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phoenix-downer · 3 years

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Christmas Presence

~1400 words. Contains spoilers for Melody of Memory. SoKai. Sora POV, Kairi POV. Romance, Fluff, Pining, Mutual Pining, Christmas, Christmas Fluff. Merry Christmas everyone!

Christmas was Sora’s favorite day of the year. The festivities, the gift-giving, the celebrations, the food, the time with friends and family. All of it was special, but especially getting to be with Kairi. The last thing he was gonna do was leave her alone on Christmas Eve.

There was just one catch. He was sort of dead. Well, not dead, not really, but he sure wasn’t in the Realm of Light. And that would make seeing Kairi kinda difficult. He was still wandering around in some place that was like the Final World, and it was dark. The only light was from the stars.

At least he hadn’t run into that Yozora guy again. He shuddered and sat down. That was the one downside about trying to contact Kairi. There was a 50/50 shot he might wind up in that strange city again (Quadro-something?), face to face with Yozora, who would no doubt try to “save” (more like kill) him… again.

Still, if he could get through to Kairi, this would be worth it. Never again would he leave her in the lurch. He’d promised. He promised he’d protect her, be there for her. He’d failed her once, and he swore on his life he’d never fail her again.

And yeah, it wasn’t like her life was in danger this time around, but… Christmas was important. He’d already missed too many Christmases, and he didn’t want to miss another one.

He lay back and closed his eyes, resting her lucky charm over his heart. “Kairi, please, hear my voice.”

The only way he had a shot at this was if she was currently asleep. It was Christmas Eve though, so maybe she would be.

This was his one Christmas wish. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask.

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Kairi gazed out the window at the stars. Little snowflakes danced in the air as snow fell on the Land of Departure. Christmas Eve felt strange away from home, but it wouldn’t be much of a celebration with Riku still searching for Sora and Sora himself still MIA.

“Goodnight Kairi!” Aqua called, poking her head in the room. Kairi had been staying here at the castle since her training commenced a few months ago, and Aqua had kindly provided her with her own room. It got a little drafty up here sometimes, but the cozy fireplace in the corner plus a well-placed Fire spell took care of that.

“Merry Christmas,” Kairi replied, then abandoned her perch by the window to climb into bed. Christmas used to be her favorite time of year, but now that Sora was gone…

She huddled under the blankets and sighed. “Sora, what I wouldn’t give to hear your voice. To see your smile and hear your laughter.”

But that was impossible. She’d sensed his presence a couple of times since he’d first come to her aid in her dream battle against Xehanort, but never once had he been able to speak. Still, it was worth a try.

“If you can hear me… I’m listening.”

She let her eyes close. In a world without him, she dreamed of him, and he dreamed of her, and that was where, fate allowing, they would meet again.

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A huge smile spread across Sora’s face. Kairi was here. She was wandering the Final World, searching for him and calling his name.

“Kairi!” he cried as he sprang to his feet. Yeah, she couldn’t hear his voice, but her face lit up all the same. She could sense he was here too.

She paused a few feet away from him, then smiled and spread her arms wide. His body wasn’t really here, but his heart was, and she always let him borrow her body for a little while, much like he’d once sheltered her heart.

He took a deep breath and called on the connection of their hearts. A moment later, he was materializing around her, able to feel what she felt, see what she saw, hear what she heard. He always tried to be as gentle as possible whenever they did this; she was letting his heart inside her, after all, and it was hard not to be touched by how much she trusted him in order to let that happen.

When the merger was complete, he rested his hand over his heart, moving her arm in the process. Then he hugged himself, giving her the hug he wished he could give her with his own body.

“I missed you too,” came her voice in his mind. “I was hoping we’d get to meet today. Christmas just isn’t the same without you and Riku around.”

Ri-ku? Sora signed. Kairi had taught him a few signs from an old book she’d found at the castle on the Land of Departure, and he was able to sort of communicate with her as a result.

“He’s still looking for you,” Kairi told him. “So it’s me and Aqua and Terra and Ven celebrating together. I hope he has someone to celebrate with. You too.”

I have you, he signed, and her delightful giggle entered his thoughts.

“That you do. Thank you for reaching out to me.”

Want—see—you, he signed, the gestures still awkward for him because he wasn’t used to talking like this yet. But it was worth it, knowing he was able to reach Kairi.

“I wanted to see you too,” she said. “I’ve been training hard because I have to be ready when you need me. No more weak Kairi holding you back.”

He shook his head. No. No weak. Kairi… He thought for a moment, then flexed his muscles.

“You really think I’m strong?” she asked softly.

He nodded. Me, you… He flexed his muscles again.

“And you feel strong with me.”

Another nod from him, moving her head.

“You never did stop believing in me,” was her response. “And I won’t ever stop believing in you. Sora, I know we’ll be together again. And if I have anything to say about it… This time, I’ll be the one coming for you.”

He nodded. He wasn’t sure when or how, but he trusted Kairi with his life.

Feeling a little resistance from her in his right hand, he released his control a little and let her move it to his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sora,” she said, and her words warmed his heart. It would’ve been even better if she could’ve touched his actual face, but this was a pretty good substitute.

M-e-r-r-y—C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s, he signed back. He gently tugged and waited for permission, then brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

Sweet dreams.

Their time was over; he could feel his connection to her weakening. He could spend every day of the rest of his life with her, and it still wouldn’t be enough. And yet, even being with her for a few fleeting moments in a dream had lifted his spirits more than anything else had in days.

And that was why he was more determined than ever to see her again with his own two eyes, embrace her with his arms and speak to her with his voice. Nothing else would be enough.

Then, and only then, would he truly be home.

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When Kairi awoke the next morning, the Land of Departure was covered in a blanket of snow. A hearty fire was crackling in the fireplace, and Aqua had set out a mug of hot cocoa for her. Smiling, she reached to grab it when she saw her hand and remembered.

Sora had kissed her. Just on the hand, but his kiss had felt nice all the same. Her hand was still warm too, like a part of him remained with her even though the dream was over. So she brought her hand to her lips and kissed it too.

“Thanks again,” she told Sora as she sipped her hot cocoa. “That was the nicest Christmas gift I could ask for. You, here with me.” She grinned. “Not a Christmas present so much as a Christmas presence, am I right?”

He always did like silly puns, and she knew he’d be chuckling right now.

“Seriously though,” she said, “Merry Christmas. Next year, we’ll get to spend it together in person, I just know it.”

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A/N: This fic is dedicated to Tegan, as it was recently her birthday! Happy Belated Birthday Tegan! And thank you for reading everyone! Merry Christmas!

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milknette · 4 years

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day 04 - bender

you are my fire, the one desire.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

THE first pro-bending match Adrien ever attends, coincidentally, is the day of Ladybug's debut.

She comes in with a no-name group of three, during one of the newbie matches held outside the official tournament. Her whole team wears masks— hiding their respective identities. Adrien hears the couple next to him whisper about how it's a little obnoxious, but he personally finds it to be one of the coolest things he's ever seen. (And he's not one to talk, either; not with his oversized hat and dark coat, to make sure nobody recognizes him.)

The team's opponents for this match are the Ba Sing Se Badgermoles, a rather popular trio who's already made a name for themselves as a powerful group of benders. It's expected to be an easy win, so there aren't many people out at the stands, but it's the only day Adrien could sneak out of the house and see one of the competitions live— so he takes a seat anyway.

He doesn't think much will happen; nobody does, really… until the match starts.

And the first round is over as soon as it begins.

Without hesitation, and almost perfect precision, three strong blasts of water are immediately thrown at the opposing team's direction, as they quickly fall over the edge.

Nobody speaks.

It's only the sudden ring of the gongs that break everyone out of their trance. The announcer scrambles to speak: "And that's a wrap on the first round! In only a few seconds flat, this no-name team takes the win! I'm just as surprised as you all are folks, but it seems like this lady's someone to watch out for." Then, a sudden pause. "What's your name, girl?"

The waterbender flinches with sudden surprise— almost nothing like the girl who seemed like she was out to kill only a few moments ago. One of her teammates, a brunette firebender, nudges her, as she's forced to speak.

"I— uh," she pauses, as if fumbling over her words. Then: "Ladybug. And this is my team— Rena Rouge," she gestures at the girl next to her, then to the other side. "And Carapace."

"Got a name for that little team of yours, Miss… Ladybug?"

It's not all that common anymore for benders to use aliases in fighting matches, as they did from bending tournaments way back in the past, but Adrien likes it.

Ladybug, especially. It suits her.

"Uh…" she pauses, again, evidently at a loss. "We, uh…"

The announcer seems to take pity on her, and decides to continue on. "Well, you can go ahead and think of it later. But you better think of one soon, because your fans will need something to call you in the future!"

(And he's right— he's absolutely right, because Adrien's quite sure he's found his newest favorite pro-bending team.)

With that statement, however, the next round commences.

The other team is more prepared, this time, and block off her advances; but it seems her teammates are equally as talented— with Rena's blasts of flames and the earthen discs Carapace throws in their direction— the opponents are quickly taken aback.

There's no third battle, because the match is already set.

"And there you have it, folks! We have our winner— this anonymous team can't be described as anything but miraculous for their victory tonight. We think today a legend in the history of pro-bending was born today… give it up for this merry band of benders, led by Miss Ladybug!"

Adrien's standing up and cheering, applauding them, before he realizes it. It's amazing, pro-bending's amazing, and she's amazing.

The trio looks around the arena, evidently proud of themselves, as Rena jumps into the arms of her only other male teammate. Adrien briefly wonders to himself if they're dating; it sure seems like it— as Ladybug takes it upon herself to scan the audience.

There's a look of evident surprise on her face, but it's complemented by a bright smile that takes him aback. When Ladybug's stare reaches the part of the stand he's in, Adrien almost swears that they make eye contact.

It's brief, maybe only for a second, or maybe it didn't happen at all, but whatever the case, it was from that moment on his heart was already hers for the taking.

"I actually did see you back then, you know."

As Adrien recounts the first time they meet, Marinette listens with curious amusement. She laughs when he suddenly turns to her, evidently interested at the sudden piece of information.

"What do you mean?"

"That night at the arena," She continues, leaning her head over to his shoulder. "It was only for a minute, but I could never forget you. Even with that insane disguise of yours—," Marinette giggles, "it wasn't hard to identify the supposed prince of the Fire Nation."

Adrien pouts. "Was my disguise that bad?"

"Terrible," she points out easily. "But it was cute, anyway. After that, I couldn't stop thinking about you. And when you ended up substituting for Rena that one time, well that… that was fate working with us."

Adrien shifts his head so he can nuzzle closer to her, easily looping his hand in hers. "Well, I guess you fell for me.."

"Don't you dare say it."

"Hook, line, and sinker."

Marinette pushes him away at that, shaking her head. "Oh come on, that's not even clever!" She argues. "I may be a waterbender but I don't meet with fish all that often."

"Aw, milady, water you so upset about? Why not just go with the flow?"

She rolls her eyes, then smirks. "You're just jealous that I'm hotter than you, huh?"

"Now that… was terrible."

"Guess you can't handle that sick burn?"

"Marinette, please stop—"

"No way, I'm on fire right now!"

"Okay, no, these are terrible, you are terrible at the art of punning, so I'm going to go ahead and leave…"

"No, no, fine! Come on, we have to get ready."

"For what?"

"Our match." Marinette grins. "Get it? Like a matchstick?"

Adrien exhales deeply.

"I miss my non-punning girlfriend." He sighs, as he carefully grabs his mask and puts it across his face.

"You're just jealous that I have all the heat." She replies jokingly, before running after him and taking his hand. "Now are you ready for this?"

Chat Noir smiles, turning back to her. "This'll be a blast."

"Oh, so you can make puns and I can't?"

"That's because I'm not terrible at it."

He only offers her a teasing grin, before they begin to walk out of the dark hallway.

The lights are blinding, and the noise from excited chatter bounces all over the arena.

"Welcome to what we've all been waiting for, the pro-bending finals! Now give it up for everyone's all-time favorite hero team… The Miraculous Ladybugs!"

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust2020 #auyeahaugust #auyeah august #ladrien #ladybug #adrien agreste #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic

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cylaonline · 3 years

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Completion #BreakingBondsAndBytes

Disclaimer: Hey friend, Sean here and real quick, if you are not currently a practitioner of either breaking (breakdancing), chemistry, and coding it is very important to read/consume this content with caution and/or for entertainment purposes only. Enjoy : )

Hey everyone,

Sean here and in this post let us discuss the topic of completion as it is interpreted through the respectful disciplines of breaking, chemistry, and coding. Remember, the premise of these posts is that we take a general concept, funnel them through a filter of the topic at hand by exploring how they manifest, respectfully, and then garner insights by comparing these manifestations. Utilizing these comparisons as a mnemonic to absorb information effectively and efficiently, we attempt to accelerate learning in each of these categories, respectfully, although they are seemingly unrelated.

As we know, there is a beginning, a middle, and an end to every process. Sometimes, it becomes easy to forget that, whilst in the middle, eventually an end will arrive and the process in which we engage will ultimately end, or, be completed. One reason this is so is because we are so engulfed with the process after its beginning that we often neglect looking from the outside-in to assess (1) where we’re at in the process, (2) how we can modify the process to accomplish the goal intrinsic to our respective categories, and/or (3) bottlenecks that might stymie us from reaching completion, both internal and external. Let’s use breaking as a reference subject and then bring in chemistry and coding subsequently, thereby comparing the processes and solidifying the significance of completion, respectfully.

The timeless process of breaking is the battle: an exchange of moves by two different parties to exhibit better mastery of the breaking artform. In breaking, a series of moves from the respective categories of toprock, footwork, power moves, and freezes are executed in sequence and, ideally, permuted in a chronological back-and-forth trade. This trade is often described by originators of the artform and seasoned practitioners as a non-contact conversation. Traditionally, the process of execution, known as sets, commences with top rock, continues with footwork and power moves, and ends with a freeze. Contemporary sets, in contrast, show that these categories can be mixed and matched and that there is no set way (pun intended) to execute this series of moves. Hopefully by now you have recognized that the process is just as important as the completion. More accurately, the nature of completion is relative to the context of the set. Keep this in mind. At this point, you might be wondering, “How should I complete my set in breaking?” Truth be told, relative to movement, there is no right or wrong way to end a set. Still, there are certain characteristics that define completion to a set. These characteristics are crisp, clean, controlled, and concise. Whether you opt to freeze, decide to pose after an acrobatic maneuver, or simply stand up, your movement must have these three traits. Further, it must be conducive to the context of your style. Suggestions will be provided for how to do this; for now, let’s transition to chemistry.

The chemistry process is the scientific method and if you do not know what this is, feel free to click the link to Wikipedia to gain a better understanding. Whether you realize it or not the scientific method is always followed, irrelevant of the subdiscipline of chemistry you choose to engage. In the classroom, simple experiments that only last for three to six hours are executed for purposes of illustrating a concept. Outside of this system (allusion to another blog post), real world processes are completed by comparing results of testing to standard, known characteristics. For example, a quality control chemist will receive a sheet list that divulges properties of a known chemical/product. The chemist will then test for accuracy relative to the property list and then modify the substance to congruency if necessary. This is very simple though. Antithetically, modern day research is seen by interdisciplinary format, meaning that there are different specialized scientists executing different experiments and the overlying process is completed by communication of interpreted data. The media of communication varies. Traditionally, results are communicated through written and orated media. However, modern communication through visual media in the information age is not uncommon. Please note that results are still communicated whether your process is successful or unsuccessful. Now, let’s transition to coding before we tie everything together.

The coding process is qualified by writing out in the text editor the syntax congruent to the logical flow established. Not to be facetious but it is that simple. Of course, it is time to do a comparison between traditional and contemporary practices so here we go. First, let’s contextualize this discipline relative to the others. The languages we will learn are relatively new as compared to the others that, for example, you might have seen in the move Hidden Figures. Further, the machines we utilize now are way smaller and more powerful than the ones from the past. Thus, what might have taken a relatively long amount of time for a really big machine to write out a “Hello World” printing takes nanoseconds on a smaller machine. Plus, back then there was no internet. Traditionally, in the age of the internet, not gonna lie you might have been taught syntax to write out the previously-mentioned “Hello World” application, a few functions, a game or two and that’s about it. Contemporarily, however, these mundane practices are not going to help you get a job in the industry, and I say this as a commentary of the YouTube tutorial. Don’t get me wrong, watch these videos to learn but it is important to go further into depth and detail which we will go into in another post. I digress. The way you know a program is completed is you simply test it out in the browser for structural, visual, and functional verification, if applicable. In the age of gimmicks, clickbait, and foolery, this is quite the opposite. It’s quite astounding because, in contrast to the other two respective disciplines, you get to see the benefits IMMEDIATELY. WOW! This brings us to tying everything together.

Although we began with breaking, let’s talk about coding and then illustrate where these disciplines intersect. We just discussed that completion for coding is relatively immediate compared to the other disciplines. We can visually verify success in congruence with the intent of the plan for the website or web application. Cutting to the chase, completion is better attained by fragmenting your process and identifying points of milestones. We see this in coding. A “Hello World” application is completed, and we immediately see it when we open the browser. This applies to static and dynamic portions too and we can observe visually the milestones set. Transitioning to chemistry and breaking, completion milestones can be verified visually as well with physical characterization (i.e. color or state change) and instrumentation for the former, and physical stabilization and musical transition points with the latter. In laments terms, with each of these disciplines we are trying to tell a story to the audience at hand and the more we can contextualize the story and make it make sense, the better. Fragmenting the story makes it easier by turning a seemingly complex problem into simpler moving parts. Getting closer to real-time completion with chemistry and breaking a la coding is the goal here. Going back to the “looking from the outside-in” statement the fragmenting makes it easier to identify where we are at in the process in each respective discipline and thus assists with (2) and (3). Remember when we talked about sets in breaking ending in a crisp, clean, controlled, and concise manner? Translate this to coding with syntax and chemistry with mechanisms with minimal moving parts.

Ultimately, we could go down the rabbit hole with each of these comparisons and be redundant (just like this sentence). The takeaway to garner is that we want to be aware of the completed process as early as possible and then use subsequent processes as a formality to verify. The completed process for all of these disciplines must be crisp, clean, controlled, and concise and this manifests itself in breaking as the end of a set; coding as a successful structure, presentation or functionality rendered to the browser or server; and chemistry as a well-thought-out communication of interpreted results.

#BreakingBondsAndBytes

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miscellanasaurus · 5 years

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MHA 233

Hey, me again unfourtunatley there wont be a chapter 234 next week due to horikoshi tasking a ,well deserved, break. understandable especially since he`s only taken a break once prior, though that was quite recent as well i hope it`s not to taxing, i guess it goes to show how screwed up the system in japan is to mangaka and animator`s ...anyway onto the chapter.

Something that slightly confused me at first was twice needing to take her measurements seeing as he cloned her during the overhaul arc but i believe that clone was one of the aforementioned imperfect one`s and as such would most likely just be goop without the required blood.

As shown here the clones do all contain blood ,at least the perfect one`s, so it`s not that far of a stretch to presume the imperfect ones don`t contain the same genetic make up, headcannon but they most likely copy twice`s d.n.a structure.

Took me a while to wrap my head around this one but basicly the clones are based on the original Twice`s memories and that`s why compress didn't know what was going on.

Small side note but i love the small detail of that motercycle transforming into a drone and the commencing battle of clone`s should be pretty badass.

*Spinners just to cute totally ship him and shigaraki gamer buds for life

we cut back to spinner and it seems that he`s been holding the group back whilst shigaraki advances and I suppose i`m okay with this though I feel spinner could of faced anyone in the MLA as a stand in perhaps slide & Go it`d be interesting to see his perspective whilst Compress fought the politician I just want compress to get some development tbh if he doesn’t get any I might post my own head cannon on what his backstory is.

We also see he has a pretty kick ass mask and I kinda wish the rest of the MLA had a kick ass mask but to be fair the whole point of not hiding their faces was a show of power. His quirk is also kinda call the idea of a politician being a literal rallying cry is kinda cool

We also get a better look at spinner who speaks about how his life past by in a blur and all he did was tag along for the ride a rather symbolic representation of his relationship with the league

So it seems dabi wasn’t quite off the mark by calling him a shallow cosplayer instead of following stain for his philosophy it was his obsession and drive to achieve that dream that was so infectious that it motivated spinner into action and its shigaraki`s motivation that has pulled spinner towards the legue if only to see him achieve his dream, I kinda whish we got some more character conflict with spinner but all in all his motivation to help shigaraki achieve his dream is kinda unique in its execution

And while spinners quirk is nothing special considering the way this fights going I wouldn’t be surprised if he ahd a healing factor non of the main characters have a healing ability and it`d kinda be cool seeing a combat based villain using his healing ability offensively, for example not being worried about going all out as he can immediately heal any damage or having to chop off his own arm something along the lines of that.

We also cut back between the back and fourth of Re-Destro and Shigaraki and I`m so sad for shigaraki`s all stars look at them, also his toes look really weird

And then this happens

Honestly this draws a parallel between shigaraki and overhaul but there’s just something gross about the fact its not even his whole hand bet he`s wishing they walked there now. I wonder if spinner will give shigaraki his quirk to heal his hand, if it is does have a healing factor as well.

Also small side note but it appears that “Father” is destroyed effectivly forcing shigaraki to overcome his trauma/grief on one hand ,pun inended, i kinda like the hand on the face aesthetic on the other ,which shigaraki no longer has, i just want my baby to be okay.

*i love how re-destro talks to shigaraki like he`s a child nice little detail

The chapter then ends on Re-Destro prepraring to crush shigaraki`s whole hand and gigantomachia about to arrive and honestly this throwdowns gonna be epic

a middle aged Japanese business man being powered by stress is a force to be reckoned with I kinda wanna see him fight AFO now two giant armed dudes throwing the smackdown especially considering that when re-destro`s on the verge of loosing he`ll just become even more stressed .

On my final note the idea of re-destro`s mask being a rorshach whilst the MLA`s philosophy could be interpreted in many different ways for example getens idea of survival of the fittest is kinda cool,

speaking of geten it seems Gigantomachia will have to fight Re-destro instead so we should still get the fight between him and dabi despite how it`s constantly been delayed.

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mezzopurrloin · 4 years

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Chapter 6-4: The Search for Illidan

Prince Kael'thas has crossed through the portal into another world.

The demon lord Kil'jaeden was impressed by Ner'zhul's performance, and sealed his soul in a block of ice while giving him the power to control the dead. This made him into the Lich King, and created the Scourge.

Let the search for Illidan commence.

In the original this was just a cage on wheels. Now it's a fancy crystal prison keeping Illidan held.

In this mission we only control our heroes. Our base acts via AI and will send out attack waves to support us every few seconds or so. It's kind of like the custom map Defense of the Ancients, which laid the groundwork for the MOBA (Multiplayer Online Battle Arena) genre.

Since we completed every level of the secret mission, we get an extra hero for this one.

Brewmaster: Warrior hero of the Pandaren people. A fierce melee warrior who fights using a drunken master style. Nearly all of his voice lines are either drink or bear puns.

Breath of Fire: Belches out a cone of flames that deal damage. Units hit with Drunken Haze will ignite and take further damage over time.

Drunken Haze: Douses enemy units in alcohol, slowing them and causing them to miss on attacks. If hit by Breath of Fire while under this effect, they'll ignite and take damage over time.

Drunken Brawler: A combination of Critical Strike and Evasion, this allows the Brewmaster to both deal critical hits and avoid enemy attacks. It's not as strong as either of the above individually.

Our goal is to take control of Illidan's cage and set him free. Maiev is currently guarding it and slowly moving it toward her base.

She's level 10 and more than a match for any of our heroes individually, but together we can bring her down without much issue.

Now that the cage is under our control it'll move toward our base instead. We need to bring it all the way there to win.

Mainly that means not letting Maiev get her hands on it again. Keeping our heroes with our army and fighting her off whenever she reappears is the key.

Our heroes are reaching level 6, so it's time to show off their ultimate abilities. Here's Kael's.

Phoenix: Summons a Phoenix, a powerful flying creature. It doesn't have a summon timer and instead gradually loses health over time. Only one can be summoned at once.

Phoenix Fire: The Phoenix burns with such intensity that it ignites enemies near it, dealing damage over time.

Phoenix Egg: When the Phoenix dies, it becomes an egg. If the egg survives for 30 seconds, it hatches into a new Phoenix with full health.

A single Phoenix basically lasts forever so long as you're careful with it, and can do a lot of things. Its attacks deal Magic damage, allowing it to hit enemies that are turned ethereal by Kael's Banish.

Lady Vashj learned her ultimate too.

Tornado: Summons a Tornado that you can control. It moves slowly, slows all enemy units in a large radius around it, and deals damage over time to nearby buildings. It can also air-toss enemies as the spell Cyclone. It's a channeling effect and if the Sea Witch is interrupted the tornado will disappear.

This is similar to Earthquake, but more powerful and mobile. It's great for tearing through enemy bases.

Unfortunately our Brewmaster couldn't quite reach level 6, so we don't get to see his ultimate. Things are starting to look a bit rough here. If a hero is slain they're revived at the Altar in our base momentarily, but it takes them a little time to get back to the front.

The night elf forces are gathering and making a big push. This could be an issue.

Or, it would be if I wasn't already done. Maiev never reclaimed the cage and it just rolled straight into my base.

Once he's safe, Illidan shatters the crystal to break free.

Wow, that was a really short mission.

#mezzo's screenshot lps #let's play #warcraft iii #warcraft iii reforged #the frozen throne #kael'thas sunstrider #lady vashj #illidan stormrage #maiev shadowsong

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debbie-tanthorey · 4 years

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65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony. A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently. An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up. Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended). Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch) He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.” The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot. B-word leads to the C-word.

Alone now in my car, I fall apart. Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see. A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac. Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this. (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔) Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion. The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week. What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions. All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying. Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.” His reassurance tempers my panic . . life resumes.

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't. Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda. Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.” Did. Friday, March 6. Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one.

“Sure”

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’ She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her. She and Ian were married 18 months ago. Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9. Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk. Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn. Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread. Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work. This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before. A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10. Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect. She's calm. So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second. Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs. The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head. It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me. Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope. I do. And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters. Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed. A mistake, surely so. Just a glitch in the system. “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in. I’m in luck, they can. So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery. Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away. Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either. Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one. Fact of the matter, there is NO lump!

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia. He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again. This day I say, ‘ok'.

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case. ???? While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy. Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson. I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though. COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car. At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone. And it's too quiet in here. The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here. I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important?? Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease. Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it. (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!) In reality, robotically, walk over to look. There it is, plain as day. The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot. Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh. No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me. The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me. No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop? That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure. There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below. Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed. Needles are fun, aren't they??! (eye roll) Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me. (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room) And it begins. Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells. Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way. Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY. First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door. Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator. Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks. As I wait, pilfer on my ipad. Name is called, off I go. Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me. He begins talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”

“...(I go effectively deaf) blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly. What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE. Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently. Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?) REALITY Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally. Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available. (drifting off - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.) Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine. The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!! THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it. Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP. Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag. Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door. (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19. Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk. I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place. Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids. Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth. All the while knowing the beast is growing.

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16. Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know. I have breast cancer. There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG. Am a zombie. A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek. Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb. Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention. Vomiting would be a blessing about now. I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed) I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces. Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that. Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces. Watch them absorb what they now understand. I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George. This is the first time I will say the words. Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her. (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright. She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast.

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went. Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there. Am thankful I am not them. He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question. My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit. Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.

Life is insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between. Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it. What to do. What. To. Do. Staying right-minded is the aim. Crave it. C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there. OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3. I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me. Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event. Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy. Every day I plow through my work to-do list. Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery. Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow. A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus. A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives. In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.

Sleeping is not an issue during these days. It’s my safe place. Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago. (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ‘normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation. I waffle. At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace. Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children. No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go. Acknowledgement. A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them. They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them. They’re part of who we are. Mine are set for execution. It’s them or me.

Time ticks by.

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive. True. This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor. I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING. So expect the worst. Naturally. Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk. I notice what great hair he has. Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first) expect that. Did. Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything. Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core. What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.” Meaning that tiny prick was it. Say what now? Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes. I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home. Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for. Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them. Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020. DtoDD DAY. Death to DD’s Day. (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom. Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same. Gee, I hope I come back.” Melodramatic to a fault I am. Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour. Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed?? Well, it is. Apocolyptically-quiet. Surreal. Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though. Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain. I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes. Dark room, humming machine. Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m. Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal. I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest) you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?” (yes, I really did say it) Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table. I do. My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here. In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things. Arms, legs . . belt around my abdomen. Am picturing masked-ants. Busy, busy. Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head. I feel FINE Am here, but not here. Oh God. Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air. Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating, “Debbie, wake up. Can you hear me?” Awake. Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD”

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it. Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened. Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me. I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me. Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how. Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive. Not moving. Lord, what have I done? Ice packs under both arms. Detest feeling this gross. I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself. Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????! God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors. Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor. No big deal. Not much to tell. Post on facebook that I survived. Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME. Here’s where it gets funny. Seriously. Humorous. Reality. My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days. Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance. Stubborn. Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds. First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch. Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not. Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!” Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge. “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!” She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed. Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction. With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!! It works!! Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.

Drains. Grateful to only require two. Three times a day they need emptying. Unceremoniously, Leah’s job. When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery. These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side. The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice. (you winched at the visual, didn’t you? haha) They get full. Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color. Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction. eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing. (shudder) Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.” (rap, rap, smack) “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).” My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot. Really HOT. She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading. Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her. Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23. A week passes, mostly uneventful. Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing. Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD. I feel terrible. Blah - which to me, IS terrible. No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’) Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day. The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately. I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive.

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim. (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power. I have no power, drained dry. Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area. Pitiful. I hate this. Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me. My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room. sigh I need a transfusion. I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back. Where’d Debbie go??!!

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait. Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction. I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS. (how embarrassing) “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you. STOP THEM.”

huh?????!

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.” Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius. (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze. TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!! Geez . .the tunnel, the light . . THIS IS WHY!!! TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!! Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well. Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there. In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment with oncologist in May to discuss options. Why??? Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting. Yes and no, in that order. Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’. For good reason. Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!! And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it. Too few days of relief pass swiftly - the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself. But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that. I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored. ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL. It’s normalcy. And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March. Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work. Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way. I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 30. Meet-my-oncologist day. (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??! Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further. Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!! Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone. Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in. Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair. I absorb the room. Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do. A few patients are here. One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there. Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban. And there’s me. Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.

Name called. BP and weight. Perks of the day . . bp is good, especially good for me. Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs. I’ll take it!! Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction!

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire. Ugh. Bottom of the page. Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation. Here we go . . Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying) Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals) Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S. Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”) Janice / mom / is 81. Terry / brother / is 55.” Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . . Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart. Two verbal inquires of me -

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely”

He pauses. He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details. “Never?” he queries again. Shake my head in the negative. Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer. No sense at all.”

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!) the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me. Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally. I consent. He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated. Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream) If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen. Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc. Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures. (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE) Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back. Come see me in two weeks please. Oh wait . . you drive quite a distance to get here, right? Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh . . . so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way. CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’. TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results. (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator. Am still me, after all. My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment. By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score. Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself. I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd. Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office. One last day not having to call, know anything. Ignorant bliss. Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center. I stop breathing. Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’ Not breathing. HERE WE GO (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart. Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.) Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%. Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?” 17 “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call. Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . . with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH! For the moment, issued a reprieve. I soak it up. Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing. Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

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themovieblogonline · 16 days

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Monarch Takes Manhattan (and the World): Monsterverse Goes Mega!

Kaiju fans, buckle up! Remember how I flipped out recapping those epic first episodes of "Monarch: Legacy of Monsters"? Well, hold onto your monster-sized hats because Apple TV+ just announced a second season and a whole lotta spin-offs for Legendary's Monsterverse! That's right, Monarch isn't going anywhere. Get ready for more monster mayhem, Monarch secrets, and deep-cut revelations! All delivered by the dream team of Chris Black, Matt Fraction, and a crew of superstars. Did someone say Godzilla? You bet! The Monsterverse itself is expanding like Godzilla after a buffet of nuclear waste. Apple TV+ struck a gold mine of a deal with Legendary, bringing multiple new shows to the streaming party. We're talking a Monsterverse mega-franchise, spilling over into new stories and adventures. Hold onto your butts, people because this is gonna be legendary (pun intended). So, what can we expect in season two of Monarch? Remember how the first season dropped us right in the aftermath of that crazy San Francisco brawl and Monarch's big monster reveal? Well, buckle up for more! We'll unravel even deeper secrets about the organization, and I have a feeling some familiar scaly faces (or maybe tentacles?) will show up. Let's not forget the OG Monsterverse films. The monster mayhem that started it all! From the 2014 Godzilla flick to the record-breaking "Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire," these movies paved the way for Monarch's monstrous success. And with over $2 billion at the box office, it's no surprise this legendary franchise is taking over our screens. So, if you're down with kaiju carnage, epic battles, and the mysteries of Monarch, then this news is a win bigger than King Kong himself. Mark your calendars, because the Monsterverse is just getting warmed up. Stay tuned for more updates, and until then, let the monster-mania commence! (Source: Apple TV) https://youtu.be/6_1nQRuaG-E Read the full article

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mobius-prime · 4 years

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92. Sonic Super Special #4 - Return of the King

The Return of the King

Writer/Colors: Karl Bollers Pencils: Sam Maxwell

It's time to finally see what will happen to the king once his daughter returns with the Sword of Acorns! The heroes make a triumphant return to Mobotropolis in their skyship, but upon arriving the king greets them and insists that he is no longer sick, citing the ridiculousness of his prior order to dismantle the Robians. Agreed, kingy ol' boy! Uh… agreed, right everyone?

G-guys, are you serious?! First of all, since when can Geoffrey ever find it in himself to agree with something that Sonic says? Second of all, you're really all arguing for the systematic murder of over four million sentient beings?! The king is flabbergasted, but everyone stands firm, Sonic even citing how his uncle lied to him about his parents, and he feels like he can't even trust his parents now, let alone his uncle. The king becomes more and more agitated, and suddenly shouts for them to be silent as the crystallization takes over the rest of his body.

Well, this looks bad.

We cut away to the skyship that we thought had just landed, with the Freedom Fighters on it. The ship is hit by a stray air missile, and they crash near a soldier, whom they frantically question about why they've returned from their mission to find their city a war zone.

Something definitely fishy is going on here. With more explosions hitting the streets around them, everyone is forced to flee into a nearby abandoned building, and who do they find there but Uncle Chuck and a handful of other Robians hiding from the fighting? Uncle Chuck is torn, but the other Robians are angry, only seeing the faces of those who apparently called for their dismantling. Sonic rushes around and confiscates their guns before they can fire off any shots, and then reasons with his uncle that he would never call for something so heinous, even citing the same incident with Uncle Chuck and his parents - only this time, noting that he refuses to lie to his uncle, as lies were what came between them before. Uncle Chuck believes him, and they go to shake on it…

Sonic rushes to his uncle's side, begging him to respond, but Uncle Chuck is unmoving and silent. Sonic, in a fury, turns to see that it was the same soldier who they met when they first landed who fired the shot, and furiously shoves him backward and pulls the Sword of Acorns on him. However, before he can do anything to hurt the soldier, his parents step forward from the darkness, pleading with him not to harm him, as then he'd be "no better than Robotnik." Sonic hesitates, then lowers the sword - which suddenly flashes with light. On the other side of the room, Uncle Chuck miraculously sits up as though he were never shot at all, and the soldier who shot him is holding his head, confused and claiming that the last thing he remembers was the Freedom Fighters returning from their mission and going to speak with the king. Sally notes that it seems like everyone is under some kind of spell or trance, and a lightbulb suddenly goes off for Sonic. A few minutes later, he's standing in the palace and shouting loudly for Ixis Naugus to come and face him, because really, who else did you think it was?

He tries to influence several more nearby soldiers to attack Sonic, but Sonic merely uses the sword's healing ability once again, which makes the soldiers drop their weapons and start questioning how they got here and why they're dressed for battle. Naugus angrily runs away as Sally and Geoffrey catch up to Sonic, and they all run together after the possessed king. To everyone's horror, Naugus has positioned the king on the edge of a balcony, claiming that if they come closer he'll jump, causing the king to fall to his death while he vacates the king's body so he'll be unharmed by the fall. Sonic tries to call his bluff by pointing out that the sword is making him weaker, and Naugus, infuriated, makes the jump anyway.

Sonic, without thinking, leaps after the king and grabs onto him before they both hit the ground in a blinding flash. Sonic finds himself waking up on his back on the ground, with everyone worriedly watching over him, and the king commends him for his bravery, noting that the sword's power kept them from dying from the fall and that Naugus has left his body, leaving him sane once more. He believes that he'll be crystallized permanently now, but then goes to grab the sword lying nearby, and the final miraculous transformation takes place.

Well, he's finally cured! I can't imagine we'll have any more troubles involving him from here on out, right? Right?

Down and Out in Downunda

Writer: Michael Gallagher Pencils: Nelson Ortega Colors: Karl Bollers

Oh hey look, it's Michael again! We haven't seen him since the big Endgame finale. As you might have noticed, he's not quite the big main series writer he once was, but we haven't seen the last of him yet. This is also the story I mentioned before in that finale, where it went into more detail about how Bunnie, Antoine, and the Downunda Freedom Fighters escaped their confinement in Crocbot's torture chambers, so some of the plot points may seem familiar. To that end, I'll only really cover the extra details here that Endgame didn’t.

The Freedom Fighters are hanging out and camping in the woods telling stories, and Sally requests that Bunnie and Antoine recount how exactly they escaped the prison camp in Downunda, so they commence the storytelling while they cuddle up to each other around the fire. Bunnie begins by mentioning Crocbot, whom she calls the "vilest creature since General Sherman," which is a reference to Union General William Sherman from the American Civil War. This is another one of those really, really weird instances where Michael apparently just can't help himself to make Bunnie out to be this like, weird Confederate supporter despite her, y'know, living in a world that has nothing to do with the American Civil War and also being kind of staunchly opposed to slavery and all. Like, apparently General Sherman really was kind of a dick in war, using scorched earth tactics to fight the Confederates, but there have been a lot of terrible war commanders throughout history, and if Michael wanted to make a silly reference to some real-world conflict, he could have picked literally anybody besides someone that, again, makes Bunnie out to be a Confederate supporter. I know he does it because she's southern and he's playing on southern stereotypes and all, but dammit man, if you were looking for southern stereotypes to give her you could have gone for harmless ones like cornbread, farms, and "oh bless your lil ol' heart" or something, not the ones that, I can't stress enough, make one of the main characters of the comic out to be someone who's affiliated with a regime that supported chattel slavery. It's honestly one of the main issues I have with Michael and how he writes this character, because I adore Bunnie and she simply does not deserve this slander.

Well, anyway, onto the actual story of her and Antoine's escape. When they were put into their cell, Walt started to become upset at the thought that his other three team members might be dead by now, and while Barby comforted him, Bunnie realized that their captors were so focused on restraining her bionic limbs that they forgot to make sure her flesh and blood arm was properly secured, allowing her to slip it free of the shackle on the wall.

So that's how they got out of the restraints without causing Antoine's collar to blow! Well, technically they did blow it anyway, but only to open the door and allow them to escape. The four allies ran to rescue the other three Downunda Freedom Fighters, and then Bunnie and Antoine got onto the airbus delivering Robotnik's ore for the Ultimate Annihilator while the DFF distracted Crocbot, making it sound like Bunnie and Antoine died to cover their escape.

Also, Endgame didn't go into how Bunnie and Antoine obtained the explosive that they were all set to plant on the Ultimate Annihilator. This story explains that one - Crocbot had aspirations to blow up Robotnik himself anyway by planting a bomb on one of the combots delivering the ore, and Bunnie and Antoine simply stole it while on board the airbus. They snuck out of the vehicle once it landed in Robotropolis, counting on it taking a while to unload the ore while they slipped away and carried out their plan, and the rest was history. Back in the present, Hershey arrives with a letter from the Downunda Freedom Fighters themselves, having arrived quicker than expected due to the weird properties of the flow of time in Knothole at the moment.

I like the little note from the editor asking if we want to see more of them. Of course I do, man! Unlike the Forty Fathoms Freedom Fighters, these guys and the Arctic Freedom Fighters are actually cool and likable. Remember, Bottlenose massacred like a hundred oysters not too long ago. At least these guys are blowing up actual villains rather than "hired mussel." (Still not over that pun.)

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sonic super special 4 #writer: karl bollers #writer: michael gallagher #pencils: sam maxwell #pencils: nelson ortega #colors: karl bollers

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