphorical) fatigue, to the point where I can’t function anymore and need urgent, professional help. 

I’ve noticed that friends of mine who have always had good mental health can deal with a mental runny nose, but don’t understand a sore throat and a fever under the right conditions can develop into fatigue in the blink of an eye. They don’t anticipate the pile-up so don’t take steps to deal with the smaller things, and the closer you get to rock bottom, the more stigma starts to play a role in getting help. I now try to keep semi-regular appointments with my doctor and counsellor (finances pending) so that my mental health never gets worse than a metaphorical runny nose, sore throat and fever*. The hardest situation is friends who think they will never even go from a runny nose to a sore throat. The universe has shown me time and time again that all it takes is one accident, one health scare, one death, one natural disaster: one significant, disruptive change outside of your control, let alone if it’s the cherry on top of a bunch of changes outside of your control.

I also want to acknowledge that hearing someone direct their internalised stigma at me was unexpectedly painful. For someone who works really hard to trust others, seeing a close friend (who has otherwise come a long way in their understanding of mental health) show how condescending their opinions were was cutting. If you’ve followed my blog and only ever thought ‘poor Louise, these things are very specific to her and could never be applicable to anyone else, let alone me!’, then I haven’t been writing the blog I thought I was. And maybe I haven’t - so here is the most direct advice I can give:

1. Talk about your feelings and emotions - especially through the good times, so when things get hard, finding the words to describe what you’re going through doesn’t feel impossible. I particularly give this advice to the men I know, because it also helps to break down the sexist idea that women are the only ones allowed to ~talk about their feelings~. If things are good - why are they good? If you don’t feel so good, what’s changed to make things not as good? That’s a much easier thing to note and work on, even if it requires regularly checking in than to realise you’re in an ‘all-of-a-sudden-nothing-feels-good-anymore-and-I-have-no-idea-why’  place and have no plan for coping or dealing with it either. Identifying underlying problems, and having a plan for dealing and coping with them does a lot for me, even if it never solves anything outright.

2. Acknowledge emotional labour. I get a lot of people messaging me because I talk about my mental health publicly, and it can often include triggering, emotional details which they haven’t felt safe to share with anyone else. I have the utmost respect for the courage it takes to break that silence, but often direct people to counsellors and mental health professionals because I do not have the resources or skills to help them in the ways that they need. I know that not everyone has access to the professional help they need, but if your workplace, your school, your university provides free counselling - use it. Use it and still talk to your friends about it, but don’t make them the be all and end all of who you talk to about your situation.

3. Think about how you speak about mental health. It affects everyone, but if you’ve only experienced the good side of mental health, stop and listen to those who do have mental illnesses, and especially those with Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar, Schizophrenia or other which are more heavily stigmatised. My friend who implied those things through their own internalised stigma didn’t think they were being hurtful, in fact, they were trying to reach out in a moment of need, but the less we think of mental health as an us-and-them situation, and instead as a something we all deal with throughout our lives, the more inclusive, supporting, and understanding our society will be. Maybe then we’ll be able to lower the heartbreakingly high rate of suicide in this country.

If you need help in New Zealand: Need to talk? - 1737 (free call or text) The Depression Helpline - 0800 111 757 Healthline - 0800 611 116 Lifeline - 0800 543 354 Samaritans - 0800 726 666 Youthline - 0800 376 633 Alcohol Drug Helpline - 0800 787 797 Finding a mental health professional: Doctor, therapist or counsellor Resources from the Mental Health Foundation about mental illnesses, support initiatives, and research

*this is the most aspirational statement I’ve ever made in my entire life, and this comes from someone who wants to be a full time creative AND be able to pay all their bills on time every month. 

[cathcacen]

Tethered

Still naming Learei drabbles after songs XD

Tethered by Sleeping at Last

“You'll be balance when i waver. I'll be warmth when you are shivering cold. You'll be patience when i've had enough of this waiting game. I'll be the anchor cast below.”

Lear misses a date, but also needs to make sure Rei knows he’s alive and well. Rei realises with a little sleuthing that she does, in fact, have the means to check on Lear.

He doesn’t show up. She spends the entire weekend in Santorini by herself, anxious and concerned; she doesn’t have a way to contact him, nor does she think he'd appreciate having his focus broken by something as trivial as a date. Especially if he’s been called away so suddenly he can’t even get word to her.

It has to be something important, she tells herself. I hope he's okay.

By the time she gets back to her apartment, she's come up with at least seven different scenarios for why he hadn't showed up. The first is the most terrifying - that Sagen could be lying dead somewhere, and she would have no way of ever finding out.

She doesn’t want to think on that, so she concentrates on her unpacking. Despite the anxiety bubbling inside, she’d made the rounds of the island on a rental moped, trying out the local cuisine and chatting with some other tourists. She’d bought some local souvenirs for Sagen - Greek spice rub, thyme honey, fresh baklava, and a jar of luscious, fat Kalamata olives. There are some photographs of the villa they had rented - whitewashed with a bright blue domed ceiling, square windows, and a soft, baby blue door that opened onto a sunny balcony overlooking the glimmering sea.

The movies don’t do the island justice.

She puts aside Sagen’s souvenirs and finishes off with her unpacking and laundry. Her flight had put her back home with plenty of time to spare, so she’s just wondering what to do for dinner when a soft knock brings her to the door.

Sagen is standing there when she throws it open, at once sheepish and apologetic. “Sorry I didn’t call.”

She lets out a breath, and can’t muster up the energy to be angry. Relief floods her senses, and she throws her arms around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

There are words that linger at the tip of her tongue, begging to be said - thank goodness you’re safe. I missed you. I was so worried about you.

Instead, she chuckles, the sound coming out less convincing than she would’ve preferred. “It’s okay, I got the bed all to myself.”

He grins broadly at her, and she steps aside to let him in. Only then does she see the paper bag he’s holding, the cork of a wine bottle only just visible from the top. “I’m sure you made the most of everything we’d planned. Did you see Nea Kameni?”

“Yes, and I took some photos for you too.” Out of habit, she glances out, checking that the corridor is empty before closing and bolting the door. “I wanted to go to Therasia for the hot springs, but I ran out of time.”

Sagen finds the stemmed wine glasses in her cabinets with ease, then sets about uncorking the bottle. She recognises the label from her second night in Greece - a light, tangerine-and-flower white. “We’ll go together next time.” He hands her a glass, clinking the mouth of his glass to hers.

“Exactly how did you get a Moshcofilero if you weren’t even in Greece, hm?” She peers at him, but takes a sip anyway. It’s as delicious as she remembers.

“I know a guy.”

“You know many guys.”

He gives her a smug sort of smile as he takes a seat on one of her bar stools. She rolls her eyes, but goes to him anyway. “This one in particular has a taste for uncommon wines. I was going to bring you to taste this label, but it would appear you’ve already had some.”

“Not my fault you booked us that wine-tasting daytrip and failed to show up for it.” She swirls the wine in her glass, then takes another sip. “I got you some food, anyway. It’s good you showed up before the baklava went bad.”

Sagen squeezes her briefly before turning around, reaching for his paper bag. “I can’t stay long, but I brought dinner. You hungry?”

She watches as he pulls out an assortment of fillets - whitefish and shellfish, and a few small boxes of assorted salad greens. It’s his way of making up for lost time, she knows - charm and apology in one. He’s done it before.

She falls for it every time. “Starving.”

It’s a slow day; she’d spent it updating the files of her current patients on the encrypted server where the medical histories of military personnel were stored for easy access. She’d brought a leftover piece of baklava - the last - back to base. It’s all but lost its crispness by now, but it’s no less tasty and the memory of Sagen cutting into it brings a smile to her face.

He’d cooked them up a delicious dinner, and they’d eaten it outside in the balcony. She’d showed him the pictures, from the volcano to the marketplaces and temples and vineyards - then they’d deleted them, out of habit. While she cleaned up after, he’d dug into her cupboards for the artisanal spiced tea she kept around for him, sweetening the pot with the Grecian honey after. Then they’d lounged about for a little while before he’d had to leave.

Got somewhere else to be, he’d said. She’d recognised the shit-eating grin.

Something clicks inside as she chews and swallows. Throughout the course of the night before, it had been clear that Sagen was favouring his right side. He’d hidden it well enough, but there was a wince, a bit of a grunt, when she’d hugged him too tightly - and then again when she’d nuzzled into his side post-dinner.

Out of respect and a desire to let him play out his planned show, she’d neglected to ask.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t look into it. She washes down the last of the baklava with her coffee, then types his name into the page. The history she’s after is password protected, but she’s been listed as Sagen’s primary doctor in the military since before his four-month hospital stint, so her passkey gets her through with no red flags raised. A cursory glance at the latest updates show he’s mostly had minor procedures done at her base - stitches, overnight observation, antibiotics for infection, and a case of mild pneumonia that had resulted in a week of infirmary time with lots of chicken alphabet soup.

He’d spelled out the silliest things with his pasta. Elevator. Spidermonkey. Ice cream. Steak sauce. Limoncello. Cicero.

The last one had had the entire infirmary in stitches. Enema.

She scrolls down to the very end of the page and reads through the latest notes. Her breath hitches and she has to stop herself from crying out.

Sagen had gotten into trouble after all. The new notations are the work of a civilian General Surgeon - a certain Doctor Schaefer, currently employed in the hospital nearby her apartment in town. She grits her teeth, swearing through them. GSW through the left side - there had been no injury to his vital organs, but the bullet had lodged itself in one of his metal ribs. The fool had gone and gotten himself shot, admitted, and into surgery during her flight to Santorini.

She’s not even surprised.

Damn it, Sagen.

There’s a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that corresponds with the feeling of bereftness coupled with genuine terror. For one brief moment, her mind slips into the dark place - one where she opens Sagen’s chart to find out he’s dead. She shakes away the thoughts and gulps down more water - her mouth has gone dry, and she’s suddenly very aware that it could happen for real. And beneath the underlying thread of terror is the realisation that he had snuck out of the hospital to see her.

She doesn’t even know whether to be touched or angry, and settles on exasperated. According to the records, Sagen is meant to stay in the hospital for another two days, so she packs up her things, clocks out for the day, and takes a bus downtown to ‘check on her patient’.

A few nurses at the hospital are familiar with her, so none of them question her presence there. She makes her way to Sagen’s private room without much trouble. He jumps when she strides in, with all the grace of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but recovers spectacularly.

“Tah dah!” His voice is light, the words coming out in a sing-song manner as he opens up his hands and arms. As if he’d meant all along to be found in all his hospital-bound glory.

“How the hell did you manage to get out of a camera-filled hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest?” She shuts the door and closes the blinds, then sits on the chair beside his bed, scowling.

Sagen chuckles heartily; he doesn’t look at all unhappy to have been found out. If anything, he actually looks pleased for the company. “The same way I managed to cook you dinner and give you snuggles after.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Determination and painkillers.”

“You could’ve just called.”

“But then the baklava would’ve gone bad.”

She levels a flat look at him, and he grins back at her. “It’s not funny, you idiot. You could’ve torn your stitches open.”

“Good thing I was going to see a doctor, then.” Sagen drums his fingers lightly upon his sheets, then reaches out to brush her cheek with his fingertip. “Come on, give me some credit - I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Some things can’t be helped.” She puffs up her cheeks, grumbling. “But how would you like it if I just didn’t show up one day? And then you come home from Alexandria or something to find out I’d gotten shot and didn’t tell you.”

“That wouldn’t have happened.” Sagen’s smile takes on a lighter cast. They always keep it light, even when they’re discussing heavier subjects. It makes it easier to pretend. “Because I’d want to find you and steal you away anyway, so chances are I’d be able to prevent your getting shot.”

She leans back in her chair with a sigh. “Have I ever mentioned how unfair it is that you know exactly how and where to find me, whereas I literally have no idea when I’ll see you again?”

He lays back against his pillows, his eye softening for only a brief moment before the careless, good-natured cheer returns. “You found me today, though.”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” She meets his eye. You’ll find me, and I’ll find you. “And now I’ll know where to look if you don’t show up again.” She has to admit it’s a pretty convenient trick - one she’d overlooked before. “That’s if I can count on all the other doctors you’re seeing to be accurate with their charting.”

Sagen quirks a smile. “Well, if they’re all as reliable as my cute lady doc, I’d say you’re all set.”

“Sure.” She rolls her eyes, but can’t help the smile that breaks forth. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out a foil-wrapped sandwich and hands it to him before getting to her feet. “Try not to sneak out again.”

He takes the sandwich gleefully, then pulls her down for a quick peck on the lips. “No promises. Stay out of trouble, Naveau.”

[ookamirinchan]

Top 10 Things I Will/Won’t Miss

Living in a foreign country and culture is routinely both exciting and frustrating. There are many things about Japan that I love--so much so that I wish such things were more common in the west. But on the flip side, no matter how “used to” Japanese daily life I become, there will always be things that are beyond annoying--things that I absolutely will never miss once I leave. As my 10 week countdown begins, I realize I’ve started categorizing all of the things I see in my daily life as one or the other. Will I miss this?

Although most things I question get a “meh, probably,” there are a few things that get a resounding and definite “yes” or “no.” Here are the top 10 things I will miss and the top 10 things I won’t in no particular order.

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Top 10 Things I’m Not Going To Miss Even a Little Bit

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1. Lack of Appliances

One of the biggest frustrations of life in Japan is a lack of what I consider to be necessary appliances. Namely, a dryer, a dishwasher, and an oven. How is one meant to function without such luxuries? I’ve never understood it.

My time in Japan has been spent saving laundry, dishes, and cooking until the last possible minute because doing any of the above without the proper appliance is maddening. I’ve started driving to the coin laundry every week and using only paper utensils and plates because the alternatives are just so aggravating. For a society that’s so “high tech,” it’s amazing how little technology they use in their daily lives.

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2. The Language Barrier

I’ve studied Japanese for going on 7 years now, though I’m still not very good. I can blunder my way through standard conversations on the phone or at the store, but free conversations are still difficult. Add in the fact that I only understand about 50% of what people say to me and that students and many co-workers insist on speaking to me in Japanese as though I am capable of responding and you have my frustration with the language barrier.

I can’t even express to you how happy I will be to be able to read food labels, instructions for my new electronic, or the side-effects and ingredients in my cough medicine.

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3. My Job

Those who know me well know this one already--the number one reason I’m leaving Japan is that I absolutely can’t stand my job as an ALT. It’s boring, it’s frustrating, I have no control over anything I do, I’m treated like a child, and I have no responsibility whatsoever. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone to a class just to say a quick “hello” to the students and then stand in the corner for 50 minutes while the teacher explains grammar in Japanese. Such a waste of my time and skills.

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4. Being “The Gaijin”

Have you ever lived in a foreign country where you were so obviously “the foreigner”? If so, you know where I’m going with this one. Sometimes, being “gaikokujin” (foreign person) in Japan is a good thing. For example, you can get away with just about any social faux pas because you “don’t understand.” There’s even a term for it among foreigners in Japan--Gaijin Smash. And yet, when you walk into a restaurant and the staff automatically assumes you don’t know what you’re doing...when you’re sick and your supervisor has to go to the doctor with you to translate...when you’re treated with “kid gloves” whenever you try to do anything...it gets kind of annoying.

But there’s more to it than that. As a Gaijin, you’re recognizable. Everyone in your city knows who you are and where you work. People you’ve never seen before strike up a conversation with you at the convenience store. People constantly comment on your skin, hair, teeth, clothes, size, and anything else about you that’s different. And children you teach follow you like lost puppies when they see you in the grocery store. (Where are your parents, small child?)

I know some JETs really love this attention, but I really don’t. It’ll be nice to go back to a place where I’m not a town celebrity, thank you very much.

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5. Japanese Netflix

For those of you who don’t know, Netflix is region-locked. So U.S. Netflix is different from Netflix in the U.K. or in Australia or in Japan. Time was, you could use a proxy to trick Netflix into thinking you’re in the U.S. when really you’re not in order to access content in other countries. But Netflix, losers that they are, caught on to this and beefed up their security so much that proxies no longer work and if you live in Japan you have to watch Japanese Netflix.

Now, really, Netflix in Japan isn’t all that different from Netflix in the U.S., but a lot of the titles are different. Oh yeah, and all the anime/movies made in Japan are in Japanese with no subtitles. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read articles online about what Netflix is adding in the coming months, gotten super excited, and then been sad because it’s only American Netflix that got a cool new show or movie. Ugh. I will be plenty happy to return to my “real” Netflix and the shows I actually want to watch.

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6. Sick Culture

When you’re sick in Japan, you follow a very specific routine.

1. Put on a face mask.

2. Take your temperature.

3.A. If you don’t have a fever, you’re completely fine go to work.

3.B. If you do have a fever, you’re dying. You should go to the doctor immediately.

4. Tell the doctor you have a fever.

5. Take the flu test, even if you don’t have flu symptoms.

6.A. If the flu test is positive, go home and sleep for 3 days. Don’t touch another person until your 3 days are up.

6.B. If the flu test is negative, you’re fine. Take your medicine and go to work, it’s probably just stress.

7. Cry because Japanese people have NO CLUE how to be sick.

Now, the face masks are, of course, annoying. They’re uncomfortable and suffocating and MythBusters proved they don’t actually work anyway. But more frustrating than that is (a) the assertion that you must go to the doctor for every little ailment and (b) the assumption that you’re only “sick” if you have a fever (and on the flip side, the assumption that if you have a fever you must be contagious).

For example, last winter I had strep throat. Now, it’s pretty hard to have strep throat and not know you have strep throat. I went to the doctor because that’s what you do when you have strep throat--you have to go get antibiotics. My conversation with the doctor went something like this:

Doctor: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “I think I have strep throat.”

Doctor: “What are your symptoms?”

Me: “Well, I have a high fever, my throat hurts, and there are big white spots on it.”

Doctor: “Have you had a flu shot this year?”

Me: “No...?”

Doctor: “Let’s do a flu test.”

Me: “I don’t have the flu. I don’t even have any symptoms of the flu.”

Doctor: “You have a fever. So we should do a flu test.”

Me: “If you’d just look at my throat, you’d know I don’t have the flu.”

Doctor: “I’ll look at your throat after we do the flu test.”

Me: “Fine.”

(We do the flu test.)

Doctor: “You don’t have the flu.”

Me: “Yes, I know.”

(Doctor finally looks at my throat.)

Doctor: “You probably have strep throat.”

Me: “You don’t say...? Wow, I never would have thought of that.”

Then he proceeds to give me five different medications to cure the strep throat--one is an antibiotic, one is for fever, one is basically a painkiller, one is a Chinese herbal remedy for strep throat, and one is for nausea that I might or might not get from any of the previous medications.

Ugh.

And don’t even get me started on the argument I had with my vice principal, who thought I shouldn’t be able to use my sick leave for strep throat because it wasn’t the flu, even after I explained that (a) it’s super contagious and (b) I kind of can’t talk at all.

Seriously, never get sick in Japan. Just don’t do it.

But on the plus side, you can wear the face masks when you’re not sick for cool benefits:

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7. Narrow Roads

If you’ve ever been to Japan, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t...imagine a one-way street in your town. Narrow it by a foot. That’s a 2-way street in the Japanese countryside. If you meet another car along the road, one of you has to pull off the road for the other to pass. Sometimes there isn’t room to pull off. In which case one of you backs up until there is room to pull off.

Then there are the people who (understandably) are tired of people driving over their garden because of narrow roads. Those people erect cement walls around their property. So there’s quite literally nowhere to go. Those people are fun.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve felt like I was going to either destroy my car or die or both because of narrow roads in Japan. I will not miss them.  

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8. Politeness, Part 1

Everyone is so dang polite in Japan. You’d think this would be a good thing, and in some cases it is. I talk about the good aspects of this later, in the things I WILL miss section. But this aspect of Japanese culture definitely has its downsides, too.

Just because Japanese people are polite 98% of the time doesn’t mean they don’t get angry. It just means that (a) you don’t know they’re angry and (b) they’re going to passive-aggressively make your life a living hell while apologizing for it and totally not meaning it.

I am so, so, so tired of people who don’t say what they mean--people who agree with you not because they think it’s a good idea but because they feel like they have to. For example, I once taught a lesson that was absolute crap (and on parents’ day, no less). The students were confused, the JTE was confused, and everything was chaos. After the class, I asked my JTE how he thought the lesson went.

“It was good.” He said.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes.” He said.

“You didn’t think it was confusing?”

“Yes, it was confusing.”

“You don’t think it was too difficult for the students?”

“Yes, it was difficult.”

Me, internally, “Then why the heck did you tell me it was a good lesson?!?!?!?!?!”

But really, I said, “Okay, so what do you think I could do to make it better?”

“Nothing. It was good.”

Me, internally, “ WTH???????”

But really, I said, “Okay. Thanks for class.”

This kind of exchange is fairly normal--there’s never an explicit yes or no answer. It’s always this convoluted nonsense that you couldn’t possibly understand unless you read their body language.

In another example, I wanted to take 2 days of vacation time so I could go on a trip during Golden Week. I don’t have to ask anyone but the principal, but as a courtesy I asked the head of the English department first. Her response was something along the lines of, “We have a parent’s viewing class that day. So it’s not a good time for you to take off. No one can tell you that you can’t use your vacation time. So you could use it. But we’d be happy if you came to school on that day.”

The implication was a very heavy “No, you can’t take that day off.” But what she actually said was different. You better believe I still took that day off. And, as usual, although no words were exchanged about the matter, there have been a dozen little things over the last few weeks that make me certain she’s punishing me for going against her wishes.

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9. Lack of Cheese (And Other Nummy Foods)

I’ve missed cheese so much. So, so, so, so, so, so, so, so much!

Also, bread, cottage cheese, popcorn cakes, Dr. Pepper, and so much more. Words cannot express how much I am looking forward to food upon my return. (Though I am going to miss sushi and Coco’s Curry.)

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10. Culture Shock (But...)

For those who don’t know, culture shock is a big, annoying roller coaster of pain and annoyance. You start off all happy, in your cute little honeymoon phase, and you’re like “Yay, this is going to be fun!” We call that part “Stage 1.”

Then, just when you think life is going to be awesome forever, you hit Stage 2, where suddenly your car bounces off track and everything is miserable. This is the part where you hate everyone and everything that is different from your normal way of life. Except you’re surrounded by things like that and life just pretty much sucks.

Next comes Stage 3 where you sorta-kinda get used to some things and life gets a little bit better. Like realizing that having a bathroom that’s solely a *bath* room is actually a pretty neat idea. And eventually, you have enough of these revelations that you reach Stage 4 where you magically accept your new life and everything is wonderful again.

Except...

Nothing is ever that pretty and perfect. Oh sure, you go from Stages 1 to 2 fairly regularly, but after that is anyone’s guess. My time in Japan has been something like this: 1 - 2 - 2 - 3 - 2 - 2 - 2 - 4 - 4 - 4 - 4 - 2 - 3 - 2 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 4 - 2. And on any given day, I really can’t tell which Stage I’m going to end on. It’s completely unpredictable and insane.

It’ll be nice to go back home where I don’t have to worry about Culture Shock ever again. Right?

Wrong. Because Reverse Culture Shock is totally a thing. A thing which I experienced in part last summer when I returned to the U.S. for a couple weeks.

I can leave my shoes on inside? What?????

I’m given a fork at a Chinese restaurant and have to request chopsticks. What?????

There’s no 5:00 song!

I want to take a real bath. :(  :(  :(  :(

All of the clothes fit me!!! But they’re so low-cut!

Walmart is a thing that exists again!

The house is so big!

Where’s the otohime? (Otohime = a button you push in the restroom that makes running water noises so no one can hear what you’re doing in the toilet)

My drink is so big! I can’t drink all that!

Oh my God it’s salt. There’s salt. On my table. At a restaurant. I didn’t have to request it.

Oh yeah, I have to tip people again.

And so on.

Granted, Reverse Culture Shock eventually goes away for good, so I have that to look forward to. But for all of you who will spend any considerable time with me for the next couple years, I apologize in advance for any statement which begins, “Well, in Japan...”

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Top 10 Things I Will Definitely Miss a Lot

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1. Bath Culture

Japanese people take their baths seriously. If you’ve been to Japan, you know this to be true. Bathrooms are just that--the room with the bathtub and shower and nothing else. The tub is deep enough to sit in comfortably for hours. And there’s a very specific way you’re supposed to bathe:

-Step 1: Scrub the tub Do this every night so you never have to scrub and scrub and scrub. Just spray the tub with water, coat it with cleaner, and run over once with your awesome tub scrubber that extends and pivots so you don’t have to bend down and kill your knees.

-Step 2: Draw a bath In some houses, you can even control the temperature of your bath with a remote control. You can also set a timer so the bath draws itself automatically every night.

-Step 3: Cover the bath with your nifty bathtub cover

-Step 4: Stand outside the tub and use your showerhead to take a shower

-Step 5: Remove bathtub cover and soak for the rest of your life

And because baths are super important, you can buy awesome bath products everywhere. Like that scrubber I mentioned above. Or a stool you can sit on while you shower because comfort. Body scrubbers, body soaps, an entire aisle of bath salts and bath bombs, buckets so you can rinse yourself off with actual bath water, shower caps (that actually work) for those times when you don’t want to wash your hair, and even sponges that make the mirror in your bathroom not fog up. (Don’t ask me why there’s a mirror in the bathroom...but there is.)

I’ll admit, when I first came to Japan I was completely baffled by all of this. But it’s super amazing, and I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without my nightly bath now.

And don’t even get me started on the onsen (public open-air baths).

Want to relax with a beautiful view? Onsen.

Been out hiking all day and want to freshen up before your 3 hour drive home? Onsen.

Want to warm up after a day in the snow? Onsen.

Don’t have anything else to do? Onsen.

Onsen is always the answer. Onsen is life.

Why doesn’t the U.S. have onsen? I will be so sad to leave them behind...

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2. Random Products to Make Your Life Better

Cold? Don’t worry, just buy some disposable hot packs. They come in “sticky” and “unsticky” and in just about any size you can think of. Put them wherever you like. Pockets, shoes, or anywhere else that’s cold.

Hot? Don’t worry, we have hand fans, scarves that literally cool you off, and UV-protectant umbrellas.

Tired? Don’t worry, we have energy shots.

Hungover? There’s a drink for that too, conveniently available at any convenience store.

Tired of dusting your shelves? Just buy this super awesome sticky paper that goes on the bottom...when it gets dirty, just rip away and toss it.

Tired of your bookshelves falling over in those pesky earthquakes? We have super, super sticky pads to glue them to your floor.

Tired of your perfectly-rolled toothpaste tube unrolling when you let go of it? Toothpaste squeezer will fix that pesky problem.

Tired of your bathroom mirror fogging up when you shower? We have a sponge for that.

Want to chop your leeks in perfect slices every time? There’s a kitchen tool for that.

Want to look like a samurai while your beautify? There’s a face mask for that.

Tired of your boring kitchen sponge, timer, hot water bottle, toilet brush, masking tape, file folder, calculator, toilet paper, etc.? Don’t worry--it comes in “cute.”

Seriously, Japan is like the never-ending land of slightly useful but mostly unnecessary products. A trip to the 100 Yen Store is never a dull trip. And when I return home, the lack of endlessly entertaining cheap crap will certainly leave me feeling sad.

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3. No Shoes Inside

I used to make fun of people in the States doing this. I used to roll my eyes at people who insisted I take my shoes off before entering their house. To those people--I am deeply sorry.

Japanese people change their shoes every time they enter a building. Instead, they wear indoor shoes that have never seen the outdoor world or just slippers that are adorable and can easily be folded up into a bag and carried around to various locations. But the point is, no indoor shoes go outside and no outside shoes go inside.

It makes the world so much cleaner.

I’m definitely doing this back in the States.

(Though Japan can keep the toilet slippers thing...I’m not that crazy!)

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4. Money and Free Time

Many people compare the JET Program to study abroad. A lot of people join the program for a “gap year” between college and their real jobs. And there’s a definite reason for this. I, as an ALT, have so much free time it’s ridiculous.

My first year, I had so much free time at work that I quite literally spent more time sitting at my desk studying Japanese than I did in the classroom.

My second year, I started taking random online classes to fill this time. That year I got TEFL-certified and I learned JavaScript.

My third year, I was both Block Leader and AJET President, the work for both of which took up all of my free time.

And the point remains that I’ve never actually done that much “work” at work.

But having few responsibilities in the office is good in other ways, too--mainly, I don’t have to stay late and I never have to do work on weekends. There are no papers to grade or lessons to make that I can’t do during my free time in the normal work day. This leaves my after-work schedule wide open for all kinds of cool things. Weeknights are filled with Dungeons and Dragons, board games, Japanese class, and TV nights, and weekends are filled with trips and events galore. It’s amazing all of the things I’ve done and all of the places I’ve gone since I moved to Japan--things I never would have considered in the States. And although some of that was simply the “adventure is out there” mindset that infects many JETs, a lot of it is made possible by a generous salary and A LOT of free time. Although there are many days where I wish I had more responsibility in my job, there’s a lot to be said for having free time to climb mountains, go skiing, and drive 3 hours to see some famous shrine because why not?

I know that freedom will change once I’m back in the U.S. with big girl responsibilities. I hope I’ll be able to make time for the things I enjoy, though I know my opportunities to enjoy them will become few and far between.

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5. Presents for Inconveniences

Japan gives presents for everything. It’s really funny most of the time. For example, when I first came to Japan, I went to get a cell phone and walked away with a cell phone and a free supermarket-sized bottle of laundry deodorant bead things (idk, they make your clothes smell good and you just dump them in the washer with your detergent...as far as I can tell they don’t do anything but make your clothes smell like flowers). This is fairly common...I also got presents for opening a bank account and for getting an apartment. It’s just a “thing” here to entice people into signing on with a certain company.

But even better than the presents for “new” accounts are the presents you get for being inconvenienced. Let me tell you a story.

Usually, when I pay for school lunch, I pay once a month and it’s just deducted from my bank account with no muss or fuss. But about a month ago, the payment for my school lunch changed from once every month to once every two months. No one thought it was important to tell me this, and so when bill-pay time rolled around I didn’t have enough in my account to cover the full amount. So they sent me a physical bill which can only be paid at the bank during bank hours.

Banks in Japan are both really cool and really frustrating. But in this case they were frustrating. Banks are only open until 3 p.m. and never on weekends. If you want to go to the bank to do anything, you have to go in the middle of the work day. Which is fine for people who can drive to the bank, but not so much for people who can’t drive to work and therefore don’t have a car to use to go to the bank and therefore have to walk for 50 minutes to get to the bank. So in order to go to the bank, I had to wait for an afternoon where I didn’t have any classes and take 2.5 hours of vacation time to walk to the bank to pay this bill. I went, I paid for it, end of story, right?

Wrong. Because the teller at the bank had made a mistake...she was supposed to give me 10 yen ( about 10 cents) in change and instead gave me 100 yen (about a dollar). Neither of us caught this mistake and I left without any more thought to my time at the bank. That is, until about an hour later (after the bank had closed and I’d finished walking home) when I got a phone call from a panicked bank teller who, in the midst of many “excuse me”s and “sorry to bother you”s explained to me that she had made a mistake and I would have to go back to the bank so I could give her 90 yen.

“Can’t you just deduct it from my account?” I asked, thinking this was the most reasonable solution to the problem. But the answer was many “excuse me”s and “sorry to trouble you”s with a “sorry, we can’t” message thrown in somewhere.

I explained my situation to her--that I had to take vacation time to go to the bank and I could only go on afternoons where I wouldn’t have class--days which are super rare, and the earliest I could return to the bank would be Friday of the following week, the bank teller came up with a solution. The following day, she would send a bank employee to my school to meet me, verify the mistake, and get the 90 yen. I was both amazed and amused...because only in Japan would a bank send an employee to collect the equivalent of less than a dollar in change from a client (and only in Japan would it (a) matter and (b) have been recorded in enough detail that the teller could have figured out that out of all the people she had given change to that day, it was me she had made the mistake with). But whatever, it meant I wouldn’t have to go back to the bank again, so I agreed and the following day at the specified time the guy came and took my 90 yen.

I’ll admit that even though the bank was coming to meet me, I was pretty aggravated by the whole ordeal, and had spent those 21 hours between the phone call and the guy’s visit mentally fussing about Japanese banks and their annoying habits.

But as the guy was leaving, in the midst of many “thank you”s, “excuse me”s, and “sorry to bother you”s, he gave me a pen with Arukuma on it (the Mascot character for Nagano prefecture) and three highlighters as presents for having inconvenienced me. Immediately I became un-annoyed. Because (a) Cool! Free stuff! And (b) OMG IT HAS ARUKUMA ON IT!!!!!

The moral of the story is, it might be a pain in the ass to deal with Japanese banks, but when they screw up you get cool free stuff. I think I can live with that.

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6. Politeness, Part 2

Politeness in Japan is cultural. It’s almost unheard of for any Japanese person to be anything but completely polite to anyone they meet in their daily lives. Frustration and fussing is reserved only for one’s family and extremely close friends, and as a result, it’s very rare to have any sort of argument with someone who is Japanese. Japanese people are so polite they have a whole extra language (called “keigo”) devoted to being polite--the idiosyncrasies of which are so complex that many Japanese people have to take classes on it in college so they can properly use it in their future business dealings.

As you can imagine, this has its down sides, which is why I talked about the flip side to this element of Japanese culture in the previous section. But in all honesty, it’s really nice a lot of the time, too.

For example, have you ever walked into a store and the clerk has been in a bad mood? You haven’t done anything wrong, but they’ve had a sucky day and their smile is just a little forced...their thank you just a little sarcastic...maybe they huff a little when they have to stop what they’re working on to ring you up or you hear them gossiping with another employee about “this one really horrible customer” who left 30 minutes ago. It’s kind of off-putting, right? Except, while this is common in the U.S. (I know because I’ve worked retail and I know I’m guilty of behaving that way), this would absolutely never, ever, ever happen in Japan. Because no matter how much your day has sucked in Japan, you just don’t show it. Sure, maybe you go home and complain to your family, but it is expressed and stays for eternity within that close-knit group. I know for a fact that as a foreigner, I’ve done some stupid things in stores in Japan. And I know that employees I’ve dealt with go home and tell their families about “this one time when the crazy foreigner came into my store.” But the point is...no matter how frustrated I’m making them in the store, they never, ever stop smiling and treating me with respect.

It’s been a nice change of pace from the U.S. where people swear at you for bumping into them on the street, you know? And also, it kind of rubs off on you...

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7. My Students

In the U.S., classroom management is an art form. It must be developed for years and years before any new teacher is even remotely good at it. And during my student teaching, I learned that lesson hard (as do most student teachers, I imagine). Don’t get me wrong--I loved teaching in the U.S. and I certainly plan to continue in the future. And a lot of my students were really good kids. But any 8th grade class in the States in chaos incarnate, and nothing any teacher does ever will change that.

After my first week teaching in Japan, one of my JTEs asked me, “What do you think is the biggest difference between Japanese and American schools?”

She probably expected me to talk about the daily cleaning time or the teachers’ instructional habits, but what popped out of my mouth was, “The students.”

“How so?” she asked, and I proceeded to explain how completely amazed I was that the students would just sit there in class. There was no talking, no getting up to go to the bathroom, no paper airplanes, no loud noises, no class clowns, no students dropping their books or sneezing every 5 minutes...they were all completely, 100% compliant with the teacher. They were content to sit there and take notes for hours on end with no misbehavior or rebellion to be seen. I was completely and utterly astounded.

Over time, I’ve learned that not all classes in my schools are free of behavior problems, and that, of course, the kids are still kids and are completely crazy during break times and after school. And yet the fact remains that almost no classroom management is necessary in any of my classrooms.

Of course, the ease of classroom management isn’t the only thing I’ll miss about my students. They’re all great kids, and I’ve taught them all for three years now. I’ve come to know a lot of them very well, and I’ll miss them very much when I leave, but that’s nothing new. I have students from my student teaching that I miss, and I’ve known students in the past 3 years who have graduated and who I miss quite a bit--the girls I cleaned with my first year who taught me about ARASHI while I taught them how to sing Disney songs in English; the boy and girl the next year who studied abroad during summer vacation and hunted me down every day to have a conversation; the girls last year who couldn’t speak English very well but who always tried in such loud and excited voices; the boys who think it’s funny that I say “hello” to them and will run up and down the stairs or the hallway over and over again, saying “hello” to me every time they pass me; the girl who is afraid to speak but who smiles at me in the hallway now; the girl who says “yoh-hoh” to me instead of “hello” and who loves pine cones enough to bring them to school whenever she finds them to show to all her friends...there are so many, and I’ll be sorry to leave them behind. But the classroom management, though...that’s definitely an added bonus.

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8. Public Transportation

My friends and I all agree--the number one way in which the U.S. is inferior to Japan is public transportation. Local trains, express trains, bullet trains, city busses, highway trams, subways, monorails, taxis, planes, and more--Japan has it down pat, that’s for sure. Getting from Point A to Point B is always easy, comfortable, usually convenient, and roughly the same price as (if not cheaper than) driving.

Granted, Japan is not the only country with awesome public transportation systems--in fact most places I’ve visited in Asia have some kind of modern rail and bus system in place. It seems only the U.S. is behind the times on this point, with transport systems few and far between and not at all clean or comfortable. Maybe one day that will change, but for the time being, I’ll certainly miss the trains.

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9. Tea...Tea Everywhere

I never really liked tea before I came to Japan. Now I love it. Tea is everywhere (so is coffee too, but it’s more respectable to drink tea in Japan than it is in the west). You can buy tea leaves and bags pretty much anywhere, from supermarkets to convenience stores. Any place that will sell you coffee on tap will sell you tea as well. And you can find pretty much any flavor of tea you want. Not to mention that, because everyone loves tea so much, staff rooms are always stocked with hot water and tea bags and co-workers routinely make large pots of tea to share with everyone. Having a mug at your desk is practically a necessity. But if you don’t have one don’t worry, you can use one of the school’s fancy china tea cups instead!

But tea isn’t available as only tea. No, you can also buy tea-flavored ice cream, tea-flavored cake...even tea “flavored” bath bombs. And somewhere along the line, I’ve grown to love the tea. I’m going to have to find out where I can buy the good stuff in the States...

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10. My Friends

The thing I’ll probably miss most of all are the people I’ve met over the last three years.

Back in the U.S. I never had that many friends...but when I did make friends with people I’d stay close with them forever. I can count the number of people I’ve considered “friends” before Japan on two hands, and most of them I’m still friends with. This is mostly because I’ve never had much time for “other people” in my life, and I prefer to spend most of my free time alone and recharging after a day spent with too many people. But in coming to Japan with the JET Program, I joined a massive network of people from all over the world who mostly consider each other friendly and trustworthy.

Communities are everywhere in JET--I have just under 10 communities which I routinely participate in, either online or in person. But the people who live in my prefecture and in my block have become some amazing friends. Will they ever top the love I feel for the friends I’ve known my whole life? Probably not. But all the same, they mean a lot to me. These are people I meet with to play board games or people who come to NagaYes events or people who come to AJET parties and trips or people who just happen to live near me and work in my city. There are people I call when I want to go to the movies, people I call when I want to play board games, people I call when I want to go hiking, and people I call when I want to drop everything at the last minute and go on an adventure. And usually, these people are more than up for the task at hand. I am connected to this community, and knowing I’m about to return home, to be away from them by several thousand miles, and to know that I can’t go to Chushin’s NagaYes next year (or the Ski Trip or the hanami party or that big camping trip everyone decided would be a cool thing to do) is really sad. I know I’ll be with my other friends and family, but I also know that things in the U.S. will never be what they were here.

Leaving is a lonely thing, and although I know it’s what I have to do, I’ll still miss all of my wonderful fellow-Naganites. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.

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Credits:

I did not draw any of the above comics. They come from the talents of...

Life After the BOE

Texan in Tokyo

Fried Chicken and Sushi

Mary Cagle

[andersonsallpurpose]

(pretend this is a readmore)

a couple of years ago ihad an ear infection so i went to the doctor. it wasn’t my regular doctor, just whoever had a gap that day, and it turned out to be - i’m not sure how much i’m interpreting after the fact, or judging by appearences here, but he was an old balding man that exuded Old-Fashioned Doctor vibes. (Question actually: are we always combining Capitals Of Importance with ™ now, or will i still be understood if i leave it out? because i’ve been doing the capitals thing for years and i don’t feel like changing it to comply with a meme that’ll be dead in a few months anyway). He used an old-fashioned dictaphone or whatever that’s called in english, as in he talked into a microphone while i was present instead of just typing a few key words (not keywords) into his file in the 5 minutes between me and his next patient. (or whatever they do, i’m just assuming most clinics have tried to save money by firing all their secretaries by now.)

anyway old men with power amirite

so he had a look at my ear and told me it was an infection and he was going to prescribe me antibiotics. and i asked him if i should be careful with alcohol. and he turned the question back to me: why, do you drink a lot? and i said No! practically never! but it felt like he didn’t quite believe me. and then suddenly i didn’t quite believe me either.

and the thing is, I pretty much don’t drink. for example, i had maybe ¼ glass of wine at my parents in october, and ½ glass of wine at christmas. that’s pretty much it for my alcohol consumption over the last year. (actually, looking at it now it's probably more than i usually drink in a year. maybe i should worry?) and the reason i even asked is because i drink so rarely that i keep forgetting that alcohol is even a thing, and then i have some liqueur chocolate things within 24 hours of a painkiller and suddenly i remember and i panic. (i try to have some alcohol once in a while, in the futile hope it will build up some much-needed resistance and/or magically turn me into an adult.)

but for almost a week afterwards i walked around feeling bad because I drink too much. I actually believed that. because this guy had cast me in the role of Irresponsible Young Woman Who Probably Parties Too Much and suddenly that was the truth. and I was ashamed and worried that someone might ask me about what he’d said, because I knew that if i insisted that he was wrong, my insecurity would make it sound like i was lying. And if other people believe it’s true and treat it like it’s true, and make you feel like it’s true, it doesn’t actually matter whether it is, technically, true. (I guess it might if they base actual medical treatment on inaccurate assumptions, but then they’ll be sorry and you’ll be dead so.)

(and that’s why i for the most part stay out of sjw-ing, and many other things. because sometimes i can’t actually tell what’s true and/or reasonable or not.)

A few days later i saw an actual specialist for a second opinion and he told me it was a bacterial infection i think? either way, something that didn’t require penicillin. he gave me some ear drops instead which cleared it up in a week, and yes, i did feel pretty smug about it. in your face, old powerful man with your mystic and apparently psychic powers! Maybe not quite as smug as I would if I hadn’t already paid for the damn antibiotics, but still.

[theonlygardener]

Chronic illness, the nature of abusers, and fever dreams

Today has been a day. This week has been a week. 

I started again playing the game I used to play with my ex. Only I took it too far with the walking/exercise and a cyst in my ovary ruptured and now I have a killer infection. I don’t know if they gave me the right antibiotics, I had to practically beg for antibiotics. I don’t think they knew what they were treating. I’m worried about the infection, it doesn’t feel like it’s getting better and while I’m prone to infections, they usually start clearing up within hours of antibiotics for me. From what I’ve looked up online, solely because the ER doc wasn’t very good at exploring every option and quick to blame my chronic illness and refer me to a gyno. And gynos have always tried to push meds on me that are terrible for treating this illness, from experience, and never really address what I actually go into the office for. I saw that ruptured cysts aren’t supposed to be this painful for this long (going into day three now), and that signs of an infection are life threatening. So honestly the past couple of nights when I’ve gone to bed, I’ve felt like I might not wake up in the morning and made some peace with things on that nightly basis. Even told my niece I loved her out of the blue. Texted a friend I haven’t spoken to in a while. I’ve pretended it was normal behavior before writing this. Because admitting to fear is hard for anyone, especially the chronically and disablingly afraid. But I am legitimately afraid. And legitimately dont asking doctors to address problems. When I’m in this much pain and they want to send me out without more than painkillers without me begging for more - when literally a quick fucking google search illustrates how bad that could be. Like. It’s hard not to throw in the towel. I’m doing my best to wait and see and plan on going to the ER again if I need to. I mean. I don’t have much else for choices.

I’m already a statistic in one way, two ways, maybe three. Maybe a million. Disabled and abuse victim. Autistic and abuse victim. Chronic illness and abuse victim. Disabled and no access to appropriate therapies. Sick and poor. Poor and sick. Mixed and sick and poor. Child of an immigrant and sick and poor and disabled. Child of a veteran and sick and poor and disabled and autistic and abuse victim. What’s one more?

My mom became really abusive today. Had one of those episodes - where she can’t handle her anxiety like an adult and turns and lashes at me. I don’t need to spell it out I know what those look like, we all know what those look like - anger, intimidation, gaslighting. I had my endicrinologist appointment today, and I spent the whole time listening to her bitch and complain about how much of a burden I am, on top of the previous abuse. I told her that she knew how far away it was - shouldn’t come as a surprise. And to solve that issue I’ll just go alone next time. When I’m not high off of my tits from tylenol/codeine for a ruptured ovarian cyst and the resulting infection. I would rather die in a fiery crash than be made to feel like a burden. I’ve proved that multiple times over with the toxic abusive ppl in my life and I’ll prove it again.

Then I had a nap, and I was severely dehydrated from meds/crying/fever. And I had a fever dream that me and my ex were hanging out, kind of like how we used to, but it was different. The atmosphere was different, it was like post-break up, friends but not friends but more than friends? And it was at my dad’s house, a place he never visited me at. Because when we started dating I’d go see him. And then when we picked back up again after I broke up with him the first time, I had my own place. 

In this dream I was like “I’m horny wanna do it?”, like I used to when we were together and I was ovulating. And there was a cute funny moment. But then I was pensive, I saw a bunch of red-flag bible quote things on the tv game system screen saver we were using, and I started asking myself “Do I really want to do this with a man who gave me a concussion? With a man I was never good enough for? Has he really changed? Not the best choice” He saw the change in my attitude (irl something he’d almost never notice), and I told him how I felt. And we went into a long discussion where he told me that he wanted to now, because after living w/ his parents for a while, and then living with a friend, and then dating around, and then seeing that I had left S, he realized how he had it was good and figured I’d changed my mind about being poly in general and wanted him again. And I had to impress on him that me leaving S had nothing to do with him, or with that identity. That dating her wasn’t about not wanting him in the first place. That I didn’t regret leaving either of them, they were both toxic. And I didn’t regret being poly. 

People have irl asked me how it feels to lose both of them, expecting me to say that it was all for nothing. It really wasn’t. I proved that a part of myself - the poly part - is real and valid and something I can act on responsibly. It exposed him for who he was, like something would have eventually. And it’s better sooner, before marriage, than later. And it showed me how being in a wlw relationship can be JUST as toxic as otherwise, something I knew secondhand but had to experience myself. I learned a lot of lessons from it that I wouldn’t ever want to take back. His treatment of me, that’s not my fault. Feeling like it was all for nothing, that would have to go hand in hand with feeling responsible for how he treated me, as if my identity precipitated his abuse, and precipitate the eventual break up, the way he wants me to feel. And I refuse to do that to myself.

And ya know. I know this is a dream state, of him giving me confessions he’d never have the humility to give irl. And at that, that’s not even an apology or a real confession. Because making me feel like “I figured you learned your lesson and you leaving S was all about me”, that’s the same abusive ego shit recycled. The reason the christian stuff is a huge red flag is because he and his family have always hidden behind that. They’ve always hidden behind that in their faults, and in their privilege. they have no faults because they’re god fearing. They have no privilege - they earned their good luck by going to church every sunday and it’s a reward. And although he never impressed it upon me as much as his family did, there were red flags. Shortly after starting to date me he asked if I’d been with anyone else, which, I know now, that’s a huge no-no because it’s no one’s business or place to comment on. It’s never asked for an innocent reason. But when I said yeah and he asked how many partners and then seemed really disappointed, and then the convo went from that to “I thought you might at least convert for me someday”, I should high tailed it out of there. 

He’s not even in the place irl that he was in the dream though. I know that on a spiritual level. He’s sucking down the worst of the gaslighting and abuse that he himself experienced since birth and he’s calling it better than what he had with me because it’s comfortable and he’s becoming an even worse version of himself than he ever was with me. I could put money on him abusing the next girl from day fucking one, instead of waiting until she’s just so too much herself like he did with me, and then blaming it on “oh it’s my exes fault she made me like this”, if that was a thing people took bets on. 

But I thought, this was the best relationship I’d been in so far and when the best you’re aware of is the best you’ve known, you make the mistake of settling. I settled. I settled for the least worst of what I had experienced, not the best of what I could get. I made excuses for him, my heart was unsettled for a long time. And when I realized he was autistic, that was the excuse I used. I thought autism made him better in that he “didn’t absorb bullshit from his parents”, I was partially wrong. Because it made him appear better in that he probably would have abused me more and put more pressure on me if his autistic traits were different or if he wasn’t autistic at all. But at the end of the day. Me differentiating too much from what he was taught to expect from a wifey - it came out in the end either way. 

I think I had this dream because with the chronic health issues, I feel really alone. And before he was there for me - even in a capacity where he himself was also complaining about my needs sometimes. And being sick with or without my mother’s abuse. I’m left struggling to love myself through it. because of how he gaslighted me. I’m left feeling like I wish I wasn’t alone and had support. Like I used to feel like I had. Because yeah in the end he proved to be complete trash. But he wasn’t as bad as her, as bad as past exes. And I keep having to fight that feeling and insist upon what I deserve for myself. And then, add this bitch of an excuse for a mother to the top of that pile. A woman who kicks you while you’re down because she’s so incapable of handling her own life - and I feel extra alone. And I have to fight for what I deserve even more. 

And I know, I need, want, absolutely deserve, and again need like I need oxygen, to get out. And I need to get out, alone, and stay out, and alone for a good while. Until I heal and learn to love myself. So that whoever I invite in next doesn’t turn into what everyone has turned into so far. 

My mother probably sees today as a win of codependency. It’s no coincidence that she turned into a monster the same day she offered to drive me 45 minutes to a doctor appointment. She thinks she successfully abused and gaslighted me. But I just want out that much more. She asked about my diagnostic appointment and said “what if you have to drive over the highway” and I said “Then I guess I have no choice, and I’ve driven an hour avoiding highways so I’m sure I’ll manage finding a way”. I don’t think she’s ready for me saying “fuck it, I don’t need you that badly. I’ll die first”. But I can’t be in a place where I can’t make progress because I’m constantly at the will and whim of someone who thinks and acts like they can’t live without me, and abuses me in an effort to keep me tethered. I come first. 

One thing I’m learning in her presence, it’s like a re-up of abuse 101. Watching someone scramble to do everything possible to sabotage me. Watching someone try to reinforce my disability and make me afraid. One of the pluses of understanding my disability is that I know where my fear comes from. It doesn’t. and won’t, come from others anymore. Because I don’t allow it to anymore. I haven’t for a long time. I fought my ex when he tried it. And my own fears that come from me - I’m handling them. Because at the end of the day, this bitch has the same disorders I have. The disorders she refuses to admit to and take responsibility for. The difference is she only copes by turning around and abusing her dependents. I refuse to take part in that. I just keep addressing my own shit so I can get out. 

I think me being sick right now. And I mean really painfully sick. I go to sleep at level 9 pain and wake up at level 9 pain and down painkillers every four hours to take the edge off and help the fever. Honestly hopefully tomorrow is at least marginally better so I can depend on tylenol instead because taking stuff this heavy when I’m this emotionally distressed is a recipe for disaster. Anyways I think me being sick right now - she gets off on it with her sick codependency issues. She doesn’t even really support me. Her ego gets something out of it. She’s not really here for me. Doesn’t really care. It’s all always about her. And in the end, I’m still alone. Because being around people who use you - emotionally physically psychologically doesn’t matter which way use is use, that’s the same as if not worse than alone. The void is just.... so much deeper. Wanting someone to be someone to be the loving kind functional person that you deserve and that they aren’t, and watching them actively choose not to be it. That’s a kind of loneliness that 10/10 is always worse than being in solitude. In solitude you have control over every aspect of your surroundings and if you want to have a good day you have a good day, if you want to have a bad day you have a bad day. When you’re around someone this dysfunctional and abusive, you just aren’t allowed that control.

and 10/10 as soon as I get the support or ability, I’m going to be alone, because that’s what I need, on a wholeness level. And she can’t stop me. In fact her behavior encourages me. It doesn’t keep me glued like she wants it too. It does the opposite. Because maybe if she was a supportive loving and not abusive mother, I would have a safe space to recover. Her not giving me that means I need to go out on my own and get it. Nails in the coffin. 

I’ve always dreamed of moving away, changing my name, changing my phone number. I don’t think that plan has changed. And she’ll probably bitch about “how much she helped me and how selfish I am”, but, ya know, that’s what gaslighting abusive bitch mothers do. You don’t get to help someone up, and trip them at the same time, and then pretend that they owe you, or that you did them some great favor. That’s not real help. One step foward and one or two steps backwards - might as well drive myself and panic and be in physical pain through the whole thing. 

So, in essence this has been a terrible week full of a lot of abuse and trauma and panic and pain and fear. But, idk, I guess I’m learning something from it. 

[vegard]

Welcome to the quiet apocalypse. Here’s my quick The Long Dark review.

The Long Dark is a first-person survival video game developed by Canadian Hinterland Games. Despite the survival genre being amazingly popular, this is my first real go at a survival game. Back in 2012, I dipped my toes in DayZ, which was one of the genre-defining titles, but it didn’t sit too well with me.

Most of the popular survival games are multiplayer. Hinterland has decided to take a different approach with The Long Dark, making it singleplayer only. This suits me just fine, because multiplayer stresses me out. I prefer to wrestle with fairly predictable NPCs, instead of having to worry about other players bashing my head in for the lulz.

The Long Dark features three game play modes: Story, survival, and challenges. So far, I’ve only played the story mode – Wintermute – for about 12 hours, and I’ve not touched the survival mode, or any of the challenges. So this is basically a review of game’s story mode, and not even the entire story mode. After 12 hours, I’ve got the feeling I’m roughly 2/3 through. That might, or might not be the case, through. At any rate, 12 hours of entertaining gaming is quite good value for money. And there are still the two other game modes to explore when I’ve finished Wintermute.

Virtual Boy Scout Simulator

To survive in the wilderness, you have to stay warm, hydrated, consume the necessary calories, get enough rest, and make sure the hostile wildlife doesn’t bite off any of your limbs. The Long Dark simulates all this. In a blasting blizzard, the wind chill factor means that you’ll get colder faster than you would on a particularly sunny day. But if you make sure your clothes are in good order, find shelter, and make camp fire, you’ll be able to make it through the storm. Carrying a heavy back pack, running, walking up steep hills, mean that you’ll burn through your calorie reserves faster, so make sure you’ve got enough to eat. Eat raw meat, and you might come down with a nasty case of death by food poisoning. But find some antibiotics, or make tea from the right plants, and you’ll soldier through it. Stumble as you walk, and you might sprain your ankle. Make sure you have some painkillers, and bandages, or your ankle can make it hard for you to collect enough firewood to keep the camp fire burning through the night. And without the light from the fire, the wolves will come.

To be honest, all this sounds a bit like a Virtual Boy Scout Simulator. Sans the wolves, I’ve experienced all of the above during my time as a boy scout[note]Yes, one of my less enlightened fellow scouts ate a pack of raw bacon. He had a bad couple of days after that.[/note], and while in the army. Sure, we never hiked in the middle of absolutely nowhere, we didn’t stay in the wilderness for more than a week, and we always brought enough supplies with us. But in many ways, The Long Dark feels a lot like it’s simulating a pretty ordinary experience: Being outside.

The Long Dark can be quite picturesque at times.

Kick back, relax, and loot a cottage.

Not that there is anything wrong with that. Many games successfully simulate the mundane. One example is Euro Truck Simulator 2, which puts the player behind the wheel of big rigs hauling cargo across Europe. Personally, I really enjoy the game, mainly because it’s amazingly relaxing. That’s one of the reasons I like The Long Dark as well. Despite the fact that there is always the risk of running out of supplies, freezing to death, or being shredded by a wolf, it’s a surprisingly relaxing experience. At least that’s the case on the difficulty level I’m currently playing.

The Long Dark allows the player to save at any time, which adds to the relaxing experience. This is a great touch by the developer, and it makes the game more accessible for people who can only play games in short sessions that can be interrupted at any moment by a screaming toddler. People just like me, in other words. While this opens the door for save scumming, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you have to save often. Also, I’ve read that it is possible to play the game with permadeath enabled, so you have that option, too.

The Long Dark.

Wintermute

In The Long Dark’s story mode, Wintermute, you play as the bush pilot Will Mackenzie. He is approached by doctor Astrid Greenwood, who needs to be flown deep into the Canadian wilderness. A reluctant Mackenzie agrees to take the job. En route, they see a mysterious light in the horizon, and their plane suddenly malfunctions, crash landing in the mountains. When Mackenzie regains consciousness, he realizes that Astrid is missing, and he sets out to find her.

Wintermute isn’t terribly engaging, but it works. The story is all right, and so is the voice acting. The story is also frustratingly linear. At one point I met a wounded man who demanded that I gave him antibiotics for him to help me find Astrid. I already had plenty of antibiotics in my backpack, but the guy demanded antibiotics from a particular place far to the north. I had no other choice than to start walking. And you’ll better be prepared for a lot of walking.

But still, The Long Dark keeps me coming back. I’ll just end here by saying that I recommend the game if you want to play a chill survival game that doesn’t require you to think much, or worry about zombies crawling out of the wood works.

And now I’m off to play some more.

My quick review of The Long Dark by @HinterlandGames. TL;DR; great survival game that doesn't eat you whole. Unless you want it to. Welcome to the quiet apocalypse. Here's my quick The Long Dark review. The Long Dark is a first-person survival video game developed by Canadian…

[wildermoth-blog]

Worst Case Scenarios

Today in relative workflows Pete brought up the “what if” question. What if it all goes to shit? how’s it going to happen? So I thought I would answer a few of those right now. 

Starting with what’s already happened this semester: 

A loved one has fallen ill and been admitted to the hospital

2 weeks before the holidays my partner was admitted to the hospital with crippling stomach pain. I’ve written a separate post about this so I won’t go on about it now. 

My living arrangements quickly change causing me to need to move house

Half way into the first week of the holidays my girlfriend was discharged from the hospital. It was a great relief. She still needed care but not such intensive care, and it could be done from home allowing me to work. So I plotted out a week long catch up session over the second week of the holidays. Sunday night before the second week I was told that I should move houses asap as the building I was in was leaky and would soon need renovation. The next day me and my partner had a house lined up, her grandmothers now unoccupied house. An over-run, near unlivable house filled to the brim with furniture, possessions and dust. The garden overcome with weeds. We set out to work, buckets filled and refilled with bleach until surfaces sparkled, old furniture moved out and ours moved in, cupboards full of rotting food emptied and refilled. By midway the second week we had reclaimed a bathroom, bedroom and kitchen. However we had just been piling boxes of unsorted things into the lounge. So we set out to sort them. By the end of the second week of the holidays we had a reclaimed the lounge. 

I didn’t really deal with this. I did sketches and jotted notes in my spare time however my days consisted of waking up at about 10am and moving heavy objects around untill 2 - 4AM the next day. I still have a few weeks to catch up with studio. If this were to happen closer to final hand in I would most likely need to apply for special consideration. 

I am without a personal internet connection 

This was more difficult than I thought it would be. Through all the moving we were trying to get an internet connection set up. Firstly they needed to wire the fibre to our house, which they needed a cherry picker for, which was being used to build things. So a week later we applied for a temporary connection which apparently would take another week and alot more money. We went through with it. After a while we finally we got the email that the internet had been connected. It was not that easy. Hours of being on tech support before they decide a technician is needed. A few days pass and a technician gets to our place to test the house. They test all the ports, no connection. Apparently they had been given the wrong port to connect us. Long story short, almost three weeks of back and forth and finally we have a connection far worse than the one we’re paying for. 

To deal with this, once we had cleared out a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, every night at about 10 we would drive to the carpark outside the library and use their internet. They only required an unchecked email for 1gb of data. This worked somewhat, and we both managed to get a little work done before it got too late. 

I have fallen ill and been admitted to the hospital

The day before university started I felt a dull pain inside my jaw. I ignored it and went to bed. That morning my jaw could only open to about half it’s usual amount and there was a constant stabbing pain in my through and neck. I hoped it would settle down by the next day. But it got worse, after a sleepless night my jaw had almost locked shut. Again I waited to see what it would to the next day. Another night without sleep I decided enough was enough. By this point my jaw had locked shut so I headed to the hospital to see what they could do. They gave me painkillers, antibiotics and high strength medical grade mouth wash which I was to inject into the back of my jaw every night. Wednesday the next week as I’m writing this, my jaw has almost returned to its full capacity. 

Again, I didn’t really deal with this. I tried to work where I could but the pain killers made it difficult to concentrate. I applied for special consideration in my electives. However I didn’t for my studio project because there is plenty of time to get it done satisfactorily.

Now for other worst case scenarios: 

Extreme injury

I would apply for special consideration and either get compassionate consideration or re-submit my exhibition the next year. 

AUT burns down

Apparently if the establishment is somehow demolished by something like a fire, all current students immediately pass with a degree, so not really the worst case scenario. However even if not the case, majority of my work is conducted from home, so a building fire would not set me back a great deal. 

File loss

I have 2 physical copies and a cloud copy of all important files. It would be an extremely rare scenario for all of these to simultaneously fail. In the event of this happening, I would have to simply roll with the punches. Save what I could and make use of what’s left. For me this wouldn’t be too difficult. I’m creating a concept design so the final outcome will be extremely malleable. I could do a large design sketch and display this. I could create a physical cardboard replica and then use a projector to overlay an image of the features. There are many ways my project could be displayed and so file loss is not a large issue. 

Nation Wide Power Outage

The paper would be delayed by however long the outage was. If all students are unable to work, and all staff are equally unable to work then there wouldn’t be any expectation to get work done. If for some reason there was, I would revert to pen and paper design. 

World War 3

If the government for some reason decides to get involved in war and requires by law that all the healthy men are conscripted well then I suppose the paper doesn’t matter. By the time my service finished I would either be dead or the world would have changed so much, I doubt BCT would still be here. No solution. 

Equipment Faliure

I have a fair amount of equipment to use. A laptop, my partners laptop and my desktop. If all of these were to fail I would use AUT’s equipment. If there were to all fail, I would apply for course related costs and buy a new laptop. If this were to fail I would give up and revert to pen and paper. If all my pens ran out of ink I would buy more. If there was a pen shortage I would use pencil. If there was some extreme disaster that caused all the pencil leads to crack I would use charcoal. If all the charcoal and paper burned in a freak “paper+charcoal” spontaneous combustion accident then I would use my body to act out the experience of my final outcome. 

Utility Failure

If the utilities failed, such as internet, I would use someone else’s. 

Basically: Can I work around it? 

no - Special consideration 

yes - Then do so