#injury doctor nassau

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 2: Hera, Goddess Of Childbirth]

A/N: Enjoy Chapter 2 a little early! See you on Sunday for Chapter 3 🥰

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You are buzzed at a private party in the Rainbow Room of Rockefeller Center, Midtown, February 1966, chandeliers and candlelight, pink and red hearts made of paper hanging from shimmering strings and littering the floor. Your roommate Barbara Nassau Astor—yes those Astors, Astor Avenue in the Bronx, Astoria in Queens, “the landlords of New York”—brought you along tonight, and the chance to be swept up into her glittering existence is precisely why your father sent you to a school like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart. Barb knows people who know people who know other people and every single individual in that grand design is wealthy and worldly and could possibly lead you into the generous arms of your future husband. You are from Tarpon Springs, Florida, heiress to a sea sponge fortune, and your father nurses powerful ambitions of intermingling his blood with the Northeastern elite.

You scan the selection as you sip your Pink Squirrel. You could marry a doctor and sit in the living room waiting for him to come home at 9 or 10 or 11 p.m., fix him a Whiskey Sour or a Sazerac, listen to him bemoan the complexities of nerves and veins before accompanying him to bed and repeating the whole process the next day. You could marry a lawyer or an advertising executive, and your fate would be much the same. Your own parents are partners in life and business, but you have seen enough to know how rare this is. These men of the Rainbow Room, 65 floors above icy streets radiant with headlights, want a wife whose hands will stay manicured and idle: nannies will tend to the children, maids will clean the house, mistresses will massage the knots out of the muscles of his back. And you—a relative upstart, new money among ancient bloodlines—will have no right to demand otherwise.

A man interrupts your reverie. He wants to know about the pendant you wear around your neck. You sigh before you turn to him; you resist the instinct to roll your eyes. And then you see him. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a curious intensity and a teasing little smirk, an Old Fashioned in his grasp like molten gold. You don’t know it yet, but he is a senator from New Jersey, very recently elected, victorious yet still hungry. He steals the oxygen out of your lungs. He drowns you in the amber-musk warmth of his cologne.

“It’s Athena,” you say, touching your fingertips to the silver medallion self-consciously; and you are rarely self-conscious. The black polish has been scrubbed from your nails and replaced with a soft, shimmering champagne. You spent two hours this afternoon having your hair painfully teased and arranged into a Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo.

“Goddess of wisdom.”

“And war and peace. And math.”

“Math?” He is intrigued.

“That’s what I’m studying at school. Math.”

“And yet you are not disinterested in the humanities. You know Greek mythology.”

“Well, Tarpon Springs has a lot of Greeks, and that’s where I’m from, so.”

“Studies math. From Tarpon Springs, Florida. I’m learning everything about you.” He smiles, this magnetic stranger who has captured you like a moon lured into a planet’s gravity. He swallows a mouthful of his Old Fashioned, moisture glistening on his lips. “Do you like Greek food?”

You can’t seem to follow his words. Blood is rushing into your face, hot and dizzying. “What?”

“Greek food. Have you tried it? Hummus, tzatziki, gyros, spanakopita, horiatiki, baklava.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had it. It’s great.”

“My family owns a house on Long Beach Island,” he says casually. “We eat a lot of Greek food there. You should join us for dinner sometime soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Very soon. Maybe this weekend. Are you free?”

No, you’re not; but you’ll cancel plans until you are. “Um, okay. Sure. And who…sorry, I might have missed it, but…who are you…?”

“Aemond Targaryen.” And he shakes your hand like you’re someone who matters. “I’m a senator. I’m trying to end the war.”

With him, you could be a part of something magnificent. With him, you could help save the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Asteria is the goddess of falling stars, but the home of rising ones. On the north end of Long Beach Island, New Jersey—only 100 miles south of the sleek bladelike skyscrapers of Manhattan—lies the sprawling Targaryen estate. The nine-acre property features one main house and another three for guests, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a ten-car garage, a boathouse, a pier, and an ample stretch of beach that abuts the Atlantic Ocean, open water with nothing interrupting the infinite, miles-deep blue from the East Coast to the Iberian Peninsula. It is the first week of July, 1968, and your 23rd birthday. You are lazing in a lounge chair on the emerald green lawn and eating your third slice of melopita, a cheesecake-like dessert made with honey and ricotta. It originates from the Greek island of Sifnos.

“You two can’t murder each other while I’m gone,” Aemond says. He’s sitting between you and Aegon. His stitches have healed, the worst of his pain has subsided, his poll numbers have only improved since the assassination attempt. He has a glass eye that he can insert for public appearances, but he dislikes it; at home he wears a leather eyepatch that still unnerves the children. Tomorrow, Aemond is flying to Tacoma to campaign ahead of the Washington State Convention on the 13th. Most of the family will be joining him, with only three Targaryens remaining at Asteria: ailing Viserys, useless Aegon, and you, officially too pregnant to travel by plane. You are wearing a floral, flowing, two-piece swimsuit. The sun is blazing in a clear sky. The record player is piping out Time Of The Season by the Zombies.

Aegon waves a hand flippantly, then adjusts his preposterously large blue-tinted plastic sunglasses; he is shirtless, flabby, very sunburned. “I’ll barely be here.”

Aemond looks over at him, amused. “Oh yeah? And what pressing engagements do you have to attend to? I’d love to know.”

You take a bite of your melopita and scatter crumbs across the swell of your belly: seven and a half months along. “I’m sure the prostitutes miss him.”

“They do,” Aegon snaps. “I’m their favorite customer.”

“Well you’re a reprieve for them. It’s always over so quickly.”

Aemond is snickering. Aegon says to him: “23, huh? A 13-year age difference. She could almost be your daughter.”

“And 17 years younger than you. She could definitely be yours.”

“That’s how Aegon likes his girls,” you say. “Too inexperienced to recognize end-stage degeneracy. Still stumbling their way through Shakespeare for English class.”

“Why can’t she stay at the brownstone?” Aegon asks irritably. Aemond owns a historic townhouse in Georgetown for when Congress is in session, though he’s rarely been there since he announced that he was running for president.

“Because Doxie is here to make sure she’s taken care of,” Aemond replies. Eudoxia has been the head housekeeper of Asteria for decades, a formidable battleaxe of a woman who speaks very little English and has a seemingly endless supply of patterned scarves to wrap around her ink black dyed hair. There currently aren’t any permanent staff stationed at the brownstone, and Aemond does not trust strangers. “And because my future first lady is hosting a tea party on the 10th.”

“A tea party!” Aegon gasps, mocking you. “Surely that will patch the wounds of our troubled nation. She’s an inspiration. She’s motherfucking Gloria Steinem.”

“She’s Aphrodite,” Aemond says, beaming with pride, his remaining eye fixed on your belly. He’s lost one piece of himself, but in a month and a half he’ll gain another. “Goddess of love.”

“There must be a more appropriate mythological character. Medusa, perhaps. Lyssa was the goddess of rabies, Epiales was the goddess of nightmares.”

“Aegon, I had no idea you were so…” You search for the right word. “Literate.”

“Io was turned into a cow.” He grins at you, toothy, malicious.

“She’s also one of Jupiter’s moons,” Aemond muses. He draws invisible orbits in the air with his long, graceful fingers. “Beautiful, celestial, pristine…”

“A satellite,” Aegon says. “Mindless. Aimless. Going wherever she’s told.”

Aemond insists as he twists the bracelet around your right wrist, a delicate gold chain he bought during your honeymoon in Hawaii: “Aphrodite.”

“Didn’t she fuck around with, like, everyone?”

“Maybe you should be Aphrodite,” you tell Aegon.

Mimi appears, tottering across the lawn with the straps of her sundress sliding off her shoulders and her Gimlet sloshing precariously in its glass. The children are playing in the surf with the nannies and Fosco, who is entertaining them by diving for seashells and delivering his treasures into their tiny, grasping palms. Criston is supervising from the sand, though he steals frequent glimpses of Alicent as she feeds a wheelchair-bound Viserys—much diminished after a number of strokes—his own slice of melopita, one careful, patient spoonful at a time. “Can we…” Mimi bursts out laughing and almost falls over. She claws her way upright again using the back of Aegon’s chair. “Um…I was thinking…”

“What?” Aegon asks, annoyed, avoidant. If they’ve ever been happy, it was a transient epoch that came and went long before you joined the family. It was before the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

“We should go back to Mykonos. We had such a nice time in Mykonos. Didn’t we? Didn’t we just adore Mykonos?”

Aegon sighs, glowering out over the ocean. “Yeah, we sure did. Ten years ago.”

“Exactly!” Mimi gushes, oblivious. “When can we go? Next week? Let’s go next week.”

“Mimi, you and the kids will be in Washington, remember?” Aemond says. Alicent will have to be her handler; usually it’s your job to make sure Mimi is ready for photos, eats enough to stay conscious, doesn’t trip over her own feet, doesn’t talk too much to the press.

“Washington?” Like she’s never heard of it.

“The state. Not the city. For the convention.”

“Oh right. Right.” She gulps her Gimlet. You could set your watch by Mimi’s drinking. Tipsy by lunch, drunk at dinner, crawling on the floor chasing the dogs around by 8 p.m. The Targaryens keep a drove of Alopekis, small and white and foxlike. “Well…maybe some other time.”

“After the election,” Aemond says with an abiding, encouraging smile. He tolerates Mimi because he needs her: happy wholesome family, American Dream. Down at the water’s edge, the nannies are giving towels to Fosco and the children as they scamper out of the frothing waves, Mimi’s five and Helaena’s three: Daphne, Neaera—no one can ever seem to spell her name correctly, least of all the six-year-old girl herself—and Evangelos.

Mimi departs, on the hunt for a fresh Gimlet. Aegon reaches into the pocket of his swim trunks—Hawaiian print, royal blue—and pulls out a joint and a Zippo. He sticks the joint between his teeth and goes to light it.

“No,” Aemond says immediately, yanking the joint out of Aegon’s mouth and stomping it into the earth. Then he points down the beach towards the sand dunes. “You know journalists will sneak around trying to get photos. You know we’re never truly alone out here.”

“They can’t tell what I’m smoking!”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“You know there are teenagers getting their limbs blown off in Vietnam right now? I think society has bigger problems than me smoking grass.”

“And yet to solve those bigger problems, I have to win in November. And the suburban housewives will not vote for me if they think I support legalizing marijuana. Trust me, I know. I’ve met them.”

“I wouldn’t want those people’s votes,” Aegon says derisively.

“You’d rather Nixon get them?”

Aegon doesn’t have a speedy rebuttal this time. He contemplates the Atlantic Ocean, the wind tearing at his hair.

“It’s hot as hell,” Aemond says to you, gathering up the newspapers he’s been leafing through, never not thinking about the election, never not strategizing. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

As you accompany Aemond towards the main house—and of course you follow him, always, anywhere—Alicent waves you over to where she and Viserys are sitting to wish you a happy birthday again. From this vantage point, you can just barely spot Otto and Helaena strolling through her garden, a jungle of butterfly bushes and herbs. The stricken Targaryen patriarch beams at the swell of your belly. Viserys likes you, you are his favorite daughter-in-law, though perhaps this is not so lofty an achievement. Moreover, he likes that you are carrying the child of his decent son. Aemond has already decided on the baby’s name: Aristos Apollo. If it is in fact a boy, you suppose you’ll call him Ari, but he doesn’t feel real to you yet. He belongs to Aemond, to the Targaryens, to the nation, but not quite to you. He is more myth than flesh.

“Nothing is more precious than children,” Viserys tells Aemond, raspy and frail. “I would have had at least five more if I could.” Alicent bows her head, an acknowledgement of her failure in this regard. Viserys expects it. You and Aemond politely avert your gazes.

“Thank God for this baby,” Alicent says. “After the year we’ve had? That the whole world has had? We all need something to be grateful for.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, smiling. It must be the promise of a son that has made his maiming go down smoother, and maybe it is his soaring poll numbers too, and maybe it is gratitude that he escaped with his life, and maybe it is even the fact that he has you.

But long after dusk when you’re getting ready for bed—slathering yourself in Jergens, stepping into your chiffon nightgown—as you pass through the sliver of light pouring out of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of something that stops you. Aemond is standing in front of the mirror with his hands on the rim of the sink, his eyepatch slung over the towel rack, his voided eye socket exposed and gory and irreparably wounded. There’s something in his scarred face that you can’t recall ever seeing before. There is a seething, secret, animal rage. There is fury for everyone who has ever denied him anything.

You remember who you were before you met Aemond at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan at a party you were almost not illustrious enough to attend. You wore your hair long and loose, you downed shots, you smoked, you swore, you slept through class almost every Monday; and then you packed all of this away in your allegorical attic and became someone who could stand beside a senator, and then a candidate, and then a president, someone who could tip the scales of fate.

And you think as you lurk unnoticed in the doorway: Maybe he’s been hiding parts of himself too.

~~~~~~~~~~

July 10th, 10 a.m. He’s snoring on a couch in the living room, the one patterned with sailboats. He’s hugging his acoustic guitar like a child clinging to a teddy bear. Sometimes he plays it for the kids: Get Rhythm, Twist And Shout, Stand By Me, You Can’t Hurry Love. That’s about the extent of his involvement in their lives. He has a law degree from Columbia that his father bought for him. Aside from a brief and disastrous stint as the mayor of Trenton, he has never been gainfully employed. You pour the cupful of ice cubes you collected from the freezer all over his bare chest.

“What the fuck!” Aegon screams as he startles awake. “What is wrong with you?!”

“The guests are arriving in two hours. And you’re going to help me host.”

“I’m not slobbering at the feet of those manicured elitists.”

“It’s easy to say ‘vive la révolution’ from your family’s mansion that you reside in as a professional failure.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m so worthless. If only I spent more time hosting tea parties.”

“I can’t small talk with governors and congressmen, so I have to charm their wives instead. That’s how it works, you idiot.”

Aegon rolls off the couch and rubs his forehead, wincing, hungover. In the dining room, Eudoxia is readying cups and plates, polishing silverware, folding napkins. The caterers will be here soon, and there are also three dishes that you made yourself: stafidopsomo, a bread with raisins and cinnamon; rizogalo, Greek-style rice pudding; and baklava you spent hours chopping walnuts for. At least one show of domestic prowess is an expectation, two is impressive, three is above and beyond, something for the other political wives to chatter about. You know the importance of making a good impression on them. They are as much a part of their husbands’ careers as the speech writers, communication directors, fundraisers. “I need a Bloody Mary,” Aegon groans.

“You need to pull your goddamn weight. Everyone else is working to get Aemond elected. Your five-year-old kid is out on the campaign trail and you can’t walk around with a tray of hummus and mini spanakopitas? Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, standing with some difficulty and then shoving by you. “Fuck off, Miss America.”

“Aegon!”

But he’s padding off towards the kitchen with his bare feet, tiki print boxer shorts, bedraggled hair. You follow after him in your spotless white heels and sundress patterned with common blue violets. Your earrings are pearls. You’ve wrangled your hair into a tidy French twist. Aegon is getting a pitcher of tomato juice out of the refrigerator, a bottle of vodka from a cardboard Apple Jacks box. He keeps booze and pills hidden everywhere; you’re always stumbling across his caches.

You open your mouth to unleash something hurtful, something hateful, but then you feel the cold flare of liquid on your thighs as the ocean breeze gusts in through the windows. My dress, you think, alarmed. What did I spill on it? One of the ice cubes you threw at Aegon must have caught on the skirt somehow and melted. That’s your first guess, and it is welcome; water doesn’t stain, and you aren’t sure if you have another outfit that is both formal enough and will still fit you. But when you reach down to touch your leg—now the liquid reaches your knees—your hand comes away red.

You look up at Aegon. He’s staring back at you, thunderstruck, horrified. His Bloody Mary ingredients are now forgotten on the countertop. He shouts for the housekeeper: “Doxie?!”

There is indistinct, cantankerous Greek grumbling in return.

“Doxie! Call an ambulance!”

“I don’t understand,” you say to Aegon, bright clotless blood dyeing the whirls of your fingerprints. I ruined my dress, you think nonsensically. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Don’t move, don’t do anything, just wait for the paramedics.”

But the edges of your vision are going dark and hazy, and the room spins like a flipped coin. Your knees and ankles fold, bones turned to paper. As you drop, Aegon dives for you. You clutch at him, but there’s nothing to grab onto, no suit jacket, no tie, only skin that glows with sunburn. “If I don’t wake up, tell Aemond—”

“You’re not dying, bitch. My luck’s not that good.”

But his eyes are panicked; and they are the last thing you see before you black out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arteries of cement, bones like lead, heavy eyelids opening to reveal strange white walls.

Am I dead?

But no: you hurt all over. Heaven isn’t supposed to hurt. There are needles pierced through the backs of your hands, a splitting rawness in your throat.

Was I intubated? Did I have surgery…?

You try to sit up. The pain is blinding; the severed and sutured latticework of your abdominal muscles is a pit of glass. You gasp, moan plaintively, fumble for the nurse call button on the wooden nightstand.

“Will you stop moving?” Aegon says as he walks into the room. He’s slurping on a straw that pokes out from a Dairy Queen cup. The fluid inside is clumpy and red. Instantly, you think of blood, and a wave of nausea punches through the shredded gore that was once your belly. Aegon flops down into the salmon pink armchair beside the bed and props his combat boots up on the ottoman. “They sliced you up like the Black Dahlia. You’re gonna rip your stitches.”

“They did a c-section…?”

“Yeah, you had some kind of uterus…thing. I don’t remember.”

The baby?? Is the baby alright?? “An abruption?”

More slurping. “No…I think it started with a P.”

“Previa?”

“Yeah, that one.”

You remember waking up a few times: on the kitchen floor as men were lifting you, in an ambulance as the siren shrieked. Someone said you were being taken to Mount Sinai in Manhattan. And that makes sense, that would have been Criston’s plan. Mount Sinai is one of the best hospitals in the country. You look around the room for a bassinet or a crib. Instead you see a wheelchair and a myriad of flower bouquets; word has already gotten out, and so the customary well wishes are pouring in. Lady Bird Johnson sent bluebonnets, the state flower of Texas; Abigail McCarthy sent lilies of the valley; Muriel Humphrey sent roses, traditional, safe, uninspiring; Pat Nixon sent blood orange gladioli. Mrs. Wallace, newly deceased, neglected to call a florist. “Where’s the baby?”

“He’s fine. He’s downstairs in an incubator.”

Ari, you think, though he still doesn’t seem real yet. “What…?”

“His lungs are underdeveloped. But the doctors think he’ll be alright. You want a Mr. Misty? There’s a Dairy Queen like two blocks from here.”

“No, I don’t want a Mr. Misty,” you say, incredulous. “I want to see the baby.”

“Well they can’t move him and they can’t move you, so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m going to see him—” You swing your feet off the bed and feel daggers, fire, a splintering like someone has taken a hammer to your bones. You almost scream; it takes everything in you to choke it down and only gasp as your flesh becomes an inferno. I want a joint, you think randomly, an urge you’d believed you had exorcised from yourself, an archaic relic of a past life.

“Told you,” Aegon says smugly.

You lie panting, helpless, glancing at the phone on the nightstand. “Aemond knows?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve called everyone. He knows.”

“Good. So he’ll be here soon.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perhaps a tad noncommittally.

“Okay.” You’re still trying to catch your breath. Tacoma is a six hour flight away. Even if Aemond doesn’t leave until morning, he’ll be here by sundown tomorrow. “You can go now.”

“Go?!” Aegon exclaims, then laughs, one of his reckless, taunting cackles. “Oh no. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You definitely are.”

“No, I’m not,” he insists, grinning. “For once in my life, I’m the person who’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. I’m the honorable one. The sacred heir of the favorite son has just been born, and the blessed mother has been sawed in half like Saint Simon the Zealot, and where is Aemond? Where is literally everyone else? Across the continent shaking hands and forcing smiles to win him the great state of Washington. I’m not going home. I’m collecting every second I spend here like coins from a slot machine. I won the jackpot, babe. No one is ever going to be able to call me the family fuckup after this.”

The pain is horrible, insurmountable; you can’t think through it. You close your eyes and try not to sob, to wail, to split yourself open in body and soul. I can’t let him see me break down.

“What’s up?” Aegon asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I want a Mr. Misty. Go get me a Mr. Misty.”

“Okay,” Aegon says doubtfully. “What flavor?”

“I don’t care. Not red.”

“They have orange, lemon-lime, grape—”

“Just pick one!” you shout, tears brimming in your eyes. Get out, get out, get out.

“Calm down, psycho!” he yells back, heading for the door.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you snatch the call button off the nightstand and press it frantically until a nurse arrives. You get more morphine and sink into a stillness like deep water, down, down, down.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s dark outside, stars and a crescent moon. On the television is grainy footage from the Battle of Khe Sanh. American soldiers younger than you are dragging their wounded brethren to a Chinook helicopter for evacuation: bandages, burns, missing limbs and faces. Aegon had dozed off in his chair—assisted by an ample amount of Vicodin, surely—but is stirring awake now. He blinks groggily at the screen.

“It’s so fucking awful,” you say, and Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up; it’s the first time you’ve ever sworn in front of him. You trained yourself to stop when you met Aemond. “30,000 Americans dead, God knows how many Vietnamese peasants, Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire, and for what? So we can say we did everything we could to stop communism? So we can humiliate the Russians? There is no liberation of Vietnam. All we’re doing is making those people hate us. And we’re destroying ourselves too.”

“I didn’t know you cared about the war.”

You look at him, mystified. “Everything I do is about the war.”

“But you never really talk about it.” Aegon yawns and stretches, reaching up towards the ceiling. “You talk about Chanel dresses and tea parties.”

“Well yeah, because it’s…it’s unseemly, I guess. For me to speak on the war. Me specifically.”

He snorts. “Because you’re a woman? Who told you that? Aemond?”

You hesitate, watching the television again. Now there are napalm bombs incinerating villages and rice paddies. “I had a boyfriend before Aemond, you know.”

“What, in kindergarten? Chasing each other around the playground? Illicit snuggles beneath the slide?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “A real boyfriend.”

“No way. You did not.”

“I did,” you insist, smiling a little. “We met at a party my freshman year of college. He was at NYU studying…oh, I always forgot, that was one of our jokes. It was either archaeology or anthropology. I actually thought I was going to marry him for a minute there.”

“Scandalous.” Aegon is gazing at you with his murky blue eyes, grinning, playful. “What happened?”

“He had a moral crisis about poor kids getting shipped off to Vietnam to be slaughtered while he was tucked safely away in his ivory tower. So he enlisted, and honestly it was shocking how quickly I started to forget about him. We exchanged a few letters, it didn’t last long, I think he was forgetting about me too. But he ended up getting killed in action in October, 1965. His old roommate told me.”

Now Aegon is thoughtful. His crooked grin dies. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s his parents I feel bad for. He was an only child. I heard his father drank himself to death.”

“You’ve been carrying a story like that around with you and you never used it? Not in an interview or an article, not at one of your asinine little tea parties?”

“I can’t,” you confess. “Aemond doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t like to be reminded about…you know. That there was someone else before.”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles, combing his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “As if Aemond was a virgin when you met him.”

But it’s not the same. It isn’t to Aemond, and it wouldn’t be to the rest of the world either. It is your eternal disgrace. It is something you will be expected to atone for until you’re in the grave. “Give me a joint.”

Aegon is amazed. “What?”

“I know you have some, you always do. I want one. Give it to me.”

“You smoke grass?”

“I used to. Then I gave it up. But I’m making an exception.”

He gawks at you for a while, then slips a joint out of one of the front pockets of his green army jacket. He places it between his lips, lights it with his little chrome Zippo, and inhales deep and slow. Then he offers it to you.

“I don’t want herpes.”

Aegon laughs. “I don’t have herpes. I swear.”

“Not yet, maybe. Give it time.”

“Are you gonna smoke or not?”

You take the joint and fill your lungs with earth, floral notes, a tinge of spice. It’s been years, but it comes rushing back in an instant as the high hits your bloodstream: calm quiet weightlessness, a sense of wellbeing that fills the honeycomb hollows of your bones. “I need to see the baby.”

Aegon stalls. “The doctors were really insistent that you stay here.”

“And all the sudden you care about rules.”

He considers this, drumming his palms on his thighs. His jeans are ripped; he’s biting his lower lip. Then abruptly, he stands. “Alright.” He grabs the wheelchair and pushes it up against the bed. “Let’s go.”

You take another drag and then discard the joint in your empty Dairy Queen cup. You throw off your blanket and try to touch your bare feet to the cool linoleum floor. It hurts, it feels like razor blades, but you keep going. Then you remember you still have one IV in the back of your left hand. “Wait, how am I going to…?”

“You’re in luck. I am well-versed in needles.” Aegon holds out a palm. Nervously, you give him your hand. He peels off the medical tape, takes a moment to examine the vein, then slides out the needle so smoothly you don’t feel it at all; it barely even bleeds. He balls up a Kleenex from the box on your nightstand and secures it to the wound with the same strip of tape. “You’re welcome.”

“Junkie.” You try to lower yourself into the wheelchair and a yelp rips from your throat.

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Aegon says, but not quite unkindly. “Here.” He leans down in front of you. Too desperate to be prideful, you link your arms around the back of his neck. Aegon’s shaggy blonde hair tickles your cheek; his hands skim gingerly to settle on your waist, steadying you without too much pressure. He helps you into the wheelchair, where you collapse gasping and sweating bullets.

“If you ever mention this again, I will guillotine you.”

He winks. “Relax, little Io. I never kiss and tell.”

“I’d assume you’re usually too plastered to remember the details.”

“Be nice. I could roll you down a staircase.” But he doesn’t; he rolls you into the hallway instead.

The lights in the corridor are dim for night, for dreams. You see a few nurses shuttling in and out of other rooms from a distance, but none seem to notice you and Aegon. He steers the wheelchair into the elevator and you ride it down two floors, then cross another hallway and pass through a set of doors. There must be a dozen incubators, half of them occupied. The nurse on duty—currently cradling a tiny infant in her arms, a girl judging by the pink hat, and feeding her from a bottle of formula—gapes at you.

“Ma’am? You aren’t supposed to be—”

“Shut up,” Aegon tells her, and the nurse doesn’t say another word.

Aegon pushes the wheelchair down the line of incubators until you reach the one with a name card labelled Targaryen, Aristos Apollo. And there he is: unmistakably fragile, impossibly small, blue veins like a roadmap beneath translucent skin, tangled in tubes and wires. In his sleeping face you don’t see Aemond or even yourself, but rather an inexplicable familiarity. You feel like you’ve met him before. You feel like you’ve known him all your life.

You press your hand to the clear, domed wall of the incubator; shadows in the shape of your outstretched fingers fall over Ari’s face. “He’s real.”

“Of course he is.” Aegon is watching you; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, a blur of blonde hair and high cheekbones. When you turn to him, he immediately looks away.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” But his voice is distracted, bewildered, like someone fumbling for a light switch in a dark room.

[idealpodiatrynassaulongisland]

Finding the Best Podiatrist Nassau County – Ideal Podiatrist

At Ideal Podiatrist, Foot, Ankle & Bunion Surgery Doctor, DPM in Nassau Long Island, a spectrum of cutting-edge procedures is offered, including the Forever Lapidus Bunionectomy, Minimally invasive Bunionectomy, Chevron Osteotomy, and Tailor's Bunion Surgery. Their commitment to excellence makes them the best podiatrist Nassau County, which is evident in their globally renowned success rates in bunion correction techniques. Whether you are seeking relief from bunions, addressing Plantar Fasciitis, recovering from sports injuries, or rectifying hammertoes, Ideal Podiatrist provides personalized and effective solutions.

[physicaltherapyandaquatics]

What Do You Mean By Hydrotherapy, And How Can It Help?

Using water to treat various conditions is a common practice that’s as old as humanity. Hydrotherapy as a medical practice dates back to ancient Greece when hot water spas were used to exercise and help manage pain.

We have also found evidence that water therapy was utilized among several ancient cultures in Egypt, India, and China as a naturopathic treatment. Water aerobics, massage, stretching, and colonics were used to treat anxiety, chronic pain, constipation, stiffness, pregnancy aches, and more.

Aquatic therapy services are perfect for individuals dealing with various health issues. Even before science could explain how aquatic therapy services worked, people understood that water had several properties that helped in rehabilitation. Water adds gentle muscle resistance without adding excess weight to strained or sensitive body parts.

What Do You Mean By Hydrotherapy, And What Can It Treat?

Hydrotherapy is the internal or external use of water in any form (ice, steam, or water) for the treatment of diseases or health promotion with various pressures, temperatures, duration, and sites. It is an alternative medicine practice that uses water as a natural remedy to manage multiple symptoms.

Water or aquatic therapy has been used for thousands of years and is considered one of the best types of physical therapy in Nassau County. The therapeutic applications of water therapy include fitness improvement, rehabilitation, injury prevention, and relaxation. It is most commonly used to treat conditions and symptoms, including:

Neuromuscular and musculoskeletal disorders

Osteoarthritis pains and arthritis symptoms

Stiffness, joint pain, sprains, and any other condition that’s intolerant to weight-bearing exercises

Pulmonary disorders

Paralysis as a result of a stroke

Cardiovascular disorders

ASDs (autism spectrum disorders, motor delays, and disabilities among children

Fatigue, obesity, and headaches

Balance-related issues

Reduced range of motion and reoccurring injuries that make other forms of exercise uncomfortable or difficult

If you have any of these symptoms or conditions, consult a professional doctor and ask if they recommend hydrotherapy for faster recovery. Hydrotherapy may be the perfect solution for you!

[waynejenkinswj54]

The Best Way to Find a Carpet Cleaning Company in Montgomery New Jersey

Carpet Cleaning Montgomery NJ

Unfortunately, anyone who owns a rug doctor can call themselves a carpet cleaner. This situation is not ideal for consumers. Nevertheless, there are a few essential characteristics to look for to guarantee that you are hiring a professional cleaning company in Montgomery NJ that is of the highest possible caliber. If you chat with a company and discover that they do not satisfy all of the conditions that are outlined here, then we suggest that you keep looking for another choice.

Feedback on the Quality of Carpet Cleaning Services

The first thing you should do is search for a company that cleans carpets and has a stellar reputation. If you can’t locate any carpet cleaners that come highly recommended by word of mouth, it’s time to start searching for one on the internet. A good place to start is by asking your friends, family, or neighbors for recommendations. Yelp is the most trustworthy review platform available because it is difficult to manipulate its ratings and comments. Look for carpet cleaners who have received the highest ratings on Yelp, have more than 50 reviews on Google, and have hundreds of reviews on Facebook. Always be sure to check whether there are any current reviews before hiring a carpet cleaning service because the quality of the service may have altered.

Is the company affiliated with the Better Business Bureau in any way?

The Better Business Bureau (BBB) has its members adhere to a stringent set of criteria on the manner in which they interact with their clientele. Therefore, you should always make an effort to hire a business that is a member of the BBB since that business has taken an oath to respect the rigorous code of behavior that the BBB has established. Being a member of the Better Business Bureau (BBB) not only assures that customers have an objective third party to file complaints with, but it also ensures that the business member will address those complaints.

When they clean the carpets, what kind of machinery do they use?

A carpet cleaner’s effectiveness is directly proportional to the quality of their tools. Truck-mounted carpet cleaners with powerful vacuums and reliable steam generators are the standard of the cleaning business. The Butler System is the top of the line in truck-mounted equipment, and it will set you back over $75,000 If you’re contemplating hiring a carpet cleaning service, before you do, give them a call to make sure they use a truck-mounted extraction system, ideally a Butler.

Expert, Insured Carpet Cleaners

The best carpet cleaning service in the world is still not immune to mistakes. For your own protection in the event of an accident, it’s crucial that the cleaners you choose have adequate insurance coverage. Inquire about the carpet cleaner’s insurance coverage by asking if it covers bodily injury and property damage. Make sure that their insurance is with a well-known insurance company, such as State Farm. Ensure the organization has workers’ compensation insurance as well. Workers’ compensation insurance is a legal requirement for most service firms in Montgomery, New Jersey. In the extremely unlikely event that one of your employees sustains an injury while working on your home, workers’ compensation insurance will kick in to protect both you and the worker. If the carpet cleaner gets hurt on your property and the company doesn’t have enough insurance, you could be held responsible.

A Professional Attitude Towards Business

During the time that you are making appointments, it is imperative that the firm that you choose to hire displays both professionalism and courtesy. It’s possible that the carpet cleaners will treat you similarly to how they did when you arranged the appointment to have your carpets cleaned.

Continental Carpet Cleaning

174 Nassau St, unit 305 Princeton NJ 08542

609–806–5222

Carpet Cleaning Montgomery NJ

https://sites.google.com/view/continentalcarpetcleaning/service-locations/montgomery-nj/carpet-cleaning

Source: continentalcarpetcleaning

[mainstreetptclinic]

Never Do Loose Body Movements.

While dancing, exercising, or any physical activity, it can cause injury.

[navigatrixnarrations]

The Same Constellations

Word Count: 1922

Warnings: Some profanity, mentions of violence. They’re pirates.

Set between Parts 4 and 5 of @whenimaunicorn’s epic The Heart of Admiration series, we’ve got angsty Vane, voice of reason Jack, and firmly in denial Hope. Are these disaster pirates learning to talk to one another?

Jack Rackham shakes his head in disappointment at the fresh cuts and bruises on Charles Vane’s face. “At this rate, by week’s end it will be a minor miracle if you have any skin left at all. I suppose I should just be grateful you’re leaving the opium alone.”

Instead of answering verbally, or even sitting up, Vane lobs an empty rum bottle past his quartermaster’s head. Both men are well aware that he missed on purpose.

Unperturbed, Jack continues. “If you need to work off some, shall we say, frustration, the men have glowing things to say about the local brothels.”

Vane just glowers at Jack. He already tried that back in Nassau. Whores who bore any physical resemblance whatsoever to Hope. Whores who looked as dissimilar to Hope as possible. Somehow he felt even worse afterwards. Emptier.

“That motherfucker said Hope needs to be taken down a peg.”

“So you felt a need to take on him and several of his men all at once. Was she even present when he said whatever he said?”

Vane drags himself upright. “No.”

“Then maybe a better use of your energies would be spending time with her.”

Vane acts as though he didn’t hear a word of it.

Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Chaz, Hope isn’t Eleanor. She isn’t going to betray you because she wants to get ahead or because she’s bored or because it’s Thursday.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

Jack throws up his hands. “By all means, continue to get in brawls with all of Tortuga. That is certainly more sensible than, oh, as a brief example, talking to her. I’m sure she’ll be very grateful that she lost her old crew only for you to get yourself killed in some idiotic fight.”

Vane’s chin juts out dangerously. Jack doesn’t know what it was like when he was a child and the overseers made sure to take away anything they even thought he and the other slaves wanted. How Eleanor did more of the same, used everything he even hinted at wanting against him, just to prove she could. But Vane has to begrudgingly admit that Jack, damn the man, is right about one thing: Hope isn’t at all like Eleanor. “Seems likely she’d be relieved.”

“I highly doubt that.” Jack pauses, and though Vane’s thin lips curl in a silent snarl, he’s listening. “The night we backed up Mackinaw on the beach, she stood with you.”

“She told me I was foolish.”

“Yet she stood with you anyway. You didn’t see her face when she lost sight of you in the scrum, or when she saw you were still standing. I did.”

And she caught him when he stumbled on his wounded leg. The memory of her body tucked warm under his arm as she steadied him, her hand over his heart, was something that kept him awake, made him restless. Her voice, telling him he had been foolish, but noble...“And?”

“And she’s currently at the Cat’s Head eating her supper and assisting me in hunting up leads. Perhaps you would like to clean yourself up and join her.”

----------

Tortuga hadn’t changed much while she was in Nassau, and Hope feels no small relief to be back in its familiar surroundings, where she isn’t a newcomer yet to learn the major players and where, she thinks dryly as she finishes her meal, she hasn’t made enemies of the tavern owner or fence. Out of the corner of her eye, Hope glimpses a blond man in the clothes of a working pirate strolling toward her. She turns her head to meet a pair of green eyes and a broad grin and oh, son of a bitch, what are the odds that Liam O'Malley would be here with some of his crew.

"Hope Wickham! I didn’t know you were back in Tortuga!”

"Temporarily. Are you still on the Shrike?"

"Aye, got elected Captain a couple of months ago. You don't happen to be looking for a position, by any chance?"

“I appreciate the offer, but I've got one."

"That's a shame. I could use a good navigator. You're not still with Fisher's crew?"

“No, Charles Vane’s.”

O’Malley lets out a low whistle. “Look at you, then. Well, if you change your mind, you know how to find me.” She gives him a friendly hug and promises to have a proper catch-up soon.

She turns around to see Vane standing several paces away, watching, body stiff and his face a thundercloud. He gives her a hard stare then turns on his heel and storms off.

Hope excuses herself to follow her captain, hurrying after his long strides, wondering what set him off. She’s relieved to see that he’s no longer favoring his injured leg; when she asked if he needed help getting the stitches out, he grumbled at her to stop fussing. She later learned that he made a temporary truce with Doctor Mills, the ship’s surgeon, to assist him with that task, though immediately thereafter the two men each returned to pretending that the other did not exist.

She catches up with him on the jetty, where he’s leaning his forearms on the railing and staring out to sea. Hope senses a kind of bleakness radiating from him. He turns his head at her approach, then goes back to watching the tide roll in.

Hope comes to a halt beside him and furrows her brows as she examines the new injuries to his face. “Who did this to you?”

He grunts. “Does it matter?”

She rolls her eyes heavenward, refusing to dignify that with a response. “If you were planning on getting in fights, you could have told me.”

“So you could try to talk me out of it?”

“And so I could have your back if that didn’t work.”

Vane turns toward her with guarded eyes and his jaw clenched tight. “The men I fought insulted you.”

“Captain Vane, I didn’t go to sea because I wanted an easy life or a safe one. I know there are men who will always resent me and talk shit about me because of my sex. If you try to fight them all, you’ll never have time to eat or piss.” She never considered Charles Vane the type to defend a woman’s honor like that, and she most certainly does not need him to defend hers, but she’s surprised by how touched she is that he felt a need to stand up for her when she wasn’t there.

“Are you going to sign your friend’s articles?”

Hope doesn’t try to hide her shock. He thought she accepted O’Malley’s offer? "I told him I’m not looking for another position."

“Do you think he’ll leave it at that?”

“It’s not at all up to him, but yes, he will. We go way back.”

Vane merely raises his scarred brow.

She takes a deep breath and attempts to summon her patience. "If you're wondering whether I used to be with O'Malley, the answer is no. He's a friend, and we used to sail together when we were both apprenticing, but things were never...like that between us." She isn’t sure why she needs Vane to know this. It’s none of his business that she has never been with O’Malley, or for that matter, with any other man, just as it would not be his business if she had bedded every man on Tortuga.

He looks at her coolly. “It isn’t that.”

Hope feels her heart jump, but she refuses to back down. "What then?" She meets his blue eyes squarely.

"I’m concerned for you."

It’s Hope’s turn to arch a brow.

"I know some of his men from Nassau. They're shits, and you would be a woman alone with them."

She lets out an exasperated sigh. "I can look after myself." How is the man so consistently irritating? And why does she feel a pang in her chest when she recalls the look of hurt that flickered across his face, fleeting as it was, when he saw her hugging O’Malley?

Vane's scowl lessens. "I know you can. But you shouldn't have to, not amongst your own."

"It's a moot point anyway. Unless you're firing me, I have no intention of leaving your crew."

She swears she sees some of the tension go out of his shoulders.

"You always have a place with me." His voice is quiet, as gentle as that scraping rasp allows.

Hope wasn’t worried that her position was in any danger to begin with, so why does she feel so...warmed by his words? It makes no sense. There is no calculation she can run or measurement she can take to solve this puzzle. The words tumble from her mouth before she can think to stop them. “Then that is exactly where I’ll be.”

A smile crosses his face, bright as a flash of sunlight on the water and just as brief, before his expression turns grave once more. “So long as you recall that you have a choice.” He needs her to know she isn’t trapped. He needs to know that she knows she isn’t trapped.

"That you give me the choice is exactly why I stay on with you." She pauses, trying to figure out how to explain. “The moment you realized you had not given me free choice to be on your crew, you made it right. You listened to me, and you made it right. That means a great deal.”

Vane nods. Exhales slowly. They stand side by side in companionable silence. After a time, she speaks again. "When I first went on the account, I sailed with a man from Timbuktu. He told wondrous stories about his homeland, of vast ever-shifting seas of burning sand where the only way to navigate is by the stars, same as we do at sea. He'd speak to me at night while I was working, because he had a daughter about my age who he missed terribly. We used the same stars to find the way, he and I, but we called them by different names. We used the same constellations but saw in them different creatures. Neither of us were wrong, and we got to the same answers, but if asked to explain how we did it, we would say very different things." Hope turns her head so she can look him in the eye, not in challenge, but trying to will him to understand.

“You think when we disagree, we’re sometimes looking at the same thing in different ways.”

“Just so.”

Vane’s hand reaches over to cover hers. He starts to step closer, ever so slightly, when a breathless, sweaty-faced Jack comes running down the jetty towards them. “I’ve got it, Charles! I’ve got the lead we were seeking. But there are people...” His eyes slide over to Vane’s hand, which is still wrapped firmly around Hope’s. He startles and nearly jumps backwards a pace when he realizes that he interrupted them.

“Then we’d best go talk to those people,” Vane growls. He glances down at Hope with the faintest shadow of a grin. “Luckily we’ve got a skilled negotiator who isn’t afraid to knife a man.”

Hope snorts and makes a wry face. He has never before mentioned the corpse she’d left in his cabin during the first raid she went on with him.

As she walks beside her captain, his words keep ringing in her ears. You always have a place with me.

[fullrebelarbiter]

Best DPT Therapist clinic Plain view Nassau New York

Boost joint mobility Recover from a surgical problem Improve your body's movement and abilities. Sports injury recovery assistance Long-term pain relief Reduce overall bodily pain. We employ specialised mobility and exercise equipment to provide pain and disability relief to our patients. These physiotherapy machines are intended to mend various parts of our bodies so that patients can go about their daily lives pain-free. Our physiotherapists assist patients with cardiac rehabilitation, and we have specialists who can assist with challenges and disabilities resulting from accidents, sports injuries, burns, spinal cord injuries, and brain damage. The Most Effective DPT Therapist Clinic The Main Street Physical Therapy Clinic (https://mainstreetpt.com/) in Nassau, New York, has experts such as doctors, nurses, psychologists, speech therapists, and others. and so on. Physiotherapists, for example. We use tactics to provide you with the best service possible. We are dedicated to making your life easier and more enjoyable.

[unwilling-ships-surgeon]

(rescue) - flint so help him g-d will n o t let anyone lay a hand on marcellus when it's like three to one. he kills the first two in a heartbeat and lets the last one live as a warning. flint's ability to survive ridiculous odds continues to be bizarre.

the fucking spanish are here. they’re here and marcellus never took the fucking time to learn the interior so he’s stuck on the shitty strip of land between beach and interior, fighting for his horrible miserable life and trying to find fucking anybody he knows.

he’s out of pistol shot, he was never trained with a cutlass, and he had to throw his knife at someone who did him the indignity of getting it well and truly stuck in his skull. he is covered in blood, jittery and strung out and tired, and it isn’t even fucking noon. his only injuries so far are from the debris that shatters fucking everywhere from every musket shot that misses him. he’ll have a hell of a time pulling the fucking splinters from his face, but if he starts thinking like a doctor he’s going to fucking die.

but, he thinks, as he gets backed towards a bend in a building by two new spanish soldiers, that may end up happening anyway. he sees one of the soldiers draw his pistol and moves almost fast enough to avoid getting hit, but the shot scores along his ribs and a feral open-mouthed snarl tears at him before he shakes his head, drops the empty pistol, and, panting open-mouthed against the pain, presses hard against the woun-

fuck. there is a sword. at his throat. from behind the curve of the building, there is a sword at his throat, guiding him back up to standing from where he’d half-doubled over. a third soldier, way too fucking close, stepping out from around the side of the building, even if he could swing a sword that fast he’d be bleeding out before he could think. he curses the fucking spanish soldier who’d robbed him of his knife by dying. i’ll die here, he thinks, and his snarl widens, preparing to try and take several of them out with him. the second soldier cocks his pistol, and marcellus glares at him.

and then there is a blur of green and black motion that comes around the edge of the building. in one second the solder with a knife to his throat is making a wet gurgling dying noise, and the blur, which, engaged in a lightning-fast exchange culminating in a particularly vicious running through of the second soldier, resolves itself into flint’s coat and fabric-wrapped head. the first soldier, pistol empty and faced with a blood-spattered masked likely-pirate with no backup to his name, runs. flint stays still staring after him, radiating menace like he was composed of it, clearly restraining himself from running the man down, his chest heaving and bare forearms thick with blood.

marcellus would be glad to see him, but the pain of being shot finally fucking registers. He lets himself double over, retches once drily from the pain, grits his teeth against a long whine, and then forces himself up. he strides up to flint, whose posture has relaxed but who hasn’t turned, pulls flint’s shoulder to whirl him around and then hugs him. he’s bleeding dark, frankly distressing blood onto him, but he doesn’t fucking care.

“i thought you were dead,” he says hoarsely. it’s not really true, he’s been too preoccupied with trying to stay alive (it is true, actually, he’s been trying not to think about flint trapped in nassau since the fight started) but it keeps him from thinking about how he nearly died, so he entertains it and lets himself take a moment’s refuge in the fact that his friend is alive.

[quanmedicalcom]

Accessible Care: Physical Therapy Clinics Serving the Community in Hempstead

In the bustling community of Hempstead, access to quality healthcare services, including physical therapy, is vital for residents to maintain their well-being. With the growing awareness of the importance of physical therapy in rehabilitation and pain management, finding a reliable clinic becomes essential.

[idealpodiatrynassaulongisland]

Ideal Podiatrist, Foot, Ankle & Bunion Surgery Doctor, DPM in Nassau Long Island

 Ideal Podiatrist is a leading foot and ankle care clinic in Nassau County, Long Island. We offer comprehensive services for various foot issues. We have offices in Queens and Long Island. We are specialized in bunion correction, Plantar Fasciitis, sports injuries, and hammertoe correction. Ideal Podiatrist, Foot, Ankle & Bunion Surgery Doctor, DPM in Nassau Long Island offers a range of procedures, including Forever Lapidus Bunionectomy, Minimally invasive Bunionectomy, Chevron Osteotomy, and Tailor's Bunion Surgery. With a success rate among the best globally, Ideal Podiatrist is dedicated to excellence in podiatry and bunion correction techniques.

[physicaltherapyandaquatics]

What Is Hydrotherapy, And How Can It Help?

If you have been suffering from mobility, chronic illness, severe arthritis, or an injury, you should consider getting hydrotherapy treatment. Between joint manipulation or mobilization, reduction in pain from chronic illness, soft tissue, and growth stimulation, the advantages of hydrotherapy are abundant. Research shows that hydrotherapy can also have a positive effect on your mental health.

Hydrotherapy Treatment: Defined

Hydrotherapy refers to using exercises in water as a part of treatment for various conditions. It is generally conducted in a swimming pool. However, you can also undertake these exercises in other kinds of open water. Since the water mass will support your body, hydrotherapy is a low-impact exercise that helps people recover from severe injuries, treat joint pain and inflammation, regain mobility, and strengthen weak muscles.

Hydrotherapy in Nassau County can help you leverage the properties of water, like hydrostatic pressure and buoyancy, to help patients. Warm water can encourage muscle relaxation, allowing individuals to move freely and exercise without stiffness or overbearing pain.

It will enable patients suffering from physically restrictive conditions to move into positions they would not be able to regularly. It can also help reduce the severity of pain related to injuries or any chronic conditions like arthritis. The weightlessness of body mass in water is critical in helping reduce muscular, joint, or nerve pain.

Health Benefits Of Hydrotherapy

There are various health benefits to using hydrotherapy. Some of these include:

Improved Mobility

Thanks to the buoyancy of the water, the most significant advantage of hydrotherapy is that it can reduce the total weight-bearing stress on your body. Removing that weight promotes freedom of movement and range of motion, resulting in improved mobility, which can be carried through to outside the water.

Reduced Swelling And Pain

Hydrotherapy can also help patients reduce swelling and pain in joints and muscles. The hydrostatic pressure of water can help reduce any swelling when exercising. It will also help improve post-exercise muscle soreness, so patients hoping to increase mobility don't face severe pain from exercise.

Increased Function

The buoyancy and warmth of water also help encourage muscles to relax when undergoing hydrotherapy. It optimizes the overall functionality of your body so you can get back to performing your day-to-day tasks that you couldn't due to a chronic condition or an injury using pain management or rehabilitation programs.

Recovery From Surgery

If you have recently undergone surgery, the hospital might prescribe you a treatment that aligns with the surgery. Water therapy in Nassau County is generally used as a post-surgery treatment that will be a critical part of your recovery process. It will also help in reducing any scar tissue and managing pain.

Mental Well-Being

Mental well-being is another critical advantage of using hydrotherapy. It enables immobile patients to exercise with reduced pain and move more freely.

Given so many advantages, it's easy to see why you should consider getting hydrotherapy. If you have any doubts, contact your doctor and ask if hydrotherapy is the right choice for you.

[flordefandom]

Hello! Sorry to bother you with this but do you have any Flint/Silver fic recs?

drHey, don’t worry!! I love this types of questions!! Fair warning, all the fics are rated Explicit.

Okay, first I hope you don’t mind some shameless self-promote:

My only finished work so far is my Answers series, post-shark date AU where they never found the maroons (I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with Madi when I started writing nor what role they would play). It’s basically a PWP trilogy.

Now, onto my WIPs:

Just the shadow: My Modern AU where Flint and Silver have reincarnated. Stoic philosophy talks about Eternal Recurrence, where time is cyclical and events must happen again and again. Are Flint and Silver doomed repeat their tragic story? This is my baby fic. I’ve been working on it for over a year and I’m extremely proud of it, it still has a long way to go. Salmons are also a thing.

Enough series: A post s4 fix-it, which is basically a foursome. So far has two parts. It’s basically a mix of smut and angst.

For that devious dance: aka Fake Marriage AU, the Fake Matelotage AU this fandom needed but not necessarily the one it deserved. I’ll update soon.

I’ll also add soon a Greek Mythology AU where Silver is Hermes turned mortal as punishment.

Alright, now for the actual fic recs. First, a few WIPs:

Our pain is the same by Salatuh: Where do I begin. Do you want a writer that’s good at writing hot as fuck sex scenes but also incredible angst that goes along canon. This is the first part o a four part series. And I totally recommend his fic, because for God’s sake.

Be my End by brasspetal: Amazing Treasure Island AU where Flint is also on board to get the treasure. Dawn's prose is freaking fantastic.

Now, this is basically me going through the Silverflint tag in AO3 and telling you my favorites. Behind the cut because fuck this is long.

Any Port in a Storm by Farasha: This series looks at Silver an Flint’s relationship though season 2, in those holes in canon, and how it’d be if they were fucking from early on.

The Edge of the Map by Farasha: What would have happened if Silver had met Flint when he was still in the Navy and they reunion several years later when Flint’s a pirate.

Our Longed-For Bed by mapped: An incredibly hot and touching s3 first time fic with rimming.

What’s in a Name? by Craftnarok: Proof that the s3 finale is a fanfic. Writtn before the s3 finale, what would happen if Flint told Silver his story. I know.

Until death it is all life by Craftnarok: The one where Silver realises he has the hots for Flint after he tells him about Thomas.

Heartlines on your Hand by samedifference61: A post-s3 fic. Flint discovers he still has more to give. Beautifil first time fic.

Let me see you in your darknessby ember_firedrake: An excellent series where Flint decides to punish Silver after he refuses to write down the entire page and Silver gets aroused. Super beautiful series.

Whetstone by balloonstand: After the battle for Nassau, Flint shaves Silver and they find each other:

Memories of you like scars under my skinby GreenQueenofClubs: Another beautiful fic of what would have happened if Silver and Flint had met before.

To Sleep Perchance to Dreamby Craftnarok: A beatiful PWP where Silver has trouble sleeping and stumbles onto something.

i’ll kiss your lips and i’ll black your eyes by vowelinthug: PWP where Flint teaches Silver how to fight before that episode aired.

let us possess one worldby vowelinthug: Post s3 fic. Where Silver has to face what Billy’s done with his name, there’s a barfight and Flint sees Long John Silver in action.

that pirate aesthetic by vowelinthug: A series about Silver getting tattoos as part of a master seduction plan. Hot as fuck, I love it.

If only for a night by ember_firedrake: A beautiful fic where a post-show Silver travels back in time an meets Lt. James McGraw. Oh the feels.

like a clockmaker fixes time by mapped: Silver dreams about Flint and he tells him. Flint can’t breathe when he does. Lovely fic.

you are the queen and i am the wolf by vowelinthug: Where John Silver has a big dick. Nuff said.

All Are Lunatics by movies_michelle: Silver seduces Flint because he’s after the gold only. If only.

st. augustine is that way by vowelinthug: The reason why this fandom cries over oranges. Post-show Flint has an orange farm, Silver comes.

A Year in the Life by Jmeelee: The basketball/college AU this fandom needed but didn’t know it.

Turn the radio up when your heart breaks down by PrimalScream: Modern AU where both Flint and Silver are broken, but they find each other because Flint’s dials a number he found in a bathroom.

Wind Me Upby PrimalScream: Post s4 PWP with rimming.

‘Til the world stops turning by PrimalScream: That fic where Silver has a threesome with Flint and Miranda. Go read it. Now. (And it’s sequel)

memories you bury or live by by mapped: A beautiful fic where Flint and Silver come together under the sunlight.

don’t you wish i would by vowelinthug: where finally the sexual tension of capturing a Spanish warship together comes to a close.

Don’t Fear the Ships (Fear the Black) by Farasha: A fic where Flint pushes Silver but also tries to train him as his sucessor. Silver disagrees.

pitch black, pale blue by mapped:That Silverflint fic where Flint stumbles upon some Silvermuldoon. There isn’t enough Silvermuldoon in this fandom we need more.

Make music out of me by PrimalScream: A doctor!Flint and nurse!Silver AU.

the only way out is the way back in by samedifference61: It starts a nice Silverflintmadi oneshot set in s3. Then the sequel is post s4 and it just slays you.

between victory and a white flag by mapped: What do you mean this isn’t how 4x08 happened?

The Kissing!Verse by Magnetism_bind: That series where there’s lots of smut but you’ll be desperate just wanting them to kiss.

after all verse by WeeBestie: Silver and Flint reunite several years later. The series full of smut and feels for two old grey men. This series couldn’t be cuter.

inhale, exhale, and reset by mapped: One of those post s4 fix-it fics this fandom desperately needs. And a great one at that.

That old sword-play by jauneclair: Sword training 4x09 sex. Do I need to say more?

leave the lights on by natlet: A beutiful reincarnation AU where Flint is an artist and Silver tried to run a con.

how we could be brought here by love by mapped: 4x03. Flint has a minor injury and Silver gets desperate. Silverflintmadi.

being worshipped is a breeze by vowelinthug: A Road to El Dorado AU. What more do you need?

(He Don’t Need No) Educationby Jmeelee: Modern!AU where Silver discovers things about his sexuality and Flint is there to teach him.

A True Story by iwtv: A post s4 fix-it fic where Silver finally tells Flint his story.

an unfinishable story by mapped: An extremely poetic post s4 fix-it fic where the Cliff plays an important role.

Under Starless Skies We Are Lost by Magnetism_bind: Another beautiful sword training 4x09 fic. Beautiful.

we lean like gardens (toward light) by mapped: Are there enough sword training fics? No, this one is beautiful too.

But If You Try Sometimes, Well, You Might Find … by Magnetism_bind: Where Silver needs some spanking to take out the edge of losing a leg. Flint provides.

hold on you by WeeBeastie: Did you know that you needed a Rodeo AU? No? Well, you need it.

Your Salty Skin and How It Mixes In With Mine by Magnetism_bind: Where Silver gets aroused by seeing Flint fight (who can blame him) and smut occurs.

smallpox by vowelinthug: The post s4 fix-it fic with the best written Thomas. Silverflinthamilton of course.

Your Hips, Your Lips, Your Skin On Mine by Magnetism_bind: where Flint is an artist and Silver comes as a nude model for his class.

King In Mine Eyes by medusine: Where after Silver returns in 4x03 Flint shows his appreciation.

it’s just you and the moon on my skin by mapped: Silver is a vampire, Flint is a werewolf and the things you read in this fandom. Not that I regret it.

Stay by salatuh: Where Flint cries during sex.

Quickening by PrimalScream: Silver is a dom for hire. Flint hires him. *clears throat*

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On by KilgoreTrout: One of those fics with a touch of supernatural elements that this fandom so needs.

L/S - I Will Stand Here With You by StarRose: Where Silver is a singer in a rock band and Flint falls in love with his siren. I mean, this is just a casual thing, right?

You Are Whole by salatuh: Do you have a feet fetish. Well I don’t yet here we are. There’s also tears.

Worth a Shot by AngryPirateHusbands, Magnetism_bind: Silverflinthamilton sex. Where Flint and Thomas decide to bring in home the hot bartender.

Okay, after that clustefuck of 55 recommended fics I add one special mention:

Lightbringer verse by ElDiablito_SF: I still haven’t got to read it because I’m a disaster and I know this verse is UGH. Don’t be like me read it.

This is all, and I’m sure this is not what you had in mind. But I don’t know this fandom is incredibly talented. There are so many good fics missing from here, but I somehow had to make a selection. Ughhh it was so hard, I love this fandom.

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COVID-19 reveals how obesity harms the body in real time, not just over a lifetime

A COVID-19 affected person is related to life-sustaining units at Mount Sinai South Nassau Hospital in Oceanside, New York on April 14, 2020. Jeffrey Basinger/Newsday through Getty Pictures

The COVID-19 pandemic has thrust the weight problems epidemic as soon as once more into the highlight, revealing that weight problems is not a illness that harms simply in the long term however one that may have acutely devastating results. New research and knowledge affirm medical doctors’ suspicion that this virus takes benefit of a illness that our present U.S. well being care system is unable to get beneath management.

In most up-to-date information, the Facilities for Illness Management and Prevention experiences that 73% of nurses who’ve been hospitalized from COVID-19 had weight problems. As well as, a current examine discovered that weight problems may intrude with the effectiveness of a COVID-19 vaccine.

I’m an weight problems specialist and medical doctor engaged on the entrance strains of weight problems in main care on the College of Virginia Well being System. Prior to now, I typically discovered myself warning my sufferers that weight problems may take years off their life. Now, greater than ever, this warning has turn out to be verifiable.

Extra injury than believed

Initially physicians believed that having weight problems elevated solely your danger of getting sicker from COVID-19, not your likelihood of being contaminated within the first place. Now, newer evaluation exhibits that not solely does weight problems improve your danger of being sicker and dying from COVID-19; weight problems will increase your danger of getting contaminated within the first place.

In March 2020, observational research famous hypertension, diabetes and coronary artery illness as the most typical different situations – or co-morbidities – in sufferers with extra extreme COVID-19 illness. Nevertheless it was the editors of Weight problems journal who first raised the alarm on April 1, 2020 that weight problems would doubtless show to be an impartial danger issue for extra extreme results of COVID-19 an infection.

Moreover, two research together with practically 10,000 sufferers have proven that sufferers who’ve each COVID-19 and weight problems have the next danger of demise at days 21 and 45 in comparison with sufferers with a standard physique mass index, or BMI.

And a examine revealed in September, 2020 reported increased charges of weight problems in COVID-19 sufferers who’re critically sick and require intubation.

It’s turning into overwhelmingly evident from these research and others that these with weight problems are dealing with a transparent and current hazard.

Stigma and lack of awareness

Weight problems is an fascinating illness. It’s one which many physicians discuss, typically in frustration that their sufferers can not stop or reverse it with the oversimplified therapy plan that now we have been taught in our preliminary coaching; “Eat much less and train extra.”

It is usually a illness that causes issues bodily, corresponding to sleep apnea and joint ache. It additionally impacts one’s thoughts and spirit as a result of societal and medical professionals’ bias towards these with weight problems. It will possibly even adversely have an effect on the dimensions of your paycheck. Are you able to think about the outcry if the headline learn “Sufferers with hypertension earn much less”?

We medical doctors and researchers have understood for fairly a while the long-term penalties of extra weight and weight problems. We at present acknowledge that weight problems is related to at the very least 236 medical diagnoses, together with 13 sorts of most cancers. Weight problems can lower one’s lifespan by as much as eight years.

Regardless of understanding this, U.S. physicians aren’t ready to stop and reverse weight problems. In a lately revealed survey, solely 10% of medical faculty deans and curriculum specialists really feel that their college students have been “very ready” with regard to weight problems administration. Half of the medical colleges responded that increasing weight problems schooling was a low precedence or not a precedence. A mean of 10 hours whole was reported as devoted to weight problems schooling throughout their total coaching in medical faculty.

And medical doctors generally don’t understand how or when to prescribe drugs for sufferers with weight problems. For instance, eight FDA-approved weight reduction drugs are in the marketplace, however solely 2% of eligible sufferers obtain prescriptions for them from their physicians.

A girl measures her blood sugar degree throughout lockdown in Paris in March 2020. Photograph by Franck Fife/AFP through Getty Pictures

What goes on within the physique

So, right here we’re, with a collision of the weight problems epidemic and the COVID-19 pandemic. And a query I discover sufferers asking me an increasing number of: How does weight problems create extra extreme illness and complication from COVID-19 an infection?

There are various solutions; lets begin with construction.

Extra adipose tissue, which shops fats, creates a mechanical compression in sufferers with weight problems. This limits their capacity to soak up and utterly launch a full breath of air.

Respiration takes extra work in a affected person with weight problems. It creates restrictive lung illness, and within the extra severe circumstances, result in hypoventilation syndrome, which might trigger an individual to have too little oxygen of their blood.

After which there’s perform. Weight problems ends in an extra of adipose tissue, or what we colloquially name “fats.” Over time, scientists have discovered that adipose tissue is dangerous in and of itself. One could say that adipose tissue acts as an endocrine organ all its personal. It releases a number of hormones and molecules that result in a continual state of irritation in sufferers with weight problems.

When the physique is in a relentless state of low-grade irritation, it releases cytokines, proteins that combat irritation. They maintain the physique on guard, simmering and able to combat illness. That’s all effectively and good when they’re saved in examine by different programs and cells. When they’re chronically launched, nevertheless, an imbalance can happen that causes harm to the physique. Consider it like a small however contained wildfire. It’s harmful, but it surely’s not burning all the forest.

COVID-19 causes the physique to create one other cytokine wildfire. When an individual who’s overweight has COVID-19, two small cytokine wildfires come collectively, resulting in the raging fireplace of irritation that damages the lungs much more so than sufferers with regular BMI.

Moreover, this continual state of irritation can result in one thing referred to as endothelial dysfunction. On this situation, as an alternative of opening up, blood vessels shut down and constrict, additional lowering oxygen to the tissues.

As well as, elevated adipose tissue could have extra ACE-2, the enzyme that permits the coronavirus to invade cells and start to wreck them. A current examine has proven an affiliation of elevated ACE-2 in adipose tissue reasonably than lung tissue. This discovering additional strengthens the speculation that weight problems performs a serious function in additional severe COVID-19 infections. So in principle, in case you have extra adipose tissue, the virus can bind to and invade extra cells, inflicting increased viral masses that keep round longer, which might make the an infection extra extreme and extend restoration.

ACE-2 may be useful in counteracting irritation, but when it in any other case sure to COVID-19, it can not help with this.

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The novel SARS COVID-19 virus has pressured the medical career to face the truth that many U.S. physicians inherently know. Relating to prevention of continual illnesses corresponding to weight problems, the U.S. well being care system is just not performing effectively. Many insurers reward physicians by assembly metrics of treating the consequences of weight problems reasonably than stopping it or treating the illness itself. Physicians are reimbursed, for instance, for serving to sufferers with Sort 2 diabetes to achieve a sure A1C degree, or a set blood strain purpose.

I imagine is time to teach physicians and supply them with sources to fight weight problems. Physicians can not deny that weight problems, one of many strongest predictors for COVID-19 and at the very least 236 different medical situations, should turn out to be public enemy primary.

Cate Varney doesn’t work for, seek the advice of, personal shares in or obtain funding from any firm or group that might profit from this text, and has disclosed no related affiliations past their tutorial appointment.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/covid-19-reveals-how-obesity-harms-the-body-in-real-time-not-just-over-a-lifetime/ via https://growthnews.in