#ive called in hours ahead from the fucking ER before and my boss was like soooo are you still coming in. like be so fucking serious

[blackvelvetofnight]

third shifters are the strongest warriors on earth

[jj-lynn21]

Castlerock: All Hallows Eve Ch 2

Ch 2: Accident

Ch 1: Creation  ch 3 chaos

continuation of characters from  A Castlerock New Year’s Eve party

Warnings: angst, jealousy, creepiness, lots of Steven King Book /movie references.  

tags @loomiz​ @dragsraksllib​ @super-pink-a-palouza​ @goblincxnt​ @grandpa-sweaters​ @waywardtigersandwich​ @sunshineandskarsgards​ @taintedglass​

“Of course, you can go with me my King.” Genevieve giggled. “You’re right, Henry, while we are in Castlerock. You are so Brilliant.”  

She grabbed the newly created clay statue. Then she took up the paintings under her arm. She was running a little late, but he assured her the paintings would be bought from the gallery. They would be placed where they needed to be. 

Nadine had been trying to get a hold of her. She was getting worried when Gen didn’t answer her cellphone, so she clocked out early telling her boss it was an emergency.

“I know she is jealous.” Genevieve talked to the hooded robe clad six-inch clay statue sitting in the passenger seat. “Alright I will call her. But I still don’t think I should tell her about you.” She sighed. “Alright.” She parked in front of the gallery and called Nadine.

Nadine fumbled for the phone in her purse as she was driving. When she looked away just for a second a semi-truck came barreling around the corner less than a mile ahead. The driver swerved toward her as his coffee dumped in his lap.

Nadine answers the phone. “Fuck woman I have been trying to call you for...oh shit.” She sees the truck coming straight for her and screams.

“Nadine!” Genevieve screamed into her cellphone.  

A horn blared on the other side of the phone. Nadine had swerved just before the semi-truck hit her head on. She went off the road slamming into a tree. Her head smacked into the wheel before the air bag decided to deploy. She sat up blood drizzling down between her eyes.

“I’m alright.” Nadine said more to herself than Gen on the phone. She was in shock.  

“Stay there, Nadine.” Genevieve begged here. “Don’t try to move. I will call 911.”

“I’m good.” Nadine mumbled as her eyes got heavy. Light headedness over took her.

Gen hung-up. “I know I’m late, but I have to call 911.” she pounded the numbers frantically. “No, I will do it after. They will wait.”

“Hello, 911. How can I help?” The operator said.

“My girlfriend was in an accident.” Genevieve cried.

“Can I get your name?” The operator asked calmly.

“Genevieve Duchamp.” Gen answered.

“Okay Genevieve, is she bleeding?” The operator was typing as she questioned the caller. “What is your girlfriends name?”

“She isn’t with me.” Alligator tears ran down Gen’s cheeks. “I think she lost control of her car. I was returning her call and thought she was at work. But she was driving home because I didn’t answer her call. She was in the accident because of me.”

“It’s not your fault Genevieve.” The operator tried to calm her. “What is your girlfriends name? Do you know the route she could have taken from work?”  

“Her name is Nadine Tessio.” Gen grabbed a tissue from her purse to dab her eyes. “She usually takes Maple Street up the hill to our place on Red Way. “

“Thank you, Genevieve.” The operator kept typing. “I am dispatching search and rescue to that stretch of road. Just try to stay calm. Take a few deep breaths. They will be taking her to Derry Medical.”

“I can be there in twenty minutes.” Gen started her car back up.

“Don’t rush over there Genevieve.” The operator advised. “Nadine would not want you getting in an accident.”

“I won’t rush.” Gen took a deep breath. “Thank you. I will. I know it is important to you.” was the last thing the operator heard before Genevieve hung up.  

She was hearing his voice again telling her she had to take the art inside. The paintings of him had to get to their destination. That would only happen through this gallery.  

“Alright, I guess you're right.” She turned the car back off. “But you stay here. I hope they still take them. I am an hour and a half late.”  

Genevieve got the paintings inside. The curator rushed over to her.  

“I’m so glad you finally got here.” The man snapped his fingers and a someone came out from the back with bubbly water and hors d'oeuvres. “I just put some feelers out about getting these and practically have them sold already. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you decided not to sell. Have a snack and a drink while we sign the paperwork.”

“Thank you, Mr.?” She put the paintings against the wall before sitting at a table nearby.”

“I’m Mr. Gaunt.” The man studied the paintings closely. “Mr. Edward Gaunt. These are really memorizing, Miss. Duchamp. Five thousand for all ten, correct?”

“That sounds reasonable.” She grabbed the papers. “Where do I sign. I want to get this done quickly. I had an emergency situation come up so I would like to get to that.”

Mr. Gaunt smirked as he sat in the chair across from her. “Of course. Sign the bottom of the pages and I will write a check. I didn’t mean to keep you longer than you wished.”  

She thought he sounded a little creepy. She quickly signed the twenty-page contract. Then left with a nice fat check that more than likely would go to her girl’s hospital stay. Genevieve raced to the hospital.

“I don’t know that for sure, Henry.” She talked to the statue on the way. “Of course, I will still throw the party. You will protect me, right?”

Nadine was stumbling on the side of the road when the search and rescue vehicles found her. Blood was dried to her face. A cut was visible though her sliced up jeans. Her hands cut up from crawling part of the way before getting up to stand.  

The EMT cleaned her wounds and put steri strips on the worst slashes until the Doctor could stitch her up. Nadine mumbled incoherently as they rushed her to Derry Medical.  

Genevieve was worried when she talked to an ER nurse and all they knew was that no one had been brought in for hours. She was panicking as sirens could be heard from an ambulance pulling in the bay. The double doors opened at the side entrance.

“Is she alright?” Gen screamed as they were pushing Nadine down the hall to an open room. “What happened?”

A security guard pulled her back from the scene. The curtain closed. The doctor, nurse and several emergency room students worked on stitching her up, running an IV and getting her stable.  

“Wait in the waiting room Miss.” The security guard’s voice was kind but firm. “They will come to talk to you when she is stable.”

“Just tell them Genevieve Duchamp is waiting.” She sat bouncing her knee. “I talked to the 911 operator.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them, Miss Duchamp.” The guard tilted his head looking at her. “Any relation to Teddy? Yesterday I was at Teddy's Amoco getting my car fixed. That man can tell some stories. Your grandfather was one of those boys that found that kid's dead body in 1959.”

“Yes, he’s my father, kind of.” She rolled her eyes. “I heard that story a million times at least.”

Teddy Jr. was just as fucked up as his Father. He was barely ever around when she was growing up. Her Mother Annette had enough by the time Genevieve was ten. For some reason they stayed in Castlerock. Her father still came around. Her Mother still had a weakness for him physically but would kick him right out, usually screaming obscenities, by morning.  

When she was an awkward teen her Father told her, she should just go on an adventure with a bunch of friends. Hopefully, they could find a dead body like his Dad. He thought it was the coolest thing to ever happen to the family name. He always wanted to find a dead body but never did. She thought is was an awful thing to what to see.  

The gas station his Father left him made him a good enough living. She never wanted for much. He paid for art lessons she wanted after she graduated high school. Her Father just used the college fund he was saving for her. He just gave her what was left after paying for her lessons so she could find an apartment with a good art studio. Which she did.  

The Guard went back to tell a nurse Genevieve was waiting. Within an hour Nadine was awake. A nurse came out to take Gen to see her.  

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

Pull Me Under

Warning:  Long Post, no 

I really wanted to talk about what happened to me this week.

 Will I survive the night on my own?

I am a workaholic because my dad was a workaholic and he's the one who raised me I was raised and told that to ask for help is a sign of weakness. To show weakness is a sign of weakness, to tell the truth when someone asks you how you are is a sign of weakness, to slow down on any level is a sign of weakness.

 My dad live by these rules and unfortunately that caused him to die younger than he should have, falling cancer when he was normally pretty healthy.  It is also this mentality that allowed me to survive when I was left to be an orphan at the age of 20 and it is how I have lived my life since.

 However it is something that I feel needs to change now in order for me to live longer, You do not have to live your entire life in this fashion in order to survive or in order to impress people.

 I have always prided myself on not taking sick days on coming to work no matter how bad I felt and finishing my shifts because in the back of my mind I thought that any time I ever told my boss I was too sick to work they thought I was lazy, and I would go on the list of the first person to be fired if the opportunity came up.  It has always been my way to hide how I really feel, how sick I truly am, because in the long run no one cares but me anyway, and if somebody else can see that and use it as against me, somehow they're going to do it.  In the last TEN YEARS I have taken less than ten sick days from work.

 My first year teaching has changed all that because I got sick about every 2 months,  as soon as I was over one thing I was sick with something else. I had ten sick days to play with but I also had to work from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. 5 days a week which meant I would have to take time off at some point doctor's appointments to keep myself healthy and that would eat up into my sick day time.  I think I ended the year with two days to spare and I was not going to mess with it.  

 I woke up Sunday morning knowing I was sick.  I had slept with the windows open and a cold front came in.  I could feel it growing colder but could do nothing because I was so exhausted I could not wake myself up enough to get out of bed and close them.  I woke up with chills, aches and a sore throat.  I ignored it.  I went to work.  I lasted until noon, went home and went to bed.  I should have called in for Tuesday but I did not I went to work. I had spent all of Monday freezing under 2 blankets with the heater turned up to 80 degrees.  But because I also did get some sleep and because that little bit of asleep I felt OK Tues. morning I made myself go to work.  I work the full day but  by the time it was time to go home,  I could not walk myself to my car.

 I have been fighting anxiety and dizzy spells for about a month-and-a-half so having to have someone walk me to my car really wasn't an alarm ball for me.  When I got home I tried to open some Gatorade and was shocked to find that I was too weak to get it open.  I don't own the thermometer which is something I need to change but I knew I was having a fever.  I started taking Tylenol PM but it did nothing it did not help my fever and it did not help me sleep.

 It would just so happen that I posted my symptoms to Facebook. A friend I barely knew that I had met through the Deuce fandom told me you need to go to the doctor right away you have pneumonia.  And I hate to say it but my first thought was “kid you're half my age what do you know?”.  But it did alarm me b/c he had the exact same symptoms. My sister Toni called and asked if I wanted her friend Cathy to take me to the dr.  Now normally I turn down offers like this.  Toni is now my only living sister, my family period really, and still sees me as being twelve.   And I would rather walk on broken glass than ask for help.  However I found myself agreeing to it ---maybe because of what the kid had said on Facebook--- but I still decided to go….. just not right away. I had not slept at all that night and I told my sister give me a chance to get some sleep.  The clinic I go to is open late, I could go in the afternoon .  However in the back of my own mind I was even thinking “well if you feel better after your nap just tell her you decide not to go and don't go.”

 The problem was, I couldn’t sleep, and I was getting worse. The appointed time came around I decided it was time to get out of bed………... only problem was I couldn't I couldn't make it more than two or three steps without being so overwhelmed so exhausted and dizzy I pretty much had to sit down wherever I was.  This was a problem because it is a long walk from where my house is to the driveway where you park your car as my house is in the middle of a field.  My sister’s bf Cathy is a small firecracker of a woman who could go toe to toe with the devil but is about one fourth my size.  I could not use her as a human crutch to get to the car. Again my first inclination was “go back to bed and sleep it off, go back to the doctor when you feel better” which is so ass-backwards it’s stupid, but I swear that’s how I felt.  I nearly called and told her not to come back but thank god I didn’t.  Cathy, being the resourceful woman that she is, drover her SUV through the field and up to my door.  I got into the car and she took me to the clinic.  At the clinic everyone stared because I needed a wheelchair to be brought in.

 Now let me discuss another component of why I have been reluctant to go to the doctor.  I have been going to a small clinic since I moved home and I really like it.  I recently found out that the guy I had a crush on my entire senior year of high school and freshman year of college is a nurse practitioner there whom I have not seen in 25 years. These stupid narcissistic fifteen-year-old in me would always say “Don’t go!  You look like shit and what if you get him as the one who sees you.”   I knew he worked there from calling in to get lab results from my last bouts with dizziness in April where I was given a clean bill of health.  I called the clinic to get my results only to have a friendly voice call me by my maiden name and ask (already knowing the damn answer) if I remembered him.

 So anyway at 3 pm Cathy wheels me in in the wheelchair and asked me if I want her to stay. I am already feeling guilty because she has offered to go get me some groceries which I desperately need and obviously can't get for myself so I tell her no there's no need for her to waste more time by waiting for me at the clinic just go ahead get the groceries I'll call her when the appointment is over just because I'm pretty sure they're just going to give me a prescription and send me back home.  The nurse takes my information, takes my blood pressure pulse and temperature then wheels me into another room where my worst nightmare comes true.  

 Lo and behold here comes My High School Crush. Only this time there is no witty banter no hey how you doing.  He looks at me and says   “You are very sick you need to be in the hospital.  If you were just dropped off here, I am going to call you an ambulance right now.”  He even gave me back my copay!   I know this is serious.   I called Cathy and told her she had to come back. Normal blood pressure is 120/80 and mine has always run just slightly lower than that.  A resting pulse rate for me is 85-99.   When my vitals were checked at the clinic my bp was 80/40, my pulse was 120 and I had 102 fever.

 I didn’t feel like my pulse was that fast, I wasn��t having no trouble breathing, I was just weak and tired.    BUT THAT’S JUST IT.  I’M A TEACHER, I AM ALWAYS FUCKING TIRED….just not hat bad. I got into the ER just as a trauma is coming in on an Angel Flight.  I know I’m going to be there a whle and tell Cathy to go home because there’s nothing she can do for me anymore anyway and I don’t want her to see me this sick.   My ex would never take me to the ER when I was sick, always made me go alone because he “hates hospitals, and get bored there’ so I was used to being in the ER alone. I wait about 30 min in the waiting room which honestly is not bad.   One they take my vitals they whisk me back to a bed.   They had to stick me 3 times to get an IV going, took blood, tried to catheterize me FIVE TIMES which left me literally screaming in pain (my lady parts are quite small and delicate).  I am given THREE bags of IV fluids before they can start to stabilize me.  But I’m too sick and exhausted to even be scared.

 I mean, I was scared, I knew it was serious and i prayed a lot but I literally did not have the energy to expend on being scared and worried. Those are the times I miss having someone with me.  Not in the waiting room but in the back to hold my hand when I’m getting stuck with needles and poked at and shit.  Just someone to tell me “It’s gonna be okay.”    But I didn’t have it and I haven’t that in so long I have learned to survive without it.    Every orderly, and nurse I saw (didn’t see a doctor for 4 hours) told me:  “You are one sick lady”.   But I was not in any pain, I could breathe fine, I was just so tired.

  A lady comes to go over my information.  I am asked if my sister Terri is still my emergency contact and I have to say the words “No she died two weeks ago” and it is hardest thing to say.  I wanted to follow it up “in this very ER” but I don’t.    As they are wheeling me down the halls to get a CAT scan on my chest I see the inside of the hospital really for the first time and it hits me fully:  THE LAST TIME I WAS IN THIS HOSPITAL WAS WHEN MY MOM DIED WHEN I WAS 12 AND NOTHING HAS CHANGED.   So now not only am I middle aged, helplessly sick and at the mercy of the world, I am also 12 years old, helpless, at the mercy of the world and watching my mom die.  Every door we pass looks like the door to the room she died in.

Now I know why I had nightmares of hospitals all the time when I was in college.  It never made sense then but it does now.  It was this hospital I was dreaming of and now I’m right back there.

 At 8 pm I am told I have pneumonia and am “septic”, which I had to literally google when I got home.  I knew it was not a good thing to be and always thought it meant your blood had been poisoned.    At 9 pm I am told I am being admitted.  At 10 pm I meet some of the nicest nurses I have ever met in my life in the ICU unit. The exact same ICU unit and quite possibly same room my mom spent a good deal of the last days of her life in as well.   On my fifth bag of IV fluid my pulse has only gone down to 108 and my blood pressure has only poked up to 96/56.   I am tied to so many machines I feel like I’m in the Matrix.  I don’t sleep for three days and getting out of bed to walk two steps to the toilet (which I am now having to do every 15 min b/c of the IV fluids) is enough to leave me out of breath and push my pulse rate back up.   This is also hard because of all the tubing and leads attached to me that I must pull, balance and not step on or let get tangled.  The bed is an ergonomic nightmare that is impossible to get up from even though it is just inches off the floor. It takes 10 bags of IV fluids, 3 bags of antibiotics, 3 shots in the stomach for blood thinner (PAINFUL) and three bags of potassium and magnesium before my vitals get to anywhere near the normal range. There are literally pages more I could write but I am still recovering and need some sleep.