#me trying to explain decision fatigue to my spouse: I would like to be in a coma actually

[mommalosthermind]

What is it about the kids’ winter break that always. Always. Makes the weirdest shit go wrong.

[vizthedatum]

Decisions to protect myself

More and more, I am giving myself permission (it was always within my power) to protect myself.

I couldn't when I was growing up with my mom - not even to the police who showed up when she physically abused me so badly when I was six - I didn't want them to take me away - I lied - I kept lying my whole life - I knew she loved me but I also knew what she was doing was wrong - and I thought I was wrong and that I deserved it. I thought I deserved it all. I deeply thought I was stupid and if I tried harder, I wouldn't be such a stupid child. Nothing I did in my life made them think I wasn't ruining my life. They'd mock me telling me how I wouldn't get into community college... and I fucking made it into an Ivy League (I made it broken and shattered but regardless). And now, now that I'm out as trans and completely redefining my life... they think I've lost it.

--

That's it, right?

The moment I show who I am... when it goes against what you wanted me to be, that's when you think I've lost it.

After all the excuses and the effort I put into ALL of you - the moment that I need support... real support, you leave.

I was completely discarded by my spouse and their entire family - FAMILY who I considered my own. They did nothing to help me. My MIL, who I loved, .... she didn't get it. I had to cut off ties with her because she didn't understand why I was calling it domestic violence. I knew she would side with her child so I let her go.

--

What did it look like from the outside??

It's so easy to look at me like I'm crazy, I guess. I'm unreliable when I'm being gaslit and controlled. When I'm pleading with myself that they're not really doing anything wrong. When I only showcase the good and not the bad. See me crying - trying to reason with my abuser who I loved - listen to them explain how crazy and unreasonable I am....

I went to therapy for years. I maintained my friendships. I have documented how physically ill I was - in my medical chart. I was having severe flares. I was having symptoms I couldn't explain. I'd go nonverbal. Sometimes my body would just give up.

I fought for our relationship to the best of my ability until I realized I was in serious danger.

They did not fight for us - they just thought they were right.

They had a six-figure job, kept me trapped within our home due to fear of covid, berated me, denied how serious the emotional abuse was, didn't work on repairing our relationship, did NOT seek therapy or any external help, refused to come up with solutions with me, imposed ultimatums, convinced their ex (babe, you're not a great mental health advocate if you're going around telling people I'm having a psychotic breakdown - bc even if I were, that's ableist! You literally could have done the noble thing and refused to interact with me - but you didn't - you cruelly defended your ex because you sided with them) that I'm making shit up, tried to get me to block my lovers (and they knew about each and every one of them - I did not keep shit from them) despite not blocking their exes, convinced me systematically to let go of friendships and isolate myself, undermined my sense of worth, REFUSED TO GET HELP FOR OUR MOUSE INFESTATION THAT WAS WORSE THAN OUR RISK FOR COVID OMFG WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU, tried to take my meds away, judged me for being so ill I couldn't do things, threw tantrums when I needed my own space, probably called me abusive when I left food in the sink which I tried so hard not to do (it only happened bc I needed to stage how I did dishes (Oh yeah, I did dishes most of the time because they couldn't - did y'all know that? Did y'all know how much household coordination I did while being chronically ill and in pain? They hated asking for help so I had to either beg them to help me when I was physically weak, pay for people to help, plead/beg for them to allow people to help us, or do it myself) because of my fatigue and illness you ableist dumb motherfucker... and more. And the last time we had sex, it was rape. It undoubtedly was. You had such little empathy for me that you can't even tell. You made my life miserable because I went to MN and left you alone because I had to go help my brother - something you knew I would do in a heartbeat. You denied how badly you were hurting so you hurt me instead. You hurt your best friend and spouse who LOVED YOU SO FUCKING MUCH. Look at me now - does it look like I'm having a breakdown? Is my rage all a joke to you? You think I'm insane because you don't think I'm allowed to have my valid feelings? Does it make you happy to know that you destroyed your relationship with your autistic, trans, brown, traumatized spouse who loved you so much? Do you acknowledge that I'm finally able to live my life? I can move more - look at how different I look - my inflammation is down - and I do not care if I am putting myself at covid-risk (I'm vaccinated and more knowledgeable about my risk because I'm a fucking epidemiologist who knows that my social needs are just as important than preventing infection). Do I need to spell it out for you? I tried so hard to diagnose what was going wrong with my life... it was you (and my mom and all my trauma), but acutely, it was you.

And if you had worked on yourself and us - I would have stayed with you forever.

I really hope the divorce gets finalized this year.

Next time, I'm having a prenup, a huge wedding, couple's therapy wayyyy before we get married, an insistence on inner work for the both of us (this is a requirement for all relationships from here on out), and more.

I deserve the fucking world, and I hate that you all almost had me believing that I did not.

[theysaywhatasadsight]

Wedding Bells, Part One (Steve Rogers x Desi!Reader)

A/n: *Slides up to you* Good Evening (technically its morning hehe) but this fic was made possible by Amy (some may know her, she was formerly @thelazypangolin ), by @messy-random-bitch and @officially-tonynat-shrine who listened to my crazy headcanons and gave me amazing ones. @nasarogers is the clueless American I would die for (love you bby) and @shurisneakers and @chillingbucky wanted to be tagged. Technically this is a desi au, so translations are right next to the sentence and some pop culture references are in the glossary. The story is based in Delhi so if any of y’all live there don’t come for my head skkssk. (P.S.: IDK if the ‘person sitting in the lap of another person in a car’ is technically illegal here or not? Imagine my surprise when I went to Europe and found out it’s illegal there RIP. So ignore the “is this actually allowed?” question, please and thank you.

Warnings: Floof, some violence and blood, swearing (well it’s in another language)

"Agent (L/N), thoughts?" The post mission debrief was often long and complicated but this time, one of her many gods had clearly smiled upon her as it was over in an hour. Most of the junior agents had cleared out of the room, leaving behind a few of the senior ones and the director of SHIELD. "Don't let Richardson go next time; all he does is whine and make extremely bad decisions. Our job is to provide assistance to the Avengers, not to be heroes ourselves. Let's keep ourselves a bit on the down low." "Agreed." Smith piped up. There were nods around the table. "I'll talk to Richardson, push him on a desk job for a while." Everyone stood up and filled out. Walking beside Nick, YN grabbed his tablet for him. "Always working, Sir." "Unlike you, Agent (L/N). A whole month for a wedding? It's not you that's getting married is it?" He looked completely serious but she could see the glint of mischief in his eye. "What? I haven't taken a single holiday in a year. Besides,its my cousin's wedding; they're pretty close." "I suppose you're not joining us for the Islamabad mission?" "Not really, already I get called unpatriotic too much. Good luck!"

She handed off the debrief files in the Avengers' living room. A few were lazing around, some off to shower or maybe nap. She herself wanted one, not wanting to wrestle with a saree and a suitcase. "So I hear you're not showing up for the next month?" She handed the file to Natasha while Tony looked up from his phone where he was declining with Pepper and Morgan who were away to Chicago for a meeting and visiting Pepper's family. After Ultron, it was always better to have physical copies of files. "Yeah, cousin getting married." "Oooh, with the number of days you were leaving I thought it was yours." "Don't, Fury already made that joke. And besides, wouldn't I invite you lot to my hypothetical wedding?" She smiled as she sat down on the sofa next to him, grabbing an apple from the coffee table. "Considering it was Steve's wedding too I would think we would already be invited, I did call you all to mine." He smirked. Y/N nearly choked on her apple. "Wait, what?!" "Darling, we know you've been hooking up. Or planning to." Natasha sighed and glared at Tony. "So much staring at each other on missions. You always covering his ass, and might I remind you of the time he went into a coma after a mission and you nearly ripped the place apart?" "Clearly, your super senses are gone because there is nothing there. Nada. Zilch. There is absolutely no potential there. We're just colleagues." "Colleagues who hooked up once? Last new year's you two were slobbering over each other. You left Bucky and Me dancing alone to that...what was it called again?" "Sheila ki Jawani*?" "Yes! Amazing song, by the way. Movie didn't make a lick of sense but then again, which heist movie does?" Glad at the change of topic, she smiled. "Do you need more movie recommendations?" "Nope, Bucky and I still have your old list to go through." "Call me if you need explanations. Only WhatsApp calls though, I'm not shelling out a fortune to explain the reincarnation of Shanti Priya* to you."

Hungry, jet lagged and extremely fatigued she landed at the Delhi airport, hoping against hope that the crowd assembled at the pick up was for the Tik Tok star that was also on her flight and not because her whole clan hadn't seen her for 3 years. But when was she ever lucky? When she had left the army to join SHIELD everyone had been very disappointed in her. Not that any of them knew. For immediate family, she was in HR for Stark Industries and for the rest she was in 'Amreeka, doing something or the other'.

When they told her she would be sleeping alongside her younger cousin who was training to be a doctor she just sighed. The nerd would probably study the whole night and keep the light on. Maybe she could do some pending work; jet lag would keep her awake anyway. Work, yes. Work would keep her awake. Definitely not daydreaming about a pair of blue eyes that wouldn't go away; the owner of whom was the biggest fattu (coward)  she had ever seen.

He missed Y/N. It had barely been 4 days since she was gone. He should ideally know better. Fraternising among agents wasn't good. Her job would be in danger if anyone found out. He never really had a thing for rules though. "Good God, Rogers, stop moping about and give her a call." "I-what?" "Yes." Natasha frowned at him from where she was leaning against the countertop. He was crushing the cardamom, trying to figure out if it went after the chai was done or before. "Ask her when the cardamom goes in. I think it's before the whole thing boils." "I, uh, I'll look up a recipie." "Care to tell me why Steve Rogers, who loves coffee as black as his soul is trying to replicate YN's sweet as hell chai? Couldn't you get some from Starbucks?" "That's no chai,that's just tea and milk. She had it once and almost threw it at the barista's head...Nat, why are you looking at me like that?" "Nothing, nothing at all."

"They're no longer in Islamabad." "What?" "Someone leaked the details of the raid to them. They're moving it to India now, possibly to the capital. They have enough contacts to pull it off, even HYDRA's helping them." "New Delhi, isn't that where Agent (L/N) is now?" "Fury, she's on vacation; besides she's not picking up any of her calls." Natasha glared at Nick. "A radioactive gas that can take out the entire subcontinent and a dude who's not stopping at anything to further his our-return-to-the-dark-ages agenda? Pretty sure it beats all weddings. Send someone with the briefing and gather your team. We’re sorting this shit out, fast."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to show up at her door asking her to cancel her family commitments and go back to work." "Really, the concern you two have for each other is extremely sweet and nauseating; but you have to do it. Get in, get recon and get back in contact. If the rumour is true we'll have to assemble the whole team." The former assassin rolled her eyes at Steve's aghast face. "I got her address off an old file; I'll ask her to pick you up. And please, don't get lost somewhere; we really don't have any spare agents to track you down." "I've been outside the States before, Widow. And using confidential information for personal purposes? Nefarious." "This is the reward I get for being a good wingwoman. Fine, don't come crying to me when you're invited to her actual wedding." As he set about packing he daydreamed about jumping off the top of the compound and wondering if his feet would still work to escape into the surrounding forest.

She got the text the minute Natasha assumed Steve's plane took off. "Your boyfriend is headed towards Delhi. Introduce him, be the black sheep you are and for the love of God read the files and make a plan." The rest was just code saying the plans had changed, the expected mission derailed. When her family began pestering her, saying that her turn at the altar was next and asking about boyfriends, she had blurted Steve's name by accident, the fact that it made a perfect cover was a different matter. That's what happens when you space out while talking to Sunita Chachi*, woman has a tongue sharper than Gordon Ramsay's knife. Her mother had just smiled sadly and asked two of YN's younger cousins to share a bed when told another guest would be joining them.

30 minutes after the plane landed he immediately wanted to go back. What he was used to was executing secret and well-coordinated missions, not the actual planning and coordinating. Sam argued he was growing soft. He just liked listening to YN's voice. And now he was in an unfamiliar land with no foreseeable end to his stay and a wedding to attend, apparently. YN smiled at him at the receiving line, smiling as a lover receiving a spouse after a long separation. She walked up to him and whispered "You're my boyfriend from work, you know zero hindi and Natasha introduced us." She embraced him and leaned forward for a kiss. It lasted shorter than he would've liked. She continued whispering as she grasped his hand and lead him to the car which already had three people in it. "Did you pick up more guests?" "Nope, they just wanted to see you first." Opening the door as Steve tossed his bag in the back she yelled something at the assembled children and got in the right. Was the kid in the front supposed to drive? "Do you need an invitation?" One of the kids yelled out.

He had judged wrong. There were not only three teenagers, there were two more kids who had been too shy to outright stare at him like their elder siblings (he assumed) had. One sat in his lap, staring outside the window. The others chose instead to glare at him unnervingly. YN drove, swearing at everything. One of the younger ones laughed at something she said and immediately had his ears covered and shushed."Didi* don't teach Gudiya bad words!"

"Arey baba sorry, tu toh janta hai traffic kitna bura hai; akele chalane ki adaat ho gayi hai bhenchod. Sorry."  (“You know how bad traffic is, I’m used to driving alone, sisterfucker” Basically the reader’s saying the traffic is the worst and how she’s used to driving alone and hence swears often while driving; also people from Delhi apparently like to attach swears to everything.)  She grinned as her cousin gasped again. She was at the moral, change-the-world stage. YN missed that.

“So, change of plans?” Pinky grinned at Y/N as she looked up from a complicated looking textbook. The kid had somehow made it to medical school without losing her mind or her calm demeanour. “I’m only gonna switch places at night, right now let me study Anatomy.”Sighing at her cousin’s confused stare, she glared back.  “Arey you’ll want to sleep next to your boyfriend na?” “Uh, yeah, I mean, thank you, but it’s no problem. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.” “Calm down. If we get caught sneaking around in the middle of the night its worse for the two of you. I got into MBBS, I can basically get away with murder now.” she smiled. Y/N wondered whether her cousin would be a sociopath or a leader later. She went about chalking up the updated plan for the recon, only hoping her family would behave themselves around Steve. She caught some part of her wishing it was the real thing so that the poor guy’s suffering wouldn’t be in vain.

Hey bhagwaan (oh God), I need gangajal* and a stiff drink. Also a lobotomy.

“How did that idiot even cross the border this quick? And how are we getting informed this late? This is going to be a logistical nightmare, the government is going to put the pressure on us.” “Maybe someone exposed him or he got pushed back down on the social hierarchy. It’s a mess.” On the pretense of sightseeing, Y/n had dragged Steve away from her nosy relatives to get details for the now completely changed mission. "Can I try that?" He gestured to the bowl of chaat* in her hands. "Don't cry if you find it too spicy then. You couldn't even tolerate my butter chicken; even my youngest cousin can eat that." "My tongue is really not fond of burning and not being able to taste anything for a fortnight." "Oh? What is it fond of then?" His answering blush made her smile. "I-uh, we need to report within three days, Nat is busy getting everyone together and ready for the mission." "The engagement is in 2 days! How are we even going to get out?" "How much do you like this cousin anyway?" "How. Dare. You. Rahul is one of the few I actually like." "Yeah, how many are there? I lost count at 13." She punched his arm and snorted, earning a smile from him and a glare from the chaatwala*.

YN truly regretted coming back here. The never ending taunts, the upcoming solo recon mission (that she would have to give Rahul’s engagement a miss for, he was one of her favorites too) and the fact that the guy she had been thirsting over the past few months was suddenly her so-called boyfriend. Massaging her temples as she got up to get ready, she hoped desperately the recon would not involving fighting. She already had thinning hair due to the stresses of being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, her hair being yanked out while pins were still attached to her hair wouldn’t help the cause.

"Mummy!" She yelled over the din of the loud, jarring music. Her mother was smiling and gossiping with her sister-in-law. "Thoda kaam aa gaya; Delhi wale office Jana padega." (Some work popped up, I’ll have to go to the Delhi office) "Itni raat ko? Uss gore ko lekar?" (So late? With the foreigner in tow?”) "Are kuch nahi hoga, bohot important hai, warna nahi jaati." (Nothing will happen. It’s too important, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone.) "Wapis aa jaiyo jaldi, raat ko ghumne safe nahi hota." (Come back quick, It's not safe to roam at night.) "Pakka." (I promise)

"MADARCHOD!" (”MOTHERFUCKER!”) She grunted as she ducked, the bullet nearly embedding in her collarbone. She fired back two shots, one at a goon's head and one at his accomplice's knees. Whipping her head at a noise, she gasped as Steve has a bullet graze him as one of them took a lucky shot at him. He only winced. The goddamn lehenga* got in the way of her running after the idiot who could run like fucking Milkha Singh* even after being shot in the knees. They both chased. The recon turned ugly after someone spotted the tent she was wearing that was pretending to be a skirt. If they somehow got out alive, she'd burn this thing. By the time she caught up to Steve, who had left her long behind, she came upon a sight that gave her a heart attack. The men (apparently some were laying in wait for them) all lay dead in various poses, with Steve in the middle grunting and struggling to get up. Firing at someone who awoke, she leaned down, cradling his head in her hands. "Steve. Hey, whoa. Don't die on me. Where are you hurt?" He was bleeding all over her skirt. "Knife to the ribs. Two or three times..may...maybe. Hurts like a bitch." "I'm getting you up. We're going home, okay?"

This was a terrible situation. Somehow supporting the huge, burly figure of an extremely injured Steve, she set him down, leaning against the bike they had zipped around on and somehow escaped on, looking for her phone in the carrier attached. She lived this bike even when she lived here; it belonged to her uncle who would give the keys to only her. The sagaai* had clearly ended an hour or so ago. People still milled about, probably the men from the tent house they had booked for the whole tamasha*. “Shobhit, neeche aa. Garden ke side. Aur Bunty aur Puneet ko bhi leke aaiyo.” (”Shobhit, come downstairs, to the garden side. Bring Bunty and Puneet with you.") “Itni raat ko kya kar rahi ho bahar? Khatam ho gaya aapka office ka kaam?” ("What are you doing out so late, is your office work done?") “Are tu neeche aa, sab samjhaati hu.” ("You come downstairs, I’ll explain everything" )

“Samjhaana agar shuru karti toh achha hota.” "It’ll be good if you start explaining now." Shobit muttered as all three of her cousins stared at the crumpled figure of Captain America on the ground, to their cousin wincing in pain, her lehenga covered with blood, again to Steve. “Isko uthake Pinky ke kamre tak jaane mei meri madad kar. Yeh marr warr gaya toh naukri gayi meri.” "Help me pick him up and take him to Pinky’s room. If he dies, I’m losing my job."

“First of all, I’m not a doctor. Yet.” Pinky also did her fair share of staring at everyone. Y/N could feel her eye twitching. Whether it was out of anger, stress, or the false eyelash that had ripped from her lash line as she drove like a madwoman in the traffic, no helmet or gloves. Steve screaming like a grandma as he held on for dear life was a tiny bit amusing though. Endearing maybe, Nope, definitely not endearing.

“I should tell you that because I have very, and I mean very little experience in sewing. Particularly sewing up bodies professionally. If he dies, I am not responsible.” She yawned once, extremely sleepy. “That being said, someone get cotton, Dettol, and uh my sewing kit is in the left front pocket of my backpack. Jija*, there’s no anesthesia, but I suppose you don’t need it, super strength and all. Didi*, aisa muh mat banao (don’t make that face), just because none of the oldies know who he is doesn’t mean we’re stupid too.” Y/N shut her gaping mouth.

“He’ll live.” Pinky said as everyone in the room collectively sighed. The suture had been painful to witness, Y/N biting her lip so hard she tasted copper. Steve seemed okay now. When he had taken that guard’s knife to the stomach, Y/N’s heart had stopped. The fear she felt, that was no general fear at seeing someone stabbed or even a friendly fear (was there even such a thing or was 3 AM her just rambling?). The panic she felt was heartbeaking. “Make those self realisation faces later, Di. I’m tired and I just want some sleep.  “Jija ko unke kamre tak chodke aa. Koi raaste mei mile bol dena bike bhid gayi thi, hospital se aate hue late ho gaya tha.” (Jija is the hindi word for sister’s husband. Pinky’s telling him to drop him to his room and if anyone asks to tell them he had an accident, the bike hit something and they were late coming from the hospital.) “Tu sabko heart attack dilayegi kya?” (Do you want to give everyone a heart attack?") “Aur koi bahana mile toh batao.” ("If you have any other excuse then tell"

As everyone scattered, Y/N shut the door to change. Her cousin just lay down on the bed, semi-asleep. She cracked one eye open when Y/N reached out her hand to switch off the light, whispering “So you are a secret agent?” “Nope, I sell veggies with Captain America.” “Ugh, way to thank me for saving your boyfriend’s life, with terrible puns.” “He’s not my...leave it. Good night. Oh, and PInky?” Pinky hummed. “Thanks.” “So jao.” (Go to Sleep)

“Tell Romanoff we’ll need backup. They clearly planned ahead for the move, the facility is impossible to get into, and now they know we’re coming. Also, Steve is injured." “Very well, we’ll invite ourselves to the wedding. Take care if your boyfriend until then."Natasha sounded worried but her tone was light. “Bring a gift, I’m not keeping strangers in my family home without payment.”

Glossary *-Sheila ki Jawani is a pretty popular Bollywood Item Song. Played at every wedding /party since 2010 *-The Reincarnation of Shanti Priya is a reference to the film Om Shanti Om where the leads get resurrected after having an unhappy ending *Chachi- Father's younger brother's wife; aka yn's aunt *Gangajal- Water from the river Ganges that Hindus consider sacred, its used for purification purposes (guess why Y/N wanted it *wink wink*) *Didi- Elder Sister *Chaat: some spicy-sweet snack, it's a general term; desis feel free to imagine your favourite. *Chaatwala: the person who owns the chaat shop *Lehenga: a crop top and floor-length skirt outfit worn at weddings and traditional functions *Milkha Singh: famous Indian athlete, also known as "The Flying Sikh" because of how fast he was. *sagaai- engagement *tamasha- a sarcastic way of saying how over the top the whole wedding is.

[queenbirbs]

hold steady | Ethan Ramsey x MC

AN: Warning for threat of suicide by a patient.  WC: 3984

When Ethan hears the call come over the intercom, he doesn’t think much of it. Or, well, he does -- it’s a serious code, but the phrase is rather heavy-handed, thought up by some board member back in 2006. He hopes they weren’t just being facetious dicks when they decided on it.

“Paging Doctor Icarus, seventh floor,” Mariposa, the receptionist at intake, says again over the intercom, keeping the severity of the page out of her smooth, dulcet tone.

Because the code phrase means there’s a patient on the roof.

It’s not the first time he’s heard it. It’s an unfortunate situation that’s happened twice over his time at Edenbrook. One of those times, the patient was talked down by the police department, and that was that. The other, though, ended in tragedy: the patient panicked and accidentally pulled a resident over with them.

Since he isn’t trained in crisis negotiation, he continues about the paperwork below him, listening to the nurses gossip around him. It’s not like every physician could run up to the roof and try to coax the patient down -- there’s nothing more distressing to a troubled individual than the overwhelming pressure of a crowd.

So, Ethan stays where he’s at, expecting the all-clear from Mariposa to ring through the halls shortly.

What he isn’t expecting is for one of the interns -- the small, short one that tricked him into a long-winded conversation with Doctor Touissant -- to come peeling up the hallway and latch onto another intern’s arm.

“Landry!” she hisses, yanking on the man’s sleeve. “That’s Sloane’s patient, the guy who was screaming at her about his test results.”

“That explains why I saw her headed up the stairs, then,” Landry responds.   

The medical term for a heart stopping is sudden cardiac arrest; it’s due to an electrical disturbance within the heart. Ethan has given out pamphlets on it to concerned spouses hanging onto the arms of unconcerned partners; he’s responded to the codes called down the wide hallways; he’s attended seminars about melanoma and its link to cardiac tumors that increase the chances of the condition. He knows, then, that all of the romantic notions behind someone’s heart stopping when they process fearful information is a load of shit -- if everyone in popular media did truly experience their heart stopping, there wouldn’t be as many awful medical dramas (because half the cast would be dead by the second season).

But for a few, long moments, Ethan’s chest tightens and his muscles lock and his brain freezes, and the bombardment of sensations is enough to trick him into thinking that his heart has indeed stopped, too.

Then he’s up and moving, pushing past the interns and rushing to the closest stairwell. The floors seem to fly by as he moves from landing to landing, his only goal to get to the roof before Sloane does. As he climbs, he can hear two or three voices calling out, requesting for someone to come back inside. The noise spurs him on and he makes the final turn on the stairs, shoving off the warning painted across the concrete wall: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.  

Three staff members fill the small landing, all turned to face the open access door. None of them are Sloane.

“Let me through,” Ethan demands, trying to push through them when one turns to grab at his arm, halting his progress.

“Don’t,” the woman orders. “You can’t go out there, too. We don’t want to scare him.”

He yanks his arm out of her grip. Doctor Sandoval is the on-call psychiatrist for the ER, and one of the most experienced doctors in the entire hospital. And yet, right now he couldn’t give a damn what she wants him to do.

“My intern is out there.”

“She’s keeping her distance,” she assures. “I stepped out a moment ago and let her know that we’ve contacted the police. They’ll be here soon.”

Ethan knows Sandoval is going about this the correct and logical way. He shouldn’t run out there, not without assessing the situation first.

But he’s not thinking clearly, because all he’s remembering is the memorial service they had five years ago for the young doctor who was pulled off the ledge. His traitorous brain swaps her framed photo in the renovated north wing with Sloane’s. It’s enough to spur him forward onto the roof, ignoring Sandoval’s hissed request for him to come back.

The sky is bright and sunny, cloudless in a way that Boston never seems to be able to achieve, even on summer days like these. Out past the edge, the river and its concrete banks come into view as Ethan follows the sound of voices. Rounding an HVAC unit, he finally finds her.

Sloane is hovering a few feet away from the roof’s edge, where a young man stands, his arms spread to help him keep his balance.

“Teddy, please come down from there.”

“No -- I won’t, I’m -- I’m not going through this again.”

Ethan takes another two steps forward, his shoes crunching in the layer of gravel atop the roof. Both Sloane and the patient turn at the noise, the latter immediately shouting at him to back off. He heeds the warning, but not without reaching out for Sloane and beckoning her to him.

“McTavish, I need you to come with me.”

At his command, Sloane shakes her head, glancing between him and her patient.

“No, we’re fine here. It’s a nice day outside. The hospital can be so stuffy sometimes, it’s nice to get out. And we’re going to talk some things through, aren’t we? Before we make any decisions, right, Teddy?”

Teddy mutters something in response, but it’s lost to the noise of the wind.

She’s too far away for Ethan to grab hold of her, and he can’t risk getting any closer and spooking the patient more. The twenty feet of roof between them might as well be no man’s land, an uncrossable strip he can’t pass to get to her. The frustration must show on his face, because Sloane holds up her hands in a placating gesture, those clear, green eyes of hers silently urging him to stay where he is.

He’s sure as hell not going anywhere.

“The police are here,” Teddy announces, his eyes on the ground nine stories below. “You can go, Doctor McTavish.”

“If you want me to go, I will. But I’d like to stay, if that’s okay.”

Up on the ledge, Teddy shifts, as if deciding. Ethan mentally crosses his fingers, hoping the young man will demand she leave, and the officers can take her place.  

“I guess... that’s okay. You can stay.”

At the words, Ethan can see the breath of relief that works through Sloane, the tight line of her shoulders loosening for a moment. The words give him no comfort, though. Instead, he settles in to wait with her.

+

It takes fourteen minutes for the first officers to reach the roof. There’s an instantaneous relief that floods through Ethan when he sees them approach, knowing that he’ll be able to pull Sloane back from danger soon.

Across the gravel, Sloane gives the officers a glance, but continues chatting with Teddy.   

“Have you seen any of those superhero movies? I’m going to see the newest one this weekend. How do you think it’ll be?”

“Terrible,” he snaps back, but Sloane spots the start of a grin on his lips.

His honesty startles a chuckle out of her.

“I figured. But I think that’s kind of the charm.” She glances over her shoulder at the police standing beside Ethan. “Teddy, I’m letting you know that there are two officers here that are wanting to speak with you.”

“No, wait,” Teddy starts, shaking his head, “I don’t want -- please, Doctor, I’d like you to stay.”

“Then I’ll stay,” she promises. “But I need to talk to them for a moment. I’m going to step away and talk to them, and then I’ll come right back, okay?”

At his nod, she eases back from the edge and over to where the others wait. As soon as she’s close enough, Ethan wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. When she explains that Teddy would like to continue talking to her, Ethan’s grip tightens even more.

“If you’ve developed a rapport with him, then it would be best for you to continue. We don’t want him to feel discouraged by bringing in someone else,” the female officer instructs, “making it seem like he’s something to be passed on from person to person.”

“Unless you feel fatigued, or become worried he may become violent, then let us know,” the other officer adds. “If we need to step in to keep you safe, we will.”

They quickly run through more advice with her while she pulls her hair into a bun, her skin uncomfortably warm from the thirty minutes of constant sun. Beside her, Ethan watches the scene with wide eyes, unwilling to let her go once the officers dismiss her.

“I’ve got this,” she assures him, placing her hand on his chest. “I know I can talk him down.”

“It’s not--” he cuts himself off, a breath hissing through his clenched teeth. “Remember what they told you. If you feel unsure about anything, give us a signal. I know you want to help him, but I want you safe.”

Running her thumb across his shirt, she tries to ignore the drumming of his heart under her palm. The feeling brings the memory of that evening on the balcony, and that’s not something she can take the time to think about right now.

“It’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he tells her, drawing a breath to say more, but nothing comes. Instead, he reluctantly lets her go, his hand skimming down her arm as she steps back out into the sun.

+

Sloane spends the better part of the next hour talking to Teddy. Or, rather, talking at him. He keeps his responses few and far between. It’s like chipping away at a marble statue, trying to find that sweet spot for him to open up to her. Her legs ache from standing in one place, but she doesn’t dare sit down, afraid that if she does, she won’t be able to reach Teddy in time if he decides to go over.

Time passes slowly, marked only by small amounts of progress. She considers it a victory when she gets him to sit down on the ledge, though he keeps his legs on the other side, hanging out into the open air. Then, ten minutes later, she manages to get him comfortable enough with her leaning against the ledge next to him.

He finally admits to being thirsty, and she calls out to Ethan and the officers for food and drink. They’re sharing a burger and fries, looking out over the Charles River, when Teddy finally turns to look at her.

“You said… earlier, you said that your dad got sick.”

Sloane nods. “Yeah, he did.”

“Did he…”

“Yeah,” she repeats, “he did. He fought it, did every round of chemo, followed his doctor’s rules.”

“But he didn’t make it.”

Sloane works past the lump in her throat, shaking her head.

“No, he didn’t make it. But he tried, for me and my brother. And that’s why I think you shouldn’t give up, Teddy -- you beat this once, you can beat it again.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he finally admits, wiping at his tears with his sleeve.

Seeing her opening, she seizes it.

“Who are you worried for?”

“My husband -- Rowan. I saw what this did to him last time -- he quit his dream job to help take care of me, and we took on so much debt that we’ll be paying it back for the rest of our lives. And his new job, I know he hates it, but it’s all he could get after he couldn’t get re-hired, he was out of the industry for so long, and…” he trails off to hiccup out a sob. “...I can’t do that to him again. I’m not worth it.”

“You are worth it,” she tells him, inching her hand closer until it rests atop his on the ledge. “And if he were here, he would tell you the same thing.”

“Yes, because he’s insufferable. And prone to hysterics when I’ve gotten myself into trouble.” Blinking back a fresh round of tears, Teddy turns his palm up to link his fingers through Sloane’s, smiling softly down at her. “Do you have someone like that?”

At the question, she can’t help but glance back to Ethan, standing in the shade of the building, his gaze locking with hers in an instant.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then you understand -- you get it. You wouldn’t want to put them through what I put Rowan through. Trust me.”

“I understand that. But I also think that you owe it to Rowan to talk about this with him. You know him better than anyone. You’re his person.” Biting at her lip, she takes the chance and tries to dig deeper. “When my dad passed, it was sudden. He was terminal, so the doctors said it was expected, but there’s no such thing. Every death is sudden. I was away at college, trying to finish a paper so I could turn it in and get back home before winter break, so I could be with him. The doctors told him it would be soon -- and he didn’t call. He didn’t tell me or my brother, because he didn’t want us to drop everything and risk failing our classes. It’s been almost eight years and I’m still upset with him about that.”

“He didn’t give you the chance to say goodbye,” Teddy surmises.

“No, he didn’t. I never got to say all the things you need to say to them. I know he knew that I loved him, but there I was, trying to meet a word count, and the choice was taken from me.” She drags in a breath, trying to keep her emotions at bay. “Come down, Teddy,” she tries again. “If nothing else, so you can give Rowan that chance to say goodbye.”

He squeezes her hand tighter, his chin dipping down towards his chest. He’s shaking, now, tears making trails down his face. But then, after a few minutes, he nods.

“Okay,” he whispers, a small grin on his face. “But only because I’m tired. And hot.”

Sloane grins back and moves to give him room, his hand still in hers.

“Then come down. Sit down over here with me, in the shade.”

Guiding him to turn around, she helps him throw a leg over, lets him feel the safety of the roof underneath his sneaker. His other leg dangles out into open space. In her periphery, she can see Ethan and the officers slowly making their way towards them. “That’s it,” she encourages, trying not to wince at how tightly Teddy grips her forearm. “Now the other leg.”

She doesn’t see it, but she hears the sneaker skid against the building.

Then Teddy starts to tip sideways, over the edge.

Snatching his shirt with her other hand, she’s yanked forward, her hips slamming against the ledge and there’s a moment where she knows that she’s going to go over, as gravity wraps around her and starts to pull her over with Teddy, and--

Then: arms. Around her waist, clutching her, tearing her from gravity’s embrace, bringing her back from the tipping point. Time unpauses and she watches the two officers haul Teddy back over onto the roof. An arm hooks underneath her knees while another supports her back, carrying her away from the edge.

She looks up, unsurprised to see Ethan, even more unsurprised to hear him cursing at her as he brings her into the shade. Underneath her shoulder where it’s pressed against his chest, his heart races in time with hers.

“Let me down,” she tells him. “I want to check on him.”

Ethan relents, setting her down. Before she can turn to Teddy, though, he hooks her into an embrace, his fingers sinking into her hair. She takes the moment to close her eyes, her nose pressed to his collar, where his cologne is overpowered by a scent cocktail of adrenaline and fear. “I’m okay,” she assures, feeling him nod.

There’s a light pressure against her temple, so quick and fleeting that it could just be her hair, swept up by the wind. But she knows it’s not.

+     

After they assist with getting Teddy downstairs and into a room, Ethan leads Sloane and one of the officers down to his office to take their statements. Luckily for them, the officer is quick about it, wrapping things up within fifteen minutes.

And then it’s just the two of them in his office, the quiet almost too much to handle after the past hour.

“You have the rest of the day off,” Ethan says, his eyes on the paperwork on his desk, paying little attention to the patient incident form. “Go home, get some rest.”

“Oh, I’m okay.” Sloane waves away his concern. “I wanted to check on my patient in room 426, she wasn’t responding especially well to the antibiotics I ordered, so I--”

“Go home,” he repeats, glaring up at her this time when he says it.

Her eyebrows knit together in anger at his tone.

“I said I’m fine. I don’t need--”

“You’re not fine. You just spent an hour talking someone down from committing suicide. You acted reckless by not letting the professionals do their jobs and nearly got killed for it. Go home, McTavish.”

“I’m his doctor -- it certainly is within my duty to keep my patients alive, no matter the situation.”

“Your job isn’t to talk people down from rooftops, and it sure as hell isn’t to let them pull you over in the process!” he shouts, pushing up from the desk.  

Not one to sit and take being yelled at, Sloane stands up from her chair and ticks off her qualifications with her fingers.

“I’m familiar with his diagnosis. I know his medical history. I know him. And if I hadn’t followed him, no one would’ve gotten to him in time.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that I didn’t become a doctor to let my patients suffer,” she throws back. “If he were your patient, you would’ve gone up there.”

Ethan opens his mouth to argue back, but drops the rebuttal before it can form words. She’s right -- because of course she’s right. He would’ve done the same thing, damn the consequences. He rounds the desk to approach her, trying to maintain the calm he doesn’t feel.

“You’re right. I… but you -- you have to understand that this ended well, but it could’ve been much worse. Your patients aren’t worth your life. If -- if he had… there’s too many variables to how this could’ve gone south. None of that is worth you…” he lets his next words fall silent.

All of the things he wants to say are blocked by the wall he built between them, the one that formed back in their hotel room. The door he closed on that night is fighting to open. If it does, he’ll tell her all the things he’s kept private, the thoughts of her that he’s buried down deep and pulled the rug over to hide.

“There are some things that are worth any risk,” she says, repeating his words back to him.

The door swings open. Memories of that evening -- the cool fabric of the dress against the warmth of her skin; the taste of her that he licked from his lips; the honest, open hunger in her eyes backlit by a sky of stars -- they all come tumbling out, washed ashore by a raw flood of emotions.

He moves before he’s even aware of doing so. Gathering her to him, he cradles her head in one hand, bringing her lips to his. She returns the kiss, her arms surrounding him. He can feel the pressure of her fingers, digging needy points of heat into his back. Tilting her head, she deepens the kiss, her tongue dancing against his bottom lip. He opens for her, letting her in to taste and explore, walking her backwards all the while.

When her back hits the desk, she sits down on the edge, ignorant of the papers and files scattered by her presence. Stepping into her space, Ethan groans into their kiss when her legs come apart to let him closer.    

“Ethan,” she breaks the kiss to speak, before she’s pulled into his tide again, her breath coming quick and sharp as he trails hot kisses down her jaw and neck. “Ethan, we can’t. You said -- back in Miami, you said--”

“I know what I said.” He pulls back, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. “But I said it back there, back when I wasn’t watching the woman I love almost be pulled over the side of a building by a distraught patient that could’ve… god, Sloane, he could’ve killed you.” Leaning down, he drops a kiss against her temple, shutting his eyes against the unthinkable.

“He didn’t,” she murmurs, her hands working soothing circles against his back. “He didn’t. I’m okay.”  

Ethan pulls back far enough to tip her chin up, meeting her for a kiss, and then another. She breaks the kiss again, but this time to lean across the little space between them and drop a kiss on the fabric that covers his heart. He lets out a strangled breath at the motion.

“Are we… not going to talk about the thing I said?”

“You said a lot of things. Most in distress, I know, but…” she tilts her head playfully to the side as he chuckles.

“You know what I mean.”

Her expression changes as she looks him over, a gentle curve to her lips. It’s like she’s flipped to the last page in his book and is reading him over, studying him -- a modern-day Athena, knowledgeable in all things that he dutifully tries to keep hidden.

“I know what you mean,” she says eventually, reaching up to run the pad of her thumb across his cheek. “And no, not if you don’t want to talk about it. I read a study, though, by a professor at Loyola University in Chicago. He said in it that we are our most truthful when we’re angry.”

“I’m not angry. Just--”

“It’s okay,” she tells him, squeezing his hand and bringing it up to her lips to kiss his knuckles. His heart does a dumb pitter-patter at the action.

He’s been at an impasse, of going through the motions while convincing himself that what he did was for the best, that their relationship could be nothing more than meaningful glances shared in the hallways. That it was all they could ever be. He’s self-absorbed at worst and an idiot at best for thinking he could get over the woman before him, for thinking that he could wade in the choppy waters of professionalism for so long and not drown.

Taking a deep breath, he lets her overtake him.

“Have dinner with me.”

She laughs at his request, silencing him with a finger over his lips when he starts to retract.

“I don’t just want dinner with you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Ethan,” she sighs, “we’ve done this dance before.”

“I… might be open to lessons. If, of course, my instructor is patient with me.”

“You’re speaking in metaphors.”

“I know. It… only happens around you.”

“That’s… really cute.”

“It’s not.”

“Agree to disagree then. And yes, to dinner. And… all the rest.”

“Good.” He seals the agreement with another kiss. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

[antipinkkitten]

My chronic illness adventure

In Spring 2018, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s. We just moved back to the US from the U.K., after two years abroad, and I went from feeling depressed to full-blown dying.

I gained 30 pounds within two months. I had chronic headaches, fatigue and everything gave me anxiety. I started drinking more. I tried to substitute my disappointment in being deported with food and finding any reason to like our new life - until I couldn’t.

Two weeks after my 29th birthday, my body was giving out. I went to the doctor’s to get a prescription for birth control and she was visibly concerned with the state of me. She told me I had to get bloodwork right then and there. Within a week, I found out my antibodies on my thyroid were at 30,000, my vitamin D was very low, my health was declining rapidly.

Once I was put on medication, I lost 7 lbs within two months and I was feeling better. We moved flats and even though we didn’t love living in Denver, we loved our apartment, nature and both of us able to work.

With that, my Gyno was eager to get me on Mirena. Mirena, if you are not aware, is a progestin-only IUD, which is very widely used. Based on my doctor’s feedback, this would be perfect for me due to my excessively heavy periods - and she was right - I stopped getting periods immediately and felt like I had control of my life.

At first.

Within 6-9 months, I started to notice acne breaking out on my chin. First, small painful pimples - then, deep cystic acne. Then, my mood shifted.

I thought this was due to the stress of my move. My new job had moved us from Denver to Michigan; and finally to Dublin, Ireland. I thought maybe between doing two moves back-to-back, plus dealing with a spouse who had just given up a beloved job to follow me, was causing it.

Then, it all stopped. We were moved. We had an apartment, and adult life happening. We both had jobs. But I was still miserable. I couldn’t shake it. It felt like I had made a terrible decision moving us internationally again; we didn’t have friends and they were hard to make. My weight stalled, having me down another 8lbs, with no end in sight.

I went to a GP here, suggesting maybe it’s my birth control. My acne was out of control and I started growing facial hair. She took labs and found my thyroid was slightly elevated, my antibodies were at 5,000, and I had elevated testerone. I was told it was likely PCOS, but one stupid thing had happened.

One month before my appointment, I had to fly back home. I was slightly hungover and drank a couple glasses of wine on my international flight to knock myself out (sooo many no-no’s). I didn’t sleep, and at the end of my 16 hour trip, I took a small plane from London to Dublin. It had a moment where it lost pressure and I had the worse migraine of my life. Head-splitting, in fact. I wasn’t the only one; and the attendants apologised to all of us. But when they asked me if I’ve ever had a migraine, I mentioned this one and I was told I could not, under any circumstances, return to a combo pill.

Because of this, I was referred to a specialist. It took 5 months to a see a doctor, only to have her give me bloodwork again (since my labs were outdated) and schedule me a pelvic scan in a month - I didn’t get my follow-up appointment for an additional 4 months.

By this point, my hair was thinning, I had lost 9 pounds, but it was entirely from a high fat and protein diet, no carbs or sugars. My emotions were completely void; I chronically was crying or miserable. I felt like everything was trapping or smothering. I couldn’t eat a cracker without my face erupting in painful acne, and my body weight shifting. I tried PCOS diets, Hashimoto’s diets - it all. It just kept getting worse.

Then, in my appointment, they removed the IUD, after stating my headache was likely from being dehydrated and a low-flying plane. Within 3 days, my acne nearly entirely disappeared. I wasn’t restricted from eating any foods.

Two weeks later; my anxiety and depression are still there, but it’s different. I can explain it. My depression is caused by a frustration with my job, tied to homesickness. My anxiety is due to me feeling incompetent at my job, due to the pressure I’m under.

I’m still not drinking. I don’t feel comfortable yet. I lost control of my life, but I don’t think it was the alcohol. But I do think when my health declined, I failed to focus on it. I don’t remember much of the last two years. It’s like it’s all under a fog, and I know I’ll never get it back. Which is heartbreaking, but I’ll find my way out.

What I have realised is that something happened and even if it wasn’t the IUD, being told by 5 different medical professionals that I was wrong and the symptoms I was feeling weren’t real. They were, and they later had to admit they were wrong. Apparently, a heavily one-sided single hormone flux like what happened can wreck your body when you have Hashimotos. It has me terrified of what pregnancy, or anything like that can do to my body, and it makes me more skeptical of the people I’m supposed to trust.

I knew before the IUD went in that I reacted strangely to progestin only birth control and I didn’t know why. One made me bleed for 6 months, another made me gain 20 pounds while barely eating due to nausea. Both, within a month of going off of them; I recovered immediately.

To any medical professional- try and trust your patient, especially women. I have spent my adult life being told my issues cannot be a what they are - only to be vindicated later. Trust women.

[kozumexe-blog]

Learn how to Create a System That Will Assist You With Any Goal

Life coaches are loopy-obsessed big goal-setters. Coaching is essentially about starting with the top in thoughts (a purpose) and creating an action plan to get there, wherever “there” is. I personally reset my goals every 6 months. They are pinned to my vision board as a each day reminder of what I’m working towards.

But a aim alone isn’t sufficient for success. You also need a system to get you there. As a result of techniques work—they provide readability and hold you on track.

In How you can Fail at Virtually Every little thing and Still Win Large, best-selling writer Scott Adams explains: "A goal is a particular goal that you just either achieve or don’t sometime sooner or later. A system is something you do regularly that achieves your odds of happiness in the long term. If you happen to do something daily, it’s a system. When you’re waiting to realize it someday sooner or later, it’s a aim."

Why the differentiation? As a result of methods make winning probably. It’s the system that matters, not the uncommon moments of ticking a box that was a objective. A system is about of steps that will help you achieve your purpose, not just dream and talk about it.

For example, let’s say your purpose is to find a job. Your system would possibly appear to be this:

Analysis profession websites day by day. Have a networking espresso with somebody new each week. Allocate an hour per morning to do some recent outreach. Constantly polish your LinkedIn profile and resume. A system makes your goal actual. It’s concrete. It gets you shifting. Once you put your system into action, you’ll be very more likely to reach your purpose, as a result of you could have a map to get there. The system is all you must worry about to summit no matter mountain you are climbing.

Here’s an instance of one in every of my techniques in action: After I started my facet hustle, my aim was to get five coaching purchasers. One approach to entice new purchasers was to start out running a blog life advice, hoping that the precise folks would find me. To try this, I made a decision to publish one fresh blog submit each week on a topic I felt mattered.

My system to try this was to write each. single. morning. Even once I didn’t feel like it. Just for quarter-hour if that’s all the time I had. A few of my writing does nothing—it tanks and attracts no readers at all! But I all the time write day-after-day. It’s not “I’ll do it when I really feel prefer it.” It’s “I’ll do it today.” As a result of it’s my system. Morning time is writing time. (It’s morning proper now, and so I’m writing this column.)

Following my system ultimately acquired me featured in my dream publications and eventually even resulted in my first guide being printed. I scored my goal after which some by that process, as a result of, in contrast to objectives, systems never end (additionally they take away the guesswork).

What aim do you currently have that you could possibly replace with a system?

Could you change on the lookout for a relationship with going on two new dates per week? Might you substitute a purpose of shedding 5 pounds with chopping out soda out of your eating regimen? Might you change your revenue objective for what you are promoting with spending 20 minutes per day on advertising and marketing? Might you replace your want for a deeper spiritual observe with a 15-minute morning meditation? Could you substitute a aim of spending more high quality time with your spouse with all screens off during dinnertime? Could you fulfill your want for work-life steadiness with a massage each month and no e mail-checking after 7 or 8 p.m.? Techniques cut back resolution fatigue; they give you an internal steerage system and a equip you with the power of habit. What system can you start this week?