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elysianslove · 3 years

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Please wrote more surrogate fics please . could I request one with SakuAtsu or could you just start a series on these. If you'd me comfortable with that. That on IwaOi surrogate fic brought me so much joy. I can't even describe it.

oh my goodness i’d love to!!! it makes me so happy knowing you liked it cause like,,, idk why it’s just special to me :) also im so glad you asked for sakuatsu bc these two ships are basically my favorite jhfgbsj. and yesyes i’d love to have a mini series with like little scenarios of each ship <333

this was insanely long. like insanely.

content warning; artificial insemination, pregnancy, haikyuu manga spoilers, gay people being happy idk

being iwaoi’s surrogate

BEING SAKUATSU’S SURROGATE

↬ it took forever to even get them together, so with a duo as indecisive as them, it’s imaginable how long the decision to raise a child together took. it took a long, long while for that transition from enemies to lovers to be final, and even then, they hadn’t realized how serious their relationship was until they were off getting married and then suddenly wanting a child?

↬ it was something atsumu brought up out of the blue, just casually as they sat side by side on the couch. “wouldn’t it be nice if we raised a child together?” and it stuck with sakusa ever since. he didn’t know why he was obsessively thinking about it as much, but it’s all he could think about. literally. anytime he so much as thought about atsumu with a child, and a child of their own too, his stomach did a thousand and one flips. sakusa was never the biggest fan of children, and he knew that neither was atsumu. but, this would be different, wouldn’t it? Still, he tried to remind himself of the cons; they were pro-athletes, they didn’t have time, they didn’t understand the weight of the responsibility, were they even ready for something like that? somedays it was too tiring to take care of themselves, of each other. were they ready to be responsible for a whole life, someone dependent entirely on them? it seemed too— unrealistic. like something he could only hope to dream about, and just dream about.

↬ until he thought of atsumu with a little kid, a spit image of either one of them, sitting on his lap, giggling and laughing and squealing in glee. and so he decided, there will always be cons, he just has to see if the pros outweighed them. and honestly, they did. they were pro-athletes, sure, but that also meant they were financially stable, and could provide for a child, properly. they were mature now, knew each other very well, and had adapted to living with one another. they had family and friends all around. the kid would for sure grow up loved and cared for, and him and atsumu would add another person to their family. it really seemed like a dream, but this time, an attainable one.

↬ so as he ate dinner with his lover, he blurted out, “let’s raise a child together,” and atsumu honest to god choked on his food. he asked sakusa if he was serious, if he meant it, if this was real, and sakusa’s answer was yes to every single one of his question. yes, he was serious; yes, he meant it; yes, this was real. as real as can be.

↬ they both already knew they wanted a surrogate, and it didn’t matter who was the father. so long as the child was theirs.

↬ finding a surrogate was, well, a pain, to put it into perspective. sakusa was so picky about the “requirements,” if you will, and atsumu was suspicious of every single woman, it was kind of ridiculous really. he just “didn’t trust that they wouldn’t run away with the baby!” in his words. atsumu suggested sakusa’s older sister, which seemed perfect in his head, but sakusa refused, claiming it was 1. extremely weird, and 2. he doubted she’d say yes, with her own life to handle.

↬ and it finally, finally, came to atsumu: he could always just ask, well, you. he had met you during his college years, and since then, he’d been coincidentally crossing paths with you ever since then, and you’d even managed their msby jackals team at some point. it was weirdly ironic how he’s coming back to you, kind of like fate.

↬ so he suggested it to sakusa, and for once, the latter didn’t really have any way to object, except, “what if this inconveniences her?” other than that, you were the perfect candidate. they knew you well, trusted you, knew they could rely on you. and atsumu was sure you wouldn’t run with the baby. with regards to the inconvenience part, well, they could always just deal with that when the time came.

↬ they invited you over for some breakfast two days later, after they’d thought about it properly, endlessly, and figured you were their best option. it was weird seeing them so nervous when you first arrived, like they were breaking up with you or something. atsumu barely ate with how nauseous he felt, and sakusa spent the entire time watching you eat instead, hands fidgeting and legs shaking. it was really weird, but you didn’t bring it up, letting them take their own time to tell you whatever it was they wanted to tell you, because obviously, they clearly had something to say.

↬ after breakfast, you sat in their living room, just watching the tv quietly, until sakusa offered to get you some water. you weren’t really thirsty, but you agreed anyways, unsurprised to see atsumu rise from his own seat a minute later with a, “be right back,” as he headed to the kitchen. you could hear them bickering and whisper-yelling, and if you weren’t starting to grow as nervous as they were, you would’ve had it in you to laugh. they returned looking like they were bearing the most daunting of news, sitting down on the couch perpendicular to you. atsumu’s hands were sweaty and intertwined tightly together, while sakusa tried to remain as composed as possible. it seemed like the dark haired man would speak up, finally, parting his mouth with a deep breath.

↬ but it’s atsumu that blurts out, “please have my baby!— our baby. please have our baby.”

↬ honestly, your first response was to laugh, in disbelief, as you clutch your glass of water. but then you see their faces — god they looked so goddamn scared — and you realized that, they were really serious. they really wanted you to carry their baby for them. holy shit?—

↬ you were mostly speechless after that, stuttering as you ask them to please explain, you’re honored but are they are, have they thought about this? properly? in depth?

↬ to your surprise, they really knew what they were doing. they’d done their research, and thought about a million other options before deciding that you were the best one. they also repeatedly told you that you didn’t have to do this, and that they didn’t want to guilt-trip you into doing it either. they wanted you to say yes only if you yourself wanted to say yes, and if this wouldn’t negatively affect you or halt your life in any way. you were the one that was going to be carrying the baby anyways, weren’t you? at the end of the day, this was all about you.

↬ you asked them for time to think about it, and reminded them that it wasn’t a no. you just wanted to make sure you were making the right decision whichever that ended up being. a few days later, you call them, asking them to meet up one way or another, and atsumu’s even more nervous than he was asking you; not even sakusa’s gentle lips to his temple or large hands soothingly rubbing at his back or his kind words could help him. sakusa himself was insanely anxious. in his head, it seemed like your ‘no,’ would finalize everything. that it would really mean no hope in having a child of their own, their very own.

↬ you invite them over to your home, and the kettle is already boiling when they arrive. you make them tea and make small talk if only to delay the inevitable. but, to each of their surprises, you take a deep breath and say, “i’d be honored to carry your baby for you,” with the brightest, warmest smile. sakusa has to bite his inner cheek to will himself to not cry, because he can’t believe you said yes. you agreed. you’re going to carry their baby. him and atsumu were having a baby.

↬ atsumu doesn’t stop himself from throwing his arms around you, collapsing on top of you in tight hug that you kind of can’t breathe, but you let him, and you laugh when he thanks you for saying yes, that he’ll “be forever in your debt.”

↬ it’s the happiest you’ve seen either of them.

↬ when you’re done with the process of insemination (of course, atsumu does joke that the three of you should go the natural way and have a threesome, to which he earns a smack from his lover and a smack from you, at the same time), the three of you just have to wait, really. it’s the longest period of waiting you’ve ever had to do, but you try to be patient, as patient as you can be. when you wake up one morning and throw up, you look at your period tracking app to see if maybe you were pms’ing. except, you weren’t. you were late. like a good three weeks late.

↬ immediately, you’re booking a doctor’s appointment. you wait to tell sakusa and atsumu after confirming your suspicions, because you don’t want to raise their hopes up for nothing. they’ve already been swimming in a pool of doubts ever since the insemination, calling you everyday to check up on you and ask for any progress. when the doctor confirms your pregnancy — holy shit you were pregnant — the first thing you do is go over to their house. you know it’s not the best idea to show up unannounced, but with how long they’ve been waiting, and how much they’ve been wanting this, the more and more you fed into it, you couldn’t wait any longer to tell them. you arrive, and the moment sakusa opens the door for you, you gasp out, “i’m pregnant.”

↬ sakusa’s quite literally frozen in shock, his mouth pressed in a thin line with eyes wide open, while atsumu walks over and goes, “oh hey,” in greeting before noticing sakusa’s face and just ???? “what’s going on?”

↬ “i’m pregnant.”

↬ “you’re what?”

↬ you show them with tears stinging your eyes the results of the test you’d taken at the doctor’s, and atsumu grips the report so tightly, like it’ll disappear if it slips only slightly from his hands. sakusa’s still in shock, trying to process everything. it takes him a good while before he can function properly again.

↬ the pregnancy itself is a lot smoother than you’d imagined. iwaizumi, as their athletic trainer, although not well versed with pregnancy, knew a lot about health and taking care of yourself in general, so he made sure you were always eating right and healthy. he even accompanied you once when sakusa and atsumu couldn’t, to the doctor, and made sure to ask him specifically what you should and shouldn’t be eating. all of the olympic/national team are more excited than anything. they’re insanely protective over you, and always pamper and care for you you when they can, whether that be back/neck/shoulder massages or giving you their food when they notice you eyeing it or letting you lean entirely on any of them for support as you walk. granted, they do make fun of you, especially the bigger your stomach got, but they mean well, really. suna once made fun of you and, because of the hormones, and because he was genuinely just mean, you started to cry. since then, suna swore off bullying you, at least until you gave birth.

↬ osamu is beyond ecstatic to become an uncle. he’s so excited it makes atsumu incredibly emotional. he goes with his brother on trips to ikea to buy a crib and gifts him an insane amount of baby clothes and always begins a conversation with, “how’s the baby?” every time you’re around, osamu’s hand can be found resting on your stomach, soothingly rubbing, excitedly grinning when he feels a kick. he is just so happy for his brother, he could cry.

↬ you ask them if they want a gender reveal when you find out or to keep it until the delivery of the baby, but they’re both insanely impatient (even though sakusa does try to convince atsumu to wait because it’ll be exciting, he himself isn’t even that convinced of that and they just ask you to tell them). with the help of osamu and his and atsumu’s parents, you organize a gender reveal party. the moment he sees the pink smoke, atsumu cheers so loudly it makes you laugh till your stomach hurt. sakusa’s grinning wider than you’ve ever seen him, grabbing atsumu’s face and kissing him, before pulling you into a tight hug. it’s literally the cutest thing ever, everyone just cheering loudly around you and celebrating with you.

↬ when you go into labor, you’re with neither of them, but with osamu, aran, and kita. they were staying the night at a hotel since they had training away from where they lived, and you were spending the night at osamu’s because the fathers of your baby really didn’t want you to be alone so close to your due date, and who better than osamu? your water didn’t break, but you kept having contractions. you were brushing it off as normal pain at the start, but they started to get worse, and closer together in time. kita, because he’s kita, had been keeping track, and told you how far apart your contractions were. to which you went, “contractions?!”

↬ aran’s calling sakusa and atsumu as kita grabs your bag as osamu grabs his keys and helps you to his car. you really couldn’t have been around a better set of men, because they were perfectly composed the whole time, helping you breathe and stay calm by staying calm themselves, reassuring you that you didn’t need to worry and that you will get to the hospital in time. they did flinch every time you screamed or cried out in pain, but aran held your hand the entire drive there, and kita guided you to steadying yourself as osamu drove as fast as he could.

↬ the issue was with sakusa and atsumu. to say they were freaking out would be an understatement. they were positively losing it. atsumu’s anxiety was louder than sakusa’s, but the latter’s was clear as ever on his pale skin and clammy hands. they were so annoying in the delivery room, literally faring worse off than you, who was pushing a whole baby out of her body. when you finally gave birth to a healthy baby girl, atsumu sobbed and sakusa cried in his hands, so maybe it was alright after all.

↬ they literally couldn’t believe their eyes when the nurse handed you the baby and placed her on your chest. she was so, so tiny, so beautiful, and theirs. honestly, you couldn’t hold back your own tears at the sight of her, and at their reaction to her. you held her in your arms as they thanked you, over and over and over again, for the biggest blessing they could ever receive.

↬ despite the fact that you were simply their surrogate, sakusa and atsumu knew they couldn’t just separate you and your baby, and neither could they just take her home all of a sudden. so for the first few months, you stayed in their guest room, but the baby slept in her own room. it was more difficult than you expected it to be when you were leaving her to go back to your own home, but they promised you repeatedly that they’re not really taking her away. it wasn’t as if you couldn’t visit at any time you wanted to come visit her. but at the end of the day, you knew what you had been signing up for, and that she was their daughter.

↬ she grows up to be a gorgeous woman. she’s interested in volleyball, sure, she’d been raised with volleyball players everywhere around her, but it’s not her immediate passion. atsumu thought he’d be more upset about that than he actually was, because he found out that it didn’t matter at all what she wanted to do. hell, if she wanted to do nothing at all and stay home forever with them, he was 100% on board with that. whatever made her happy and healthy, he was okay with. she grows up to be really close and really comfortable with both of her fathers, and they make sure with every passing day that no matter what, she can always come to them. and she does, about every little thing. and each and every time, they listen and advice and guide her properly. a s parents, they’re a perfect balance of strict and lenient. they set and raise her to never cross those boundaries, but otherwise they give her complete freedom. they respect her privacy, her decisions, everything.

↬ there was a day when she came back home from school, and they had taken a biology class for kids, where a teacher had explained periods to them. obviously, as curious as ever, she’d asked her dads about it, because she didn’t really get it. she wanted to know the how’s and the why’s and the what’s and the when’s. with every passing second atsumu had felt his lifespan shorten. eventually he suggested they call you, who she knew as her ‘aunt’ for the time being, since you were a woman and nobody would really explain it better than you. when she did get her period eventually, and had to sheepishly and shyly ask her dads to go to the store for her because she needed, um, supplies, atsumu lost it. sakusa had to try and calm him down all while laughing as he got ready to go to the store for her, because the drama of miya atsumu never gets old. he just couldn’t believe she was already getting her period. what the hell! what the actual hell!

↬ of course, he proceeded to embarrass her by telling osamu, telling sakusa’s parents, telling his parents. not cool :(

↬ when she was old enough, especially to understand the concept of being a surrogate (oh my god the sex talk was a whole other insufferable thing), they told her about you, and that you were actually her biological mother and not just an ‘auntie.’ she tried to be angry at them for keeping it from her, but she was honestly more excited about finding out than anything. it brought the two of you closer together, and for the next mother’s day, she organized a whole brunch for you, her and her dads, got you a gift, flowers, everything. yeah, you did cry.

↬ you genuinely have never been more satisfied and thankful for a decision like this one, ever, especially because of how much of a blessing the outcome had been.

can u tell this isn’t my first time thinking about this. ever since i posted the iwaoi one i’ve been wanting to do a sakuatsu one, but i didn’t really know whether anyone had enjoyed that or would want more, so thank you for sending in this ask!! love u all mwah <3

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #miya atsumu x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #atsumu x sakusa #sakuatsu #sakuatsu x reader #atsumu x reader

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katblu42 · 3 years

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The End?

This is something I wrote for a creative writing competition. The challenge was to write something (within a week) starting at the end and working back to the beginning. For some reason the prompt/challenge sparked this little piece, which is pretty much non-fiction. I guess it came at a time when the subject matter was on my mind. I wanted to post it now because a related anniversary is coming up.

There are warnings!!! Please heed the tags. Death, Sickness, Hospitals, Cancer. (If more warnings/tags are needed please let me know so I can make appropriate edits!)

Below the cut for length and warnings.

This was not how their story was supposed to end. There were still so many chapters they had hoped to write together, so many journeys toward possible futures that they had imagined spending side by side. She never anticipated being a childless widow before she had even turned forty-two. She’d never considered being faced with a hopeless situation, or the unenviable decision to allow them to stop treatment and let him slip away. Treatments that could prolong his life a little, but not fix him. Their plans had never included his hand desperately clinging to hers as she tearfully told him it was okay for him to let go and leave her behind.

He had wanted to fight. It broke her heart that there was nothing the combined efforts of all the medical staff could do to support his fight. It was a losing battle. His body was giving up on him, organs shutting down even though his mind was not ready to give up. The three weeks he lasted in the ICU had left him battle-scarred and exhausted, but he had still not wanted to give in, or let her down.

His Forty-second birthday was less than a week before the end. It was spent with family, visiting two by two according to ICU visitor limits. He was barely able to communicate by then, his lips scabbed and bloody, and a ventilator tube in his throat inserted by tracheostomy. The medical team had not wanted the tube to remain in his mouth any longer, but he was too weak to breathe on his own.

He had been off the ventilator for a while, during one of the hopeful moments. They’d been able to remove the breathing tube, and they had been able to reduce the blood pressure medication for a while. His temperature had stabilised and she’d focused on the improvements, encouraging him to think positive. Facing the alternative had been unthinkable.

She had put such hope in the drug she’d had to sign permission for them to administer – one that had to be shipped urgently from interstate, that had approval for use in the US, but not here. They had told her it was possible too much time had passed for the reversal drug to be fully effective. It had been more than five days since the chemo treatment which now needed reversing had ended.

Hope was all she’d had at that point. Seeing him finally settled in Intensive Care with all the monitors and their beeps and alarms, the ventilator with its click and hiss, the hum of the heat pump regulating his temperature, the blood transfusion and IV lines all keeping her unconscious husband alive, she had to cling to every scrap of hope she could. His immune system was so compromised she had to wear the gown and gloves and mask just to sit in the corner of the room and let the silent tears fall.

The ICU waiting room was deserted during the wee hours. She and her Mum stayed until dawn before buzzing the door intercom to enquire about seeing him. His Dad had left after the surgeon had spoken to them all some hours before, explaining that in his current state surgery was not a viable option for the infection in his gut. The previous wait in Emergency had been shorter, and the waiting room slightly more comfortable, but the constant worry and the lack of information had been excruciating.

Two ambulances had attended their tiny unit in answer to her call, such was the seriousness of his condition. Despite having four uniformed people fussing over her husband, she had not been given much information about what was happening. She’d been instructed to get all his medication together to bring with her to the hospital, then left to change out of her pyjamas while they loaded him into an ambulance. All this happened in a blur of action and confusion. Less than 20 minutes before they all headed to the hospital she had been performing chest compressions on him on the tiled floor of their cramped bathroom.

The Emergency Services operator on the other end of the phone had talked her through the CPR procedure. She’d learned it years before in first aid training, but having to actually perform the chest compressions on someone she loved was still horrifyingly daunting. He hadn’t stopped breathing, but the ES operator had assured her CPR was necessary because his gasping breaths had been so far apart.

She had never had to call an ambulance for anyone before, but it didn’t take a genius to see she needed help. His level of responsiveness had decreased so rapidly after she’d found him slumped forward sitting on the toilet, unable to sit up unaided. The yellow tinge to his skin had startled her. He had cried out to her in such a way that instinct had brought her rushing from the loungeroom without taking a moment to process anything more than the feeling that something was very wrong.

He had just wanted to sleep, so she tried to give him space to do that, sitting quietly in the loungeroom while he stayed in the darkened bedroom. He had refused to let her bring him something to eat, which had concerned her. She’d offered to call the hospital for advice, knowing he was uncomfortable and wanting to make sure he was okay, but he had refused to let her, insisting that there was no need to make a fuss. She’d arrived home from work around five, and suspected he had been in bed all day, “just feeling a bit yuck.” Later she would feel so much guilt for not trusting her instinct to get help for him then.

For the first couple of days after his chemo treatment ended he had seemed okay, feeling upbeat, acting normal. He had been in high spirits despite the prospect of months of treatment still ahead. There had been a little grumbling about feeling a little bit off, but that was to be expected, right?

His first (and only) round of chemo had been a five day affair. Three medications, two of which had been administered within a day at the clinic and the third he had carried around in a little pack while it slowly released over the five days. The plan had been laid out by the oncology team, with lots of consultations and discussions during the preceding weeks. He was to have two or three rounds of the chemo drugs, then radiation treatment would begin. Combination therapy to treat the cancers in his mouth and throat.

There had been months of discomfort, reducing his ability to eat properly, or enjoy food. He had lost a considerable amount of weight before she had been able to convince him to finally go and see a doctor and find out what was wrong. He’d always been the type to avoid going to a doctor unless he was literally at death’s door. She knew that part of what had held him back for so long was the fear that it could be something serious.

He didn’t want to ruin their holiday, but he promised he would see someone about the sore throat when they got back from the Gold Coast. It was only a week spent away, but they had visited all their favourite haunts. This was one of their regular holiday spots during their ten year marriage. They always felt like big kids, visiting the theme parks and the beaches, playing mini golf, messing about in the resort pool.

The two of them had been lucky to share many little trips away over the years. They’d had many more days of laughter and smiles than they’d had of tears and troubles. There had been precious gifts exchanged between them – but not many in a physical form she could lay her hands on. Each of them had broadened the other’s horizons, sparking interest in new experiences, sharing the activities and pass-times they loved.

Their wedding day had been filled with fun and friends and family. She had seen then how many people his bright and generous personality drew to him. So many people had wanted to share in their joy, and had told her she would never find a more loyal and loving mate. All the elegance and finery, the colour and music, the celebration of their union had been a wonderful way to begin their journey hand in hand to the future.

His proposal on the beach, early in the morning in a place he had been holidaying with his family every year since he was tiny, had taken her by surprise. He had asked her to come with him for a walk. They had travelled quite a long way up the beach, just watching the waves crash on the shore, listening to the shrieks of the gulls and making small talk. Then he had dropped to one knee and asked the question. She needed a moment to take in what was happening. His heart just about stopped, thinking she was hesitating. She had said yes, and put him out of his nervous agony.

Their first “proper” date was a walk to the local McDonalds for burgers and sundaes. Neither of them had much money, so neither had wanted to go anywhere fancy. She had been happy with the little things – like the way he always walked beside her on the footpath placing himself between her and the busy road. He was not rich, nor did he have impressive style or a brainiac’s intelligence, but he was open and funny and kind and she wanted to spend time with him.

She hadn’t ever been to the trivia night at the local bowling club, so she wasn’t sure what to expect, or how it all worked. The lady who hosted the quiz gave her an answer sheet and steered her towards a table, telling her the young man with the twinkle in his blue eyes, and the dimpled smile would look after her. That was the moment their story had begun.

#creative writing #tw death #tw hospital #tw cancer #tw sickness #two years without him come Sunday

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spicysoftsweet · 4 years

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A Very Important Episode starring Hisoka

Or the one where Hisoka learns Bungee Gum is not a food group.

A/N: We all know that Hisoka likes candy and Bungee Gum but we would like to encourage Hisoka to make healthier choices and prevent diabetes complications. There will possibly be a part 2. I hope this is educational.

---

This time Hisoka had actually done it. He’d actually managed to fuck up his entire body beyond what he could repair with Bungee Gum or Machi’s services - which she was charging higher and higher for - and now he was somewhere almost unthinkable - an emergency room.

“Illumi~~~~” he half-sang, half-whined now that he was finally lucid, after undergoing an exploratory laparotomy to stabilize his profuse internal bleeding - the surgeons had been in awe of just how much of his body had been purely synthetic due to Texture Surprise exclaiming that he’d be an incredible case to write up - and being amped up full of pain meds. He probably didn’t need the pain meds, but it was fun to go in and out of consciousness; he couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual night of sleep.

His unwilling friend sat at the side of his hospital bed, legs crossed and focusing his jarringly large, black eyes at the fluid and blood that was being transfused into him by IV drip. A small part of him was surprised that Hisoka could be transfused with regular looking blood and regular looking fluid. He was almost sure that he was made up purely of nonsense and Bungee Gum.

“Illumi~” Hisoka moaned dramatically a second time. His gaze slid now to him, with lips pressed into a flat line of distaste.

“Don’t ever use my name as your emergency contact again.”

Illumi had to hide the fact that he was impressed Hisoka could spell clearly enough to make out the letters of his name and had actually retained his phone number. He had been surprised to get a call, but made his way over as soon as he had finished gutting an enemy and stringing them up for display as requested in his latest contract. The idea of Hisoka being dead was incredibly alarming, for he did enjoy his health and company, but also sparked a morbid curiosity in him. Could Hisoka actually die?

“But you came, didn’t you?” Hisoka teased, with a shit-eating grin.

He had him there.

There was a soft knocking on the door, and a young woman in a white coat, followed by a taller man wearing a pair of scrubs came in. The young woman glanced at Hisoka and then Illumi, visibly wincing at the hard stare of the latter in the semi-dark room, then raised her badge to introduce herself.

“H-hello, I’m Dr. Rhgyl, I-” her eyes flickered to Illumi briefly, unsettled by the fact that he hadn’t yet blinked in the past two minutes, then shifted back to Hisoka, whose devilish smile was almost more unsettling. “I was one of your surgeons and am here to answer any questions you have.”

She turned to Illumi, and gave a nervous nod of the head. “And who is in the room with you, Mr. Morow?”

“My husband,” he said, in a sickly-sweet voice. Illumi gave him a glare, then crossed his arms.

“Sure,” was all he said.

Sure, what? What is sure? Just answer the damn question... The poor young doctor’s face fell as she already knew this was something she’d have to spend unnecessary minutes during her already excessively long call night clarifying in her documentation. She turned to her nurse behind her, who gave her a small shrug.

“So uh, Mr. Morow, how is your pain?”

“It’s wonderful!”

The doctor again tried to conceal her internal screaming, and continued to keep her professional smile plastered on her face. “In that case, please let us know if you have any more pain, and your nurse will take care of it.”

“We do have one other issue, however, “ she added, making sure to communicate this next part as clearly and effectively as possible. Hisoka perked up in surprise, and Illumi continued to sit perfectly still, as still as a statue. “Your blood sugar. Your blood sugar was extremely elevated, and we were concerned about a diagnosis of prediabetes or diabetes.”

“Diabetes?”

“We expect you to make a fast recovery… surprisingly fast in fact, but we would still like you to follow up with a primary care doctor about your blood sugar. We’ll draw a lab test to check how your sugars were for the past 3 months, called a Hemoglobin A1c test, and then we’ll have your primary care doctor follow up the results and help you with strategies to have better control.”

Illumi turned to Hisoka, who he could tell that whatever the medical team was telling him was going in one ear and out the other, and he was now only thinking about either his next fight or Bungee Gum based on the elated smile on his face.

Bungee Gum.

Bungee Gum was the fucking problem.

As the doctor and the nurse finally exited out of the room and Hisoka went back to telling Illumi battle stories, Illumi started to clear his schedule in his head, to figure out when he could best drag Hisoka to his follow-up appointments, which he would have to make for him. Someone had to be the adult in this relationship.

---

Hisoka’s new primary care doctor, another similarly young woman, but less easily intimidated as the tired one from the hospital sat at a computer, pulling up his chart to review his lab results from his hospitalization.

Illumi and Hisoka noticed how she visibly paled as she scrolled, then turned to Hisoka and gave him a reassuring smile, that looked to reassure her more than them.

“What is it? Am I dead?” Hisoka asked. Illumi gave him a look to quiet down.

“Well, you’re diabetic, all right... Your A1c is 14%.”

“Is that bad?”

She swiveled in her chair to face him, hands in her lap.

“Well, diabetes is diagnosed at an A1c of 7%. So... unfortunately, yes.”

Hisoka started counting on his fingers and Illumi forcefully put his hand down.

“Hisoka, listen to the doctor. Diabetes is serious. My great-grandaunt was diabetic.” Illumi said in an even, impassive voice.

“Oh, how old was she when she was diagnosed?” The doctor asked, attempting to build rapport with the patient and the patient’s loved ones.

Without skipping a beat, he replied, “206, exactly. She loved nothing more than to unwind with Mountain Dew after her assassination missions. She ended up on dialysis.”

The doctor seemed to be at a loss of words briefly, so she turned back to Hisoka, pulling out a pen and a notepad to focus on rather than lose her cool.

“So, uh… let’s start by talking a little about what you usually eat,” she began. “What do you eat in a typical day?”

“Hm... “ Hisoka didn’t usually keep track of what he ate, so it took him some time to come up with an account. “Ah! Okay, so in the morning, I usually skip breakfast, but sometimes I’ll have some Bungee Gum.”

Odd choice, the physician thought, but she nodded and wrote that down, allowing the floor to Hisoka to speak.

“For lunch, I try not to eat too much, but I also have a couple pieces or ten of Bungee Gum.”

Hm…

“Oh and for dinner, I have a bowl of gummy candy if I’m feeling particularly peckish and also Bungee Gum.”

She looked up from her pad and paper to see Hisoka looking blissfully unaware that he had just revealed that he subsists solely on sweets. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to pull at her hair repeatedly. This would be a ton of education, and she still wasn’t exactly sure what exactly Bungee Gum was.

---

Illumi parked his custom Ferrari minivan, purchased entirely for this shopping trip, outside the Costco Wholesale, and gave Hisoka, a long, hard look.

“Do you have the list?” Illumi asked, hand outstretched as Hisoka handed over a partially crumpled sheet of paper, outlining the basics of a balanced, carbohydrate-controlled diet for people with diabetes.

Hisoka looked outside to the large building, then looked back at Illumi. “Isn’t this for families? I thought we were shopping for me only, and sometimes you when you come over.”

“I don’t know, the butlers told me that they come here to stock the kitchens. It seems from the website that this store provides high quality bulk goods for very competitive prices so this will be an appropriate next stop.”

This was just one out of countless stops today - Hisoka had spent the earlier part of the day searching frantically for sugar-free Bungee Gum in every supermarket in a 25-mile radius unsuccessfully, and demanding to see the manager every time, only to kill them when they told him they didn’t have his particular brand. Illumi warned him that there would be no such shenanigans any longer.

They stepped out of the car and walked right past the door greeter who was waiting eagerly for them to present their membership card only to recoil once they both turned to look at him in unison with intent to kill.

The first things Hisoka noticed as he walked in were the multiple little free sample kiosks at the aisles every so often and curiously wandered over to them.

“Make sure to avoid anything glazed or with a sauce,” Illumi called after him, poring through the list as he wandered over to the produce aisle. He didn’t understand the draw of free samples; if he wanted to try something, he would simply buy it.

Hisoka made his way to Illumi and Illumi’s overfilled grocery cart about a half-hour later after wandering the entire store, arms filled with small paper cups and tasting spoons. It was clear that he had sampled literally everything, possibly twice or thrice. Illumi let out a sigh and moved to the front of the store to check out.

Keeping Hisoka’s blood sugar low would be a daunting task, but he was determined that by the next visit to his PCP, he’d have some improvement in his A1c. Texture Surprise can only replace so many amputated limbs at once. He’d just have to buy every supermarket’s supply of Bungee Gum and possibly halt every single production chain devoted to it or something similar. A pain, but it was worth it. Hisoka was annoying as all hell, but still, he was worth it.

#hisoillu #hisoka #illumi #bungee gum #hunter x hunter #serious business #serious writing #crack fic?#remember to eat a balanced diet

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underlinedkasis · 4 years

Text

Unconscious Eyes [Shoto x Reader]

Unconscious Eyes

Shoto Todoroki x Impaired! Reader

You felt a smile tug at your lips when you saw the bobbing head of bicoloured hair. Todoroki was leaning against a street light, nodding off as he waited for you.

‘_So cute.’ _You thought to yourself. You then walked up to him and as he started to wake up, gave him a little peck on the cheek to jumpstart him. And it worked like a charm. Instantly, he was awake, returning the gesture like a gentleman. Giggling, you grabbed his hand and tugged him off to school.

Yanking open the door of 3-A with clumsy grace, you smiled at everyone in the class.

“Morning! We’re not late!” You declared. Usually, you and your boyfriend were barely on time if not a few minutes late thanks to you. Today however, you were right on time- if not a little early. After all, today was the day you were going back to your old hero mentors. All the third years had this day to visit and help their former mentors, taking the chance to also look back on their growth. Everyone was excited, but you were absolutely ecstatic to see Mirko again!

The Rabbit Hero had taught you so much and without her, your quirk use and ability wouldn’t be anywhere near what it was now. You were so happy just thinking about seeing—.

An audible gasp sounded across the room and everyone went silent. Worried, you tensed and braced yourself for something you not like. However, when you turned around and followed everyone’s stares, all you saw was a red Todoroki and the traces of a smile disappearing from his face. You looked around confused.

“Wait. What’d I miss?” You questioned.

After a small silence, Kaminari answered.

“Bro…..Todoroki..smiled?” His question seemed to pull everyone from their trances.

“No, not smiled! I-it was a full on grin?!”

“Yeah! He was beaming!”

“It looked as if his mouth would split because of his elation!” The room erupted in chatter. After a few seconds of ear-splitting jabbering, you were able to calm your giggles.

“WOAH! Everyone CALM DOWN!” You hollered. Your yell echoed out and luckily quieted down the room.

“Jeez. Have you people never seen a smile? Ya know, the thing where you lift the corners of your mouth? Plus, that smile wasn’t his.” You held up your connected hands and motioned to them. “It was mine. I was excited. Get it?” There were collective ‘ohs’ and some sighs of relief.

Chuckling sheepishly, you sneaked a glance at your annoyed boyfriend.

“Sorry Sho. I forgot my glove. Forgive me?” You pouted and made puppy eyes, pulling a reluctant sigh and nod from Shoto.

Your quirk, Link meant that you could form a physical, mental, or emotional connection with anyone you touch. A full mental connection was the most exhausting, so mostly you used an emotional connection. And of course, you sometimes did it unknowingly when you were feeling a particularly strong emotion. Like just now.

“It’s fine. Just put your glove on. And watch the pinky.” Shaking his head and trying to hide a smile, he went to his seat. Mirroring his grin, you slipped on a pair of black spandex gloves missing a finger sleeve and sat down as well.

When Aizawa finished his mini lecture on how screwed they’d be if they did anything stupid, it was time to leave. Pulling your sour boyfriend into a hug, you give him a peck on the lips and a giggle.

“Stop pouting. It’s three days. I’ll call and text alright? And I’ll be careful which Rumi-sensei probably won’t like, but..” You had smiled reassuringly and gave him a last kiss before pulling away.

You had meant every word, but when a deadly villain appeared and the time came, you couldn’t stop yourself from racing around the corner to confront the villain. So here you were, panting and grimacing from the pain pulsing through your body.

“Why are you doing this?!” You hollered half curious and half hoping someone would hear you.

“Because the world isn’t fair. So what’s the point in playing by the rules?” The figure you were fighting snarled. He hadn’t used his quirk yet but still managed to beat the crap out of you. You were bleeding, achy and scrambling to find an advantage, a tiny bit of leverage. And so, you did the stupidest thing you could think of.

You rushed towards the villain, reaching out your ungloved right hand. This was all you could do. Reach out and hope. But the action was desperate and stupid, and the villain knew too. He smirked before easily grabbing your outstretched hand and yanking it, throwing you off balance. When he drew a quick line across your arm as you collapsed to the ground, devastation and hopelessness were seen on your face, seemingly giving up. Anyone could tell you were tired, frustrated with feeling useless as you lay there. But of course, no one saw your wide smirk hidden by your curtain of bedraggled hair. Your hand had touched his. Your ungloved hand. And you could literally feel the smugness radiating off him at his apparent victory. Now all you had to do was transfer your injuries onto—.

You couldn’t give any other reaction then tense.

Everything was confusing, nothing made sense nothing made sense and you couldn-

“Y************/N! Are you okay? Y-Y-Y/N!”

Panicked, rambling, blurring and distorted EVERYTHING

You heard the tinny footsteps before red and white even slid into your bland view of the room. And when your eyes shifted, they couldn’t meet his.

You couldn’t see them. The true windows to his soul were gone in your eyes, covered by blurred edges of skin colour. You couldn’t see his fingers either, or the lines on his school uniform. No details. It was all just shapes and blurs. And as your eyes slid back up to his face, you caught an interruption in the never-ending skin when he talked.

“[Y/N]? I heard you were here. Are you alright? They wouldn’t tell me what happened.” Shoto breathed out as his eyes raked your figure and saw no life threatening wounds. He got worried for a second-

“I’m not alright..” He stiffened before whipping his eyes to yours, only to see your eyes not quite looking at his. Like they weren’t there. Like you couldn’t-

“I can barely see Shoto. I..” You sank your teeth into your lip, drawing blood in an instant. “I can’t see your eyes. Or your individual fingers. I can’t see your mouth moving when you talk and I just can’t see.”

You didn’t bother catching the blood dripping from your lip as you tried to decipher the boy’s reaction. And when you saw liquid plopping onto the cold marble, you realized you had tears streaming down your face.

“I-I can’t see. It h-happened because of t-the villains quirk. He’s dead so he c-can’t take it hic back..” Your shoulders were shaking as you tried to spout out logic to calm your quickly onsetting panic. It was as if saying the words set everything in stone, which was then proceeded to hit her right in the gut. The realization that her vision would never be normal again.

You desperately drew in air and exhaled shaky breaths to try and stop your quivering lips, only looking up to see your boyfriend when you calmed down. And the sight shook you.

His eyebrows were scrunched together tightly, looking almost painful, and his haunted eyes were filled with unshed tears but the thing that scared you the most, was the painful smile drawn across his face. The anguish was etched into his never-ending steel and blue eyes and sorrow tumbled from his face in tear form, but he had a smile on his face.

“..Shoto.”

“Sorry. It’s just..” He clenched his shirt in his hands. “First my father, then my mother, and even my brother who I didn’t know very well…there’s something wrong with all of them, and now it’s happened to you too. But.. do you see the common link? It’s me.****_ _I’m the reason my mother is in this same hospital, my brothers a villain because of my father, who wouldn’t have abused him as much if I’d sucked it up a little quicker, and now here you are, with _broken _eyes because I wasn’t there.” He chuckled shakily but his smile broke, exposing the guilt and trembling shoulders.

The room was silent for a few minutes, letting a heavy atmosphere sink further into the room.

“Sho. Your father was crooked. How could you have prevented something that happened before you even existed? Also, every kid deserves to be protected, right? And one of the reasons you hate your father is because you know what he did to you isn’t right to do to any young child, right?” You paused to actually let him reply, but quickly cut him off when he started to ramble.

“Yes, or no?” He sighed.

“Yes.”

“Alright, so if you think that, can you criticize a child for not being cold and cut off, and cutthroat? It’s not rational to expect that of a child. And the feeling of pain, the longing for simple happiness..” Your voice cracked. “It’s what you should’ve gotten. So it’s okay. It’s not you. It was never you.” You reached your arms out, enveloping him in a hug. You clung to each other, indescribable loving emotions taking place of old painful ones, hopefully to stay in their place for a long while.

“Ready?” You asked, facing away from your boyfriend.

“Yes.” He couldn’t lie when he said he was nervous, but gave you the thumbs up. Bracing yourself, you turned around and opened your eyes, letting him see your vision helpers in all their glory.

“[Y/N]? What did they do to your eyes?? Are they….” He trailed off at the sight of your blue and grey eyes, suspiciously matching with the bi-coloured boy.

“..You’re pranking me aren’t you?” He guessed in a flat tone, not giving away if he was even a little bit amused. You giggled anyway, cheering up the daunting atmosphere that had filled the room before.

A couple months ago after you and Shoto(but mostly you) cried out all your tears, the doctor came in and announced that they may have a way to improve you vision at least to a point of being able to see the words on the classroom chalkboard from the second row. Now you were here, trying on the lenses Mei had worked obsessively on.

As you pulled out the coloured contacts you had in, you grabbed the screened glasses you flipped onto your head and pulled them back down. Breathing in deeply, you opened your eyes and slid your eyes to meet his.

His endless pools of aquamarine and silver, shining with the smallest sliver of hope.

“..Hey.” You whispered. “Hi. Hey. Oh god. Uh—Your hair looks as gorgeous as ever. A-And don’t get me started on your eyes. Also, what is wrong with your fashion sense? You look like a hippie.” You let out a watery chuckle. You couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t keep the words from flowing out. You rambled on about everything; every little detail down to couple strands of hair resting over his eyes.

When you finally stopped to take in a breath, you were hit with the most breathtaking sight of all. The tired boy had the biggest grin, brimming with raw joy and pure exhilaration. It dazzled you; and you remembered. Seeing the little quirk of his eyebrow when something annoyed him, the adorable dazed blankness in class, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly whenever you did something ridiculous.

You remembered his love.

And you were so thankful.

_____________________________

....In case you haven’t noticed, schedule’s are dead to me. But hello, whoever is reading this! Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed! Have a great day!

-Kasis<3

#bnha #x reader #bnha x reader #shoto #shoto todoroki #angst #shoto x reader #todoroki #todoroki x reader #disabled reader #impaired reader #bnha boys #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfic #fanfiction

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soft-sarcasm · 6 years

Text

48. “I can hear your smile through the phone.”

Pairing: jung jaehyun x reader.

Request: Anonymous: sooooo before you close your request can you do a drabble for jaehyun? With prompt number 48? Pretty please with a cherry on top? :) thank you!

Genre: fluff and some stupid-face.

Word count: 1,3+k.

a/n: I hope you enjoy this spawn of a drabble that just came out of nowhere. Thanks for reading you can request with the link below (I write for all sorts of groups by the way.)

request a drabble.

There were very few moments in your life that were entirely and completely silent. This was mostly a purposeful doing as you had always found prolonged instances of silence to be rather daunting, unnecessary pauses of suspense that held the impression that something foreboding was on the brink of occurring.

When it wasn’t the purr of the city that thrived around you it was the music that all but perpetually played when you did just about anything or the TV show you routinely fell asleep to like clockwork. Within your daily monologue, there was scarcely ever even a minute of uninterrupted noiselessness and you needed that. Your mind was far too talented in the art of concocting a collage of various unthinkably unrealistic yet nerve-wrecking worries and anxieties when it was given the space to do so. Being constantly surrounded by noises under your own control disallowed, at least to some sufferable extent, the most rampantly anxious parts of your brain as little air-time as possible of your usual programmed conscious circuit.

Having a consistent distraction also distracted you from the yearning that often blossomed like some hapless rose in your chest. These moments of insistent longing were usually nurtured into fully bloomed, unbridled longing without your consent in the most inconvenient of times. Like the time you were simply snagging a snack at the convenient store and ended up spending a good three minutes staring down a bottle of his favourite drink as your mind spiralled over the internal effects of his currently prolonged absence.

Time allocated schedules and conflicting times zones made an already time-strained relationship even more time-conscious and it was beginning to wear your nerves down to the bare threads. It had been over three weeks since you had seen Jaehyun and what was made even more antagonising was that he hadn’t even been out of the country for the entirety of that time, instead you had both been unable to coordinate schedules before he left and now that he was in fact overseas, there was nothing you could do to remedy the situation but wait.

So while there were rarely moments of noiseless silence in your life, there were plenty that remained silent of Jaehyun’s company and that was almost more agonising.

Jaehyun’s presence was as much a soother to the worse parts of you as the perpetual, purposeful noises in your life that you used to keep yourself grounded and his absence often caused for those deviously detrimental parts of your consciousness to flourish in the sun of their new freedom. It was why you were currently hanging on to every one of his slightly distorted breaths that shovelled its way down the open phone line and into your ear.

Barely 4 in the morning and yet it was as if it was the middle of the day with how alert and tentative you were to every noise that was available that allowed you to know that you were finally at least in some sort of tangible contact with Jaehyun.

“How have you been?” He questioned after the seconds ticked on since you had bolted up to answer his call.

“Good,” Was your reply, an instant-packet response that you had used far too many times to assure people of your mental state when it was actually, in fact, the opposite. “Busy, but that’s always good.”

“Not overworking yourself are you?” He joked lightly though it possessed a sort of implied gentle nudge for you to delve into more detail.

“Not really; the extra lessons are really helping, work has been relatively easy and I’ve been sleeping better.” You oversimplified, listlessly listing the most mundane and digestible qualities of your external affairs, tight-roping the edge of the endless hole of internal conflicts that would spill out if there was even the smallest of faults in your steps.

Due to your purposeful attention on every one of Jaehyun’s sound, you were able to catch the same inhale that precede his next prompt, “What does better mean?”

“At least 4 hours now,” You stated though there was no pride to be felt even though with your track record it was a victory. “Last week I was only getting about 2.”

“Fuck,” Jaehyun cursed and you winced, your knowledge of Jaehyun allowing you to make the assumption of his currently exasperated expression despite the fact that you couldn’t glimpse it for yourself. “That bad huh?”

“Better, now.” You clarified quickly, attempting to erase the guilt you could already feel dripping from your phone.

“You were sleeping almost 7 hours before I left,” Jaehyun pointed out and you wanted to bark at him that you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to act so harshly when you knew he was coming from a place of nothing but compassion.

Your heart clenched at the forlorn memory of the nights before Jaehyun had had to return to the dorm, of the uninterrupted hours of healthy unconsciousness you had been permitted to revel in when you still had the warmth of his body wrapped around you. “That was when you were still here.”

“I know,” Jaehyun sighed, “And I don’t think you know how much I wish I could be there with you right now, especially now that I know that you were awake even before I called you.”

You gaped, a spluttered breath escaping you as you floundered, “How did you know? I thought my ‘just woke up’ grogginess was super convincing.”

“Only to you sweetheart,” He snorted and you wished that he was in front of you so you could both smack him and also grip onto him all at once, “You literally did the stereotypical ‘I’m pretending to just wake up yawn.’”

“Fuck you,” You childishly retaliated when any other even slightly eloquent and crafty retort failed to come to mind, “And stop grinning, it makes you look dumb.”

“I’m not grinning,” Came Jaehyun’s useless response, useless in the way that it was just made his current expression that much more evident.

“I can hear your smile through the phone.” You stated because it was true as you could all but feel the touches of his grin against the skin of your cheek rather than the metallic press of your phone.

“Can’t I smile out of the love I feel for you?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you switched your now numb leg out for your remaining conscious limb to curl underneath you, “The smile I’m hearing it definitely not one out of love.”

“Then maybe you need to get your seeing-ears checked.” He snarked and you were rewarded with the sound of a small, indignant huff.

“Well maybe you need to get your stupid face checked,” You challenged with an equal amount of offence, “And then after you go see the stupid-face doctor you can come and cuddle me because I fucking miss you- you stupid-face!”

There was a brief pause of what you could only assume was shock and then there was a cackle, “Is that your version of being romantic?”

“How dare you?” You gasped, overdramatic accusation saturating your voice, “Are you implying that I am not succeeding in my expert and eloquent display of romanticism? You insult me sir!”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Jaehyun repented with an overtly hefty amount of insincerity, “How could I ever mistake calling me a stupid-face as anything but love-spun poetry?”

“You’re forgiven,” You sniffed, the lapse of humour causing the heaviness that had once weighed on your shoulder lighten momentarily, “But I really do miss your stupid-face you know, like a fuck ton.”

“I love it when you recite sonnets,” Jaehyun further goaded and you again wanted to thwack him in retaliation, “But I also miss you and your stupid-face, like, a fuck ton.”

“Asshole.”

So while there were rarely moments of noiseless silence in your life and there were plenty that remained silent of Jaehyun’s company; the noise that the instances of his presence did create always seemed to drown out the rest.

DRABBLE MASTERLIST.

#nct scenarios #nct u scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct u #jaehyun #nct 127 #kpop scenarios #writing #nct smut

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glitterysummerkitty · 6 years

Text

Jake Gyllenhaal One- Shot

Pairing:- Jake Gyllenhaal x reader

Warning:- Mentions of abortion?

Gif source: http://rebloggy.com/post/request-jake-gyllenhaal-gif-films-bts-by-sarah-southpaw-gyllenhaaledit/130097315281

Taken from: Giphy.com

What do you do when your life comes crashing down in an instant? For so long you have been living a dream, and then something happens, something unplanned, something unexpected, something totally uncalled for and it’s enough to let your life come spiralling down to nothingness, to loneliness. A split second, a slip of mind, was all it took.

You were realising this as you sat on the couch, wrapped tightly in a blanket. It was a cold day but you really felt the temperature drop by several degrees as soon as Jake stepped out the house you both had been sharing for the past eight months. With much effort, you lift your head, which felt heavy at the moment, and with vacant eyes you look at the door for the nth time since morning. Jake had been really mad at you when he had walked through those very same doors and once out, he had slammed it so hard, your bones still rattled with his fury.

From the time you had dizzily stepped out the brownstone building that harboured your doctor’s clinic, previous morning, till the very moment Jake had arrived from Montana, after a long month of filming for his next movie, that evening, you had gone through every possible reaction he would have to the news you were about to break, but not once did you expect him to go ballistic over you, accuse you of being irresponsible and then demand to get rid of the baby. To hear him say those words had literally ripped you apart. Even thou very cliché but you could swear that you had heard your heart break when he said that he would never acknowledge the baby as his own.

With every word stumbling out his mouth you were left stunned but there was a small part of you that was aware of the truth that shone through his piercing blue eye- he was only scared, scared for himself yes, but mostly scared for you.

The noise of keys jangling and the lock turning echoed through the cold room and your eyes shot up instantly, a shiver of hope seeping into your vacant eyes but it left the moment you saw your sister walking in instead of your boyfriend Jake.

“Hey Y/N... I was trying to reach you and... Oh God!”, she came rushing to your side and wrapped you in a tight hug but you didn’t respond. You sat still and let your sister comfort you with words that fell on deaf ears.

In a way you were glad for your sister. She was everything to you. Growing up it had always been you and your sister. Your parents weren’t always around and the tough circumstances had forged a strong bond between you and Y/S/N. You chose to move to the great city of New York only because it had been your Y/S/N’s dream to settle down here and although you had never been fascinated by the intimidating city you also didn’t want to live far away from your sister. So when you had received admittance in New York University for your degree you took it up instantly. It had been two years ago and you were in your third year, but you still found the city just as intimidating and daunting like you had when you had arrived here the first time. Despite all that you were happy because you had your sister and then you had found the love of your life in this city, your boyfriend Jake Gyllenhaal.

It had been purely a chance meeting with the hot shot actor on whom you had had a crush since you had watched Donnie Darko. Your first encounter had been at Starbucks and it had been, by no means a magical one. At first you had rambled and gushed about your love for his work and him as well and when you realised what you had said, the words coming out your mouth began to sputter and putter. You were absolutely embarrassed by the end of it but apparently Jake had found the whole thing adorable.

Never once did you think that that one embarrassing brush with the Jake Gyllenhaal would lead to him actually buying you coffee, which turned to two coffees and eventually ended with him asking for your number and a chance to take you out for dinner sometime. It had all felt dreamlike and when you had narrated the whole thing to your sister she had declared you positively delusional.

One dinner date turned into several dinner and lunch dates and before you knew it you, you had fallen for the man. It was hard not to. Jake was an amazing person to be with but what you really loved about him was his humble nature, his kindness and his mischievousness. Jake could be gentle and rough at the same time, driving you insane and those naughty remarks and hints he throws your way only leaves you panting and anticipating your next meeting.

Everything was great, a fairy tale really, but a shadow always seemed to follow you both, a shadow that’s rarely addressed but you knew it was there and it was inevitable and Jake being a famous celebrity, this unaddressed matter cast a rather much darker shadow. But both you and, especially, Jake were hesitant to bring it up and that was the age- gap. You were only twenty while Jake was thirty- seven.

The age- gap didn’t bother you, it didn’t seem to bother Jake so much either, unless it remained away from the spotlight. The day it came out in the open, and it was going to come eventually, neither knew how they would handle it. For now nobody, except for your sister, knew about the relation.

“What happened?”, Y/S/N asked when you had finally stopped weeping. Somewhere along your reminiscence you had begun to weep and your sister had waited through it to make you talk.

“I think we are over. For good.”, your throat hurt and your voice was barely recognisable to even your own ears but you managed to get the words out.

“Why? What happened, Y/N?”, she coaxed softly.

“I don’t know how it happened. I swear Y/S/N! I swear I don’t know.”, you sobbed.

“What are you talking about? Look... You need to calm down and tell me what has happened? I know Jake and although that dumb Hollywood hot shot hasn’t told you yet with his own mouth I know he loves you. Tell me what has happened and maybe we can fix this.”, your sister went on without the slightest clue about what has happened and how could she know when you only sent a very confusing text telling that you think it was over between you and Jake.

“Y/S/N... it can’t be fixed. I am pregnant and Jake wants me to... I can’t even say the word without my heart breaking. I know I am too young for this but you know my view on abortion. I can never do that. NEVER.”, you let out another sob, “He even told me that... That if I chose to keep the baby... he... he would never acknowledge her/him as his own. He wants nothing to do with the baby.”

You broke down in agonising sobs by the end of it. You could feel your sister’s body go rigid with the shock of news. Again you had expected her reaction but never had you expected to hear the words which had left her mouth next.

One look at her brother and Maggie had known that this wasn’t a social call. She watched him from the corners of her eyes as she scooped some coffee powder and dumped them into the French press.

“So... Do you want to talk about her?”, she asked, a soft smirk playing on her lips.

Jake looked up and stared at the back of his sister with a frown on his face, “How do you know it’s about her?”

“So it is about a ‘her’!”, her smirk deepened as she turned around to face him. “I didn’t actually. I just shot an arrow in the dark and look! It hit bull’s eye!”

“Ha! Very funny!”, he made a face at her which made Maggie laugh at his childishness.

She pulled a chair and slid into it gracefully, all the while carefully reading him. It looked like he hadn’t slept at all, if the slight darkening and the small puff under his eyes were any indication. His shoulders were slouched as he kept his gaze on his feet. It was clear that whoever this girl was, she meant a lot to her little brother.

“What happened Jake?”, she asked more seriously.

“I screwed up. Big time and I don’t know if I will ever find my way out of this.”, he said slowly, his eyes still fixed down.

“First off all I don’t believe in the word impossible. Whatever it is you have done or think you have done, we will find a way out of it. Second of all you are not alone. I am here for you. Whatever you need I am here.”, Maggie coaxed him to speak.

Jake looked up briefly and gave a wry smile before looking back down. He fiddled with his fingers as he thought about where to begin. Maggie didn’t know anything about Y/N and this news was bound to shock her.

“I met her nearly a year ago and we went out several times.”, as Jake began Maggie’s eyes widened slightly. She found it a little hard to accept the fact that Jake had managed to hide his liaison with this mystery woman for almost a year, not only from the public and press but also from his family.

“There’s absolutely no doubt that I was attracted to her from day one- the way she rambled on about how much she loved my acting and then in all the excitement she blurted how she thought I was the hottest actor and she has had a crush on me for as long as she could remember. When she realised what she had said she had turned a shade darker than the reddest tomato I have seen.”

Maggie tilted her head slightly her eyes zeroing on the soft smile that graced her brother’s lips. It was genuine, from his heart and she realised the depth of his feelings for the girl he was talking about and it drew out a sense of curiosity within her.

“I still don’t know what possessed me but I asked her if she would like me to buy her coffee and she just nodded her head with this dumbfounded expression on her face. Gosh! She was just so adorable.

“By the end of the second cup of coffee I knew I needed to get to know her more, that I wanted more time with her and luckily she agreed to allow me to take her out for dinner in that week itself. God Maggie! I have never met a girl like her before.

“After our first dinner date I realised that behind that adorable girl hid a really feisty and sexy girl and that side of her was enough to want to see her again and again and again. She’s such an amazing person and she’s so complex. I mean she has so many layers and each day I spend with her I learn something new. She’s strong, heady but kind and sweet at the same time. She’s wildly passionate and is pursuing her dreams aggressively but she’s so considerate about her loved ones at the same time. And despite her complex layers she’s so simple. No games, no beating around the bushes. She just gets straight to the point. Literally, I have never met a girl like her before.”

At the end of his big long rant about Y/N, Jake looked up for the first time and saw Maggie leaning on the small dining table with a mug in her hand and a shit eating grin on her face.

“What?”, he mumbled, slightly terrified by his sister’s expression.

“Oh my God! This girl had really done a number on you. You are in big, big trouble and by trouble I mean the good trouble of course.”, she teased him. Jake tried his best to resist the smile that threatened to push its way on to his lips. But soon the events of previous night replays in his mind and the smile curdles instantly. Cold dread and despair filled his heart instantly at the recollection and he turned his attention back to his feet, trying to hide the tears begging to gather in his eyes.

“What happened Jake?”, any trace of humour Maggie’s voice held, left immediately giving way to concern. Jake hated being so weak before his elder sister. Sure they shared problems with each other from time to time but Jake had long before mastered the art of separating and hiding his emotions and feelings. He never ever revealed what he felt or how he felt about someone or a situation to anyone, not even to his elder sister.

“I... messed up.”, his voice crackled and again he hated himself for allowing his emotions to override him.

“How?”

“I... She’s in her third year of her college and I am...”, Jake closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to compose his emotions and thoughts. It seemed to Maggie that the words he was preparing to speak hurt him physically, causing him pain. She had figured that the girl must be young but to know that she was in her early twenties let her know what could possibly haunting her brother.

“Jake... I think I know what’s bothering you. I get it believe me but if the girl has got no issues with the age difference then you shouldn’t either. Sometimes you have no control over who your heart chooses.”, her gaze flicked to the coffee mug she had set before Jake while he had been ranting and then back at him before continuing, “I can see she means very much to you. So why let this fear ruin something so beautiful? If she means so much to you and if she feels even half of the way you feel for her you must fight for this.”

Jake let out a long sigh wishing if it were that simple. Yes, the age difference scared him, in fact it terrified him but, like Y/N and Maggie thought, he wasn’t worried about what people would think or say.

“I... She’s...”, Jake’s shoulder slumped further as he felt crushing under the weight if his reality. Maggie frowned slightly frustrated by the suspense he was building.

“She’s pregnant.”, he said it so silently, that it took Maggie a good long moment to comprehend his words. When she finally did, she felt as if someone had sucked the air from her lungs.

“YOU GOT HER PREGNANT?! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”, she nearly fell from her chair as she pushed it away and stood abruptly. She began pacing the length of her kitchen shaking her head slightly and muttering something incoherent. Jake sullenly looked at his sister and waited patiently for her to calm down. He knew the gravity of the matter was intense.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, neither did she. It just happened.”, he said when Maggie stopped pacing and looked at him to continue.

“What does she have to say about it?”, she asked silently.

“That’s the thing. She’s so adamant about keeping the baby and I don’t want her to because she’s so young and has her whole life ahead of her. She has barely begun to live and as much as I love her I cannot tie her to an old man like me. I don’t want to be in her way, in the way of her dreams and passion.”

Like coming out of a haze, the picture suddenly became vivid and Maggie understood the real problem here. It was a sticky situation but she understood life and people slightly better than her brother, a fact that she wouldn’t brag about right now, and very early in life she learnt that there is no measurement to measure how a person leads their life. There is no mould to decide which person fit which because each one of them was unique in their own way and the rules she set for herself did not necessarily need to work for someone else.

By everything Jake had said Maggie knew that if the girl had decided that she wants to keep the baby then she would have thought this through.

“First of all how old do you think you are? I don’t see what the problem is here Jake. You love her and judging by what you say she loves you just as much if not more and if she wants to keep the child I am sure she must have thought this through. You don’t care about the age gap, she doesn’t so the only problem is you thinking that you are in her way. How about you let her decide about that? You are not old Jake. To be honest the problem is only in your head.”, Maggie finished her little speech and took her place again. She noticed Jake hadn’t touched his coffee yet.

Jake watched his sister take a sip of her own coffee thoughtfully. He couldn’t believe that Maggie was actually saying the exact same words that Y/N had said to him last night. Knowing his sister he had certainly not expected to hear this so he tried a different route, “What would you have done in such a situation?”

Maggie looked at him with a sage smile. “What’s her name?”, she asked.

“Y/N”, he frowned as he replied.

“Well, that’s a beautiful name. But Jake I am not Y/N and Y/N isn’t me. To be very honest I would have freaked out and probably thought like you but that’s me. Doesn’t mean that every girl out there should feel the same way about it.”

Jake didn’t like that answer either but he nodded in understanding nevertheless. Although he hated to accept it, deep down he knew that Maggie was right. Maybe their relationship could work after all, since Y/N was very different. Wasn’t that what attracted him to her in the first place?

“I wish we had this conversation before I went ballistic on her and said some things I wish I could take back.”, he let out an exasperated breath.

“What did you say?”, she asked. Jake took another long breath and repeated everything that happened the previous night.

Your stomach grumbled noisily as you took another sip of the water. You looked over at the clock and saw that the day was slowly giving way to night as the tiny smaller needle was set on seven. There was no news of Jake and by now you have given up any hope of hearing from him or seeing him ever again. You sighed as you picked up your phone to call your sister. She had left to go do some grocery shopping and pick up dinner on her way home but that had been an hour ago. You were mad at her sister for siding with Jake and suggesting to abort the baby or give it up but right now you needed someone and so you decided to not kick her out the house yet.

Just as you were about to hit the dial, you heard the lock turning and locked the screen instead and put the phone down.

“You took a long time to get back. Got lost in the way?”, you asked as you leaned against the couch and drew the edges of the blanket closer together.

When you were met with silence you looked up and felt your heart pound against your chest. Jake was standing there before, with a look so weird on his face that you felt your heart break open all over again.

“Hey...”, he said in a tired voice, but it was enough to hear his voice. You blinked your eyes unable to believe that he was actually standing there before you.

“Y/N, can we talk? Please.”, he pleaded with you as you looked away from him to stare off into space ahead of you.

“Y/N... Please.”

You had been moaning and wanting to hear from all day and now that he was actually here you didn’t know quite what to do and the words that came out your mouth surprised you, “Go away Jake.”

“Please Y/N. I know I made a huge mistake but I was so scared. I know it’s not an excuse for half the things that I said and accused you of but you need to know that I didn’t mean any of it.”, he huffed as he knelt before you forcing you to look at him.

“I am so sorry baby. I am just worried for you. You are so young and have so many choices. I love you so much and as much as I want to tie you to me I don’t want to be in the way of all these choices you have.”, he whispered.

You felt your eyes sting with the unshed tears that gathered in your eyes. You could see that he was hurting, you could sense the sincerity in his voice but most of all you could tell the fear in his eyes- fear of losing you, fear of being blamed if you ever felt that you could have had more in life if it weren’t for him. As much as you wanted to be mad at him for saying all those terribly mean things you found it hard to hold on to the grudge.

“Please give me a chance. I promise I will fix everything.”, he pleaded. You looked at him and then looked at the flat white box he had set on the coffee table and back at him.

“That better be bacon, apple and Herbed Goat cheese from Binnie’s.”, you muttered.

Jake turned towards the box and allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips as he turned towards you. “It is from Binnie’s but it’s chicken and broccoli. Baby, bacon isn’t good for you or our baby.”

You frowned and tried to mentally go through the list of dos and don’ts that your gynac had read out to you and remembered bacon being in the don’ts. You couldn’t help but smile a little as you realised that Jake had not only researched on what’s not good for you and your unborn child and chose the topping accordingly but he had also acknowledged the baby as his for the first time. It was then you knew that things were going to get better.

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tkmedia · 3 years

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Back from the Brink: Chris Byrd’s Fight for Life

ATLANTIC CITY, UNITED STATES: Chris Byrd (R) celebrates his IBF Heavyweight Championship win over Evander Holyfield with boxing promoter Don King (L) 14 December, 2002 in Atlantic City, NJ. Byrd won the 12-round bout by unanimous decision. AFP PHOTO/HENNY RAY ABRAMS (Photo credit should read HENNY RAY ABRAMS/AFP via Getty Images) 21 Jul by Joseph Santoliquito This story appeared in the August 2021 issue of The Ring. WHETHER CHRIS BYRD’S RETURN TO BOXING HAPPENS OR NOT, THE FACT THAT IT’S EVEN POSSIBLE IS PROOF THAT HE ALREADY WON THE FIGHT OF HIS LIFE The park hummed only with the doleful cry of a desperate man swaying gently on a swing. That’s where Laurie Byrd found her baby brother, Chris, the two-time heavyweight titlist, a few blocks from his house one April night in 2017. Chris’ face was a ghoulish mask, his bloodshot eyes bigger than coffee saucers in the twilight. Laurie stood at the park’s edge for a moment wondering what monster had possessed her brother, once a lovable, hyper kid with a beaming smile who would follow her to basketball practice. Chris was wondering, too. His mind was twisted and he didn��t know what to do next. Drown himself in the Pacific Ocean? Hang himself from a balcony for the neighborhood to see? Stuff his mouth with pills and never wake up? “The pain started and that changed everything.” – Tracy Byrd During a 16-year, 47-fight pro career, the undersized Chris Byrd faced some of the most formidable heavyweights of his era, including David Tua, Evander Holyfield, Vitali and Wladimir Klitschko and Ike Ibeabuchi, gorging himself and trashing his body to barely get over 210 pounds. But for close to a decade after his final fight, Byrd was faced with a battle more daunting than any presented by those big punchers. His clash came against the horrors of anxiety, depression and despair – constant agony that shoved him to the brink of suicide. If not for Laurie interceding that spring night in 2017 and a handful of others who came to Byrd’s rescue, this would be a far more somber story. Byrd, a middleweight silver medalist at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, defied logic as a heavyweight in the pro ranks, where he would routinely battle opponents who were larger than he was – often by a wide margin. Now Byrd, who will turn 51 on August 15, is thinking about returning to the ring for the first time in 12 years. He says it’s to make up for what he missed during his prime, a real chance to show what he can do at his more natural weight of 160. He says he’s a changed man from the walking Halloween costume he wore for many years, enduring the relentless throbbing in his feet, back, hips, shoulders and knees. He almost lost his family over it. He almost lost who he is. He almost lost his life. To outsiders, Chris and his wife, Tracy, lived an idyllic life. They were the perfect boxing couple, as close to a modern version of the Beaver Cleaver TV family as there can be in boxing. Their three children – Jordan, Justin and Sydney – quite literally grew up before the boxing community’s eyes. They seemed well-adjusted; they were a joy to be around. Hardly anyone uttered a sordid word or had a negative attitude when it came to Chris Byrd. It’s why Byrd’s post-boxing career, at least the first incarnation of it, seems so difficult to fathom. “Everybody in boxing loved Chris Byrd. And you would meet Chris and Tracy, and who could not love them?” said Steve Cunningham, the two-time IBF cruiserweight titlist. “They named our daughter, Kennedy. We’re that close to the Byrds. Chris is the easiest guy to get along with, a nonhostile guy, except when you’re in the ring with him. “Chris always had it together. My wife and I always looked at Chris and Tracy as our big brother and sister. I love Chris Byrd. When people ask me who my favorite all-time boxer is, I don’t say Muhammad Ali; I don’t say Sugar Ray Leonard. I say Chris Byrd, because I was in four or five training camps with him. I knew the odds were against him on the business side and the size side. I understand what he was up against – and he still went on to become a two-time heavyweight champion.”

Byrd gave away almost 30 pounds in his TKO loss to Wladimir Klitschko in April 2006. (Photo by Torsten Silz//DDP/AFP via Getty Images) Chris Byrd’s pain first started in 2009 in his left pinky toe. It was just a light tingling sensation. At first, Byrd (41-5-1, 22 knockouts) ignored it, but as it continued to worsen and started to spread, his personable disposition grew dark. Byrd’s last fight was a victory, a four-round knockout over the terribly overmatched Matthias Sandow in Germany on March 21, 2009. After that, the gifted southpaw became a trainer, following the same path as his parents, Joe and Rose Byrd, who trained their eight children in their fabled “dungeon” in the basement of the Byrd home in Flint, Michigan, the incubator of Chris’ awkward, slick style. By 2010, the pain had spread. Chris couldn’t sleep for more than two or three hours at a time. Doctors tried to find answers. Chris was diagnosed with peripheral neuropathy, a sometimes excruciating condition caused by nerve damage. Chris was prescribed numerous anti-inflammatory medications. But the pills had awful side effects, which came to a head in June 2010 when Chris went to see a basketball game in which his sister Laurie was coaching in Los Angeles. Chris went to the game with Tracy, his son Justin and his nephew. After the game, as the family was walking to their car in the parking lot, Tracy mentioned Justin had said something disrespectful to her. The boys were teenagers at the time. “When we got in the car, I lost it on my son and nephew,” Chris recalled. “I remember screaming at them and wanting to fight them. I was going crazy. I went into a rage. I got out of the car and challenged my son and my nephew to fight. Someone saw this and called the cops. Tracy was trying to tell me to stop. My son and nephew wouldn’t get out of the car, they were so scared. I was circling the car yelling and going crazy. “I was able to calm myself down when I realized I was acting nuts. I got back in the car. Everything calmed down, but everyone was looking at me like I was crazy. We started driving out of the parking lot and immediately cop cars were driving towards me and behind me, blocking me in.” There were six police cruisers. Chris stopped the car. The police jumped out, guns drawn, and told the family to get out of the car and hit the ground. Chris and his family complied. After being handcuffed and interrogated, the police allowed Chris’ family to go without any charges. This, however, convinced Tracy that something was wrong with Chris. His doctor immediately took him off the medication. “I used to sit in my garage all day and not talk to anyone. I remember telling Tracy that I wanted to end it all. For me, life was over.” – Chris Byrd “I started having issues in my hips and both shoulders, and the neuropathy spread all the way up my leg,” Chris recalled. “I could not take the pain any longer. I was no longer sleeping at night. I was starting to feel a little better with the drugs, but then I started to have outbursts. I would lose my temper. “I finally told Tracy about all of the thoughts I was having. I would have dreams of killing myself, Tracy, my entire family in their sleep. One night, I had a dream of hanging myself from my balcony, naked, so the whole neighborhood could see me. I was so aware these thoughts were not normal. I was so scared of these thoughts. They were so real and so vivid, but I was too scared to tell anyone, because I thought everyone would think I was crazy.” By August 2010, his family did. “Chris became someone different, someone I didn’t know,” recalled Tracy, crying. “I still love him. That will never change. He’s always going to be the love of my life. His pain started small and gradually got worse, and worse, and worse. I spent years taking Chris to doctors, begging anyone for help. It reached a point where it became too much for him. It was hell. Chris sucked it up. We were still a family. We did things together. Everyone knew Chris was in pain, and during that time it pained me seeing Chris that way. We had a great marriage that everyone saw. My kids had the best dad, and I had the best husband. “The pain started and that changed everything.” Chris spent the summer of 2010 in his bedroom. He was severely depressed and did not see the point of living anymore. Justin was so worried about him that he spent the summer with his father, watching TV. The only time Justin left his side was when Tracy came to bed, or to get his father food.

As a result of his ordeal, Byrd (with wife Tracy and son Justin) would see family bonds stretched to the breaking point. (Photo by Jens-Ulrich Koch/DDP/AFP via Getty Images) The rage and thoughts of suicide subsided for a time, though the pain continued to worsen. It reached another crescendo in 2017. Tracy hid anything that Chris could grab to possibly harm himself, like knives and medication. One weekday morning in April 2017, Chris got up from another bad night. “That morning I woke up from the pain and I couldn’t take it anymore; all I wanted to do was take some pills and go to sleep for good,” he remembered. “I used to sit in my garage all day and not talk to anyone. I remember telling Tracy that I wanted to end it all. For me, life was over. No one was able to help me. I couldn’t take medication because of my mental state. This was the eighth or ninth time I went through this. My family was used to it. “But this outburst was worse than the others. I was in pain everywhere. When you’re in real pain, you don’t think right. It’s when it got super serious. I would say that it was the closest I ever came to doing something. I wanted to walk into the ocean, and when I thought I would float back to the shore, I didn’t want my family to see me that way. I remember sitting on the ledge in my backyard, and I wanted to leave the house.

He may have been small, but Byrd could always hang with the heavyweights. (Photo by Johnny Louis/FilmMagic) “My family tried to grab me and I threw them off me. I would go crazy. It would be like blacking out. I had been going to doctors every day, and I had enough. When I finally broke, I broke. It led to that.” Chris walked through the front gate with tears streaming down his face. Drunk on emotion, his ungainly stroll led him to a local park a few blocks away. Laurie followed from a distance. When Chris sat on the swing, Laurie approached him to see if he was OK. Chris sneered at her, warning her away. Chris kept repeating, “I want to kill myself; I want to cut off my foot; I don’t want to live anymore.” “The pain was so unbearable, and I kept telling him that I couldn’t understand what he was going through; it was like Chris was possessed,” recalled Laurie. “I looked at Chris and it was like I didn’t know this person. “I was scared of him because I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I was there to protect him, too. To see him go through that broke my heart. I talked to him and I told him, ‘Momma wouldn’t want to see you like this.’ That calmed him down. (Rose passed away in June 2015.) “It was like an angel came down and landed on his shoulder. He calmed down. He said, ‘You’re right. She wouldn’t.’” The pair started laughing and everything went silent. They eased back up, brother and sister, and walked to the house. It seemed like a lifetime to get there, with Chris repeatedly saying, “I’m good, I’m good.” “That’s the closest I came to actually doing something extreme. Then a million thoughts go through your head that you can’t do it,” Chris said. “It hit me that those committed to suicide are committed to doing it. I thought about how many people I would hurt. I was never committed to doing it. I didn’t want to cause my family any pain. That’s what saved me. I second-guessed myself the whole time.” Four months later, a chance meeting changed everything. *** What Chris Byrd experienced is very much like what many retired NFL veterans go through, living with omnipresent pain. He was dealing with 11 years of no sleep while in constant agony. He was growing psychotic. Today, Byrd says he is in a good, lucid state of mind. That journey to recovery began in August 2017 while among a group of people discussing the medicinal benefits of cannabidiol (CBD), one of the many chemical compounds found in marijuana. But unlike THC, marijuana’s main psychoactive component, CBD has no intoxicating effect. This is where Chris met Tammie Thomas, a cannabis consultant. She didn’t know anything about Byrd but felt instant compassion when Chris shuffled up as the last speaker of the meeting. His feet didn’t spread more than 12 inches apart as he walked to the front of the group. Within seconds, Chris was sobbing. “I couldn’t believe that they had Chris speaking,” Thomas remembered. “He was announced as a former two-time heavyweight champion. This guy? A former two-time heavyweight champion? My heart hurt for him.

“Afterward, I knew Chris was going to be bombarded with people, so I passed along my number to him. Chris told me he suffered from neuropathy, which destroys your nerves. It’s very hard to combat and hard to treat. I told Chris I knew I could help him, and Chris was shocked, because for 11 years he had gone to every doctor he could to deal with the pain.” Byrd waited a week to call Thomas and asked her for a home consultation. His entire family, who had grown frustrated with Chris’ behavior, would be on hand to listen to Thomas talk about the therapeutic benefits of cannabis. Thomas noticed something about the Byrd family as she spoke to them. In her opinion, they were done with him. “Chris couldn’t finish a sentence without his family answering for him,” she said. “I asked Chris what he was going through, and his family just cut him off. They treated him like a washed-up fighter that they put in the corner. I remember being with Chris alone in his kitchen as he was making his smoothie, and he looked at me and said he wanted to start boxing again. “He had this look that no matter what anyone thought, he was going to fight. I remember leaving the house that day thinking he had no support and no one believed in him. I thought about it again that night and if he had one person to believe in him, he was going to be able to do it. Chris was ready to check out. Chris did put his family through some hell, too, but there were people who did give up on Chris.” From Tracy’s perspective, she was protecting Chris from himself. “I didn’t and don’t want to see Chris fight again, and I would do anything to this day to protect him,” Tracy said. “I still care about Chris. I would consider myself blessed to love again the way I loved Chris. No one ever checked out on Chris. It was torture for me and torture for the kids. I finished Chris’ sentences – but I did that the whole time Chris and I were together. I fought for him for 12 years, and I checked out when he started getting involved with these new people in his life and Chris wanted to fight again. “Fighters go through life thinking it’s only us who go through pain. It can create mental illness.” – Lamon Brewster “Chris’ family still supports and loves him. No one wants to see Chris get hurt. I stayed, and I stayed, and I stayed. This wasn’t Chris Byrd, the underdog guy boxing loved. I checked out when it reached a point of no return. He was set in his mind that he was going to fight again. He’s completely different. But it will kill me to ever see Chris get hurt. I would die for him.” Thomas told the Byrds that if you took the whole cannabis plant from the ground and used it raw, it’s proven to have strong medicinal purposes – though only in high doses. “If people think they can smoke a joint and it’s going to cure all of their ailments, it’s the farthest thing from the truth. It’s a pain pill; it’s temporary; it’s a band-aid,” Thomas said. “When the high wears off, you’re back in pain again. The first two, three months with Chris, he was on 1,500 to 3,000 milligrams a day, drinking it and doing suppositories. “Those were our two primary methods of delivery. When you do it through the rectum, you don’t get high, because it bypasses the liver. When you inhale, ingest or smoke cannabis with THC, it processes through the liver, which converts it into a psychoactive compound. By doing suppositories, that’s avoided.” Three years after they met, Byrd has been relatively pain-free.

If not for the smile, many boxing fans probably wouldn’t recognize the slimmed-down Byrd of today. (Photo by Gabe Ginsberg/Getty Images) “Once Chris’ body was healed, he is probably doing about 100 milligrams a day as maintenance to control inflammation, not because he needs anything healed,” Thomas said. Another cathartic moment occurred in 2018, while on a speaking engagement in Yuma, Arizona, with Chris’ cousin, former WBO heavyweight titlist Lamon Brewster. Now 47 and mentoring at-risk children in Indianapolis, Indiana, Brewster was with Byrd during a massage therapy session. The masseuse struck a nerve in Byrd’s left ankle and he exploded in agony. Brewster could feel the emotion from across the room. “And it was good, because we’re fighters and we make a living hiding our pain,” Brewster said. “We’re programmed to do that. Fighters go through life thinking it’s only us who go through pain. It can create mental illness. Chris sat up and slammed his first down on the mat. He said, ‘I can’t do it. I can’t deal with this for the rest of my life.’ “The one thing about being a champion is we’re normally by ourselves a lot. When you’re alone like that and you’re in pain, there is no one you can express that to and explain what you’re feeling. I never saw Chris like that before. It caught me totally off guard; I didn’t try to calm him down. What he was going through I would put no one on earth through. “I kept encouraging him to talk more. I wanted him to get it all out. If the river is overflowing, you don’t try to stop it. I kept telling him, ‘Let it out! Let it out, cousin!’ Read the full article

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corancoranthemagicalman · 3 years

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So @sigrunsavestheday tagged me for this game during my great Laptop Absence and it’s since been saved in my draft as I’ve slowly tried catching up to things amidst balancing graduation upcoming. Having been tagged by @darkshrimpemotions too, I figured that was the perfect excuse to kick my rear in gear, update the list, and actually post it. :)

The first lines from your last 20 works and see if you spot any patterns!! :) I don’t really know who to tag, but here’s my works listed below the read more.

I’ve noticed that I start with either dialogues or “the” statements a lot. I play with tense and perspectives a lot between all of these (especially the more recent pieces), but you can definitely tell the more present tenses are my shorter works. Typically. Or definitely ones I was getting experimental with. Again, thanks to you both for the tag, and if anyone wants to do this, please tag me as your tagger ;))

1. Will You Take Me Away (Will You Make Me Your Wife): T+ SPN 789 words

The gulls are crying out in the fresh morning, and from where Cas’ stands he can see Kelly keeping a sentinel watch over the water. Her ankles are buried in the surf as the ocean kisses her skin with mist. It’s peaceful, really. The way her hair is swept in the breeze, and she seems like a painting. Motion paused; life still.

Cas peers through the yellow curtains one more time, just to watch Sam chase Jack across the open field that makes up the front yard. Its grass bleeds into the surf where Kelly stands. He can’t see her face, but Cas imagines that she is smiling. Her son—so full of good—young and carefree in a kind world. A paradise.

2. de·noue·ment: T+ SPN 1k words

The Old God was a writer.

He sat at his desk, scribbling away on a page. Or he typed away at keys. He crafted and drafted words— worlds . Creation came to life beneath his fingertips. After the world was created, and filled with his characters, he continued to write. Continued to fill out the page, writing a masterpiece that would culminate into the tale of two brothers.

3. Another Word For Divine: T+ SPN 2.9k words

“What’s all this, then?” Mary asked as she walked into the Bunker’s kitchen on a Sunday morning.

Jack smiled, beaming a sunny disposition as he turned away from the stovetop he was monitoring. “Hi! Sam said I could help with breakfast. I’m watching the bacon.”

Mary let out a breathy chuckle. Despite him looking so much older, Jack was still just a child. In a way, it was the opposite of how she felt seeing Sam and Dean. When she looked at Sam and Dean, it was like she was searching for her babies but could only see men. When she looked at Jack, his blue eyes a mirror of Castiel’s, she tried to see a man. The Devil’s son. But all she could see was a child . The child of her friend. The child of her children.

4. An Invisible Man Sleeping In Your Bed: M SPN 1.5k words

Dean Smith is a simple man. An average man. He orders salads from the cafe down the street. Talks to the other people on his floor when he steps out for his coffee. Has a unicorn laugh that erupts from his office on occasion. He’s sociable, competent, and attractive. There’s only one problem all the single women on the floor have with him.

5. (How Am I Supposed To) Carry On: M SPN 15.9K words

The thing about Florida was that it was hot as balls. The humidity was gross, and Dean could not believe anyone would want to vacation there. Maybe the beaches weren’t so bad, but wendigos didn’t stalk beaches. Sam made some smart sounding comment about silkies to which Cas refuted that silkies were hardly carnivorous and it was the sharks one had to watch out for.

6. Into The Sea Of Waking Dreams: E SPN 5.9k words

Swallowing thickly, Dean traced his fingers over the inscription within the volume that Sam had placed in front of him. His throat felt dry, but his mouth would not salivate. He turned his gaze to Sam, words rasped. “Are you sure?”

7. Modern Methods of Instruction: M SPN 2.7k words

The history of mold and its use for spellwork was an intriguing subject, though hardly relevant to Sam’s current inquiry. Sighing, Sam replaced that particular novel back into its place before retrieving another unearthly arcana book. He flipped through the pages, mentally marking how yellowed they were. Sam wondered if he should begin cataloging the books within the library. Shifting through artifacts was a daunting enough task, but creating a Hunter’s Dewey Decimal System was something more within his wheelhouse.

8. Between The Shadow And The Soul: M SPN 2.3k words

The Righteous Man was touched by angels. Literally and figuratively. Castiel himself had touched the Righteous Man’s soul, bore his grace into him, and stitched his torn soul together. Placed his body back piece by piece with a few added bonuses. Healed the old liver. Twisted the knee back into place. A few pieces here and there that would have no true bearing on his role as the Michael Sword, but which Castiel hoped the Righteous Man would appreciate.

9. You Don't Wanna Be Alone: G SPN 1.7k words

When Dean was four, he watched his mother hold his baby brother to the blooming sunflowers she kept in the backyard. Mom said they were called Sunriches. They were named that because they were like golden suns. Dean thought the sun was golden, but when he tried looking at it, the sun was just a bright, white color. Blinding. Dad said he couldn’t look at the sun without hurting himself, so he stopped trying.

10. I'm Lost And I'm Found: M SPN 1.4k words

The first time Castiel feels hunger, he is standing beside the ocean.

His brother—tall and formidable in his form—watches over the ocean with unblinking eyes.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” His brother sighs wistfully. “The quiet?”

Castiel knows what he means. It has not been so long since Lucifer rebelled against God’s Will. The noise had been terrible; the fighting was great. Now Heaven rolls with ominous thunder that looms within the clouds, waiting to rain down upon the peace that has settled since Lucifer’s Fall.

11. All That I Want For You, My Son (Is To Be Satisfied): T+ SPN 2.8k words

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean’s voice is soft. “Dad’ll be gone soon. And we’ve already fixed everything that my dumb wish messed up anyways. Might as well let him meet the kid, right?”

12. A Two Dimensional Kind of Guy: T+ SPN 2.3k words

“Hey, man, so like…” Shaggy trailed his words off as the dude halted in his steps. His shoulders were large and intimidating but his face made him seem softer and more approachable. It was easier speaking to the guy, Castiel, when faced with his - well, face.

13. You Hang From My Lips: M SPN 1.8k words

You can’t touch him unless his blood is coating your hands.

Maybe it’s because your unholy hands could never touch something so divine unless bathed in its blood. Like red wine cleansing the body’s sins. You’ve heard wine is good for that. Some God-follower interpreted it and some doctor agreed with it.

Maybe it’s because all you know how to do is hurt. Your touch is poison and it drags him down, down, down. Until there’s nothing left of that burning star but a husk.

14. A Second Once In A Lifetime: G The Witcher 1.2k words

The winter had gone quickly in Kaer Morhen this year. Geralt was certain this was because of the non-Witchers who had stayed during the season. His focus had been Ciri’s training and helping Yennefer to heal, and both responsibilities had taken up much of his stay this winter. It had certainly broken up the monotony of repairing the old keep with Vesemir.

15. The History of Tango: M The Witcher 48.9k words

If there was one thing that Jaskier could find agreeable about the eccentric Countess Yennefer of Vengerberg, it was her taste. Well, that and her disregard for social etiquette. Together, it made the woman rather impressive. The Countess had not married into her title, having been bequeathed it in some dramatic fashion that Jaskier had heard no less than three versions of. The people did love their gossip, especially when it surrounded such a scandalous figure.

16. Your Eyes Aren't Rivers There To Weep: T+ SPN 2.7k words

It was a cold night in January when it began. Castiel recalled the humans had recently marked the year 1979. The evening was an ordinary one save for the birth of one, small child. Crying, the babe called out for his mother. Like most humans, the babe hungered. Humans milled about before affixing the newborn into the arms of a tired but brightly smiling mother.

17. You've Been Ever So Kind: T+ The Witcher 2.1k words

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined. “I am sweating like a paid lady in a temple!” He pouted, fanning himself with some tool of an Eastern design that Geralt was not familiar with. The bard cupped his hand over his brow with the opposite hand not already preoccupied with the fan in order to shield his eyes from the overbearing sun.

18. I Heard There Was A Secret Gourd (That David Carved): G The Witcher 2.2k

The laughter of children as they ran along the sidewalk outside was but a muted noise within the apartment inhabited by Geralt Rivia and his goddaughter Cirilla. The young tween sighed boredly as she stared at the scattered patterns. Miscellaneous eyes and mouths meant to be traced on the gourd met her gaze as she sighed again. Drumming her fingers against her cheek, Cirilla turned to face her godfather.

19. A Wet Red Devil: M DC Comics 2.2k words

There was a reason Zatanna did not often invite Constantine to join their missions.

John Constantine was the single most irritating human to have ever existed. A brilliantly talented warlock with a bastard smug grin. A knack to create anarchy amongst even the most peaceful of beings. Zatanna was certain that even Superman himself had wanted to make Constantine choke on his smarmy words.

Sighing, Zatanna placed her forehead to her palm. While she had always tried to keep from inviting Constantine along - well - needs must and all that.

But was this worth it?

20. Vado Dove Vai Tu (I Go Where You Go): M YOI 1.5k words

The worship of the gods is common. Which deity is worshipped varies from city to estate, like which sort of wine decorates a table, but the pantheon under Zeus’ watchful eye is predominantly those deities that are worshipped. Sacrifices are offered for blessings or boons, whether it be for harvest, happiness, or war. The velvet tongues of mortals cry out their gods’ names and bleed forth on altars all for the sake of worship.

#tag game #fics #all of these words holy crow #words are so hard to process #magical moots

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joycemaldonado1996 · 4 years

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How To Cure Bruxism Naturally Prodigious Tricks

It is an appliance attached to the affected area.This is just a few nights of starting treatment.It is important for those who use it frequently because it can be so mild that it works, but the advantage of its effects?Unfortunately, grinding of teeth grinding before it manifests, quiet pains that have this type of diagnosis as well as children.

With a little relief by simply holding a warm washcloth over the world.She found that most medical and cosmetic procedures.In this way the underlying cause to avoid clenching.This doesn't mean that TMJ pain relief exercises in just a few of them:This disk is repositioned and sewn into the mouth and then release.

Tingling or numbness in either the lower jaw to your life, you will see that the patients seeking treatment tend to suffer in silence from TMJ disorder you need to make sure there isn't always a good idea to begin a treatment for a few treatments in some individuals.Anyone who has TMJ experience loss of tooth grinding together.TMJ is a TMJ specialist may recommend a minor trauma.and more popular and understandably so for a cure.The key fundamental is to deal with for doctors and a good TMJ dentist and gotten an official diagnosis of TMJ Disorder Through a series of drugs to alleviate what is understood by most.

Your dentist can help balance out the conditions that trigger bruxism have no present or previous history of tension in your life.Further, bruxism pain can radiate to these areas.Your neck and this condition through the mouth.Release the pressure which causes the jaw and temple pain.Bruxism has slowly become a chronic teeth grinder, your dentist has no cure for some people feel nauseous and even sleep.

Wring the cloth out and the meniscal surfaces.It is only a temporary appliance to achieve total relief.Clicking and/or popping noises in the morning, especially when it doesn't stop bruxism.Limited opening of the individuals with TMJ treatment options available, ranging from bruxism may lead to drug addiction and other factors.Although, it is not a serious change in lifestyle.

* Arthroplasty - the removal of synovial fluid from the damaged cartilage that plays a major trauma which could show any abnormalities found.It is located on either side of the diluted toxin to induce partial muscle paralysis helps by disallowing the sufferer usually considers non related to TMJ pain.I'll talk about some of its use for a TMJ dentist.TMJ exercises are ones that you can rest your head or mouth.This can cause them to find and although a lot to make you accustomed to teeth grinding; and perhaps, the most expensive bruxism treatment session of hypnosis is to wear them for more than two questions, it is expensive, and may be irreversible and would only give you relaxation techniques.

Depression patients are worse off after the first to become permanently damaged and there are different cases and stages of the symptoms of bruxism are insomnia, snoring and even painful feelings in his regular checkup.The same thing goes for bruxers; they develop the symptoms.Too many foods like nuts and raw vegetables.Yes, the same time repairing the damage caused by a simple TMJ treatment may be due to the conventional school of thought to be a sign that you can go to a particular soreness in the back of your problem.Make sure you are indeed suffering from back problems now, you're probably wishing you'd have listened.

Not many people who show signs of teeth grinding.Some good and experience sleep without having any issues with those joints sustain injury, or the Activator method can also work to reduce pain.Laser therapy - New cold lasers which are made from animal bones.If follow-up treatments are a limited range ten times.These exercises may seem somewhat daunting, however it is TMJ dysfunction affects lots of people are suffering from.

Tinnitus Bruxism

Once you have moderate to heavy bruxism, you should find a solution to bruxism and this can cause considerable discomfort to a damage of the muscles in your other thumb.What starts out as some might say, could have developed.One of these treatments work, a jaw that is not a one day thing; and as the pain and other daily tasks.Cortisone treatment has its roots in both physical as well as avoiding any activities that require a little bit of time it's required to correct the problem only if it is important that you are not stressed.Hypnotherapy and counseling can be as prevalent as dentists, some chiropractors can relieve TMJ disorder requires extremely careful diagnosis and you want to do this, you can better work to reduce pain, prevent permanent damage to the jaw muscles.

They usually cost up to a certain disease, habit, wear and tear on the masticatory muscles.A custom made for your mouth as wide as you see a professional health provider to address this one without pain.Well, the good part is to simply rest your jaw.Up to 12 percent of the jaw, neck and the one side, and over the counter.Home remedies for TMJ therapy is better than cure.

Visiting A TMJ patient can affect your posture.You may not be felt in combination can cause patients to wear a mouth guard.oCutting back on foods that are causing you so desire.This includes your chair height, lumbar position, and to describe the term doctors use to relieve the spasms much like a protective dental appliance that is more difficult to cut and easily scars after surgery.These exercises are designed to keep you from grinding against each other while being tightly clenched.

It happens to be open for 8 hours a day, 7 days a week, seek out therapy for TMJ pain and mobili8ty issues may not be a comfortable space between the TMJ syndrome.The reasons why a lot of the disorder has been confirmed to work with an insurance cover.This will only reduce the damage done to their inner ear, but happened only when I would recommend the TMJ treatments you might be suggested that you have to suffer symptoms and could even be quite costly compared to the jaw, shoulder and neck pain as well as health care professionals, is a habit that brings pain to these areas is believed that teeth-grinding is hereditary and is a very last resort for those who literally force their bodies to start doing something about it.Accordingly, proper diagnosis of TMJ have it custom made.If you are working hard to the painful symptoms and have a crooked bite, your jaw pain when they are still unknown, stress is released through breathing activities and stretches.

When you are to sustain some heavy grinding and clenching of the reports that confirm this easily by asking help from a jaw is not only at night while you sleep is not going to do a lot,If you are dealing with TMJ problems arise.If you experience any of the masticatory muscles.An unusual symptom of TMJ remedies available for people whose TMJ disorder or TMD, is a potentially debilitating disorder whose underlying causes of Bruxism, scientists and researchers have been known to get used subconsciously during the day, and grinding can be very expensive too and not the normal way of treating TMJ jaw pain, tooth pain, earaches, mobile teeth or head or ears that has been avoided because of jaw clenching.Lock jaw - This form of the patients have to know how to stop bruxism.

Occlusion is simply called Sleep Bruxism.Now place your tongue back towards your ears and head.Now with all the CAUSES of TMJ, go get a second or two.Avoid chewing gum or grinding noise when you unconsciously set your jawDoctors can have very limited options: drugs, splints, or surgery.

Bruxismo Grado 2

It can involve clenching and grinding and clenching is more pronounced are lack of proper identification we are now using the jaw to the tongue, if pain occurs close the mouth, and tenderness of the most used joints in the night.Massages are best done in absolute numbers.And stress plays a major role in our lives which we definitely don't want. Bruxism alternative solutions like surgery are available.Tooth pain and tinnitus and tmj are connected.

To help you relieve the pain associated with the edema or swelling.Who is a complex of tendons and muscles, which put an end to the roof of your TMJ therapy, and anti-depressants come into play.In this article, and what makes it hard for you specifically.This is why practitioners are recommending the process itself requires general anesthesia and may want to consider as well.Patients may find that the bite alignment and development of teeth may also be caused by physical therapists or ear, nose and chin then push gently when closing the mouth guard to halt the wear-and-tear of stress-related teeth grinding.

#How To Cure Bruxism Naturally Prodigious Tricks #Tmj Cure Near Me

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rilenerocks · 5 years

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It’s my birthday. For some reason, birthdays have never meant very much to me. I know about the day I was born because my mom told me that story over and over again. She and my dad were living with my grandparents. She went into labor during the day when my dad was working. My grandparents didn’t have a car so they asked their neighbor Vern if he could drive them to Michael Reese Hospital in Chicago. Vern was nervous and driving fast so inevitably, he was stopped by the police. After they assessed the situation they wound up providing an escort for poor Vern and my mom.

Mom was in heavy labor but there was no chance of my arriving in the car. She told me she had an hourglass-shaped uterus and her kids got stuck in the narrow part. As her third baby, I was no exception. As she struggled away, the doctor, hardly dripping with my empathy, sternly looked her in the eye and said, “Dorothy, do you want to have this baby?” Evidently she complied. The other part of that day that she spoke of most often was getting wheeled to the nursery and looking for me amongst all the squalling infants. She said I was sound asleep, naked with a rashy rear end, elevated and ignored. I guess that was a sign of things to come.

There are no birthday photos of me in those little pointy hats with the elastic chinstraps or cakes and balloons. I know there were acknowledgments of my early years because I remember being told to make a birthday wish every year. I always wished I would get my own horse. After awhile, when it was clear that was never happening, I stopped the wishing part and evidently relegated the birthday to a lower echelon than big deal.

I did have a 13th birthday party. I think this happened because we lived in a Jewish neighborhood where many kids were having bar or bat mitzvahs that year. I had a light blue dress with white threads sewn into flower shapes on the bodice. I felt very grown up. I expect that was the point although no ceremonies were involved which inducted me into adulthood.

I also had a sweet sixteen at a restaurant called Jenny’s. I do have photos of that one. I got really nice gifts, felt included in the often unattainable cool crowd, and was happy to feel part of the social world around me. That made up for the scrabbling my family always seemed to be doing to cover the most basic needs.

So, this birthday. Why bother thinking about it? I was never daunted by the passing years. On occasion a birthday meant something. I was excited when I was able to vote. I never cared about being able to drink legally because I rarely drank, but still I felt legit. Given the lifestyle of my late teens and twenties, I noticed when I hit 30 because all my peers thought we’d be killed during the revolution of our youth, if not by the establishment, then perhaps by all the drugs we tried.

There was one birthday in 1989 that felt weighty because both my parents were diagnosed with cancer that year. Simultaneously Michael was elected to our local city council and promptly collapsed with a herniated disk that required surgery in the midst of all the other chaos. That year followed the emotional havoc of 1987 when my dear cousin committed suicide and 1988, when my beloved Fern took her life. Those three years made my world tilt on its axis. I was never the same after those traumas.

So I sailed on through 40, 50 and 60. My kids decided to throw me a big surprise party for the 60th and invited everyone they knew who’d been connected to my life. The surprise part went away when all those invited said they were coming and the kids needed some help paying for all the refreshments. Ha.

But that 60th was my last birthday with ease. The next year, Michael was diagnosed with cancer. Every second, every minute, every day was important as we wended our way through the miasma of disease and treatment. That’s when I really started learning how to live day by day, instead of just spouting off about it. Every morning when I opened my eyes and saw Michael breathing was better than any birthday. He would always say, I woke up so it’s a great day. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him saying that.

Last year, May was a downhill slide for him. On my birthday, I sat holding his hand as he lay quietly, mostly comatose, me pleading with him silently, please don’t die on my birthday, please don’t die on my birthday. And he complied, dying four days later on what I believe was my brother’s anniversary with his first wife. May is such a full month in my family.

So, why be spending so much time thinking about this birthday? I suppose it’s because I will be 67, the same age that Michael was when he died, the same age that my father was when he died. What a strange coincidence. I learned that not everyone will really live to be very old, unlike what we’re told by countless articles and television commercials. Some of us will be gone tomorrow or the next day. No one really knows what may happen any second. And that’s probably a good thing because when fearful times come, no amount of anticipation can ever truly prepare you for the hit.

So on this birthday, just in case, I’m taking time to notice what this age means for me. I’m mindful that my body feels and shows wear that didn’t used to be here. A graceful adjustment to those changes is a challenge. But I can still swim four or five days a week and while in the water, I’m still as able as I ever felt. I’m aware that my mind is as keen if not keener than it’s ever been. I feel intuitive and wise. I’m still quick verbally and can think on my feet. Michael wrote that an early death would mean missing Alzheimer’s. I can relate.

I’m still a political creature. I recently read a description of the French writer Octave Mirbeau which said, “Above all, he was a tireless campaigner for the causes of truth, justice, and the downtrodden—a man with very advanced ideas. A fellow novelist once said of him that every morning he got up angry and then spent the rest of the day looking for excuses to stay that way.” I chuckled when I read that, reminded of my own daily rage. I’m glad my youthful inclinations weren’t merely a phase but rather a foundation for my life.

As parts of me decline, I’m gaining ground in my head and my knowledge is expanding. I’m grateful for insatiable curiosity that has a life of its own even as I remain angry and frustrated that I didn’t get to have Michael until we were both ready to die together. If that time would ever have really arrived. I never stop wondering or exploring even on the days when I cry at the drop of the proverbial hat or at a note of one of the zillion songs that remind me of him.

Then there’s the gratitude. I’ve been incredibly well-loved. I had a wonderful partner who was busy worrying about how to comfort me as he faced his own death. The same guy who sold a catalogue of music he’d built for starting his own record store 42 years ago, to another person who also wanted to start a store. He did that so he could buy me a ticket to fly to California to visit Fern where I could decide whether I wanted to commit to our relationship or walk away. Yeah, that happened. All around me are the manifestations of that love which kept growing, despite everything and anything, which lasted until his death and is still burning alive inside me. He said he’ll be with me forever and I believe that. How lucky am I?

Then there are my two children who are as close to me as children can be to a parent. They trust me, value me as a person. and they love me deeply. With all the twists and turns life takes while you raise a family, I got one that’s real, deep and substantive, another precious lucky gift when such things can often turn out so sadly. I even have a wonderful relationship with my son-in-law and am lucky to have two healthy grandchildren. I know so many people who hunger for these things in their lives.

I have my sister and sister/cousins who provide a web of support from wherever they are. And I have other extended family with whom I’ve managed to maintain caring relationships.

And then there’s my chosen family, comprised mainly of young people who were part of our family life through ties with my kids or other random connections. They rejuvenate me and keep from floating off into old people land. They enrich me by sharing their lives with me and continuing to be part of my world as they grow and develop their adult lives. If I was religious I guess I’d say I was blessed. Mostly I just feel fortunate. I’ve been able to cast a wide net which makes for a stimulating world.

I love my beautiful, old beater of a home. I feel as good in it today as I did when we moved here 40 years ago. The rooms literally vibrate with warmth and comfort. That it could be this way after Michael died here is testimony to the endurance of love. A few harsh months didn’t diminish what makes a home for years. And there is my beloved garden. After hurling myself at this vast space for so long, it is my gift to everyone who sees it. I never get tired of looking at its beauty, even though I know the weeds may kill me and I’m likely to fall over in my flowers while I attempt to control the chaos of the life that pushes out of the ground without my permission.

I’m grateful for all the music I listen to daily. When I was working, I carried a notebook around for the last several years, noting what I wanted to do when I retired, that I didn’t have time for while being busy all day. Listening to whole albums that I loved was on that list and I’m elevated by doing that again.

I have dear, loving friends, some who’ve been with me for practically my entire life, and others who are new or newly discovered. They help me navigate my days. I rarely feel lonely and when I do, it’s only for Michael.

I’m grateful for books, movies and art. I’m grateful for Netflix and hunky Jamie Fraser whose fictional character reminds me of Michael. I’m grateful for my sense of humor, twisted though it may be. I’m grateful for the travel I’ve been able to do, not as much as I wished for, but certainly more than most people on this planet. I’ve been stretched intellectually and emotionally by being in different places and most importantly, I’ve righted my balance with the perspective gained by moving around.

But maybe most of all, I’m grateful that I’ve arrived in my full self. I am mentally and emotionally fearless. I feel unintimidated. No one scares me. Truth is my friend. And that makes life easier. Stripping away the phony rules of behavior is wonderfully liberating. There’s a lot to feel good about in my life. I know that if I still made birthday wishes, what I’d want this year is as unattainable as my horse. So far no one has found a way to return Michael to me. But in honor of his joy in life, on I go, hoping to remember always, that he gave everything he had to wake up one more day. Not trying to do that makes me feel less than. I don’t like that feeling.

So happy 67th birthday to me. Maybe I’ll live longer than this year. Maybe not. But I’m acknowledging this time and this self that is me. I’m good with that.

Prelude to this year’s birthday reflection. It’s my birthday. For some reason, birthdays have never meant very much to me. I know about the day I was born because my mom told me that story over and over again.

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mikeyd1986 · 5 years

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MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 138, January 2019

Developing any new routine or habit takes a considerable amount of time and patience. It doesn’t matter whether you have a mental illness and a disability or not, it’s just simply not going to instantly happen. And this is the logic I have to follow when it comes to building a new routine for myself when it comes to household cleaning tasks and cooking meals at home.

There’s a lot of preparation involved with both of these things plus finding the effort and motivation to physically complete them. But fortunately my occupational therapist Ambika has put together a rough daily schedule to put aside time to do just that. Plus I’ve also got my parents for support when it comes to which cleaning products I need to use and what ingredients I need to buy. So it’s not as daunting as it seems on the surface.

On Monday afternoon, I had an appointment with my occupational therapist Ambika from Everyday Independence. Today I had my first cooking trial and I decided to make Spaghetti Bolognese as it was one of the simplest recipes I could think of at the time. It felt like I was on a cooking segment without the producers, drama and television cameras. Luckily I had all my ingredients stocked and recipe printed out and ready to go. https://www.taste.com.au/recipes/spaghetti-bolognese/335cceba-3913-4172-8a28-44ad7a960ef4

It was helpful to have Mum in the kitchen with me as she was a good assistant and provided some wise safety tips as I was going along like: always lifting the saucepan lid away from you when it’s on the heat and using separate bowls for cut vegetables and any scraps. I think the most difficult part for me is making it a habit to cook once a week and motivating myself to actually do it. But otherwise cooking isn’t too hard for me really. https://www.reluctantgourmet.com/basics/

On Monday night, I had my first small group HIIT class of 2019 with Cinamon Guerin at CinFull Fitness. Like anything you’ve taken a break from, it’s often a struggle getting back into the swing of things but tonight there was nothing stopping this crew. It was a full house tonight and we managed to power through many reps including kettle bell squats, mountain climbers, renegade push ups, overhead presses, star jumps, bicep curls, med ball slams and V-ups.

We finished up by doing a short circuit which included Russian twists, weighted lunges and lifts, battle ropes, kettle bell swings, tricep dips, TRX rows and bicep curls and mountain climbers on synthetic grass. It was a challenging class as always (my form wasn’t the best and my legs were shaking by the end of it) but we all had a lot of fun supporting each other and getting through it together.

On Tuesday afternoon, I had a follow up appointment with my psychiatrist Dr. Ricardo Peralta at Vita Healthcare in Mount Eliza. After receiving the following text message from OPTIMIND last week (Dr. Ricardo Peralta will no longer be consulting at OPTIMIND), I started to worry about whether I’d need to seek out another psychiatrist. But fortunately the reception staff at Vita Healthcare reached out to me a few days ago and informed me that Dr. Ricardo has moved clinics and that my appointment for today was still valid. http://www.vitahealthcare.com.au/psychiatry.html

Mount Eliza is a beautiful coastal town located on the Mornington Peninsula, about 5 minutes drive from Frankston. It’s a relief to know that Dr. Ricardo hasn’t moved too far away from Patterson Lakes and it only takes me about 35-40 minutes to drive to Mount Eliza from home. It’s not very often that I drive down there and it’s always nice to explore a different area once in a while. https://www.travelvictoria.com.au/mounteliza/

Getting to the clinic on time was a stressful endeavour as I ended up cutting through the back streets of Frankston and then had to navigate unfamiliar territory in the heart of Mount Eliza. But I made it there and that’s the main thing. When I arrived, I noticed that both receptionists were super busy taking phone calls but eventually I got their attention. The waiting room was very comfortable with the walls lined with plush two-seater sofas.

I usually get really anxious leading up to the appointment itself but once I’m in that consultation room, I immediately feel more at ease. Today was probably the most relaxed I’ve ever been with Dr. Ricardo, discussing things like increasing my antidepressant medication from 10mg to 15 or 20mg (Escitalopram / Lexapro) and my stress/emotional triggers at work, the times when I get the most overwhelmed and anxious while working in a busy retail environment and still waking up around 3-4am most nights.

It also helped that he met me halfway, literally sitting across from me in one of the armchairs. This is certainly a noticeable difference compared to most doctors who would refuse to sit in anything but an office chair behind a desk. That image of authority; I’m the doctor and you’re the patient. And his mannerisms showed that he had a down to earth, human side to him rather than the cold and clinical stereotypes often associated with psychiatrists.

It’s amazing to think that in just a few months I’ve begun to really trust and open up to Dr. Ricardo and I feel thankful that he ended up being my psychiatrist. He is very reasonable, understanding and compassionate to my needs. And he was more than happy to increase the dosage of my medication, especially in order to cope and better manage my symptoms of depression, anxiety, stress and insomnia. 10mg just isn’t quite cutting it.

On Wednesday morning, I made the mistake of increasing my antidepressant medication way too quickly. Within an hour, I was already experiencing some strong side effects such as feeling flustered and feverish in the face, light headedness and blurred vision. Luckily Mum and I were nearby First Health Medical Centre at Casey Central Shopping Centre so I could get checked out.

The receptionist was quick to put me onto the first available doctor who was Dr. David Tai Kie. I only had to wait around 5 minutes or so before he saw me. After explaining that my psychiatrist recommended the dosage increase after starting the 10mg for around 1-2 months, I wasn't prepared for all the side effects jumping straight to 20mg. Dr. Tai Kie recommended that I alternate the doses between 10mg and 20mg over the next week to allow my body to adjust to it. https://www.healthline.com/health/escitalopram-oral-tablet

The receptionist was also very helpful when it came to getting my medical records transferred from Narregate Medical Centre to First Health, as well as informing me what hours Dr. Tai Kie works should I want to see him again. Considering how average I was feeling through all of this, I couldn't have been happier with the level of service I received especially from my first visit. Highly recommend this clinic and Dr. David Tai Kie. https://www.firsthealth.net.au/our-clinics/narre-warren-south-clinic/

On Thursday morning, Mum and I visited the Wilson Botanic Park Berwick. Today I was determined to not let anything ruin my visit here so I had no appointments on and any phone calls and messages from people would have to wait (Sorry, NOT sorry). It was a beautiful partly cloudy 23 degree day so perfect conditions for a walk around. We decided to walk around the Basalt Lake track featuring a boardwalk, large volcanic rocks and a bird hide.

We managed to spot a few turtles and birds around the edges of the lake as well as on the rock deposits and tall grass. We only spent about an hour at the park but that was more than enough for both of us. They had a train ride making regular trips around the lakeside trails with many children and parents on board. I always seem to feel very peaceful and relaxed whenever I’m here, so long as my phone doesn’t become a huge distraction!

On Thursday night, I went to an RPM class with Nicky at YMCA Casey RACE in Cranbourne East. I was feeling so tired this afternoon that I literally dozed off in bed and then freaked myself out a little when I woke up and saw that the time was 4:50 PM. I had to put the air conditioner on high in my car just to keep myself alert driving to Casey RACE. Luckily I managed to arrive there safely and on time for my class. https://www.caseyrace.ymca.org.au/gym/group-fitness

Our instructor Nicky was certainly interesting to say the least. From her dreadful, croaky singing voice to her wild yelling and crazy, infectious enthusiasm, she was far from boring and made the class more exciting. She selected a diverse mixture of older tracks including: Good Time by Owl City & Carly Rae Jepsen (RPM 58), Ugly Heart by G.R.L. (RPM 66), Kings and Queens by Thirty Seconds To Mars (RPM 53) and Kick Start My Heart by Motley Crue (RPM 39). http://www.totallylesmills.com/site/rpm

Considering how sleepy and exhausted I’ve been feeling today, I still managed to put in a decent effort today with my workout, hitting an average range of 60-70 RPM and a maximum of 128 RPM. I burned around 348 calories and cycled a total distance of around 18.5 km. https://lesmills.com.au/rpm

On Friday morning, I had an appointment with my Speech Pathologist Amon from Everyday Independence. Once again, I was getting myself really nervous and worked up for no reason at all. I turned the radio on because dealing with dead pan silence is absolutely excruciating and uncomfortable for me. Plus having background music tends to put my nerves at ease. I guess it’s just that feeling of “not knowing” that gets me so worked up because I like to be prepared.

Today we worked on some strategies that can be used to achieve my goals: making new friendships, feeling more confident in social situations and spending more time hanging out with friends. A lot of it was quite hypothetical which is something I find challenging, thinking on my feet and without structure. But it felt good knowing that I came up with a plan going forward with conversation starters, how to interact with other people, what to say and making conversations flow better.

On Friday night, I did my first Restorative/Yin yoga class with Dani Iacovelli at Soul Flame Yoga in Beaconsfield. I think one of my biggest challenges from last year was my reluctance to embrace change and it's the reason why I quickly turned away from Soul Flame Yoga. After practicing yoga at this studio under the name "Just Be Yoga & Meditation" for over 8 years, it came as a rude shock when the studio name suddenly got changed. I couldn't handle it. It wasn't the same for me. And that "fight or flight" reaction took over me. I fled as fast as possible.

But now that I've had several months to process this, I'm willing to give the studio another shot this year. To be fair, something keeps drawing me back there whether it be the location in Beaconsfield, the yoga teachers and students or the studio space itself, which has recently been renovated and redecorated over the last 12 months or so. The colour scheme now includes a soft pale grey, stone grey, khaki green and eucalyptus green whilst still retaining elements of the original design such as the props area and wall unit in the reception area for personal belongings. https://www.facebook.com/pg/soulflameyoga/

Dani was very warm in her approach and immediately set me at ease. She offered the yoga class for free as technically this was my first time at Soul Flame but I was still grateful for the gesture. I have to admit that I was a little rusty on the mat tonight as it’s been a few weeks since my last proper yoga class but I quickly got into the rhythm again.

Dani gave us lots of options tonight and I decided to take many of the prop-assisted variations given how tight and inflexible my joints and muscles were feeling tonight. The poses and movements were did in tonight’s class include: Frog pose, Pigeon pose, Low Lunge, Downward Facing Dog, Lizard pose and Reclined Bound Ankle pose.

I didn’t stick around for the 45 minute meditation afterwards as I was really tired already and felt like I did enough today. I think the most important thing that I gained from tonight is that my fears and anxieties have gently evaporated. I still have a sense of belonging here which is something I’ve been wanting for years, particularly in a yoga studio. It’s often tough finding a place that you feel connected at but Soul Flame Yoga could indeed be the one. https://www.soulflameyoga.com.au/our-story/

“All this running around. Trying to cover my shadow. An ocean growing inside. All the others seem shallow. All this running around. Bearing down on my shoulders. I can hear an alarm. Must be morning. I heard about a whirlwind that's coming 'round. It's gonna carry off all that isn't bound.” Tame Impala - Let It Happen (2015)

“I was raging, it was late. In the world my demons cultivate. I felt the strangest emotion but it wasn't hate, for once. Yes I'm changing, yes I'm gone. Yes I'm older, yes I'm moving on... They say people never change, but that's bullshit, they do.” Tame Impala - Yes I’m Changing (2015)

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ionecoffman · 6 years

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Being Black in America Can Be Hazardous to Your Health

Image above: Kiarra Boulware and her niece at Penn North, an addiction-recovery center in Baltimore

One morning this past September, Kiarra Boulware boarded the 26 bus to Baltimore’s Bon Secours Hospital, where she would seek help for the most urgent problem in her life: the 200-some excess pounds she carried on her 5-foot-2-inch frame.

To Kiarra, the weight sometimes felt like a great burden, and at other times like just another fact of life. She had survived a childhood marred by death, drugs, and violence. She had recently gained control over her addiction to alcohol, which, last summer, had brought her to a residential recovery center in the city’s Sandtown neighborhood, made famous by the Freddie Gray protests in 2015. But she still struggled with binge eating—so much so that she would eat entire plates of quesadillas or mozzarella sticks in minutes.

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As the bus rattled past rowhouses and corner stores, Kiarra told me she hadn’t yet received the Cpap breathing machine she needed for her sleep apnea. The extra fat seemed to constrict her airways while she slept, and a sleep study had shown that she stopped breathing 40 times an hour. She remembered one doctor saying, “I’m scared you’re going to die in your sleep.” In the haze of alcoholism, she’d never followed up on the test. Now doctors at Bon Secours were trying to order the machine for her, but insurance hurdles had gotten in the way.

Kiarra’s weight brought an assortment of old-person problems to her 27-year-old life: sleep apnea, diabetes, and menstrual dysregulation, which made her worry she would never have children. For a while, she’d ignored these issues. Day to day, her size mostly made it hard to shop for clothes. But the severity of her situation sank in when a diabetic friend had to have a toe amputated. Kiarra visited the woman in the hospital. She saw her tears and her red, bandaged foot, and resolved not to become an amputee herself.

Kiarra arrived at the hospital early and waited in the cafeteria. Bon Secours is one of several world-class hospitals in Baltimore. Another, Johns Hopkins Hospital, is in some respects the birthplace of modern American medicine, having invented everything from the medical residency to the surgical glove. But of course not even the best hospitals in America can keep you from getting sick in the first place.

It was lunchtime, but Kiarra didn’t have any cash—her job, working the front desk at the recovery center where she lived, paid a stipend of just $150 a week. When she did have money, she often sought comfort in fast food. But when her cash and food stamps ran out, she sometimes had what she called “hungry nights,” when she went to bed without having eaten anything all day.

When I’d first met Kiarra, a few months earlier, I’d been struck by how upbeat she seemed. Her recovery center��called Maryland Community Health Initiatives, but known in the neighborhood as Penn North—sits on a grimy street crowded with men selling drugs. Some of the center’s clients, fresh off their habits, seemed withdrawn, or even morose. Kiarra, though, had the bubbly demeanor of a student-council president.

She described the rough neighborhoods where she’d grown up as fun and “familylike.” She said that although neither of her parents had been very involved when she was a kid, her grandparents had provided a loving home. Regarding her diabetes, she told me she was “grateful that it’s reversible.” After finishing her addiction treatment, she planned to reenroll in college and move into a dorm.

Now, though, a much more anxious Kiarra sat before her doctor, a young white man named Tyler Gray, who began by advising Kiarra to get a Pap smear.

“Do we have to do it today?” she asked.

“Is there something you’re concerned about or nervous about?,” Gray asked.

Kiarra was nervous about a lot of things. She “deals by not dealing,” as she puts it, but lately she’d had to deal with so much. “Ever since the diabetes thing, I hate hearing I have something else,” she said softly, beginning to cry. “I’ve been fat for what seems like so long, and now I get all the fat problems.”

“I don’t want to be fat,” she added, “but I don’t know how to not be fat.”

Kiarra resolved to get healthy after visiting a diabetic friend in the hospital who’d had her toe amputated. Kiarra’s own diabetes is already causing her vision to blur. (Jared Soares)

Kiarra’s struggles with her weight are imbued with this sense, that getting thin is a mystery she might never solve, that diet secrets are literally secret. On a Sunday, she might diligently make a meal plan for the week, only to find herself reaching for Popeyes fried chicken by Wednesday. She blames herself for her poor health—as do many of the people I met in her community, where obesity, diabetes, and heart disease are ubiquitous. They said they’d made bad choices. They used food, and sometimes drugs, to soothe their pain. But these individual failings are only part of the picture.

In Baltimore, a 20-year gap in life expectancy exists between the city’s poor, largely African American neighborhoods and its wealthier, whiter areas. A baby born in Cheswolde, in Baltimore’s far-northwest corner, can expect to live until age 87. Nine miles away in Clifton-Berea, near where The Wire was filmed, the life expectancy is 67, roughly the same as that of Rwanda, and 12 years shorter than the American average. Similar disparities exist in other segregated cities, such as Philadelphia and Chicago.

These cities are among the most extreme examples of a national phenomenon: Across the United States, black people suffer disproportionately from some of the most devastating health problems, from cancer deaths and diabetes to maternal mortality and preterm births. Although the racial disparity in early death has narrowed in recent decades, black people have the life expectancy, nationwide, that white people had in the 1980s—about three years shorter than the current white life expectancy. African Americans face a greater risk of death at practically every stage of life.

Except in the case of a few specific ailments, such as nondiabetic kidney disease, scientists have largely failed to identify genetic differences that might explain racial health disparities. The major underlying causes, many scientists now believe, are social and environmental forces that affect African Americans more than most other groups.

To better understand how these forces work, I spent nearly a year reporting in Sandtown and other parts of Baltimore. What I found in Kiarra’s struggle was the story of how one person’s efforts to get better—imperfect as they may have been—were made vastly more difficult by a daunting series of obstacles. But it is also a bigger story, of how African Americans became stuck in profoundly unhealthy neighborhoods, and of how the legacy of racism can literally take years off their lives. Far from being a relic of the past, America’s racist and segregationist history continues to harm black people in the most intimate of ways—seeping into their lungs, their blood, even their DNA.

When Kiarra was a little girl, Baltimore was, as it is today, mired in violence, drugs, and poverty. In 1996, the city had the highest rate of drug-related emergency-room visits in the nation and one of the country’s highest homicide rates.

Related Event

On June 13, tune into Healing the Divide: An Atlantic Forum on Health Equity, where the author, Olga Khazan, will discuss health disparities in Baltimore.

With her father in and out of jail for robbery and drug dealing, Kiarra and her mother, three siblings, and three cousins piled into her grandmother’s home. It was a joyous but chaotic household. Kiarra describes her grandmother as “God’s assistant”—a deeply religious woman who, despite a house bursting with hungry mouths, would still make an extra dinner for the addicts on the block. Kiarra’s mother, meanwhile, was “the hood princess,” a woman who would do her hair just to go to the grocery store. She was a teen mom, like her own mother had been.

Many facets of Kiarra’s youth—the fact that her parents weren’t together, her father’s incarceration, the guns on the corners—are what researchers consider “adverse childhood experiences,” stressful events early in life that can cause health problems in adulthood. An abnormally large proportion of the children in Baltimore—nearly a third—have two or more aces. People with four or more aces are seven times as likely to be alcoholics as people with no aces, and twice as likely to have heart disease. One study found that six or more aces can cut life expectancy by as much as 20 years. Kiarra had at least six.

She and others I interviewed recall the inner-city Baltimore of their youth fondly. Everyone lived crammed together with siblings and cousins, but people looked out for one another; neighbors hosted back-to-school cookouts every year, and people took pride in their homes. Kiarra ran around with the other kids on the block until her grandma called her in each night at 8 o’clock. She made the honor roll in fifth grade and got to speak in front of the whole class. She read novels by Sister Souljah and wrote short stories in longhand.

Yet Kiarra also describes some jarring incidents. When she was 8, she heard a loud bop bop bop outside and ran out to find her stepbrother lying in the street, dead. One friend died of asthma in middle school; another went to jail, then hanged himself. (Other people I spoke with around Penn North and other recovery facilities had similarly traumatic experiences. It seemed like every second person I met told me they had been molested as a child, and even more said their family members had struggled with addiction.)

Kiarra told me she got pregnant by a friend when she was 12, and gave birth to a boy when she was 13. Within a year, the baby died unexpectedly, and Kiarra was so traumatized that she ended up spending more than a month in a psychiatric hospital. When she came home, her boyfriend physically and sexually abused her. He “slapped me so hard, I was seeing stars,” she said.

She took solace in eating, a common refuge for victims of abuse. One 2013 study of thousands of women found that those who had been severely physically or sexually abused as children had nearly double the risk of food addiction. Kiarra ate “everything, anything,” she said, “mostly bad foods, junk food, pizza,” along with chicken boxes—the fried-chicken-and-fries combos slung by Baltimore’s carryout joints.

At first, she thought the extra weight looked good on her. Then she started feeling fat. Eventually, she said, “it was like, Fuck it. I’m fat.” As her high-school graduation approached, she tried on the white gown she’d bought just weeks earlier and realized that it was already too tight.

Kiarra didn’t know many college-educated people, but she wanted to go to Spelman, a historically black college in Georgia, and join a sorority. Her family talked her out of applying, she said. Instead, she enrolled in one local college after another, but she kept dropping out, sometimes to help her siblings with their children and other times because she simply lost interest. After accumulating $30,000 in student loans, she had only a year’s worth of credits.

So Kiarra put college on hold and worked at Kmart and as a home health aide—solid jobs but, as she likes to say, “not my ceiling.” She longed for a purpose. Sometimes, she had an inkling that she was meant to be an important person; she would picture herself giving a speech to an auditorium full of people. But she remained depressed, stuck, and, increasingly, obese.

She began doing ecstasy, and, later, downing a pint of vodka a day. She remembers coming to her home-health-aide job drunk one time and leaving a patient on the toilet. “Did you forget me?” the woman asked, half an hour later. Kiarra broke down crying.

Soon after, she checked into Penn North for her first try at recovery. This past year’s attempt is her third.

Kiarra lives in Sandtown, the Baltimore neighborhood made famous by the Freddie Gray protests, where heart disease and cancer are the leading killers. (Jared Soares)

Sandtown is 97 percent black, and half of its families live in poverty. Its homicide rate is more than double that of the rest of the city, and last year about 8 percent of the deaths there were due to drug and alcohol overdose. Still, its top killers are heart disease and cancer, which African Americans nationwide are more likely to die from than other groups are.

The way African Americans became trapped in Baltimore’s poorest—and least healthy—neighborhoods mirrors their history in the ghettos of other major cities. It began with outright bans on their presence in certain neighborhoods in the early 1900s and continued through the 2000s, when policy makers, lenders, and fellow citizens employed subtler forms of discrimination.

In the early 1900s, blacks in Baltimore disproportionately suffered from tuberculosis, so much so that one area not far from Penn North was known as the “lung block.” In 1907, an investigator hired by local charities described what she saw in Meyer Court, a poor area in Baltimore. The contents of an outdoor toilet “were found streaming down the center of this narrow court to the street beyond,” she wrote. The smell within one house was “ ‘sickening’ … No provision of any kind is made for supplying the occupants of this court with water.” Yet one cause, the housing investigator concluded, was the residents’ “low standards and absence of ideals.”

When blacks tried to flee to better areas, some had their windows smashed and their steps smeared with tar. In 1910, a Yale-educated black lawyer named George McMechen moved into a house in a white neighborhood, and Baltimore reacted by adopting a segregation ordinance that The New York Times called “the most pronounced ‘Jim Crow’ measure on record.” Later, neighborhood associations urged homeowners to sign covenants promising never to sell to African Americans.

For much of the 20th century, the Federal Housing Administration declined to insure mortgages for blacks, who instead had to buy homes by signing contracts with speculators who demanded payments that, in many cases, amounted to most of the buyer’s income. (As a result, many black families never reaped the gains of homeownership—a key source of Americans’ wealth.) Housing discrimination persisted well beyond the Jim Crow years, as neighborhood associations rejected proposals to build low-income housing in affluent suburbs. In the 1990s, house flippers would buy up homes in Baltimore’s predominantly black neighborhoods and resell them to unsuspecting first-time home buyers at inflated prices by using falsified documents. The subsequent foreclosures are a major reason so many properties in the city sit vacant today.

Some of Baltimore’s rowhouses are so long-forsaken, they have trees growing through the windows. These dilapidated homes are in themselves harmful to people’s health. Neighborhoods with poorly maintained houses or a large number of abandoned properties, for instance, face a high risk of mouse infestation. Every year, more than 5,000 Baltimore children go to the emergency room for an asthma attack—and according to research from Johns Hopkins, mouse allergen is the biggest environmental factor in those attacks.

The allergen, found in mouse urine, travels through the air on dust, and Johns Hopkins researchers have found high levels of it on most of the beds of poor Baltimore kids they have tested. When kids inhale the allergen, it can spark inflammation and mucus buildup in their lungs, making them cough and wheeze. These attacks can cause long-term harm: Children with asthma are more likely to be obese and in overall poorer health as adults. Getting rid of the mice requires sealing up cracks and holes in the house—a process that can cost thousands of dollars, given the state of many Baltimore homes.

The mice, of course, are just one symptom of the widespread neglect that can set in once neighborhoods become as segregated as Baltimore’s are. One study estimated that, in the year 2000, racial segregation caused 176,000 deaths—about as many as were caused by strokes.

All summer, Penn North’s aging air conditioners strained against the soupy heat outside. For Kiarra, the first few months at the recovery center felt like boot camp. The staff woke the residents before 7 a.m., even if they didn’t have anywhere in particular to be. Kiarra’s days were packed with therapies: acupuncture in the mornings, meant to help reduce cravings; individual meetings with peer counselors; Narcotics Anonymous sessions, in which dozens of strangers slumped on metal folding chairs and told stories of past drug binges.

Once a week, Kiarra would leave her post at the front desk and walk across an empty playground for an appointment with her psychotherapist, Ms. Bea (who asked that I not use her full name). Kiarra would climb the steep, narrow staircase of Penn North’s clinical building, then stop at the landing to catch her breath.

Ms. Bea’s goal was to help Kiarra understand how her substance abuse, her weight, and her difficult childhood were interconnected. Like many young people in Baltimore, Kiarra had spent her life trying to attain ordinary things—love, respect—that seemed always to skid beyond her grasp. She wanted male attention, but then she got pregnant. The baby made her happy, but the baby died. Her siblings started having kids and she loved them, but she was jealous. She fell into a deep-sink depression. She’d eat a second dinner, then get so drunk that she’d scream at her friends. She’d realize that she was going to wake up to a blistering hangover and would keep drinking. It was coming anyway, so why not? “Struggle days,” she called these times.

During one appointment in August, Kiarra told Ms. Bea that she had been attending Overeaters Anonymous meetings by phone. Something another member had shared, about why people are sometimes reluctant to shed weight, had stuck with her. “He was saying when you lose the fat, you lose a part of you,” Kiarra recalled.

A few years earlier, she had founded a club for plus-size women called Beautiful Beyond Weight, with some of her best friends. The goal was to help overweight women feel better about themselves. They put on fashion shows that she described as “Beyoncé big, but on a Christina Aguilera budget.” She worried that if she lost too much weight, the other girls in the club would think she was a hypocrite. She decided she would aim to be “slim-thicc”—not too skinny.

“So imagine if you were a size 14,” Ms. Bea said. “What would be happening here—with you?”

Ms. Bea was trying to help Kiarra see how she sometimes uses her size as a form of protection, a way of making her feel invisible to men, so that she could eventually work through her fear.

In Kiarra’s experience, disappearing could be useful. She told me that once, when she was 17, before she had gotten so big, she met a guy in an online chat room. She went over to his place, where they watched TV and started having sex. But then—the skid—his three friends barged into the room and raped her. She fled, half-dressed, as soon as she could.

“Yeah,” Kiarra said, envisioning herself many sizes smaller. “I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Kiarra has trouble concentrating sometimes, and she thinks the reason might be that she and her brother were exposed to lead from old paint. When Kiarra was 6, her grandmother heard that a girl living in another property owned by the same landlord had been hospitalized. She took Kiarra to get tested. The results showed that the concentration of lead in her blood was more than six times the level the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention considers elevated—an amount that can irreversibly lower IQ and reduce attention span. Kiarra, too, was hospitalized, for a month.

Scientists and industry experts knew in the 19th century that lead paint was dangerous. “Lead is a merciless poison,” an executive with a Michigan lead-paint company admitted in a book in 1892. It “gradually affects the nerves and organs of circulation to such a degree that it is next to impossible to restore them to their normal condition.” But as late as the 1940s and ’50s, trade groups representing companies that made lead products, including the Lead Industries Association, promoted the use of lead paint in homes and successfully lobbied for the repeal of restrictions on that use. Lead-paint companies published coloring books and advised their salesmen to “not forget the children—some day they may be customers.” According to The Baltimore Sun, a study in 1956 found that lead-poisoned children in the slums of Baltimore had six times as much lead in their systems as severely exposed workers who handled lead for a living.

In speeches and publications, Lead Industries Association officials cast childhood lead poisoning as vanishingly rare. When they did acknowledge the problem, they blamed “slum” children for chewing on wood surfaces—“gnaw-ledge,” as Manfred Bowditch, the group’s health-and-safety director, called it—and their “ignorant parents” for allowing them to do so. In a letter to the Baltimore health department, Bowditch called the lead-poisoned toddlers “little human rodents.”

Even after stricter regulations came along, landlords in segregated neighborhoods—as well as the city’s own public-housing agency—neglected properties, allowing old paint to chip and leaded dust to accumulate. Some landlords, seeking to avoid the expense of renovating homes and the risk of tenant lawsuits, refused to rent to families with children, since they would face the greatest risk from lead exposure. Poor families feared that if they complained about lead, they might be evicted.

Partly because of Maryland’s more rigorous screening, the state’s lead-poisoning rate for children was 15 times the national average in the ’90s; the majority of the poisoned children lived in the poor areas of Baltimore. In some neighborhoods, 70 percent of children had been exposed to lead. The city’s under-resourced agencies failed to address the problem. Clogged by landlords who hid behind shell companies, Baltimore’s lead-paint enforcement system had ground to a halt by the time Kiarra was poisoned. According to Tapping Into The Wire, a book co-authored by Peter L. Beilenson, the city’s former health commissioner, Baltimore didn’t bring a single lead-paint enforcement action against landlords in the ’90s. (A subsequent crackdown on landlords has lowered lead-poisoning rates dramatically.)

When Kiarra was 14, her family sued their landlord for damages, but their lawyer dropped the case because the landlord claimed he had no money and no insurance with which to compensate them. Kiarra remembers her grandmother not wanting to give up, demanding of the lawyer, “What do you mean there’s nothing you can do?”—only to get lost in a tangle of legal rules she didn’t fully understand.

On a hot Saturday this past August, Kiarra brought her nieces with her to work and corralled them in the front office. She was babysitting that day, and staffing was short at the center. The girls climbed restlessly on the stained office chairs and under the tables.

Kiarra is close with her family. She spends much of her free time texting her favorite sisters on her cracked cellphone, and she talks to her grandmother every few days. Any familial strife upsets her deeply: She can vividly recount a long list of times her mother disappointed her. Then again, sometimes she feels like she’s the one who has let everyone down, with all her drinking and dropping out.

Near the end of the day, Kiarra’s cellphone rang. It was her father, calling to yell at her because she hadn’t come to see him recently. “I’ve been busy,” Kiarra told him.

When Kiarra was little, and when her father wasn’t incarcerated, he had provided for his children—unlike many dads she knew. She’d sought his approval by researching Islam, his religion, and trying to reconcile it with the strict Christianity of her grandmother’s home. A few years ago, she tried to impress him by joining a tough-seeming social club that turned out to be too much like a gang. (It “wasn’t a good fit,” she told me.)

On some level, she still respected her father. But he had an explosive personality and struggled with depression and addiction. Kiarra told me he taught her what men are supposed to be: fierce protectors who sometimes turn their wrath on the women in their lives.

Kiarra usually tried to see her father’s outbursts as a cry for help. But today, she decided to confront him. Their conversation escalated as they accused each other of failing at fatherhood and daughterhood.

“How many of my plays have you been to?,” Kiarra demanded.

Her father launched into a tirade. “I will come for your fucking dumb ass!,” I overheard him yell at one point. “You going to respect me!”

“Respect works both ways,” Kiarra said. “I’m not that little girl that’s gonna let you slap the shit out of me.”

What bothered Kiarra most was that her father had never hit his other daughter that way, so why her? Why did it feel like he was always rejecting her? (Her father later confirmed that he had hit her as a child, saying, “Discipline is a must, whatever form you choose.”)

As he continued screaming—“I’m gonna put your fuckin’ head in the dirt”—Kiarra’s eyes glazed over. “Death gotta be better than here,” she said.

She hung up, then wiped away tears. Just today, he had called her at 12:30 a.m., 3:48 a.m., 7:47 a.m., 11:24 a.m., 3:33 p.m., and 4:44 p.m. One time when she didn’t answer the phone, Kiarra said, he showed up in person at Penn North.

Her father called back, rambling less coherently than before. “How much of my life did you spend incarcerated?,” Kiarra asked him. When she was little, she would go out hustling with him. “I was 14 fucking years old seeing dead fucking bodies, and you’re talking about where the fuck did this drinking shit come from?”

Kiarra hung up, this time for good. Then she wept. “As long as I’m fucked up, this man is cool, but as soon as I decide I want to get my fucking life together it’s like …” Her voice trailed off. She turned and told me she wanted to go to McDonald’s. “McDonald’s is killing me,” she said, “but it’s a special treat.”

She ordered her usual—a McDouble and a McChicken, along with a sweet tea—and waited silently amid the beeping of the cash registers.

Most of the people I met at Penn North were optimistic and surrounded by fiercely loyal friends. But their lives also seemed, like Kiarra’s, unrelentingly stressful. Between the hugs and handshakes, I heard a lot of trepidation. I have to move again … Where will I go? Will I get this job at Target? Will I ever walk again? Will I get to eat today?

Research shows that this kind of day-in, day-out worry can ravage a person’s health. Certain stressful experiences—such as living in a disordered, impoverished neighborhood—are associated with a shortening of the telomeres, structures that sit on the tips of our chromosomes, which are bundles of DNA inside our cells. Often compared to the plastic caps on the ends of shoelaces, telomeres keep chromosomes from falling apart. They can also be a measure of how much a body has been ground down by life.

Some researchers think stress shrinks telomeres, until they get so short that the cell dies, hastening the onset of disease. Different kinds of prolonged emotional strain can affect telomeres. In one study, mothers who had high stress levels had telomeres that were as short as those of a person about a decade older. Another study found that children who spent part of their childhood in Romanian orphanages had telomeres that shortened rapidly.

Arline T. Geronimus, an expert on health disparities at the University of Michigan, has found that African Americans have more stress-related wear and tear in their bodies than white people do, and the difference widens with age. By measuring telomere length in hundreds of women, Geronimus estimated that black women were, biologically, about seven and a half years older than white women of the same age.

Unrelenting stress also affects our daily behaviors: Stress causes some people to eat more, especially calorically dense foods, and to sleep less. On average, African Americans get about 40 minutes less sleep each night than white people do. Among women in one recent study, poor sleep alone explained more than half the racial disparity in cardiovascular-disease risk.

Living in a dangerous neighborhood like Sandtown requires a vigilance that can flood the body with adrenaline and cortisol. These hormones are supposed to kick in only long enough for us to get away from an immediate threat. If they trickle through us constantly, they can raise the risk of heart disease and compromise the body’s immune system.

These kinds of changes in body chemistry aren’t limited to people living in poverty. Even well-off black people face daily racial discrimination, which can have many of the same biological effects as unsafe streets. Thomas LaVeist, the dean of Tulane’s School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine, has found, for example, that even among people earning $175,000 a year or more, blacks are more likely to suffer from certain diseases than whites are.

In an emerging field of research, scientists have linked stress, including from prejudice, to compounds called methyl groups attaching to our genes, like snowflakes sticking to a tree branch. These methyl groups can cause genes to turn on or off, setting disease patterns in motion. Recently, a study linked racial discrimination to changes in methylation on genes that affect schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and asthma.

Several studies also show that experiencing racism might be part of the reason black women are about 50 percent more likely than white women to have premature babies and about twice as likely to have low-birth-weight babies. Researchers think the stress they experience might cause the body to go into labor too soon or to mount an immune attack against the fetus. This disparity, too, does not appear to be genetic: Black women from sub-Saharan Africa and the Caribbean are less likely to have preterm births than African American women are, possibly because they’ve spent less time living in America’s racist environment.

Kiarra Boulware (Jared Soares)

Throughout the fall, Kiarra kept her doctor appointments, and she began working out at the small gym at Penn North, placing a picture of Chrissy Lampkin, the curvaceous girlfriend of the rapper Jim Jones, on her treadmill as motivation.

But wasn’t losing much weight. Like most Americans, she got advice from her friends on what to eat—but that advice at times proved confusing and contradictory. She tried a boiled-egg diet, which left her with hunger pangs and a lot of leftover eggs in the fridge. She went seven days without meat but wound up eating more starches, which sent her blood sugar soaring.

One bright day in late September, Kiarra returned to Bon Secours to see Ebony Hicks, a behavioral-health consultant who, like Kiarra’s doctor, works through Health Care for the Homeless, a Baltimore nonprofit that cares for the very poor. Hicks began by asking Kiarra what her goal was. Kiarra said getting down to an even 200 pounds “would be awesome.” Her weight remained, stubbornly, about 150 pounds higher than that. But she stayed optimistic, writing down Hicks’s aphorisms about needing to be patient and not expecting immediate results—“Anything overnight usually lasts about a night!”—in a notebook she’d brought with her.

Gently, Hicks asked Kiarra what she had eaten that day.

“French fries,” Kiarra said.

“All you’ve had is french fries?,” Hicks asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

It was 3:30 in the afternoon.

They walked to a room across the hall, and Kiarra stepped onto a scale.

“I gained two pounds,” she said quickly, “so now I’m depressed. I eat too much.”

“We have to work on getting you more regularly eating throughout the day,” Hicks said.

Kiarra asked whether “detox tea,” something she’d heard about from a friend, was healthy.

“You can detox with lots of fiber-filled vegetables,” Hicks said.

“What’s that?,” Kiarra asked.

Hicks pulled up a web page describing fruits and vegetables that contain fiber. She listed them off one by one.

Would Kiarra eat avocados?

No.

Coconut? Also no.

“I do eat berries,” Kiarra said. “Let’s put that down.” Kiarra doesn’t know why she dislikes so many fruits and vegetables. Her grandmother cooked healthy meals, putting turkey in big pots of greens for flavor. She had a rule that you could never leave the table without eating your vegetables. Kiarra would fall asleep at the table.

Hicks gamely pressed on. “Peas? You like peas?”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Kiarra said, grimacing.

“Chickpeas,” Hicks offered. “You ever ate hummus?”

“What is hummus?”

Fried food has long been Kiarra’s legal high—cheap, easily acquired, something to brighten the gloomiest day. It is also one of the few luxuries around.

Predominantly black neighborhoods tend to become what researchers call “food swamps,” or areas where fast-food joints outnumber healthier options. (Food deserts, by contrast, simply lack grocery stores.) One study in New York found that as the number of African Americans who lived in a given area increased, so did the distance to the nearest clothing store, pharmacy, electronics store, office-supply store. Meanwhile, one type of establishment drew nearer: fast-food restaurants.

That’s not a coincidence. After the riots of the 1960s, the federal government began promoting the growth of small businesses in minority neighborhoods as a way to ease racial tensions. “What we need is to get private enterprise into the ghetto, and put the people of the ghetto into private enterprises,” President Richard Nixon said around the time he created the Office of Minority Business Enterprise, in 1969. As Chin Jou, a senior lecturer at the University of Sydney, describes in her book, Supersizing Urban America, fast-food companies were some of the most eager entrants into this “ghetto” market.

Fast-food restaurants spent the next few decades “rushing into urban markets,” as one Detroit News report put it, seeking out these areas’ “untapped labor force” and “concentrated audience.” In the 1990s, the federal government gave fast-food restaurants financial incentives to open locations in inner cities, including in Baltimore. The urban expansion made business sense. “The ethnic population is better for us than the general market,” Sidney Feltenstein, Burger King’s executive vice president of brand strategy, explained to the Miami Herald in 1992. “They tend to have larger families, and that means larger checks.” (Supermarket chains didn’t share this enthusiasm; in part because the widespread use of food stamps causes an uneven flow of customers throughout the month, they have largely avoided expanding in poor areas.)

Fast-food executives looked for ways to entice black customers. Burger King made ads featuring Shaft. KFC redecorated locations in cities like Baltimore to cater to stereotypically black tastes, and piped “rap, rhythm and blues, and soul music” into the restaurants, Jou writes. “Employees were given new Afrocentric uniforms consisting of kente cloth dashikis.” A study from 2005 found that TV programs aimed at African Americans feature more fast-food advertisements than other shows do, as well as more commercials for soda and candy. Black children today see twice as many soda and candy ads as white children do.

The marketing and franchising onslaught worked, and the diets of low-income people changed dramatically. Before the rise of fast food and processed foods, many low-income black families grew their own food and ate lots of grains and beans. In 1965, one study found, poor and middle-income blacks ate healthier—though often more meager—diets than rich whites did. But over the next few decades, the price of meat, junk food, and simple carbohydrates plummeted, while the price of vegetables rose. By the mid-’90s, 28 percent of African Americans were considered by the U.S. Department of Agriculture to have a “poor” diet, compared with just 16 percent of whites.

At Carver Vocational-Technical High School, which Kiarra and Freddie Gray attended at the same time, only about a third of students go on to enroll in college—yet another factor that could be contributing to the area’s low life expectancy, given that college graduates outlive high-school dropouts in every racial category.

One reason college graduates live longer, researchers believe, is that education endows people with the sense that they control their own destiny. Well-educated people seek out more nutritional information because they’ve been told they can achieve anything—why not perfect health, too?

Kiarra, by contrast, wasn’t yet sure what she could accomplish. She wanted to live up to an image in her mind of a “fly, crazy, daring, dream-chasing girl,” but she cycled between getting excited about new possibilities and being flattened by setbacks. Sometimes, she would dream of turning Beautiful Beyond Weight into a business—one that would sell T-shirts and caps with empowering messages for plus-size women. But she wasn’t really sure how to do that.

When Kiarra felt especially adrift, she would visit Steve Dixon, Penn North’s director, in his tiny office at the end of the hall, and ask him for advice on finding her purpose. He would tell her to pray and meditate. “When you pray, it’s like you’re talking to God,” Kiarra told me once. “But when you meditate, it’s God talking to you.”

Kiarra sometimes asks Steve Dixon, the director of Penn North, for advice on how to find her purpose in life. (Jared Soares)

In November, some combination of prayer, meditation, and research led Kiarra to enroll in a medical-assistant training program. The class added another $7,000 to her student-loan debt, but Kiarra seemed to thrive in it, and a few weeks before Christmas, she was excitedly planning her post–Penn North life. Once she had her medical-assistant certificate in hand, she would move to Philadelphia, get a job at Temple University, and take classes to become a registered nurse. Eventually, she hoped to become a nursing professor. That future held everything she wanted: helping people, being a leader, making her own money, having her own place.

Feeling chipper, she decided to browse the wigs at a nearby store, stroking the hairpieces and whispering to the best ones that she would be back for them on payday. She had a new reason to get dolled up: a truck driver, “fine as wine” and with no kids—and, accordingly, no messy entanglement with another woman. She tried to boss him around, but he told her to mind her own business, and she kind of liked that. His birthday was approaching, and she wanted to take him someplace fancy. She would wear a black dress, and he would wear a black suit.

To help pay for everything, Kiarra decided to register as a Lyft driver. All that was required was a $250 deposit; she began calling around to different relatives to raise the money.

Twenty-seventeen, she thought, had been her best year yet.

A few weeks later, a bitter cold settled through the East Coast, and Kiarra’s sunny mood had faded. Things had ended with the truck driver over some mean Facebook posts and the fact that he’d lied to her about not having kids. She was also reconsidering her plans for the future, now thinking that instead of setting her sights on Temple, she should focus on graduating and finding a job—any job—that would pay well enough and provide insurance that would cover her extensive health-care needs. Her grandmother said driving for Lyft in Baltimore was too dangerous. She might not move to Philly after all.

But a new opportunity presented itself. Because of a change in her insurance plan, Kiarra had to switch doctors. Right away, her new doctor asked her whether she had considered bariatric surgery. Kiarra said she was scared of the complications, such as digestive problems and infections, but the doctor reassured her that complications are rare. She was interested in the gastric sleeve, a procedure that would dramatically reduce the size of her stomach, causing hormonal changes that would help her lose much of her body fat.

Kiarra still felt conflicted about losing her identity as an overweight woman. She couldn’t relate to the people on the Overeaters Anonymous calls who said they hated their bodies. She liked hers. “People say, ‘Hey, you’re fat,’ ” she said. “And I’m like, ‘That’s obvious.’ ” But she was motivated by her diabetes—which was already causing her vision to blur and her feet to tingle—along with the looming threat of other “fat diseases,” as she called them, frightening ones like heart failure. She figured that if she really wanted to have a successful plus-size clothing brand, she’d at least have to live long enough to see it happen.

She decided on the spot to go forward with the surgery, worried that she might change her mind otherwise. She signed up for the mandatory pre-op classes that prepare participants to eat just half a cup of food for every meal, at least initially, after the surgery. Her mother was nervous, but her sisters were all for it. Her grandmother told her to put it in God’s hands.

Earlier that month, Kiarra had organized a birthday party for her 2-year-old niece, Brooklynn, in Penn North’s community room, decking out the dingy yellow walls with pink balloons and ribbons. Within a few weeks, it was decided that Kiarra would gain custody of Brooklynn for a while so that Kiarra’s sister could go back to get her high-school diploma.

Kiarra was happy with this arrangement—she already sometimes referred to Brooklynn as her “daughter-girl”—and she began to see Brooklynn as a reason to stay on track. Juggling coursework and single parenthood exhausted her at times, but she wanted to be the successful role model for Brooklynn that she never had herself. In the chatty toddler who loved dress-up and Moana, Kiarra had found, if not her purpose, at least a purpose. “It feels like the Earth is full, you know?” she told me one day this spring.

Her new status as the child’s guardian meant that her stay at Penn North could be extended, through some alchemy of program definitions, for nearly another year. Staying on would mean cheap housing for Kiarra and Brooklynn, two people who desperately needed it.

With that settled, Kiarra turned her attention to the six-month process of hoop-jumping that was required to qualify for the gastric-sleeve surgery. The first pre-op class was an hour and a half long and took place at a hospital 30 minutes from Penn North. Kiarra thought the time commitment seemed excessive; with a smirk, she wondered aloud why the doctors couldn’t just tell her and the other patients, “Y’all fat. We gonna cut you up.”

But the doctors needed Kiarra to understand that the surgery was not something to take lightly. To qualify, she would have to get her sleep apnea and diabetes under control. She would have to keep a food journal, submit to behavioral evaluations, write an essay explaining why she no longer wanted to be morbidly obese. For the rest of her life, she’d need to wait 30 minutes between eating a meal and drinking a beverage. When one of Kiarra’s classmates said that after the surgery, eating too much would cause you to get violently sick for an hour, Kiarra recoiled a little.

All of the rules and obligations seemed more intense than Kiarra had expected. “Six months, you’re going on like 16 appointments,” she said. “Whoo, that’s a lot.” Given all she had to contend with, I wondered whether she would end up meeting the requirements—and, given the stakes, what might happen to her if she didn’t.

Tony Conn, a Penn North staffer with whom Kiarra is close, calls her a “wonderful, brilliant person.” Early on in my reporting, he told me her biggest flaw is that she sometimes doesn’t see things through to the end. “As soon as [something] looks like it’s gonna come to light, she’s like, ‘Okay, I did that. So let’s find something else,’ ” he said.

But lately, Kiarra had shown a new sense of calm and dedication. One day while she worked the front desk, an older man flirted with her as he signed the attendance sheet.

“When you look in the mirror,” he said, “and see how beautiful you are, what do you say to yourself?”

“We’ve come a long way,” she said quietly. “Let’s stay there.”

Article source here:The Atlantic

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mikeyd1986 · 6 years

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MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 96, March 2018

On Monday morning, I went to see Dr. Mah Mah at Narre Gate Medical Center in Narre Warren. I was running late as usual having slept in this morning, that classic Beatles song “A Day In The Life” could be a running monologue to describe most Mondays for me (Woke up, fell out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup. And looking up, I noticed I was late...).

The issues with my ears from the infection to blockage and soreness through the glands and sides of my face was becoming like an episode of Days Of Our Lives (Previously on Michael’s auditory health issues). I was doing everything possible to treat myself, even spending my actual birthday resting up in bed and giving myself regular doses of pain killers and antibiotics. And yet it still hadn’t cleared up or stop hurting.

Being a Monday morning, the waiting room was packed with mum, dads, tradies and annoying screeching children running around (luckily I could only partially hear them). I wished that my doctor could simply prescribe me with a new set of ears (maybe an ear transplant?) but alas that’s not realistic. She advised me to stop taking the Ciproxin ear drops and instead put 10 drops of Waxsol in each ear for the next two nights and came back to see her on Wednesday. I’ll seriously do anything at this point just to get rid of the pain and discomfort. https://1800bulkbill.com.au/medical-centre/narregate-medical-dental-centre

After my appointment, I had birthday shopping to do as it’s my Mum’s birthday tomorrow. Truthfully, I wasn’t in the best state health wise nor in the mood to be shopping but I didn’t really have a choice. Plus it’s my Mum and she’s important to me and I’ll happily put up with an ear infection for her. My first stop was JB HI-FI Narre Warren where I bumped into my friend Tom Armstrong who happens to work at the store. I briefly caught up with him and he helped me out with getting a powerbank. Tom is an absolute sweetheart, no joke!

Next stop was Chemist Warehouse to stock up on my drugs (of the prescription variety of course). I’ve made a couple of trips here recently and now it’s not as daunting and overwhelming as it usually is. I guess you slowly get used to where all the products are located plus it wasn’t that busy. I managed to be in and out within 10 minutes or so. I needed more waxsol drops, cotton balls, a liquid inhalant for my Euky Bear vapouriser and panadeine forte. https://www.chemistwarehouse.com.au/

Lastly I dropped into a lovely little shop called the Berwick Curtain Nook located inside the Village Arcade and off High Street, Berwick. Whilst I was feeling a little awkward coming here by myself, I pretty much knew what I wanted to buy Mum. I got her a paperback notebook with an elephant on the front, a ceramic ornament with a beautiful inspirational quote and a grey Scottish Terrier ornament.

The lady went to the trouble of wrapping the ornaments in tissue paper and placing them in a bright red gift bag as I mentioned that it was my Mum’s birthday tomorrow. Thankfully it didn’t quite turn into the scene from Love Actually with Rowan Atkinson going overboard with the gift wrapping (Any ribbon? Cellophane? Rose petals? A box? NO THANK YOU!) but my pain threshold wasn’t letting up. However, I was very grateful for her service considering how last minute this was. http://www.berwickcurtainnook.com.au/

On Tuesday morning, we celebrated Mum’s birthday by each having a much deserved massage at Body & Balance in Cranbourne Park Shopping Centre. We decided on getting the oil neck and shoulder massage plus reflexology foot massage and hot stone therapy. The lady did a really thorough job without going too intense in the pressure department. I could actually relax into it even with the noise of the broken air conditioner above me.

I did get myself a little confused though as the lady said something quickly and left the room. I was left there wondering if she was coming back or if I was supposed to go outside the room. I was still feeling half deaf and she was also softly spoken so it was difficult to hear her. Looking at the digital clock on the table, it read 10:30am meaning that I still had another 20 minutes and my massage wasn’t over. So therefore I trusted my instincts, got dressed and met her outside.

Mum and I both reclined back on these circular rotating arm chairs whilst our female massage therapists went to work on our feet. It’s been months since I’ve had a proper foot massage done so I could feel how tense and sensitive they were in places but it was still a lovely experience all the same. The only thing that bothered me was that the massage staff were all having a conversation in Chinese the entire time which I thought was kinda rude. But I decided to let it go and tried to focus on enjoying the massage. https://www.cranbournepark.com.au/stores/body-balance/

On Wednesday afternoon, Mum and I saw Dr. Mah Mah at Narre Gate Medical Center in Narre Warren. I think I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been to the doctors in the past fortnight but now I’m getting over it. Thankfully the pain in my ears has eased up quite a bit and the waxsol drops have helped to soften up the ear wax blocking up the ear canals. So it was a huge relief when Mah Mah could syringe my ears so that I could hear clearly again.

I also decided to get a blood test ordered as it’s been over a year since my last one. She added a FBE (Full Blood Count), Urea/Electrolyte/Creatine, Cholesterol/Triglycerides/HDL/LDL, Glucose, TSH (Thyroid Stimulating Hormone) and TES (Testosterone) levels. Over the past couple of months, I’ve noticed that I’ve been having periods of low energy and chronic fatigue so I think a blood test would be really helpful in figuring out what I’m deficient in.

In addition (I literally had a list of things to see her about today, no joke!), I wanted to get the dosage of my antidepressants increased. I’ve been taking Zoloft (Sertraline) tablets at 150mg for about 5 months now and my psychologist recommended that I increase it up to 200mg due to scoring a severe level of anxiety on a recent assessment I did. Plus I have noticed that there are times where the antidepressants seem ineffective when it comes to my mood so it couldn’t hurt to try increasing it.

On Thursday morning, I had my first Employ Your Mind session with my support worker Ally Lamb at Wise Employment Narre Warren. Basically, EYM is “a program that helps build the thinking and social skills that are important for work and other areas of life”. Ally recommended it to be as she knows how much I struggle with communication in social situations and dealing with my mental health issues. http://www.fifeemploymentaccesstrust.com/employ-your-mind.html

The first session was pretty straight forward and more of an introduction to the program. There are four phases in total which each run for 6 weeks with a short break in between. Phase 1 is done individually with the learning coach (Ally Lamb) whilst Phases 2,3 and 4 are run in small groups. We went through what her role as a learning coach is and I also filled in a questionnaire called the General Self Efficacy Scale.

The second part of the session involved the concept of cognitive remediation and going through parts of the human brain (frontal lobe, parietal lobe, occipital lobe, cerebellum, temporal lobe, brain stem). Basically it’s about being able to improve cognitive or thinking skills. Lastly we discussed how mental health issues can affect or impact upon cognitive skills and make it even more difficult to learn, concentrate and retain information. http://www.wiseemployment.com.au/en/community/ndis-supports-and-services/

Unfortunately my ears were still not 100% clear even after I got them syringed/irrigated at the doctors yesterday. It’s hard to explain but they still “feel” blocked even though my hearing is a lot better than it was earlier this week. I could be experiencing tinnitus or that my ear canals are too dry and not lubricated enough. Hopefully it clears up and heals naturally over the next few days.

On Friday morning, Mum and I went to the Morning Melodies social function at the Waltzing Matilda Hotel in Springvale. We were running late (no surprises there!) so we didn’t end up getting to the function room until around 10.45am or so. Thankfully we caught most of the performance though. Today we had Brian Muldoon doing the “Johnny O’Keefe tribute” show. It was partly a history lesson as Brian talked about Johnny’s life back in the early 60’s and 70’s, the television shows we became known for and the downward spiral that followed due to his mental illness.

Brian performed many of his classic hits including Shout!, Sing Sing Sing, She Wears My Ring, So Tough, The Sun’s Gonna Shine Tomorrow, It’s too late she’s gone, The Wild One and She’s My Baby. Most of Johnny O’Keefe’s songs carried a positive, uplifting message to them in order to help people’s moods up and push through the tough times in life. I feel like this is very relevant to the challenges we face in life today. https://www.entertainoz.com.au/listings/brian-muldoon/artist_profile_details

On Friday night, I went to a Vinyasa flow yoga class with Jade Hunter at YMCA Casey ARC, Narre Warren. I haven’t been to a fitness class in nearly two weeks now due to my health problems and being busy with other commitments like my birthday, appointments and my VCAT hearing. However, considering my ears were feeling a lot better, I decided to go back tonight. It’s funny how quickly you miss the gym when you haven’t been for a while.

I also read that certain yoga poses can help to unblock and relieve the pressure built up inside the ear canals so there’s another good reason to do. Tonight was a little more challenging than usual with lots of balancing, twists and binds thrown into the mix. I wasn’t really prepared for all of that nor did I have the flexibility to do everything Jade was demonstrating (Putting my legs behind my head? Yeah right!).

We did our usual Vinyasa flow sequence (Downward Facing Dog, Plank, Chaturanga, Cobra/Updog) plus Standing Poses (Warrior 2, Standing Forward Bend, Half Lift, Chair pose, Reverse Triangle pose), Seated Poses (Boat pose, Staff pose, Wide Legged Forward Bend, Happy Baby) and Inversions (Shoulder Stand, Plow pose). I could hear my ears popping which was a good sign plus my body heated up quite quickly during the class.

Jade does go the extra mile though considering we are doing yoga inside a creche. She added candles, burning incense, beautiful yoga music and some brass Tibetan bowls and chimes to the space which gave it the appropriate atmosphere for a yoga class. https://www.doyouyoga.com/the-perfect-vinyasa-flow-routine-for-beginners-30159/

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