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macgyvermedical · 5 months

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My Experience in Inpatient Psych

So I know a lot of people on here have talked about their experience in inpatient psych facilities, but I'd like to add mine just to give all you writers out there a writer-focused one. It's below the cut just in case you have to sit this one out for your own reasons.

To give you some background, I am 30 years old and have had hallucinations since about 16 and bizarre intrusive thoughts (someone living in my house that wasn't supposed to be there, somebody poisoned my walls, etc...) for about a decade, as well as very severe anxiety since I was about 3 years old. This is something not a lot of people know about me, even people I am friends with IRL.

The only thing I am actually diagnosed with is anxiety, which I'm starting to think is a failing of the psych systems I have been a part of. I have had counseling off and on and prior to this hospitalization I took escitalopram, aripiprazole, and gabapentin prescribed by my primary care doctor- all for the severe anxiety.

Quite frankly, I should have been in inpatient psych at least a few times before this, and it's by sheer dumb luck that I've survived to continue this blog.

On Friday, I was at home alone and made a few pretty bad decisions. I wont say what they were because frankly they're embarrassing, but they have to do with self-harm. I was scheduled to work Saturday and at about 9pm I realized that if I drove myself to work I would crash my car. Since my wife drives me sometimes, I figured I would just ask her to.

I told my wife and she asked- even if she drove me to work, since I was a nurse, would I be able to keep myself safe around insulin or other potentially dangerous drugs? I couldn't answer that question. We talked for a couple hours and came to the conclusion that I probably needed to go to the emergency department.

At this point I figured they would evaluate me and release me because I couldn't possibly meet the criteria for inpatient. I was wrong in this assumption. After telling them the decisions I had made that day, the feelings of wanting to die in a car crash, plus about a previous attempt, they recommended inpatient. Turns out, when you're a nurse, you can make some really bad life choices with the knowledge you have, and they didn't want to take any chances.

I was given paper scrubs to wear (so I couldn't hurt myself with my clothing or a hospital gown). I was also given a patient companion (someone who sits in the room and makes sure you don't hurt yourself).

They gave me the option of signing myself in voluntarily, or putting me on a writ of detention. A writ of detention is a piece of paperwork that allows a medical professional or law enforcement officer to hold someone for 3 days in a psychiatric facility against the person's will for the purposes of psychiatric treatment. Whether you sign the voluntary or get placed on a writ, you cannot sign yourself out. You need to wait until the psychiatrist taking care of you thinks you're ready to go.

I didn't believe at this point I needed to go inpatient, but I took the voluntary option because there are some perks, like being able to leave within 3 days if appropriate. At this point I was convinced I was probably going to have to call off work Saturday and Sunday, probably be out of the hospital Monday, have a few days to rest and be back at work on my next scheduled shift after that, which was Thursday.

Well, that's not what happened.

Because of some of the decisions I had made, along with bed availability, they wanted to keep me in the observation unit overnight before they sent me to psych. I stayed overnight in a unit that shares staff with the unit I work on, so I was taken care of by my coworkers. This was surprisingly not that bad. I like my coworkers and they were really professional about it.

Saturday I felt like I was in a fog all day. I couldn't watch TV. I couldn't color or write. I worked out some in my hospital room and paced the halls once or twice. Mostly I hung out with my wife and occasionally talked with my companion, but even talking was difficult. I had refused ativan because I felt like I had no hope of finding a medication that made me feel better, and I figured I didn't want to take the one medication that might actually work and then not be able to get it ever again.

Around 7PM I took a 45 minute ambulance ride to the facility. Getting my blood pressure taken is a big anxiety trigger for me, but my brain felt so scrambled that I couldn't express this well. They took it every 10 minutes on the ride there and by the time I got there it was in the 170s/100s (BP goes up when you're having severe anxiety). This was not their fault of course, but no matter how much I thought about telling them or refusing the BPs, I just couldn't do it.

When I got to the facility I was greeted by a tech who took my BP again (150s/90s this time), showed me around and looked through my personal belongings (basically just the clothing I came in with since my wife took my phone and wallet knowing I wouldn't be able to have them on the unit) to make sure I didn't have anything I wasn't allowed to on the unit. She showed me around my room and was really thorough with telling me how things worked, what the rules were, etc..

The rules included:

No patients allowed in other patients rooms

No personal belongings that had strings, belts, or laces, or that could be used as a weapon

No caffeine after lunch and no free access to caffeine

No personal electronics (including eReaders and watches). There was a TV in the day room and 2 phones mounted to the wall for patient use

A little later my nurse came into my room and asked me a ton of questions. Here's the thing about any hospital- you get asked the same questions over and over. By the time I'd gotten there I could give my story in under a minute. Or at least, that's what it felt like. There were only 2 clocks on the unit, at the nurses stations.

The unit itself was laid out in a "T" shape. There was a main nurse's station at the place where the two hallways intersected. At the end of the long hallway there was another smaller nurses station, a cafeteria/day room, and a "comfort room" which was a small room off the day room that had a collection of the oldest and worst donated books that have every come together on a bookshelf.

I did some pacing that night and then went to bed, but didn't sleep particularly well.

On Sunday morning the tech woke me up to take my blood pressure, which was, not unsurprisingly, still high. It was about 5 AM so I got up and paced the longer of the corridors for about an hour. Breakfast was served at 8 and the food wasn't that bad. The coffee was about the worst I'd ever drank, which I suppose helped with the no caffeine goals.

Just after breakfast I met with a psychiatrist on an iPad for about half a minute, and I'm not exaggerating there. The only questions he asked were whether I was suicidal and whether I would be fine with tripling my dose of aripiprazole in light of the hallucinations. I had had a 50-lb weight gain in the last year so I asked to switch my med. He switched the med to cariprazine. That was all.

I had a much longer meeting with my nurse later. All the nurses did an excellent job of assessing me, asked tons of questions, and it seemed like they really tried to figure out what was going on. That day I also met with a social worker, and a therapist, and a nurse practitioner. Each of them did an assessment to see what my needs were while I was there.

There was also a music therapy session where I cried my eyes out to Because of You by Kelly Clarkson.

I was really tired by the end of the day but I also didn't think I could sleep so I asked for trazodone. I should clarify that when I say "I" in this piece I really mean my wife convinced me to ask because I legitimately didn't believe I needed or deserved any of the things I asked for at this point. To my utter shock and surprise, they gave me the trazodone.

My first night on trazodone was amazing and I realized I hadn't slept well in a long time. With trazodone I fell asleep and stayed asleep until the blood pressure cart came rolling down the hallway at 5am. The second I got up on Monday morning I was wide awake.

I paced a lot Monday. I went to a goals session in the morning where I gave a goal to write 3/4 of a page. I didn't know if I could do it or what I was even going to write about, but I know I like to write and it might be a reasonable introduction to getting back to life.

I also was having kind of a rough day brain-wise. My brain was coming up with all the ways I could hurt myself in my room. There weren't a lot of them, but it was trying. I told the nurse during her assessment and she asked if I felt I could keep myself safe. I asked her what she would do if I said no. She said they could move me to a more secure part of the unit and give me more supervision. I knew what part of the unit she was talking about, and I didn't want to go there (no space to pace, and pacing was keeping me alive right then). So I told her I could keep myself safe (if anything, the idea of moving was good motivation to do stay safe in itself). I hallucinated some black and white blood cells falling from the ceiling and music coming out of my vents.

I also had another meeting with the social worker to figure out discharge plans. I voiced in the meeting that I wasn't sure that I could trust my wife, since it felt like at the time she was the one who exaggerated my symptoms to get me in here. The social worker said we had really good communication skills, since this was something I felt needed to be said in front of both of them and we both stayed really calm through the whole thing.

I finished the day with an art therapy session that really helped me turn a corner. The prompt was to draw the emotion(s) you felt right now on one side of the paper, and to draw the emotions you wished you could feel on the other side. For the first time I realized that my emotional state was actually really bad and that the suicidality hadn't come out of nowhere, and that I needed help.

When my wife came to visit later that night I was able to tell her about my breakthrough, even though I still felt a little bit like she had done something to get me in here and I still wasn't sure I needed to be inpatient.

Tuesday was a lot better. I felt like I had woken up out of some kind of fog and I had no idea how long I'd been in it. I went to goals group, a spiritual group, and group occupational therapy. My goal was to be more social and I made a friend and we paced together and worked out. I read a quarter of The Martian by Andy Weir (my wife brought it for me because the best thing on the bookshelf was Louis L'Amour). I wrote about how good I suddenly felt. Turns out, I thought, a few days of good sleep, lots of therapy, and a new medication or two will really change things.

A quick side note about The Martian. I highly recommend it to anyone who is chilling in a psych hospital but has the ability to read while they're there (I sure didn't the first few days). I don't really know why, but the first few times I read it, I felt like they had created this superhuman character in Mark Watney just so they could throw a ton of wild things at him for the story. This time reading it, as a suddenly not suicidal person, I realized anyone with Mark's skill would have done the same thing and not just died on Sol 7 to get it over with.

Wednesday I woke up not feeling nearly as good as Tuesday, but still like the fog had lifted. I was a little disappointed (I hallucinated my cat (thanks for coming to visit me, Corina), some spiders, and just felt kinda meh. But I remembered how good I felt the day before, and that really kept me hopeful about going home.

I saw the psychiatrist again and asked to go home. He joked a little about me staying till Christmas, but ultimately he said as soon as his note was in I could go. I ended up leaving at about 12:30 with my wife.

In the time since leaving I have required a lot of support from my wife. The medications are all locked up, so are the blades and anything I could use to hurt myself. My wife has me in eyeshot at all times. I can't drive due to intrusive thoughts, so she does all the driving now. I quit my job because I feel like it was a big part of why I ended up as bad as I was. As someone who has been a pretty independent person this is a big change of pace, but something that is really necessary to my healing.

Ultimately at the end of my hospital stay, I was prescribed escitalopram, gabapentin, trazodone, cariprazine, and then a few days later propranolol. I'm currently on a total of 5 psych meds and honestly I don't care one bit because its so much better than being not on them at this point in my life.

#mental health #personal #writing reference #inpatient psych #suicide mention #hallucination mention

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covid-safer-hotties · 1 month

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The US Government Has Abandoned Us to Endless COVID. We Can Do Better. - Published Aug 10, 2024

The pandemic isn’t over. Why is it so hard to find accurate information about it?

This week, Nassau County, New York, passed a mask ban. Those wearing face masks will now face the possibility of up to a year in jail or a $1,000 fine. Angry at the power of anti-genocide protests, lawmakers banned one of the most basic forms of disease protection just as the world is experiencing a record surge in COVID cases. While officials insist that the law will not be used against those masking for medical reasons, disabled activists protesting the move say they were intentionally coughed on during the city council meeting where the bill was passed.

In a world of airborne contagious diseases, everyone has a medical reason for masking. So why doesn’t our public health policy recognize that?

In 2020, at the height of the first wave of the COVID-19 pandemic, then-President Donald Trump was excoriated for saying that “when you test, you create more cases.” This statement was met with outcry by journalists and public health professionals and pundits from all major outlets.

Trump’s statements and policies on COVID were regularly and widely critiqued. In October 2020, CNN launched a tracker of “every time Trump said that the coronavirus pandemic was over, but it wasn’t,” which juxtaposed Trump’s words with the number of new cases in the United States.

Since President Joe Biden took office, many of the same things that Trump was excoriated for have been implemented as policy. In September 2022, Biden suddenly declared the pandemic over at the Detroit Auto Show, and in May 2023, Congress ended the federal emergency. Both moves were unrelated to any data about case numbers, yet no similar media outcry about premature or imaginary declarations has dogged the Biden administration.

Trump’s outrageous argument that if the U.S. collected less data, the picture would be rosier has been made into official policy under the Biden administration: As of May 1, 2024, hospitals are no longer required to report admissions, and most of the other data collection infrastructure on COVID test rates, like local dashboards and easily readable trackers on cases and deaths, has already disappeared.

By mid-July 2024, it was possible for Biden to have an active case of COVID and to claim that he is going home to isolate while simultaneously appearing on video in a group of people unmasked, without major media outlets blinking an eye about this contradiction. At this point in the pandemic, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) website is no longer a go-to place for clear COVID information, but instead muddies the difference between COVID and the common cold in its prevention recommendations. As Caroline Hugh, an epidemiologist who volunteers for the Public Health Collective, told Truthout, it is hard to know what’s going on because the “picture has gotten a lot fuzzier and a lot more complicated.”

As Supports for COVID Sunset, Access Is Obstructed It is worth stating explicitly that the COVID pandemic is decidedly not over, despite the end of the U.S. federal emergency. The policy and response have changed, without any real relationship to changes in the illness and how it affects people.

The basic facts about COVID have not evolved that much: It is a highly contagious airborne disease, tight-fitting masks are effective, regular vaccinations are helpful in avoiding more serious illness, and isolation (some experts insist longer than five days) is warranted to avoid getting other people sick. It can cause death and long-term or permanent disability.

What has changed in the last four years is that it has become harder and harder for people to remain clear on this information and to put these basic guidelines into practice. The information about the risks of COVID and how to avoid them has gone from being mainstream advice to countercultural information that people have to search out. In this information-poor environment, the risks to disabled people, to those who work directly with the public (disproportionately BIPOC people) and anyone else with an increased COVID risk level are dramatically increased.

It is also now much harder to put this information into practice as government and institutional support for COVID safety practices has all but evaporated. Tools that were used earlier in the pandemic like free testing, masks and vaccines, have almost all been phased out, often shifting the financial burden for these to individual patients. The expectation to work while sick has been reimposed. The public has repeatedly been told “we have the tools,” but with tens of millions of people kicked off Medicaid in 2024, Paxlovid — a rapid treatment that reduces the risks of the infection — is difficult to obtain for most people, and expensive for almost everyone. Even the Bridge Access program, which funded COVID vaccinations for those without private insurance to cover them, is sunsetting this fall. “It is absolutely unaffordable to get COVID for the vast majority of working Americans, for people who are not working, who are retired and disabled on SSDI, on a limited income, on SSI. This is a catastrophic cost to be exposed to right now,” Beatrice Adler-Bolton, coauthor of Health Communism and co-host of the podcast “Death Panel,” told Truthout.

One of the ways that misleading information becomes normalized is by making it challenging for people to act on any other information.

“Immunity Debt” and Other Commonly Circulated Myths With the disappearance of supports and these changes to the mainstream media narrative, it has become harder to feel sure about COVID. The dramatic wind down of data available has been coupled with a major shift in framing from the CDC, which has communicated in ways that fail to counter the U.S. public’s widespread turn toward a mentality that is resonant with Trump’s misleading push for “herd immunity” in 2020.

While the CDC does acknowledge that “reinfection can occur as early as several weeks after a previous infection,” much of its recent messaging on COVID has tended to bolster the widespread public sense that hospitalization and COVID deaths have largely decreased because of immunity from prior infection or vaccinations. (Only 28 percent of adults in the U.S. are up to date on COVID vaccinations.) For example, PEW Research Center cited the CDC in its statement that “The vast majority of Americans have some level of protection from the coronavirus because of vaccination, prior infection or a combination of the two. This has led to a decline in severe illness from the disease.”

Adam Moore, a virologist working towards a Ph.D. at the University of California, Davis, says that while this claim is accurate, the overall framing is “dishonest” because it underemphasizes how quickly natural immunity can wane after a COVID infection. He also argues that this frame underemphasizes how COVID can have serious impacts on a person’s immune system and their ability to fend off any kind of illness.

Fundamentally, it is complicated to assess why fewer people are being hospitalized or dying of COVID despite continued high rates of circulation. The reason is not necessarily solely related to immunity (through exposure or vaccination), especially given the disease’s quick evolution that has resulted from the failure to contain it.

The data collection on who has been hospitalized or even died with an active case of COVID has also become less reliable, as many hospitals no longer report all COVID cases, but instead make a distinction between people hospitalized “with COVID” and people hospitalized “for COVID.” And, undercounting of deaths has been a pattern throughout the pandemic.

Most importantly, experts who spoke to Truthout emphasized that death and acute illness like hospitalization are not the only serious outcomes from an illness. Most of us would like to avoid serious injury, traumatic events and long-term disability that fall outside the purview of the basic and extreme indicator of death. Pandemic indicators and figures that do not tell us how many people are developing or living with long COVID, for example, fall far short of offering a complete picture of the risk of COVID infection.

The push for “herd immunity” to COVID is only one of several common misleading ideas about immunity. Another is immunity debt, the claim that if a person missed getting a cold or respiratory virus in 2021 they were more susceptible to getting sick in 2022. Immunity debt, although popularized in some media outlets, is not a scientifically accepted idea. The immune system is a not a “muscle that needs exercise to get stronger,” explained Moore.

COVID goes against a lot of what people in the United States have been told about viruses and what has come to be common sense. The most common viruses in the U.S. are seasonal, but COVID circulates year-round, more like tropical viruses. Moore highlights that this makes COVID fundamentally different from the flu and, crucially, the vaccination cycle for the flu, where annual vaccination works because it can account for the variants that have evolved in the opposite hemisphere. Since COVID circulates everywhere year-round, annual vaccinations are not enough to keep up on the latest variants. Beatrice Adler-Bolton adds that COVID surges in the United States are not related to seasons but rather to moments of intense travel, like Memorial Day weekend, Labor Day weekend, the holidays in November and December, and Spring Break.

Good Information Is Available — If You Know Where to Look The people who spoke to Truthout for this story recommended many sources of robust, trustworthy information about COVID. These sources are not invested in making sure the economy continues going as it is, which has been one of the biggest reasons government and mainstream sources misrepresent COVID data. Many also have a commitment to disability and racial justice and are actively organizing for improved public health information and infrastructure.

Recommended resources include Noha Aboelata and Roots Community Health’s “people’s health updates” on YouTube; Ground Truths, the newsletter of Eric Topol; The Sick Times, a weekly newsletter focusing on Long COVID; and Adler-Bolton’s podcast, “Death Panel,” which provides regular deep dives and analysis of COVID policy.

Local mask blocs are another good source of information. These local mutual aid groups provide low-cost or free masks to community members (via bulk purchasing), and they share a lot of locally relevant information about COVID (often on Instagram).

Nationally, groups like the People’s CDC, the Public Health Collective and the Pandemic Mitigation Collaborative are synthesizing technical information and sharing it to a wider community with a disability justice lens. Hugh highlighted the importance of reading and combining a variety of information, rather than relying on a single source.

Repetition Is a Democratic Power The most powerful part of COVID disinformation is its simple repetition through multiple channels constantly, says Adler-Bolton. But repetition can work both ways. Those pushing for more accurate COVID information that allows everyday people to be in solidarity with one another can also use this power of repetition, but “we have to be relentless.”

Undoing the damage of bad information is difficult, because “breaking the mystification of disinformation” can’t be done by simply changing the information that goes through those same media channels, said Adler-Bolton. Instead, people must work with each other through personal connection. “There is a kind of trust that we can build between each other that goes further than the trust any one person can have with any media project, no matter how good the project is.”

Information that rejects ableism and white supremacy raises the stakes by asking people to reject the comforts they have been promised by racial capitalism. Sharing that information with each other is part of a collective struggle for disability and racial justice.

#covid #mask up #covid 19 #pandemic #wear a mask #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #still coviding #public health #wear a respirator

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worriedvision · 1 year

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Moving on - Dan Heng

Gender neutral reader, reader is considered the "doctor" of the trailblazers in this fic. When they confess to Dan Heng, it doesn't go well. After the trio go off for Jarilo-VI, you decide to go down the moment you know Dan would be asleep so you can make the planet your forever home.

You were a brilliant doctor, the express crew agreed. You would perform regular checks on the crew, even Pom-Pom at times, and there were times you were part of the expedition. While you got on with the crew, you developed a sizeable crush on one Dan Heng. He had been on your radar for a good while, especially after he had showed signs of returning the feelings.

When you confessed to him one night, he stopped you quickly.

"I'm sorry, but it wouldn't work." Dan Heng explains plainly. He thinks to himself before deciding to knuckle down with this rejection of his. "I'm surprised you haven't realised I don't return these feelings of yours. Surely you've seen how often I stay away from you, in comparison to our peers."

"I thought you liked me back, I picked up the glances you took." You explain, grounding yourself.

"I glance at everyone. You aren't special."

God it hurt him to see you flinch at his cold words, but this was his only way of keeping you from him. Before he could retreat and apologise for lying to you, he merely walks back to his room.

When Dan Heng, March and the newcomer had left the ship, you emerged from your office to approach Welt with your notes.

"Good evening, doctor." Welt hums, glancing at the pile of notes you had waiting for him. "Oh, what's this about?"

"I've decided to disembark this ship. Before I go, I wanted to train someone to take my place and you were the person that came to mind." You explain.

Welt knew something must have happened between you and Dan Heng, but he decides not to pry in. He could tell by your look that you were past the point of convincing to stay.

"As long as you can talk me through your works." Welt responds, you nodding as you go to the first page.

It, thankfully, didn't take too long. Your notes were comprehensive, and Welt knew all the terms. He requested to take photos of your notes, which you agree to, before you gather your notes up and leave, selecting Boulder Town as your data showed that this point was the most recent spot and, chances were, Dan Heng was fast asleep.

"Look after your heart, kiddo." Welt recommended, you nodding before leaving.

After asking around, the locals point you to Natasha. While you had no official training, Natasha took a look at your notes before deciding to give you a chance to work alongside her. She decides not to pry into your past, opting to keep an eye on you in the case that you were not suitable to work in this sector.

Natasha has been able to get some more sleep thanks to your presence, you looking after patients and calling for her when you knew you needed a spare pair of hands instead of the patient having to do so.

The times you heard Dan Heng, March 7th or 'unnamed' were due to come along for a meeting, you would busy yourself in the community while they were there. You couldn't fathom the embarrassment of seeing him again, knowing you were fraternising by entertaining the idea of a romantic relationship with him.

When the rest of the crew were back, Dan Heng does his usual 'I need to get my check-up' excuse to see you. He goes along to your office, only to see no trace of you. You must just need a few more days by yourself, he thinks, returning to his room.

He wakes up, the next destination has been hopped to, and when he returns to the main room he's concerned when Welt is carrying out the check-ups you'd be doing.

"Where's _?" Dan Heng asks, everyone turning to see him there. "Respectfully, I trust them more with medical concerns."

"... You really don't know?" March hesitates, the awkwardness settling in. "They left. They're now working with Natasha permanently, did they not tell you?"

"If your concerns are regarding my lack of training, rest assured I have added their notes to your data bank." Welt states, Dan Heng not feeling the least bit assured.

By pushing you away for your 'safety' from his past, Dan Heng failed to consider the possibility that you would leave the astral express permanently just to get away from the embarrassment of a rejection.

Even when he tries to send you messages, sending you pictures of bruises and wounds in an effort to get some response, he doesn't hear back from you. It's at that moment that he realises that actually, there was no benefit to rejecting you. Both of you had been hurt by it, and the astral express lost a good doctor.

#gender neutral reader #dan heng x gender neutral reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng #angst #welt yang #march 7th

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bitchesgetriches · 6 months

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{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about How to Pay off Debt

Understanding debt:

Let’s End This Damaging Misconception About Credit Cards

Season 2, Episode 10: “Which Is Smarter: Getting a Loan? or Saving up to Pay Cash?”

Dafuq Is Interest? And How Does It Work for the Forces of Darkness?

Investing Deathmatch: Paying off Debt vs. Investing in the Stock Market

How to Build Good Credit Without Going Into Debt

Dafuq Is a Down Payment? And Why Do You Need One to Buy Stuff?

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Making Decisions Under Stress: The Siren Song of Chocolate Cake

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Paying off debt:

Kill Your Debt Faster with the Death by a Thousand Cuts Technique

Share My Horror: The World’s Worst Debt Visualization

The Best Way To Pay off Credit Card Debt: From the Snowball To the Avalanche

The Debt-Killing Power of Rounding up Bills

A Dungeonmaster’s Guide to Defeating Debt

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke

Ask the Bitches Pandemic Lightning Round: “What Do I Do If I Can’t Pay My Bills?”

Slay Your Financial Vampires

Season 4, Episode 3: “My credit card debt is slowly crushing me. Is there any escape from this horrible cycle?”

Case Study: Held Back by Past Financial Mistakes, Fighting Bad Credit and $90K in Debt

Student loan debt:

What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

Ask the Bitches: “The Government Put Student Loans in Forbearance. Can I Stop Paying—or Is It a Trap?”

How to Pay for College without Selling Your Soul to the Devil

When (and How) to Try Refinancing or Consolidating Student Loans

Ask the Bitches: I Want to Move Out, but I Can’t Afford It. How Bad Would It Be to Take out Student Loans to Cover It?

Season 4, Episode 4: “I’m $100K in Student Loan Debt and I Think It Should Be Forgiven. Does This Make Me an Entitled Asshole?”

The 2022 Student Loan Forgiveness FAQ You’ve Been Waiting For

2023 Student Loan Forgiveness Update: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Our Final Word on Student Loan Forgiveness

Avoiding debt:

Ask Not How Much You Should Save, Ask How Much You Should Spend

How to Make Any Financial Decision, No Matter How Tough, with Maximum Swag

Your Yearly Free Medical Care Checklist

Two-Ring Circus

Status Symbols Are Pointless and Dumb

Advice I Wish My Parents Gave Me When I Was 16

On Emergency Fund Remorse… and Bacon Emergencies

Should You Increase Your Salary or Decrease Your Spending?

Don’t Spend Money on Shit You Don’t Like, Fool

The Magically Frugal Power of Patience

The Only Advice You’ll Ever Need for a Cheap-Ass Wedding

The Most Impactful Financial Decision I’ve Ever Made… and Why I Don’t Recommend It

3 Times I Was Damn Grateful for My Emergency Fund (and Side Income)

Buy Now Pay Later Apps: That Old Predatory Lending by a Crappy New Name

Credit Card Companies HATE Her! Stay Out of Credit Card Debt With This One Weird Trick

Ask the Bitches: Should I Get a Loan Even Though I Can Afford To Pay Cash?

The Bitches vs. debt:

I Paid off My Student Loans Ahead of Schedule. Here’s How.

I Paid off My Student Loans. Now What?

Hurricane Debt Weakens to Tropical Storm Debt, but Experts Warn It’s Still Debt

The Real Story of How I Paid Off My Mortgage Early in 4 Years

Case Study: Swimming Upstream against Unemployment, Exhaustion, and $2,750 a Month in Unproductive Spending

That’s all for now! We try to update these masterposts periodically, so check back for more in… a couple… months??? Maybe????

#debt #mortgage #credit card debt #debt management #debt consolidation #pay off debt #student loans #student loan debt #loan #financial tips #money tips #personal finance

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is-the-snake-video-cute · 1 year

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Had to evacuate my building tonight due to a fire alarm and it made me appreciate that my snakes travel container had a handle. I was alone so handled both the dog and the snake, the handle made things so much easier. (Turns out some dork was smoking in the laundry room)

Everyone is fine but I wanted to ask, have you ever had to evacuate with your snakes? Either way are there any tips you’d give new snake owners for how to evacuate safely?

I've had to evacuate with my snakes a few times when I lived in garbage apartments with hair-trigger fire alarms, and thankfully I got it down to something of a science! Here's what I always recommend.

I keep large plastic bins, the kinds with locking lids. I actually prefer ones with wheels for this just in case because they're easier to move around with, but the locking lid is the only must-have.

And that bin is your designated emergency tub. Inside, keep these things:

Travel bins for all your snakes. They do not have to be big, just make sure they have latching lids. Little bit of substrate in there, one small hide, and a small water bowl. Write their names on the lids so you can avoid any confusion if you have to evacuate fast.

Another small bin with a snake first-aid kit, just in case your snake is hurt and you can't get them to the vet right away. Antiseptic, reptile shedding aid spray, gauze bandages, medical tape.

Extra heat mats - in a pinch, you can prop them up along the sides of your travel bins. You probably won't have room for thermostats in your emergency kits, but heat mats on the sides of bins are safe in a pinch.

If you have to get out fast and you don't have time to put all the snakes in their own bins, you can just put them in the main tub and sort them out once you're all safe - that's why the locking lid is a must-have! The only snakes that won't work for are ophiophagus (snake-eating) ones like kingsnakes - with them, the extra time is needed to get them in their individual bins if you can take it.

Emergency bins like this are things I hope no one reading this will ever need, but being prepared will help evacuations go much more smoothly.

#not a rating #snake emergencies

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postoctobrist · 10 months

Note

(disclaimer: i was trained combat first aid mostly to respond to mass casualty events, car accidents, and by the military to respond to basic ballistic/fragmentation injuries--in all of these cases, i was trained under the assumption that those involved would receive medical attention by a real doctor person)

re: the edge

people get a lot of conflicting advice and information regarding application of tourniquets to stop major bleeding and there's a good deal of misconceptions out there (onesuch misconception results in the [fictional] death of snowden in catch-22) that maybe i could clear up

above all else, one thing to keep in mind when treating massive bleeding is that everything you're doing is results-based. it seems obvious, but when you're trying to stop bleeding, you should work until the bleeding is decisively stopped. if it is stopped, take secondary actions to make sure it doesn't start again. as you move on to facilitate airway/respiration/hypothermia/shock, continue to reevaluate to make sure bleeding hasn't started again.

so, to properly begin, a tourniquet is applied to an extremity to halt bleeding so you the wound can properly be packed and dressed. it works through vasoconscriction--closing the blood vessels to stop the bleed. a proper tourniquet is about 2 inches wide and has a windlass to tighten it. the combat application tourniquet (CAT) is a good example and i'd recommending keeping one with some gauze and pressure dressings in your car if you drive.

let me present an idea, let's say you come across somebody in a motorcycle crash, as you're calling emergency services, you find the victim has a massive gash along their femoral artery along their leg--you don't know where that is, but the wound is exposed and is spurting bright red blood at an alarming rate (cw: blood). you put as much of your body weight as you can into applying direct pressure to the wound but it's not really slowing down. you then wrap and tighten your tourniquet around the leg a couple inches above the injury, before winding the windlass to tighten it, securing the rod into the strap. having applied it, you return to applying direct pressure and check to see if the bleeding stop, which it does.

there's work to be done, but in the meantime, you double check for bleeding coming from other places, and gratefully there isn't any. the the victim here is unconscious now, but has a pulse and good respiration. paramedics will be there within a few minutes, so you move on to packing the wound as deeply as you can with gauze, almost excessively, before securing a pressure dressing around the injury. the tourniquet is still tight, but given the timeframe here, there isn't good reason to loosen it. continuing to monitor respiration and heartrate, you cover their chest with your jacket. the emergency services operator tells you not to put them in the recovery position because you can't evaluate if there was a spinal injury in the crash.

okay, so that's like the best case scenario here, but it's really important to know where things can go wrong as well. even if you put on a proper made-for-purpose tourniquet with a windlass, there are a number of ways things could go wrong: if you don't adequately tighten it, the tourniquet is placed at a joint (like the knee or elbow) and cannot be tightened, the tourniquet becomes loose over time but bleeding is not checked, or the tourniquet is deliberately loosened because the patient doesn't like how it feels (painful, and also really tingly). all of these can be corrected (or, if not obvious, mitigated) by focusing on evaluating the original problem: is the patient still bleeding? if they are still bleeding, or if you are able to address it, continue direct pressure. if that's not working, pack the wound with gauze. if you don't have gauze and direct pressure still isn't working, repurpose any cloth you have at hand to pack the wound, and continue direct pressure. you might be picking up on a theme here.

but what if you dont have a proper tourniquet? don't repurpose something like a shoelace! a belt or strip of thick fabric around 1-2" wide may do in a pinch, especially if you have a way to wind or tighten it; however, it's not something you can really trust, and should only be applied if you can't stop bleeding by direct pressure--you'll probably need to continue to apply direct pressure, either on the makeshift tourniquet, or the site of the wound after application, if it's not working, you'll go back to packing the wound and so on--ideally you have two people so one person stops the bleed with pressure on the makeshift tourniquet and the other person is treating the wound itself here, but it turns out okay because paramedics show up in twenty minutes and the people treating it are paying close attention to the situation.

but what if you're in the edge? there's a couple considerations here, the first being the timeframe. as i understand it, tony hopkins doesn't know when he and alleged manslaughterer alec baldwin will be rescued by the forces of american air mobility, so how do you decide what to do? sources on how long you have to have a tourniquet applied to cause damage, be it from gangrene, nerve damage, necrosis, or otherwise, vary from two to twenty-four hours, which is something to keep in mind. moreover, the journal of special operations medicine (great looking website) in an abstract that i read which makes me a total expert are all like using a tourniquet in subfreezing temperatures might mean you get frostbite faster ig.

this gives a good argument for applying whatever tourniquet you can to treat the wound and, if you can control it through any other method, loosening the tourniquet after an hour or more (especially to regain mobility of the joint in the spirit of the Walk) might be your best bet for survival.

in short, massive bleeding will kill you before basically anything else after a traumatic injury. if you're ever in one of those school shootings where the cops don't do anything for hours, or in the alaskan wilderness with your in-the-closet friend who wants to fuck your wife, it might be better to risk losing complete function of a limb over your life. but remember, dont if you end up getting ahold of a CAT or other device for your medical kit, make sure you learn from proper sources how to best apply and use it, and avoid causing harm through neglect.

its like 4 am so im gonna go to bed now

this was a fascinating read I’m choosing to insist perfectly vindicates everything I said, thanks so much

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mariacallous · 5 months

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Republicans are thrashing around trying to get themselves out of the abortion ban they have tried to win for so many decades. Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC) was the first. In the fall of 2022, just months after the Supreme Court struck down Roe v. Wade, he proposed legislation calling for a national abortion ban after 15 weeks. So far, this bill has gone nowhere. Then, in 2023, gubernatorial candidate Glenn Youngkin of Virginia put the 15-week abortion ban at the center of his campaign to help the GOP take full control of the Virginia legislature. Rather than holding one house and picking up the other, he lost both. Recently, former President Donald Trump—who often brags about appointing the three Supreme Court justices who made possible the repeal of Roe v. Wade—offered his own way out of the thicket by applauding the fact that states now can decide the issue for themselves. And in Arizona, the Republican Senate candidate, Kari Lake, is trying to rally the party around the notion of a 15-week ban instead of the 1864 near total ban their court just affirmed, even though she’s facing criticism for this on the far right. Meanwhile, the Wall Street Journal came out with a poll showing that abortion was the number one issue—by far—for suburban women voters in swing states.

In each instance (and there will be more) we find Republicans desperately trying to find a position on the issue that makes their base and the other parts of their coalition happy.

It doesn’t exist, and here’s why—abortion is an integral part of health care for women.

Since 2022, when the Supreme Court eviscerated Roe in the Dobbs case, we have been undergoing a reluctant national seminar in obstetrics and gynecology. All over the country, legislators—mostly male—are discovering that pregnancy is not simple. Pregnancies go wrong for many reasons, and when they do, the fetus needs to be removed. One of the first to discover this reality was Republican State Representative Neal Collins of South Carolina. He was brought to tears by the story of a South Carolina woman whose water broke just after 15 weeks of pregnancy. Obstetrics lesson #1—a fetus can’t live after the water breaks. But “lawyers advised doctors that they could not remove the fetus, despite that being the recommended medical course of action.” And so, the woman was sent home to miscarry on her own, putting her at risk of losing her uterus and/or getting blood poisoning.

A woman from Austin, Texas had a similar story—one that eventually made its way into a heart-wrenching ad by the Biden campaign. Amanda Zurawski was 18 weeks pregnant when her water broke. Rather than remove the fetus, doctors in Texas sent her home where she miscarried—and developed blood poisoning (sepsis) so severe that she may never get pregnant again. Note that in both cases the medical emergency happened after 15 weeks—late miscarriages are more likely to have serious medical effects than early ones. The 15-week idea, popular among Republicans seeking a way out of their quagmire, doesn’t conform to medical reality.

Over in Arkansas, a Republican state representative learned that his niece was carrying a fetus who lacked a vital organ, meaning that it would never develop normally and either die in utero or right after birth. Obstetrics lesson #2—severe fetal abnormalities happen. He changed his position on the Arkansas law saying, “Who are we to sit in judgment of these women making a decision between them and their physician and their God above?”

In a case that gained national attention, Kate Cox, a Texas mother of two, was pregnant with her third child when the fetus was diagnosed with a rare condition called Trisomy 18, which usually ends in miscarriage or in the immediate death of the baby. Continuing this doomed pregnancy put Cox at risk of uterine rupture and would make it difficult to carry another child. Obstetrics lesson #3—continuing to carry a doomed pregnancy can jeopardize future pregnancies. And yet the Texas Attorney General blocked an abortion for Cox and threatened to prosecute anyone who took care of her, and the Texas Supreme Court ruled that her condition did not meet the statutory exception for “life-threatening physical condition.”

So, she and her husband eventually went to New Mexico for the abortion.

Obstetrics lesson #4—miscarriages are very common, affecting approximately 30% of pregnancies. While many pass without much drama and women heal on their own—others cause complications that require what’s known as a D&C for dilation and curettage. This involves scraping bits of pregnancy tissue out of the uterus to avoid infection. When Christina Zielke of Maryland was told that her fetus had no heartbeat, she opted to wait to miscarry naturally.

While waiting, she and her husband traveled to Ohio for a wedding where she began to bleed so heavily that they had to go to an emergency room. A D&C would have stopped the bleeding, but in Ohio, doctors worried that they would be criminally charged under the new abortion laws and sent her home in spite of the fact that she was still bleeding heavily and in spite of the fact that doctors in Maryland had confirmed that her fetus had no heartbeat. Eventually her blood pressure dropped, and she passed out from loss of blood and returned to the hospital where a D&C finally stopped the bleeding.

These are but a few of the horror stories that will continue to mount in states with partial or total bans on abortion. As these stories accumulate, the issue will continue to have political punch. We have already seen the victory of pro-choice referenda in deep red conservative states like Kansas, Kentucky, Montana, and Ohio; and in swing states like Michigan and in deep blue states like California and Vermont. In an era where almost everything is viewed through a partisan lens, abortion rights transcend partisanship.

And more referenda are coming in November. The expectation is that at least some, if not most, of the pro-choice voters likely to be mobilized by the abortion issue will help Democrats up and down the ballot. As a result, Democratic campaigns are working hard to make sure the public knows that Republicans are responsible.

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mistypsych · 1 year

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ANATOMY OF A CRIMINAL - CHAPTER 4

/ yoongi / suga / agust d /

summary: as a doctor you never expected to be dragged into “the criminal life”, nothing and no one seems to be true anymore, your whole world turns upside down after you save him.

pairings: yoongi mob boss x f.reader x non idol bts members.

warnings: smut, guns, knives, stabbings, blood, gore, murders, drugs, criminals, gang life, medical emergency, illness, abuse, swearing, angst, dubcon, gang violence, corruption, manipulation, lies, cheating - 18+ minors dni.

Note: Hi! This is an attempt of writing a fanfic long after writing anything at all. Please also keep in mind English is no longer my first language and it might be a bit rusty and odd at times but I try my best. As promised slowly we have reached the chapters where Suga will be usually taking the main lead! Sorry it took me a while and this chapter might be a bit rough but work has been hectic. If you enjoy the story please leave a comment. They are very motivating.

Blood pulsed in your temples, feeling it flow mercilessly threw your veins, you threw the brunette a annoyed look. Knowing that there was seemingly no backing out, you sighed, picked up the medical bag and tossed on the banged up table.

“If you want proper care so badly I would recommend investing in some decent furniture at least. Everything here in general screams sepsis guaranteed…” you muttered shaking your head. The whole place was creepy as if someone took it out of a horror movie. Surely not a great environment for any kind of medical procedures. But why did you care? Maybe this was the way to get rid of the viper himself? A infection? Everyone knows those could turn out to be deadly.

Shaking off the intrusive thoughts you started to prep. After disinfecting your hands and tossing on some sterile gloves you looked at the man standing next to you, and wordlessly pointed your hand to the wonky table. Your face was written with disgust and discomfort. This was not a way to treat patients and it made your skin crawl. If you were at a war zone it would be a totally different scenario. But you weren’t, were you? And a big shot, bad, gang boss has you work on him here instead in some fancy spot? Unbelievable.

When he laid down on the table, you could see a small grimace show on his face. Of course he made sure it was gone right away. There was no way he would let himself show any weakness. It made the end of your lips curl into a smirk. It never stopped to amaze you how men usually had the need to seem unfazed by pain.

“Lift your back up for me a bit…” you said calmly. When he did as you asked, you rolled up his slightly blood soaked t-shirt, uncovering the source of the red stains. A couple of stitches have came undone. Surely he was not resting much since you sutured his wounds. You weren’t able to contain the annoyed sigh that slipped out of your mouth. Such a nerve wrecking, masterpiece of a job ruined because this asshole had to mess about.

“Well… now you will end up with bigger scars. I can’t stitch it as tightly as before. Surely it got dirtied up in the process of whatever you were doing… so I need to have the sutures looser in case of any infection. It will need to have space to come out. Also looking at the fact that you ripped these… you will be better off with looser ones…” you mumbled unpleased. You prided yourself in swift work and minimal scaring, but of course this individual had to fuck up things up.

“Just make sure it holds. I need to be… mobile… and as much as I enjoy looking at your pretty face, I’d rather not have this sort of meeting anytime soon.” after these words he smiled at you. Clearly he was enjoying getting under your skin. You helplessly clenched your fists to the point your gloves let out a squeaky sound. He had a sort of effect on you and you did not like it one bit. You worked with pain in the ass clientele before, but normally you were able to completely contain yourself.

Agust-D tho… he irritated you on whole new level. He was a smart ass, full of confidence, who clearly knew how to poke people to get a reaction. Letting a breath out threw your nostrils, you braved yourself as much as possible. You could not let him take control over the situation. Turning to your bag, you shook your shoulders a bit. Focus is what you needed. Taking the vial of local anesthesia, you pulled the needed amount into a small syringe.

You looked at his toned stomach. Even with the wounds, it was clear he was in shape. Blinking your eyes, you pulled yourself back into reality. You stabbed the needle into him, a bit harder than you needed to. He let out a quiet groan and shot an icy stare at you. He was well aware, you were purposefully hurting him more than the process required. “Bit rough hands eh?” he seethed threw his teeth.

Sitting yourself down on the rusted stool, you gave him the sweetest of smiles, as you chimed “Feel free to change to a different doctor. Would you like me to get you some recommendations?”. Lifting a brow, he let out a low chuckle while shaking his head slightly in amusement.

“Now. Don’t move.” you ordered him coldly. Pinching hard on his skin, you checked if the injected spots were completely numbed out. Not earning any reaction from his side, you hummed quietly. Truth be told you were a little bit disappointed that the meds worked so quickly, you kind of hoped that pinch would’ve hurt at least a little.

As your skilled fingers were slowly working on each suture, you could feel his stare roam over you. Beads of sweat started to creep down the nape of your neck. His whole persona made you nervous. You could not put a finger on it but something about him felt off. Yes, he gave that criminal vibe, but also there was a weird feeling of calm surrounding him. Some things just did not seem to go together.

You were carefully tying up the last stitch “Last one…” you said quietly, still focusing yourself on the task. “Quite skilled hands you have doc. No wonder you managed to bring me back from the dead that night” his voice was gravely and echoed around the room. It made a shiver crawl up your spine. You shook it off with a shrug of your shoulders. You were not about to let some strange gangster have any sort of control over you. This whole situation and your bodies uncontrolled reactions, were starting to get on your nerves.

Pushing yourself away from the table, you winced at the screeching sound of the chairs legs, rubbing on the concrete floor. It slipped your mind that you weren’t sitting on one of your comfortable stools, that actually had wheels on them and made moving around way easier. “Done…” you took off your gloves and started to collect all the articles and tools you used.

Yoongi lifted himself up slowly and pushed his shirt down. Not turning your head towards him, you stated “Would be wise to change…” your sentence got interrupted by his rustling around. Allowing yourself to peek, you saw his shirtless back. It was pale but carved with subtle muscles. He wasn’t ripped like a gym fanatic but his body seemed naturally slim and toned. “Just like Hoseok…” you commented in your mind and quickly shook your head disapproving your own thoughts. Why would that even pop up in your brain?

“Well we need to manage a check up visit…” his silky voice ripped you out of the whirl of anxiety that was starting to form in you. Furrowing your brows and wiping off your hands with disinfectant, you give him a stern look “Plan on blasting up my stitching again?” he grinned at you while buttoning up his Hawaiian styled shirt. You felt relieved you didn’t have to stare at his bare chest and abs.

“Nah, but usually these things get checked up no? Also I’d rather not remove the sutures myself so…” you glared at him and shot out “Have Kook do it… I am a too busy for this…”. He stared straight at you, tilting his head to the side and running a finger over the table while moving your way. “I thought we discussed this… do we really need to push back to square one?”

There was seemingly no way this guy was giving up. You looked up a bit at the dark, tall ceiling. The big spiderwebs around the corners made the place even more gloomy. A breath loudly came out of your lips. You grabbed and squeezed the bridge of your nose, trying to compose the annoyance that was threatening to creep from within your whole being.

As if reading you, he huffed a bit and ran his fingers threw the thick lock of his hair. “I am being considerate and letting you chose the time. You should know by now, I can simply have someone escort you from the hospital…” you were clearly testing his patience at this point, you could not help but get defensive in this whole fucked up situation. Gritting your teeth and stuffing forcefully things back to the bag, you replied “Wooow how thoughtful of you! How did I get so lucky to run into such a compassionate human being like you?”.

His already black eyes seemed to get even darker, as he stood so closely that he towered over you and said slowly “As much as I enjoy when people are capable of using sarcasm, you are starting to get on my bad side doc…” rolling your eyes you mumbled quietly under your breath “So there is a good one?” and of course it came out louder then intended. A chuckle filled the room “Stick around for longer and you just might find out” he winked with a sheepish smile on his face “But going back to our discussion… check your little calendar and let me know…”

As you were about to make another comment, he grabbed your bag and started walking towards the exit “Come. We should get you back home…” he threw over his shoulder. Your feet helplessly followed behind him. The effect this creep was holding over you, started to freak you the fuck out. Reality of how utterly screwed your life will be in the nearest future hit you like a bag of bricks. What the hell did your friend drag you into? But most importantly what could you do to get out of this?

A slam of a car door, woke you from the badgering thoughts. You had no recollection of how you got outside already. You were really losing focus and spacing out due to all the shit that was thrown your way. To your surprise the raven haired mobster was climbing into a black Hyundai Palisade from the drivers side while telling you to get in.

“You’ve just been stitched back up again and you plan to drive?” you asked, a bit taken aback. He gave you a look that made you finish the discussion and climb in the passenger seat. Your bag was tossed on the back. This whole predicament was getting absurd. Never in a million years would you have thought, you’d find yourself in a car with a mafia boss. Clearly the world was putting you threw some sort of messed up test.

Yoongi drove the car smoothly out of the alley. While on the main street, he opened the window slightly and pulled out a cigarette. Seeing that made your blood boil, so without thinking you ripped it out of his mouth and tossed it passed his face. Your action clearly shocking him. Giving you a side eye he commented “you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”.

Realizing what you did, you bit your lower lip and looked forward. You decided no answer was the best answer. Feeling his eyes on you made your skin prickle, so finally you decided to speak “Eyes on the road! I simply don’t like being locked up in a small space, while someone smokes. You can poison yourself without dragging my lungs in the process…”.

He smiled lightly “Always speaking your mind hm? Quite refreshing. Most people don’t speak much around me”. You arched your brows in a way of asking, if he was trying to insinuate you better shut your mouth. “As I said… it is refreshing. Besides I like ladies that have fire in them” he chimed. “Whatever…” you sighed, deciding to keep quiet the rest of the way.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Half of a block before your building you asked him to pull over. When he gave you a questioning look, you explained you’d rather your fiancé not see you getting out of some suspicious looking car. Your response made him laugh as he leaned an arm over your seat giving you a mischievous glare “Scared your little Hoseok might think you got yourself some sugar daddy to spoil you?”. Without thinking you grabbed your bag and simply stated “Next Friday I can do your check-up”. Without waiting for his answer, you jumped out of the SUV.

You could feel his gaze before you were able to disappear at the corner. Letting out a breath you had no idea you were keeping in for such a long while, you felt a bit relieved. That was until you got inside your apartment to be ambushed with a “Where the hell were you Y/N?” Hobi was standing in the hallway shooting daggers at you, his slim arms crossed over his chest. You could see he was greatly upset.

You looked at the clock on top of the entrance to the kitchen. Of course it was fucking late. “I asked where were you? Do you know what time it is?! I was worried!” his tone was full of irritation and that was the moment something in you snapped. How dare he stand there and get on your ass while he was the one to be meddling with this forsaken gang himself. Just thinking about his lies made you lose it and get ready for the fight of your life “I WAS WITH YOUR BEST BUDDY AUGUST-D!” as the words hit him, his face dropped but you continued your attack “RING A BELL DON’T IT MR DETECTIVE HUH?!”.

Hoseok’s face turned pale as all the blood flew to his brain. How the fuck did you know? Did you just say that? Did you actually throw Augst-D’s name out there? Did you fucking find out and how? All these questions ambushed him at once, so all he could let out was a quiet and completely confused “What… what did you just say Y/N…?”

@wobblewobble822 @nansasa @nochook @kootieful @kooslilhoe @yoongisducky @xjiminsthighsx @danielle143 @llallaaa @idkjustlovingbts @darcyw16

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pfhwrittes · 8 months

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riffing off the poll i reblogged re: your blorbos doing top surgery. so these are some vague headcannons on how the members of tf141 would look after a reader post top surgery.

pairings: gaz x reader, soap x reader, simon x reader (romantic), john price & reader (platonic).

warnings: gaz refers to reader as babe and calls the reader handsome.

note: i’ve written this reader to be a trans man but can be read as anyone who wants top surgery. also i am firmly in the camp that you DON’T have to have surgery to be considered transgender or to have your gender respected. fuck knows it’s a hard enough process here in the UK, i can’t imagine my healthcare being stuck behind what is essentially a paywall.

gaz would be a sweetheart. he’d get you drinks and painkillers. he’d move your cushions/pillows around as much as you wanted. he’d pretend not to see when you burst into tears over pain/relief/a weird sense of mourning and fear. he’d even help you to the bathroom and linger outside the door (unlocked, he’d insist on it being unlocked) in case you need help with anything. the man gets your favourite takeaway and doesn’t make a fuss when you only eat a little bit of it because you’re feeling a bit nauseous from the meds you’re on. checks on your drains and dressings and soothes you when you catch sight of the swelling. he reassures you with forehead and cheek kisses when you’re upset and reassures you with a gentle babe you’re so handsome and brave, i can’t wait for you to show off your chest when you’re feeling better.

price would handle it from a more professional perspective (i am not saying reader would be in the military but i am saying that the man deals with paperwork most of the time anyway so he’d handle it for your work). he’s already sent off copies of your medical note from the surgeon, he’s filled in the paperwork to get sick pay. less hands on than gaz (but that’s only because i can’t see price with a trans man in a romantic or sexual way) so he doesn’t overstep but as your friend he’ll bring you food if you ask and painkillers too. checks in with you and sends you book recommendations, music recommendations and the occasional meme (don’t try to tell me he wouldn’t send you memes. that man is a millennial he knows what a fucking meme is) when you’re well enough to complain about being bored.

simon would be kind of a dick about it. listen i don’t make the rules but he would. he’s supportive enough. he’d give you a ride back from the hospital and get you to wherever is the most comfortable but he’s a bit shit at looking after you (the man has no practice outside of emergency medical care). you’d have to text him to get you a drink or painkillers. healthy nutritious food? no. what flavour pot noodle do you want? never mind you’re getting a bombay bad boy because that’s all he’s got in the cupboard. emotionally he’s not great at expressing how he’s feeling about your recovery so he comes across as gruff but that’s mostly because he’s repressing a whole bunch of trauma and fear that things won’t go well. he won’t touch you apart from holding your hand when you ask because he’s worried he’ll mess up your stitches but still it comes across as a bit cold.

soap the darling man is just so fucking excited for you. it’s a bit much actually while you’re still recovering and yeah you end up snapping and it hurts his feelings a little but he’ll try to play it off as not a big deal. he’s just so happy for you (and for himself because he cannot wait to get his hands on you now that you’ll let him because your chest is the way you want it)! super affectionate, peppers you with kisses all over your face. he’s similar to gaz in that he’s all about making you as comfortable as possible and tries to preempt any requests you have (gets you bottles of water and can of irn-bru because that’s what he always wants when he’s feeling under the weather, grabs you as many snacks as you want). unlike gaz he’s enough of a freak to insist on being in the bathroom with you when you need to go, he says it’s to make sure you’re safe but he’s definitely using it as an excuse to touch you as much as possible until you’re fully healed up.

#cod fic #ftm!reader #binders and boyfriends #kyle garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price and reader #kg #jp #jm #sr

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tanadrin · 11 months

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on reflection, i think there's a symmetry to, say, doctors who are willing to refer patients to osteopaths or other ""holistic"" healthcare providers and the susceptibility of engineers to certain kinds of crankdom (of the "i-disproved-relativity-in-my-garage" type). both are forms of scientific training of a sort, but they're heavily outcome-focused and not theoretically focused. in large part, this is good! you do not as a doctor need to have a robust theoretical defense of every treatment you provide to patients, and it would be impossible to do so, because medicine is a huge and complicated subject. you do not, as an engineer, need to have a subtle grasp of theoretical physics to build a bridge; you just need to know what the latest developments in bridge-building are.

but it means in both cases you can have people who are skilled in their field, or who even excel, but who don't understand very well why certain techniques work. and in the case of alt medicine, where there has been considerable work to try to obfuscate or deceive people on how shaky the theoretical basis for their techniques are (stuff that literally if you remember your high-school physics and biology at all will make you go, "wait, there is no plausible mechanism for this, that's not how any of this works"), doctors who do not have time to read studies on RCT trials of every type of medicine they have ever heard of will blithely recommend stuff to patients that's actually complete horseshit, especially if the culture around them has been normalizing that woo as part of "holistic" therapy for the last hundred years, spurred on by alternative medicine practitioners and a public with a fear of needles and ~chemicals~ that medical practitioners have not done enough to allay.

it does not help that medicine only emerged very recently from being about 99% bullshit. like maybe at the end of the 19th century at best medicine was starting to be put on a broad-based empirical and theoretical footing--before that it's truly insane the stuff that wasn't just considered perfectly normal medical practice, but was considered serious Science. i mean, this is why we developed double-blind studies in the first place--because theoretical explanations of medical treatments are still necessarily often secondary to the process of finding ones that actually work, so we need really robust mechanisms to avoid confirmation bias or outright charlatanry. and while mainstream medicine is far from perfect in this respect, "alternative medicine" is all far, far worse.

#imagine if bridge-building was still trial and error half the time #like medieval cathedral building #that's probably not very fair to medicine #like we've gotten so much better in just the last seventy years #at targeted medical research #but still sometimes we develop new treatments #and we're like 'idk why this works but i'm pretty sure it does'#psychology still feels like it's full of individual practitioners with idiosyncratic theories #inventing therapies in an ad-hoc way #like ye olde 19th century doctors #but psychology is still theoretically very weak #so that kinda makes sense to me

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theculturedmarxist · 1 year

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Eugenics is still the rule of the fucking day.

"People 65-plus and people who are immunocompromised should strongly consider masking during flu, RSV, COVID season while in indoor public spaces," said Dr. Céline Gounder, a CBS News medical contributor and editor-at-large for public health at KFF Health News. "And for everyone else — it all depends on what their risk tolerance is."

"Depends on what their risk tolerance is." Are you fucking kidding me?

CBS News chief medical correspondent Dr. Jon LaPook says he likes to use the "weather report analogy" for the general public. "What's the weather out today? If it's raining, you will probably want to bring an umbrella. If you are in an area where there is an uptick in airborne respiratory infections like COVID, flu or RSV, you may want to take extra precautions, such as wearing a high-quality mask in indoor public spaces," he said.

People should be masking up before there's a fucking "uptick." That's how you prevent a fucking "uptick". Especially considering testing isn't the metric the people in power are going by any more, but hospitalizations, which are always going to be lagging indicators. By the time the "uptick" is registered these diseases are going to have been present and active for days or even weeks.

After COVID hospitalizations climbed nearly 22% this week, the CDC is predicting further increases over the coming month as new variants spread. This replaces previous projections from the agency that admissions would "remain stable or have an uncertain trend."

Oh, cool, so things are already bad and the are predicting that things are going to get worse, but the decision is being made to not do a fucking thing about it.

In a 2021 "60 Minutes" interview, virologist Paul Duprex explained the current (and future) emergence of new variants — a concept applicable to the current situation. "Is there anything we can do to stop the virus from mutating so much?" LaPook asked Duprex at the time. "We can certainly stop it making as many mutations by stopping it infecting as many people - if we block its transmission, if we wear a mask, if we get vaccinated, if we do social distancing," Duprex said.

None of which will be happening because "Covid Is Over" and doing any of the necessary things to prevent it are voluntary at best.

After news broke about the BA.2.86 variant earlier this month, the CDC said the agency's advice on protecting yourself from COVID-19 — which includes wearing a high-quality mask among other recommendations listed on its website — "remains the same."

Oh alright let's see what the CDC recommends

In addition to basic health and hygiene practices, like handwashing, CDC recommends some prevention actions at all COVID-19 hospital admission levels, which include:

Ugh. At least its recommendations implicitly admit that covid is airborne.

Still, some experts fear it could be hard to convince Americans to don masks again even if COVID cases continue to rise. Dr. Danielle Ompad, an epidemiologist at the NYU School of Global Public Health, said "It's a bit like putting the genie back in the bottle." Still, she has personally started wearing a mask again recently in crowded places, where the risk of exposure is greater.

Huh, I wonder why it would be hard to convince people to mask up again. Who's responsible for letting the genie out of the fucking bottle? Maybe they should be taken to task for this fucking decision?

"If I were with people who aren't public health-trained, I would wear a mask, particularly in crowded situations, because I really don't have time for COVID. Mask mandates are challenging because they make people really bent out of shape out of proportion to the ask."

What people are getting "really bent out of shape" by mask mandates? Just "people" huh? No specific people at all? Okay then.

"Who wants to get sick while on vacation?" she says. "If you're going to be in a crowded public place — the subway, an airplane, a crowded theater — those are the kind of places I would at least consider wearing a mask."

Hey maybe these fucking super-spreader places shouldn't be open especially with multiple variants spreading across the country with no mask mandates in place.

Though increased cases and hospitalizations are prompting precautions, Gounder says she doesn't see another lockdown in our future. "That ship has sailed. Has sailed for years now," she said.

"That ship" just sailed itself, huh? Another development with no cause and no active participant? Just up and sailed on its own, did it? And there's no one to sail it back? Man, that's crazy.

#covid 19 #covid is airborne #pandemic

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

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Art in banner is by @hopelessartgeek, who makes a ton of amazing Stucky art!

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 1

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas are intersex (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

1. Jori

Steve meets Bucky under less than ideal circumstances.

T.W. This fic contains occasional mentions of Steve's patients, who deal with issues of csa, sa, abortion, ptsd, and other traumas. Bucky is in the immediate aftermath of a rape at the story's start.

Steve hates sedating patients for procedures, but unfortunately in his line of work it’s often necessary. The only thing worse than when he has to sedate patients, is when he wishes he could sedate a patient, but for some medical reason he can’t. Like now.

“Shhh,” he soothes, petting over his patient’s leg when he feels her starting to tremble again. She’s laying back on the table, legs spread under the privacy blanket he’s given her. Steve settles his gloved hand in the crease where her thigh meets her hip, digs his thumb purposefully into the flesh of her lower belly from over the fabric of her pink hospital gown. There’s a tertiary gland in the low belly/upper mons that is the first of the omega sex glands to develop. And when stimulated properly, it can help to calm them down.

Unfortunately for Steve’s patient, hers won’t be fully developed for a few more years yet. He tries to get at it with his thumb anyway, hoping that if he can just graze it, it might help keep the girl calm until the procedure they’re doing is finished. He’s got her on the highest dosage of lorazepam allowed for a patient her age, but she’s still conscious and there’s nothing he can do for that other than comfort her verbally, using his alpha Voice that, in any other context, would be utterly inappropriate. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers.

Jori blinks her sleepy eyes up at him, another sluggish tear falling down her face. “Is it almost over, Mr. Steve?”

Steve takes a quick look at the machine’s readings, then forces a pained smile for her. “Yeah, Honey. Only a few minutes left. I’m so proud of you, you know that? You’re my best patient ever. Being so brave. Just a little longer here and then we’ll be finished."

They’re in the pediatric exam room, where the walls are painted in cheerful colors and the gynecological equipment is disguised to try and make it less intimidating. Steve likes his job as an omega sexual and reproductive healthcare practitioner, but there are some cases, and some elements, that he really, really wishes didn’t exist. Marjorie Goldberg and this exam room are two of them.

Seeding machines should not come with pediatric-sized attachments.

“Is she okay?” Mrs. Goldberg asks urgently, shooting up from her seat as soon as Steve steps out into the waiting area. Clint is sitting next to her, his OmCare badge clipped onto his jacket, and he stands when she does. Steve takes a deep breath and walks over.

“Marjorie is okay,” he tells her. “She shouldn’t need any more treatments after this one. She’ll need to be on medication for the foreseeable future, though. She needs to get into an intensive therapy program as soon as possible. We’re sending that information to her DCFS caseworker. I’m also recommending monthly checkups back here or at a licensed clinic for at least the next six months.”

“For more of this?!” Mrs. Goldberg takes an angry step forward.

“No. Just to check her levels and monitor her progress,” Steve says, tone clipped. “Nothing invasive, just blood tests and external ultrasounds to make sure everything’s okay.” His eyes flick to Clint, who is watching the woman like a hawk.

Clint is one of the OmegaCare social workers employed by the hospital. He’s there because the Goldbergs don’t currently have custody of their daughter, and it’s been a very … testy situation, with all parties involved.

Mrs. Goldberg is insisting on being as present as she’s legally allowed to be, not missing any appointments, lingering in the waiting room each time poor little Jori has to endure a treatment. She’s not allowed to see Marjory without supervision, and she isn't currently the one in charge of her daughter's medical care, but she's asserted her right to stay informed about it all, and since Steve is temporarily the senior N.P. on the pediatric omega GYN ward, that means it's his side she's a thorn in.

Mr. Goldberg is the reason the treatments have been necessary. He’s in prison now.

“You couldn’t even let me in there to hold her hand!” Mrs. Goldberg is saying, voice raised in anger.

Steve looks her dead in the face. He’s got little to no sympathy for this woman. “That’s not up to me, Mrs. Goldberg. You know that. DCFS is evaluating the nature of your relationship with your daug—”

“She needs me!” Mrs. Goldberg yells, outraged, though obviously on the verge of tears, too. “I’m her mother, for Christ’s sake!”

“And he was her father,” Steve bursts out, unable to contain himself anymore. “And we all know why I just had to be in there, therapeutically inseminating his seven year old daughter!”

Mrs. Goldberg stands there, red-faced and quietly crying. Steve feels near-instant regret hit him when Clint shoots him a what the fuck, man?! look from over the lady's shoulder. Steve swallows guiltily. That’s the kind of reaction that gets you administrative leave, if the client makes a big enough stink about it. By the sound of her pitiful crying though, Mrs. Goldberg is just feeling guilt and misery, hopefully not thinking about taking action against an NP who has just—very loudly and unprofessionally—yelled at her. Steve is supposed to be able to keep his shit together better than this. But then again, this isn’t really his wheelhouse.

He specializes in trauma cases, but the kids usually fall to his colleague, Dr. Connors. Steve is one of only a few staff who are qualified enough to cover most of Connors’ caseload while the man is out on maternity leave. Steve’s happy for the guy, sure—he’s just given birth to two healthy pups after a difficult pregnancy. But Steve’s starting to lose sleep (what little he gets to begin with, these days) to the nature of the work. He’s not cut out for the kids.

He clears his throat and mutters an apology to Mrs. Goldberg, looking at his clipboard rather than her wet face. “Marjorie’s still recovering from the sedation we gave her.” They’d tried for stronger drugs at first, aiming for full or at least twilight sedation, but the little girl had had such violent seizures that it was rendered impossible. “It’ll be another half hour or so until she’s ready to go back to her foster home.”

Mrs. Goldberg sniffles. “She’s alone now?”

“She’s with a nurse,” Steve says. He looks at Clint, nods, then turns to get away from the situation.

“Doctor Rogers!” the woman calls out, her voice all water-logged and choked.

Steve stops walking with a sigh. He doesn’t much bother with correcting people on the 'Doctor' thing anymore, finding it to be a waste of breath. “What?” he says curtly, not turning back around to face her.

“I didn’t know.” Her voice is pleading, tearful and urgent. Maybe she wants him to believe her or feel sorry for her or something. Maybe she just needs somebody to tell her that it’s not her fault. “I swear I never knew what he was doing to her. Not for sure. I swear.”

Steve’s hands tighten on his clipboard so hard that he feels it creak. “Right,” he grits out, forcing himself to continue walking away. “‘Not for sure’.”

Steve leans over the countertop of the nurse’s station and hands Sam a stack of charts. “Four and seven discharged. Five and six were admitted. Still waiting on the attending for eight.”

Sam nods, more bug-eyed than usual. He’s on his fifth coffee now. He takes the charts and starts putting them away. “Kay kay kay.”

“No more coffee,” Steve warns him, and Sam scowls.

“I’m fine.”

“Mmhm.” This is the tail end of the second shift for both of them. Sam’s a nurse on the om-psych ward, and given that Steve handles almost exclusively trauma cases for om-obgyn, he and Sam’s cases tend to intersect a lot. They both also draw the ire of their department managers pretty frequently, so they’re often sentenced to either clinic duty or shifts in the ER together. That’s how they became such good friends, and it’s where they are now.

“How was the shift on pediatrics?” Sam asks, though he sounds like he can already guess the answer. Steve’s been in a foul mood ever since he switched to his ER scrubs and clocked in.

“Awful,” he grunts. “I can’t keep doing the kids. It’s killing my soul. I’m going to my unit head tomorrow and telling her,” he decides. “She can’t force me to do it. I’ll tell HR it’s a mental health issue.”

Sam laughs. “Then they’ll send you my way. I’ll recommend shock therapy.”

“I’d take it over what I had to deal with today.” Steve gives him a brief recap of the Goldberg situation, and Sam loses all his humor.

“Shit, man.”

“Yeah.” Steve can’t say he isn’t really, really grateful to be alpha sometimes. Or at least grateful that he’s not omega. If anybody drew the short straw in life, it certainly seemed to be them. The fact that a grown man could rape his own daughter was bad enough, but then add to that the fact that because the girl was omega and her father alpha, she’d been forced into pre-pubertal heat too, her little body confused and trying to do what it thought it was supposed to do—to the detriment of her health in every way possible.

Steve sighs as he thinks about the abortion he’d had to perform on her. That kid was going to be on meds and in treatment centers for months, maybe years. Probably in therapy for the rest of her goddamn life. “I told them I’d be happy to testify at the guy’s trial,” he tells Sam. “In a medical capacity, if they needed it.”

Sam scoffs. “You are well spoken.”

“Very fucking eloquent.” Steve knows he needs to stop talking about this. It’s keeping him in a foul mood. He runs his hands through his hair. “Ugh, Sam. Distract me. Give me something to do.”

“Like what? Oh, hang on.” He leans over to the computer, clicking the mouse a few times as he navigates the screen. “Dispatch called in a code blue. Adolescent male, nonresponsive. They were doing chest compressions when the call came in.”

“When?”

“About ten minutes ago. So they should be here soon.”

Just as he says it, the doors to the ambulance bay bust open and several paramedics come wheeling in a gurney. Steve goes over to assess. The lead paramedic begins rattling off info to Steve as they move the gurney over to a bed: Adolescent male omega, presented with fever and respiratory distress. Pulse is thready, BP eighty over sixty.

The smell gets Steve right away, and an even stronger waft hits the air when they transfer over to the bed. The omega reeks of heat, but it’s sour and unhealthy smelling—unfulfilled, infected. Besides being inherently unpleasant, Steve’s body is responding to it, his dumb dick perking up like it thinks it can be a hero and help the situation. He tells the nurses to grab him blockers, and the new beta intern gets shoved in the direction of the supply cage.

Steve begins barking out orders. "Okay let’s get a line in him. I want a blood draw, full tox screen. Why isn’t he on oxygen yet? —Paxton! get the fuck off your phone. What the hell, man?”

“Sorry!" the intern says as she returns from her run to the supply cage, wringing her hands and just generally looking terrified of Steve’s ire. “We’re out of dermals.”

Steve ignores her, too busy rattling off IV meds and doses to the nurses. He'll have to wait until he can raid another cage for a transdermal patch to shut his dumb dick it up. He tells the intern to prep the crash cart, just to give her something to do. The boy on the stretcher looks to be in his late teens. He’s wearing jeans and a tee shirt that’s already been cut open. The nurses pull the scraps of it off him while Steve re-checks his vitals. When he shines his penlight in the kid’s eyes, he regains consciousness. He starts to struggle, afraid.

“Hey there,” Steve says, talking in his 'Nothing’s Wrong Here, Folks™️ voice to try and keep the kid from panicking. “I’m Steve, I’m an NP at Mercy General. You’re in the hospital. Can you tell me what you remember?”

“No family came with us,” the medic murmurs in Steve’s other ear. “Call came from a private residence. It was crowded but nobody wanted anything to do with us. They shoved him at us and told us to leave.”

Steve nods. That means it’s likely a drug situation. “What’s your name, Honey?” he asks the kid.

The kid blinks, still confused. “Bucky,” he says, “What happn’d?” He sounds bleary, like he might fade out of consciousness again.

Steve barks at one of the nurses to get him hooked up to the monitoring equipment. “That’s what we’re going to figure out,” he tells the kid kindly. “Bucky, can you remember if you took anything today? Any medicines or other substances?” He watches as the kid’s blown pupils flick around. The scent of frightened omega gets worse and Steve fights not to wrinkle his nose. One of the nurses relays the kid’s high temperature and pulse, his low blood pressure.

Two seconds later, he starts seizing. Steve holds his head steady while one of the nurses shoves a plastic guard between his teeth. They turn him on his side and the smell of urine hits Steve’s nose. As he’s holding the boy still, he puts his face near his neck and gets a better sense of his scent. What he smells makes his own heart rate tick up in alarm. The seizure passes and Steve tells the nurse to cut his remaining clothes off. Bucky’s barely conscious, emitting a low keening sound when Steve looks between his legs. “Fuck,” he curses.

There’s rampant infection, the fact that Steve can tell without even doing an exam is worse than alarming. He tells them to prep heavy duty antibiotics. “I need to do an internal,” he says. With the infection as horrible as it looks, there’s no way he’ll be able to touch the kid while he’s conscious. “Knock him out. And get a rape kit.”

They get him stabilized, on antibiotics and anti-seizure medication. Steve locates a blocker patch in one of the other supply cages to slap on himself before he heads in to do an internal exam on the unconscious omega. He finds impacted slick glands and prostate gland that are so enlarged and inflamed that Steve’s kind of amazed they haven’t ruptured. An ultrasound reveals an illegal IUD. Steve removes it. The boy’s hymen is obviously newly torn, and there are signs of recent tying. He's been raped by at least one alpha—violently, if the bruising is anything to go by. They swab what Steve would bet are foreign fluids from both his stomach and genitals. Steve meets with two cops and a social worker from OmCare, hands the rape kit over and tells them his findings. “Let me know if you contact any family,” he says.

So far, it seems like this boy has no one.

They admit him under “Bucky”, using his designation and admittance number (ꭥ-47202) in lieu of his unknown last name. Since he’s stabilized and since his medical problems seem to mostly be between his legs, he’s moved up to Om-obgyn Inpatient and officially put under Steve’s care. Steve is able to snag his department head and beg her to pull him from all pediatrics cases. She agrees, but makes the call that Bucky should remain on the adult wing. So he’s still Steve’s patient.

In his current state, Steve can’t do anybody much good for much longer. He’s nearing nineteen hours on shift, and even with the aid of several espressos, he doesn’t have much steam left in his body. He knows he could go home, but his next shift is scheduled for eight hours from then, and he really wants to be there when the kid wakes up. So rather than go home, he grabs an empty bed and crashes.

When he wakes, he checks the time on his phone and inhales deeply. At least he got a good six hours. He heads to the nurse’s station and gives the charts for their hall a lookover, then goes to the room where they’ve put the male omega from the night before: Bucky.

His eyes are closed when Steve walks in. Steve tilts his head, taking in the boy's features. He looks better now, more stable, less pale. And he smells better, which gives Steve a hint that the antibiotics are already helping. The notes on Bucky’s chart from the overnight nurse have him nodding in vague approval as he reads. “Okay,” he says quietly to himself. “Good.” Not good good, but much better compared to the state he’d been in last night.

When Steve looks up again, the boy is watching him.

Steve smiles gently. “Hey there. You’re awake.” He walks over to the bedside. The boy struggles to push himself up and Steve halts him, showing him how to instead use the controls on the bed rail to come up to sitting. “Don’t want to overexert yourself,” he says kindly. He pulls up a chair to the bedside and sits on it. “I’m Steve,” he says. He’s long avoided using his last name with patients because they always wind up calling him “Doctor Rogers,” and Steve isn’t an MD and it just gets awkward after awhile. “You’re in the hospital. You were brought into the ER late last night. This is the omega ob-gyn ward you’re in now, and I’m going to be your attending.”

“Attending?” the boy says, voice craggy and dry. He winces and puts a hand to his throat.

“It means I’ll be looking after you,” Steve clarifies. He gets up and goes to fill a cup of water.

“I’m Bucky,” the boy says. “You’re a doctor?”

Steve returns to his bedside and hands the cup over. Bucky takes it. “Small sips,” Steve warns. “I’m a nurse practitioner. In New York we can do just about everything the docs do. But like I said, you can feel free to call me Steve.”

Bucky nods, no affect to him. He seems almost resigned, Steve thinks. He hasn’t asked about any loved ones and Steve hasn’t missed that either. “What happened?” he asks.

“Well I was hoping you could tell me that,” Steve says, purposefully keeping his demeanor non-confrontational. “You’re sick. You have some infections going on. And you were in very bad shape when they brought you into the ER. You had a seizure.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “I did?”

“Mmhm.” Steve leans forward a little and asks, “What do you remember happening yesterday, Bucky?”

This is where the omega goes still and clams up. He refuses to give an account of anything, saying that he has no memory of the previous day. Steve is trained in how to interact with assault and trauma survivors, but he doesn’t make any headway with the boy. Bucky clearly believes that being open and honest with strangers will put either him, someone he loves, or someone with authority over him, in trouble.

Steve backs off, hands him a room service menu so he can order something cool for his throat, then goes to page Sam.

When Sam comes out after spending almost an hour with the kid, Steve straightens up from where he’s been loitering at the nurse’s station. “What’d he say?”

Sam blows air through his lips. “It’s a doozy.” He tips his head down the hallway. “Walk with me. I’ll tell you over my next espresso.”

Turns out, Bucky has been living in an isolated religious sect that doesn’t believe in, among other things, male omegas’ reproductive rights. More precisely, they pretty much just don’t believe that male omegas should exist, think that they’re an ‘abomination unto the Lord’, or something like that. Steve looks up the Wikipedia page on their group, and is neither pleased nor particularly shocked at what he learns.

Short of murder, they espouse beliefs and practices that do everything possible to stop male O's from existing. They try to prevent nature from taking its course on the limited number of male O's born in their group, forcing them to live instead as regular beta males via a combination of drugs, surgeries, and social pressure. They call themselves the Children-of-God’s-Kingdom.

Steve’s heard of them before, but he’s never had anyone like that come through his ward. “Oh man,” he says, when Sam rattles off the things Bucky's told him. “So, a cult. You’re telling me he’s in a cult.”

“He doesn’t even know who his real parents are,” Sam says gravely. “They live communally. All the wacko parents sign custody of their kids over to their grand poobah.”

Steve scowls, feeling outrage for what’s been done to this poor kid in the name of religion. “Well they managed to almost kill him,” he snaps quietly, mindful of where they’re standing. “And it's almost a guarantee that he’s been sexually assaulted. We ran a rape kit last night.”

Sam doesn’t look surprised, just mad and caffeinated. Steve asks him if he got an age out of the boy, and Sam tells him regretfully, “Eighteen.”

“Fuck.” Steve shakes his head. Omegas don't reach their majority until nineteen. “We’ve gotta report it to social services before somebody from the cult shows up trying to claim him. Trust me: one look at his charts and OmCare will take custody.”

Sam nods. “He also said there’s an IUD inside him and hormonal suppressants implanted.”

“Yeah we got the IUD out. I’ll get the implant out today. Which arm?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

Steve nods tersely, wondering if the poor kid got to have any say over the things his so called ‘family’ did to his body over the years. Likely not. As a physician who is very well educated on the considerable risks, Steve has always heavily discouraged his omega patients from trying to use drugs and devices to suppress their natural cycles. But, much like many other unhealthy choices, birth control and suppressants aren’t technically illegal for omegas over the age of twenty one.

But Bucky is only eighteen, just now entering the ripest years of an omega’s reproductive life. Steve grits his teeth when he thinks of what further damage might’ve been done to this poor kid, had he remained in that cult for any longer. “I’m gonna go check in with him,” he says, taking a step in the direction of Bucky’s room.

Sam stops him with a touch to his arm to let him know, “He seems honest enough, but he’s anxious not to get anybody from his group in trouble. He wouldn’t name names. And you can bet he’s gonna be all kinds of warped about his designation, being raised like that. Tread carefully.”

Steve nods, angry. No doubt the kid’s been told his whole life how he’s an affront to God, has ‘unholy urges’, or some horrible shit like that. “Guess he’ll be up your way before long, then,” he tells Sam, before walking off.

Steve knocks lightly on the doorjamb to make his presence known. “Hey there.”

“Hi.” The omega is sitting propped up in the bed with an extra blanket and pillow now. He’s got water and a half-finished Italian ice cup on the bedside table. Steve notes the almost completely untouched breakfast platter and nods. Kid must be nauseous. He’s looking sheepishly up at Steve as he approaches. “You sent a shrink in.”

Steve pulls the chair back in to sit close to the bed like he had before. “That’s nurse Wilson,” he says. “And yeah, he came to try and get you to feel safer about talking.” The kid—Bucky—nods while looking down at his lap, and Steve asks, “Did it help?”

Bucky shrugs. “He said I don’t have to talk about anything if I don’t want to.”

Steve’s heart clenches as he remembers the rape kit they’d done on him, the torn hymen and the swollen — “That’s right, Honey,” he says. “You don’t.” He puts his hand on the bed, not touching him, just the thin hospital blanket next to his legs. “But I’m hoping you’ll tell me certain things, so that we can get you healthy again.”

Bucky looks very uncomfortable, but to his credit he seems to push through it. “Look, um, Steve?”

Steve nods.

“I heard the nurses talking. About my family.”

Steve straightens up. “Your family?” He’s hopeful he’ll be able to get information about the kid’s abusers, but Bucky disappoints him by saying,

“The ‘Children’ I mean. They’re my family.” He chews his lip and looks down at his knees. “Look, I know … I know it’s not normal, the way we live. I know other people are different, live differently.” Quietly, almost so quiet that Steve doesn’t hear it, he says, “People in the outside world don’t say bad things about us.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Steve prods gently.

“Omegas,” Bucky whispers. “Boy omegas, anyway.”

Steve hates to see the self-loathing on the kid’s face, hating himself just for how nature made him. “Bucky,” he says carefully. “I want you to know that most people believe that male omegas are perfectly natural and normal. Both female and male omegas are beautiful and important.”

Bucky’s cheeks darken. He’s clearly uncomfortable talking about it. “I know. I’ve run away a couple times, spent time around … around normal people. I've watched tv shows.”

“That’s good, Honey.”

"Yeah. I —" Abruptly, Bucky’s face pales and his eyes get wide. Steve tenses. Bucky leans over and snatches the breakfast tray off the bedside table and gets it in front of his face just in time to barf all over the room service order of scrambled eggs and toast. Steve winces and gets up to help him. When it seems like he’s done retching, Steve takes care of the mess and returns with a couple of the hospital’s barf bags. “Here. Just in case.”

“Thanks. Ugh.” Bucky grimaces. “God. I feel so awful.”

“I know, Sweetheart.” Steve sits forward in his chair. “That’s because you’re sick. I need to ask you some questions to figure out what we’re gonna do to treat you and get you all better, okay?”

“... Okay.”

He tries to smile encouragingly. “Alright. I know it’s hard to talk about, but it’s important you answer honestly so I can help you, okay?” Again, Bucky nods, and Steve asks, “When did you have your first heat?”

Bucky looks mortified—beyond the usual discomfort of a teenager not wanting to talk about their body, or sex. He’s ashamed of himself, Steve realizes. But he manages to answer with a quiet, “Eleven.”

Male omegas tend to go into heat earlier than their female counterparts, their bodies needing more time in estrus to fully mature. Steve nods encouragingly, trying to show Bucky through his open expression that nothing about this should be shameful. “Okay, and how many heats would you say you’ve been able to cycle through naturally without birth control or suppressants?” Steve does some quick mental math: 7 years x 12 months … That’d be close to 84 heats, assuming he's always been regular with his —

“Oh never! Or, I mean ...” Bucky makes a face and corrects himself. “Not since the first one, anyway.” He looks miserably down at the blanket covering his legs, like he’s remembering something awful. “Just that first time,” he repeats quietly.

It’s a terrible answer, and Steve forces himself not to visibly react. He doesn’t want to scare the kid. He notes the information on the chart. “Okay. I removed your IUD last night. Do you know which arm they put your suppressant implant in?”

Bucky nods, pointing to his left bicep.

“We’re gonna take that out today. I’ll give you a local injection to numb everything. It won’t hurt.”

He nods, looking wary of the prospect. “So then I’ll … I’ll get my heats and stuff?”

Steve hums sympathetically and tries to reassure him. “It’ll be fine. You’ll feel a lot better, I promise.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking resigned and dejected. Steve hates it. He imagines the years the poor kid has spent hearing The Children’s vitriol, hearing despicable horror stories about pathetic, desperate, disgusting male omegas in heat, how it’s something to be avoided at all costs. Steve frowns and moves on to the unpleasant part. “So, one thing we did last night that you probably don’t remember, is we collected swabs of fluids and tissue. For evidence, in case somebody had hurt you.” He waits until he can see that Bucky gets what he’s saying. The poor boy’s eyes widen and his lips part and he gets very tense. Steve reaches out to grasp his hand, then adds, “I think somebody did hurt you, and I’d like it if you could tell me so that I can make them pay for what they did.”

Bucky shakes his head, tears breaking from the corners of his eyes. “No. No, I don't want to talk about this.”

Steve’s heart breaks, but he has to press the issue at least a little bit. “Honey, the thing is, this is important for me to know. Medically, it’s important for me to know, because you know what happens when an omega is suppressed for years and years and years, and then alpha semen gets inside their body?”

Bucky flinches hard at those words, but Steve holds fast. He gives Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze, leaning further forward and holding it in both of his large hands, enveloping it. “What happens,” he explains, trying to be gentle in how he says it, “is that it can trigger your body to try really, really hard to go into heat. And when your body can’t do that, that’s when you can start to get into really dangerous complications. Like having seizures and going into shock. Your organs can even start shutting down.” He instantly sees the terror in Bucky’s features and he hates it, wishes so badly that he didn’t have to be so honest with him. But federal legislation requires it. "That's why you had a seizure last night. It's why you're so sick."

Bucky’s lips are parted, not knowing what to say. “But I … I never … I didn’t know that?” He looks scared as his eyes flick around the room, always returning to Steve like a beacon. Vulnerably, he stutters, “Is ... is that happening to me? Organ failure?”

Steve knows he can’t lie to him, so he takes a deep breath and says, “I did conduct an internal exam and an ultrasound on you, when you were sedated last night.” He can see the humiliation in Bucky’s features as he realizes what this means. Steve presses on, “Many of your reproductive organs are inflamed or infected, from trying to make your body do what it’s supposed to do, but can’t.”

“Because of the suppressants,” Bucky murmurs.

“Yeah, Honey. Because of the suppressants.” Steve wishes so badly that he didn’t have to inform him, “There’s ... a chance that you could be unable to have children. In the future.”

The omega keens high in his throat, a noise that he has no control over and which Steve’s nature also has no control over how it instinctively responds to it.

One of Steve’s hands leaves Bucky and flies up to his own neck, where the expired sup patch is still adhesed to his skin. He grits his teeth, thinking that he most definitely needs a new one.

Steve is salaried higher for his usefulness as an alpha on this ward, but then again, he’s not usually dealing with eighteen year old boys who have no clue what independent sexual decision making is. “It’s okay,” he soothes him, voice swooping low and smooth. He starts up a deep, dominant rumble in his chest to help calm the boy. “We don’t know anything for sure yet, okay? You were very swollen when I looked at you. Your body needs a chance to rest and heal before we can know what we’re looking at, long term.” Steve can smell the intense distress of the omega at the possibility of no longer being fertile. Even if it’s something Bucky’s never considered before, it’s the boy’s innate nature to become defensive if such a thing is threatened.

“Is this all because of —” Bucky cuts himself off, clearly struggling. He won’t even meet Steve’s eyes as he forces himself to ask, “Is this happening because I had sex?”

Steve goes very still, his advocate training kicking into gear. “Did you have sex?” he asks gently. "Or did someone hurt you? Because it's not sex if you're not a willing participant. Then it's assault." Given what he knows about the cult Bucky’s been in, he finds it extremely unlikely that the boy would have had willing intercourse with a penetrative partner. Male omegas in that situation would be groomed to believe that that part of themselves was shameful and to be repressed at all costs.

In the bed, Bucky is looking tinier by the second, drawing into himself. He shakes his head frantically. “N-no. No. I said no.”

Steve watches him sadly. “Okay, Honey. Okay. Did somebody force themself on you?” Bucky starts to make that high keening sound again, the sound of an omega in intense distress, and Steve hurriedly adds, “You don’t have to tell me who it was. You don’t, I promise. Okay? But if somebody hurt you, you should blame them, not have to call it sex or feel bad that —”

“Mmn, mmmm mnn.” Bucky is shaking his head fast, face red and pained and looking like he wants to disappear into the cracks of the earth. “No,” he breathes, “Nno. I said no. They did it. The ... those guys. They did it.”

Steve's heart sinks all over again. More than one. He's dealt with cases of gang rape, but never with a patient so young. And never with a virgin. Fuck.

Bucky's scared eyes flick back to Steve’s face. “Oh god. Is that why I’m sick?” He cringes as if it’s the worst, most humiliating thing in the world. “Because they got their … their stuff inside me?”

Steve nods reluctantly, so sorry to have to tell him so. “It’s not your fault, Baby. It’s got nothing to do with you or how you feel about them. It’s just biology. Your body responds to it. It wouldn’t even be that strong normally, but after being suppressed for so many years, it’s almost like an allergic reaction.” Steve winces. “Your body’s overcompensating.” He can see how the poor boy’s about to burst into tears, so he gets up from the chair and sits on the side of the hospital bed, pulling Bucky’s hand and his whole lower arm against himself. His chest is emitting a low grade alpha rumble, but it’s only on the periphery of his notice. “Bucky,” he tells him tenderly, waiting until the boy looks up at him. “Hey, I’m sure there are so many things you’ve not been allowed to know about your body and how it works.” Bucky blushes hard but Steve presses on imploringly, “Most importantly that there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with your designation. It’s normal, it’s natural, it’s beautiful, and it’s yours.”

Bucky’s eyes spill over with more tears. “I wish I didn’t grow up there,” he whispers, and then he pitches himself forward at Steve’s body, crying, hanging onto the front of him and stuffing his face in his chest, against his lab coat and scrubs. “I hate them!” he gasps, voice choked with sadness. “I h-hate them!”

It takes everything in Steve to not say 'Me too'. Instead he just rubs the omega’s back and lets him cry against his body, telling him that everything is going to be alright now, everything is okay, he’s safe.

Because if Steve knows anything, it’s that he’ll kill to keep this kid away from the people who did this to him.

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