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#been taking my meds again like a good person for like six days but the very physical anxiety symptom that used to drive me to alcoholism is
isbergillustration · 2 months
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I feel like absolute garbage today so no new art (sorry to the peeps whose commissions i promised to do today) but here is an update on this thing. Amputated part of its waist which is good, glued its legs on back to front which is. Unfortunate.
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actual-changeling · 6 months
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i feel like all my meta posts just clicked and solved a puzzle in my brain. however i am also currently upping my sleep med dosage so if any of this sounds like the incoherent rambles of a mad man it's cause i am. incoherent and insane and rambling that is. (not a man)
but i have to write this post since i had a lightbulb realization moment.
because the thing is, besties, that aziraphale is a fucking horrible liar. he gets nervous and fidgety, he stutters, you can SEE him sweating anxiety. just look at him in the bookshop when the archangels inquire about their not-so-little 25 lazarii miracle.
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his best "lies" are when he is actually telling the truth but twisted. he has never been a good liar (see job) and that has not changed in six thousand years. all smiles directed at archangels are visibly wrong, his discomfort is tangible.
whenever he panics it is written across his face clear as day, including, and this is the important bit, when he is talking to the metatron.
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now, you are wondering why exactly that matters, and the point is something we have all talked and thought about for ages but my brain just. formed some new neural pathways.
because he is a terrible liar, he is horrible at hiding his emotions.
but you know who isn't?
crowley.
unless you know him, it is very hard to read his facial expressions with his glasses on. he can turn his emotions "off", he can put a wall in front of them and by extension around himself.
i talked about it more in this post, so for background info have a look at it (if you want to)
it's crowley's thing yet there is one moment, one, glorious moment in which aziraphale executes it perfectly. and that moment mirrors crowley putting on his glasses, it is aziraphale attempting to hide away all of his feelings and thoughts so no one can tell what he is really thinking.
the parallels besties. the fucking parallels.
what really sells it to me is that last comparison because it matches too well to not be intentional. honestly, after the sink story i think every little thing in this show is done on purpose and with attention to detail, so.
the empty look, the heartbreak, the pain - the realization. this is it. i am not walking away from this unharmed but i am walking away. or rather into the loneliness, the absence of the person i love.
for aziraphale also the realization that the world is about the get fucked and he is not.
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after that we have the inhale of courage. taking a deep breath to calm yourself, to find your way back to your body. a kind of preparation we have all done at one point or another.
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the mask slides into place. or at least you want it to slide into place, you are trying to fucking jam it into the spot you need it to be but sometimes it's like trying to push the square peg through the round hole.
it's a disconnect, it's putting up a physical and emotional wall. crowley does it to hide away from aziraphale.
aziraphale does it hide from heaven and the metatron, yes, but he does it to hide from himself. at his core, aziraphale compartmentalizes. he is so fucking good at cognitive dissonance it's scary, and that's what happens here.
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he knows, he KNOWS, that he needs to lock up his feelings or he won't be able to get into that fucking lift and do what he thinks he needs to do.
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and so he walks away from crowley just like crowley walked away from him, copying him and doing exactly what he has seen him do a thousand times: putting up wall after wall after wall. ripping out every sprout of vulnerability before it can bloom.
except that he stopped doing it after the no-pocalypse, and that is why it hurts so fucking badly when he puts his glasses back on.
he is not ripping out a sprout, he is uprooting an entire fucking tree
aziraphale cannot hide behind sunglasses by crowley so he hides underneath an angelic persona, the person he thinks he should be, needs to be, and the problem is that whenever he slips into that role, it becomes him.
getting crowley to take off his glasses again is going to be a herculean task and the same goes for getting aziraphale to drop his act. they're one and the same in shape and origin and purpose but they are not indestructible.
because listen. all of this is painful and it hurts. it really is.
the fun part, however, is the fact that we know exactly what it takes to destroy that barrier, we have seen it happen to crowley before.
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my point is that we are missing the parallel for said destruction.
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crmsnmth · 19 days
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September Sky Chapter Six, Part 1
"Ready, Chris?" Dr. Fischer asked, hanging out her office door. I nodded and stood up for yet another session in the mental illness department store. I really didn't want to be here today. I mean, it's not like I really ever want to be here, but still. I know it's best to keep me from having some serious issues. I pulled myself off the chair I had been slouching on.
I walked into her office and she shut the door behind us. I took the same seat I took for every single session. I once read something about how where you sit in a therapists office actually means something. I have no idea what it would mean. Useless information, but still information.
She pulled her chair in front of me and sat down. The ever present yellow legal pad was already in her lap. It looked like I was getting a fresh one today.
"How have you been doing, Chris?" She asked, dipping feelers into my head, just to see how things were going to be going today. Which Chris she was talking to. There was a way she said those harmless words that irritated me today. Right from the start. It makes me feel like I'm not human, but nothing more than just a project or puzzle for them to solve.
"Alright. You?" I sent my own feelers. My words, taken at face value meant nothing really, just a greeting. But in those words, there was a silent fuck you. And I knew she would be able to hear it. Even if she was looking down at the yellow pages. She knew me well enough to have heard it.
"I've been fine, thank you. Where'd you like to start today?"
"I don't know. I'd rather not start at all."
"Having an off day? "I guess you could say that. I really don't want to be here," I said quietly. Always be honest with your shrinks. They can't work with you if you lie.
"Is it just here? Or is it for everywhere." She scribbled on the yellow pad as we spoke. I wondered if all her notes were in my records. I had access to my records and if the curiosity lingered, I'd have to pull that card. For now, I'll ignore it.
"I guess everywhere. I'd rather be home."
"How long has this been going?
"Couple days. I was wondering when the depression would cycle in. I knew it was coming," I said, making a light joke at my bipolar diagnosis.
"Did you want to try something for it? Or do you think you've got it?" Dr. Fischer said. That was one thing about her I didn't like. Her first answer to any minor issue was to be put on some form of medication. I mean, I take my meds, but I don't want to add more.
"I've got it. It won't last forever."
"Ok." She scribbled again in her notebook. "So let's start on a happier topic. How are things going with Addison?" And the subject was changed quickly.
"Good. Really good." And it had been. We had seen each other almost every day that I'd been off from work. There was one day where I just needed to be alone, but Addison was understanding and didn't take it personal. "We talk and hang out a lot."
"That's wonderful. What do you do together?" I could hear her pen making the flowy letters.
"I don't know. We get coffee or go have a drink together. Mostly we just talk and hang out." I fidgeted with my jacket's zipper.
"And how's the negative thoughts and the impulse control?"
I looked around the room, noting the hotel room style paintings. They said nothing about anyone, even the painter. I looked at her bookshelf, looking at the same books in every single psychiatrist's office. A potted plant at in the corner, its leaves reaching for the sunlight. "They're still there," I finally pushed the words out of my mouth.
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xxlovelynovaxx · 1 year
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"Okay, you need to be SUPER HONEST with me and if your delusions or hallucinations get WORSE, we'll need to stop that med because you've worked SO HARD to get those symptoms under control and we don't wanna mess that up, okay widdle babey?"
Okay so my med manager did not say the last two words, but the condescension was so real. Like no actually I didn't have to work hard at all to deal with my psychosis, I've just been dealing with intrusive thoughts since I was six years old so when an unpleasant delusion happens I just kinda go "nah" about it and when it's pleasant and harmless well, why bother to even go "nah" about it.
Anyway I'm switching providers but I will LIE THROUGH MY TEETH to get the care for my ADHD that I need. Like actually my ADHD is more disabling than my schizophrenia could EVER be and I think I'm capable of determining for MYSELF which one is ACTIVELY HARMING ME in my day to day life.
Like providers see ADHD and schizophrenia and are like oh you can probably power through the ADHD but the schizophrenia is probably destroying your life poor thing. And I'm like... uh actually it's not the schizophrenia causing me to scroll Tumblr for 8 hours and forget to eat. It's not the schizophrenia causing an absolute executive dysfunction barrier that I can't overcome for the simplest of tasks.
(Oh, and btw, she said when I mentioned executive dysfunction that I'd have to work with my therapist on being more "motivated". And then I had to explain to HER that executive dysfunction has NOTHING to do with "motivation".)
Like, I'm not lying about the ADHD stuff, but she told me she'd stop prescribing the med if SHE THOUGHT it was harming me if the psychosis got stronger if I refused an antipsychotic. After I had JUST finished telling her how I'd had meds forced on me while in inpatient and been subject to psychiatric abuse.
Never mind that I am fully capable of determining whether or not my psychosis is too much for me to handle. Never mind that antipsychotics are increasingly being found harmful even for treating psychosis* long term. Never mind that besides the very obvious ableism, I suspect an extreme level of sanism and infantilization of schizospec/psychotic people influencing her thought process.
Gods save me from psychiatrists who think a 30 minute appointment gives them enough insight into my life to be the benevolent arbiter of what's good for me. Like this woman fully had a savior complex with her "well, I have an obligation to do what's best for YOU uwu" bullshit. How about you start with listening to and believing me? Huh? Is that too hard for you, with your falsely inflated ego?
Is that what you spent all those years in school doing, being vapidly praised until you believed you were both smart and capable despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, rather than bothering to learn a single thing so you're still stuck failing psych 101 about what executive dysfunction is but somehow have a degree? Nah actually they probably only give you the degree if you get the test questions that badly wrong ime.
Let's be real, psych academia is just an endless circlejerk of "look at what a good person I am for being willing to help these poor, sick, disgustingly insane people. They don't even know how fucked up they are and I'm such a saint for forcing them to be 'well' again."
Anyway I desperately need help for my ADHD and am ACTIVELY FINE with my psychosis getting stronger because not only are the majority of my delusions pleasant, but they'd have to get MULTIPLE ORDERS OF MAGNITUDE stronger before I'd even BEGIN to question my ability to handle them. I've dealt with far worse and stronger than this since again, I was SIX.
*That being said, I am pro-harm REDUCTION and if antipsychotics help you personally I will FIGHT for your right to take them for as long as I live. I am also pro-informed consent and my point in mentioning this is that people should know this before they take them, not that they shouldn't take them - and also that she preaches about having an obligation not to harm me and then doesn't know or care that antipsychotics are harmful. I rather suspect she doesn't care and simply sees psychosis as inherently more harmful than any harm antipsychotics do, which is wildly sanist.
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chronicallymargaret · 2 months
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the beginning
One morning in February of 2012, my mom had knocked on the door to wake me for breakfast and I told her I didn’t feel well. She went and grabbed the thermometer and it read 102℉. There was a sickness going around the high school at the time, so she told me to take some meds and rest. The next morning, my mom woke me up again to check my temperature and it had barely gone down. I stayed home again and followed the same regime. After my fever finally broke, my body didn’t feel right. I thought maybe I was just overly tired from being sick or maybe it was just the cold medicine wearing off. Eventually, I got to the point where I really didn’t think about the pain because I didn’t want to worry anyone. The family wounds were still healing from losing my first best friend, my grandpa, six years prior to cancer. Plus, I never liked people worrying about me because I knew that no matter what, I would always be okay - or so I thought.
High school was hard enough - let alone having a medical condition that not a single doctor in the tri-state area knew a single thing about. I kept my symptoms away from my parents for a very long time. Eventually, like most parents, they caught on that something wasn’t right with their kid. In December of 2012 along came the typical parental questions: “Margaret, are you doing drugs?” “Come on, kid, just tell me what’s going on with ya.” “Kiley Mae. Sit your ass down and start talking.” And then the never ending conversations and tears started to flow. I explained that, no - I was not doing drugs (I really was quite innocent here, Ma and Pops. Only a couple of times, I swear.). I finally broke down to my parents and told them the truth: Ever since that February morning in 2012, I’ve had a headache and chronic pain nearly every day.
Next thing I knew, my mom started researching and researching and more researching. She tried countless times to get clinics/doctors/specialists - you name it, she called them - to even listen to her. She called Mayo Clinic nearly EVERY DAY - practically begging on her hands and knees to fit me in to be seen by someone, anyone. She was my voice because no doctor or person took me seriously. I was “craving attention, a drama queen, drug addict/seeker, hypochondriac, lazy, not good enough, problematic, selfish, waste of money, time, and space.) I watched my dad’s hair slowly turn more and more gray as he worried about whether he should go to work to make money for the never-ending medical bills or go with his wife and daughter to find out the answers. (I hate how corporate America works. Since when has money become more important than one’s health? It’s disgusting and I wish we could change the system.) I watched my sister lack the attention from my parents that she deserved because they were constantly worried about me. (I am in no way, shape, or form calling out my parents. They have ALWAYS done their best in EVERY situation and that is why I am so proud to call them my parents - my heroes.) My high school friends secretively raised money to buy me a miniature pet pig to try to help make me feel better - my parents appreciated the kind gesture but said no because I needed to focus on my health. (I WILL own a pet pig one day - Dallas has already approved.
I have had a majority of my POTS symptoms under control over the last 10 years, but 2023 really screwed up my body. Due to all of the trauma and stress from not only everyday life, but miscarriages, surgeries, and mental health episodes as well - my body has been in FULL overdrive. I've been struggling trying to keep my life going and trying to ignore my health because I don’t want to give in to the fact that my POTS is getting WORSE and not better like I had been telling myself - and everyone I know - since the day I was diagnosed in July of 2012. Back then - yes, this was a frickin’ decade ago .. totally gross, I know. [“POTS was only seen in approximately 500,000 Americans. (https://www.aafp.org/pubs/afp/issues/2012/0901/p392.html)."] Imagine being 15 years old and you're a literal drop in the ocean of people who have something medically rare. What in the frick are the odds of that?
Flash forward to now, February 2024, I have nearly every symptom back plus new ones. My chronic symptoms are headaches - different intensities and locations, lightheadedness and dizziness, severe brain fog - I try not to drive on these days as I typically forget everything, insomnia, anxiety (omg .. I said the BIG “A” word), and depression (oooopps, I did it again bahaha). My new symptoms are: chronic abdominal pain - intensity and location has varied over approximately three months now, dry heaving, hot and cold intolerance (I told my work mom’s I feel like I’m going through menopause with how many hot flashes I have .. they giggled and said “Ohhh Kiley Mae, you have no idea what you’re in for - this is hardly nothing.” Also, can we talk about how important work relationships are? I love my work moms and work family - I’m very blessed on that front.), and vomiting.
The news that I learned today was that due to the dry heaving and vomiting, I now have a large hiatal hernia - part of my stomach is on top of my diaphragm. I’m currently waiting for a call to schedule a barium swallow test and I have a referral in with the University of Nebraska Medicine with a POTS specialist. I personally believe that I’m going to have chronic headaches and abdominal migraines - but I’m holding onto a little bit of hope that the doctor I currently have is going to confirm that the abdominal discomfort is from the hernia, not POTS. I plan on keeping this updated regularly because after I figure out what’s going on with me - I want to share my path of life so no one has to go through the medical trauma that I have.
Medical trauma is a huge part of not only who I am as a person but talking about it is the therapy that I am working through right now. I will eventually spill all of the emotions, but for today I’m going to talk about today. Because today was a very good day and I deserve to celebrate it.
My parents have become “snowbirds” and fly to southern Texas for the winter. Unfortunately, my endoscope ended up being scheduled while they were gone. I told my parents they didn’t have to come back home because it was a simple procedure, and everything was going to be okay. (Yes, I’m 27 and still take my parents to certain medical appointments because I’ve been hurt - I’m working on it.). I don’t know if it’s because I finally did it by myself or if the staff was told to be extra careful with me or what - but I had the most relaxing experience ever. No one looked at me like I was weird when I stated that I had POTS and would need an extra bag of saline. The first anesthetist actually shared with me that she also was diagnosed with POTS. I immediately got a smile on my face and asked if she was kidding. Coming from a small town, not very many people understood what my diagnosis is and again - I’ve been used to being a single drop in the ocean.
The anesthetist made sure to mark my charts and inform the rest of the care team my condition, what to expect, and what I would need after I woke back up. Anesthesia tends to send me into a flare up - especially with cutting off food and water after midnight. Once I got taken into the operating room, my actual anesthetist started asking me questions about POTS. He stated that he had heard of it, but only until recently. I started to explain how long I’ve had it. Then I just started word vomiting because this was a whole new experience for me - how I just want some answers but I’m sure they wouldn’t find anything. I had already come to terms with the abdominal migraines starting. He looked at me in the sincerest way and said, “Wow. You’re a strong woman. You’ve been through a lot but you’re so cool about it.” That statement right there hit me. I realized in that moment that, holy shit, I’ve persevered. I’ve climbed a huge hurdle today and I can’t wait to keep climbing.
If you've read this long - just know that I see you and I love you.
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liaromancewriter · 2 years
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Doubts
Premise: Harsh words from a patient has Cassie questioning her abilities as a doctor.
Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Words: 1,255
A/N: I’m reading Book 1 again and got inspired by the scene with Remy in chapter 7. Submission for @choicesjuly2022challenge Day 11 “empowered”
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The night sky was bright from the city lights haloing above high-rise and low-rise structures—a mix of old and new and everything in between—casting long shadows on the dark waters of the Charles River.
Rather than her usual route around the Commons, Cassie Valentine ran the four-mile track along the riverfront. The soles of her running shoes hardly made a sound as they slapped against the ground, music blasting in her ears, legs pumping and lungs burning from the punishing speed she set.
Boston wasn’t New York, but there were pockets of the city where late night hustle and bustle could be found if one knew where to look for it. And that’s what she wanted tonight. To escape; find an open yet busy space where she could lose herself for a while and forget the last few hours.
“How can I get out there and just surf with this hanging over me? How can I do anything normally? You’ve ruined my life!”
No matter how fast she ran she couldn’t shake off Remy’s harsh words. Or forget the angry look on his face as he blasted her for running a genetic test that he hadn’t wanted in the first place. She could have let him live in blissful ignorance. Enjoy the time he had left in peace. Instead, she’d shattered the illusion of normalcy.
What made her think that she knew what was best for a stranger, she thought to herself. Her M.D. was barely six months old, and she hadn’t been a doctor quite as long. Just because her medical hero thought she was developing the kind of observational skills he valued didn’t mean anything in the real world with real patients.
“The art of observation��of reading people…it’s critical to our work as diagnosticians. You’ve already begun to understand that.”
Well, Dr. Ramsey had been wrong. She understood nothing. She was an imposter who was playing doctor. Remy had seen right through her and soon everyone would as well.
The rational part of her knew she had the potential to be a good doctor, but the emotional fallout from today was blinding her to what was and what could be.
No matter how hard she pushed herself, the run wasn’t having the desired effect as her thoughts continued to spiral out of control. Running was her salvation, where she could find clarity. But not today.
Knowing it was pointless—and dangerous—to keep pushing her body like this, Cassie checked behind her for other runners and slowed down when she realized she’d left them all miles back.
She stepped off the path and quickly bent over, taking shallow breaths to bring her heartrate down to a more reasonable pace. When that didn’t help, she sipped water and took three deep breaths, forcing herself to dampen the adrenaline of her mad dash.
Placing one foot on a bench, she stretched aching muscles and massaged her quads and hamstrings, first one leg and then the other. She used the simple exercises to center her mind but knew it for a delaying tactic.
There was only one person who could make her see clearly when she was this conflicted and thinking so she unlocked her phone.
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Cassie stared at the words on the screen, memories flooding back of serious-faced doctors—so many specialists—X-rays and MRIs, the diagnosis that had changed her life. She remembered that lost feeling, the uncertainty of a future she couldn’t see, and then eventually the hopefulness that came with time and clarity of purpose.
Max was right. She did know how it felt to be a patient. To have doctors that didn’t listen or who dismissed feelings unless they were about the pain scale. Wasn’t that what had driven her in med school to be the kind of doctor that stood for her patients? Make them feel heard? Important and worthy of the best care?
She might have failed Remy today, but maybe it wasn’t too late. If he would let her, she could find a way to help him come to terms with a disease that was decades in the making.
Feeling settled than she had all evening, Cassie closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to three. An important lesson she’d learnt only recently, but already one she knew would be valuable for the rest of her residency if not beyond.
She started the long run back home but this time she found the calm she’d been denied earlier.
The next morning, she got off the T and walked towards Edenbrook with an empowering sense of self-worth that hadn’t been there when she’d left the previous evening. Taking a detour, she ducked into Derry’s, the coffee shop Dr. Ramsey had introduced her to and got in line to order.
“Are you going to make me regret letting you tag along, Rookie?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the familiar voice, catching a smirk on Ethan Ramsey’s full lips. As it had all other times before, she felt her heart skip at the sight of him; those laser blue eyes and artfully styled dark hair with a single, rebellious lock of hair that flopped sideways across his forehead.
“Maybe,” she teased with a quick grin. “Are you going to share more erroneous opinions if I do?”
He scoffed at the reminder of her rejection of his observations of her, but his quick smile showed he wasn’t offended.
The line moved and she shuffled forward. “One Espresso Romano and…” She stopped to observe him, considering, and then turned back to the barista. “A Cortado, please. Both to go.”
He tapped his index finger against his lips and then nodded at the barista, who had glanced over at her regular customer for confirmation.
“What’s a Cortado?” he asked, nonchalance, as they moved down the bar to wait for their drinks.
Cassie didn’t let her smile show but knew she’d stumped him. He might know coffee, but she had been to some of the best coffee houses in Europe.
“You might know it as Garoto in Portugal or noisette in France,” she explained. “It’s basically an espresso cut with a small amount of warm milk to reduce the acidity, topped with micro foam.”
He regarded her warily. “And what made you think I would enjoy it?”
“My superior observational skills,” she quipped.
To her surprise he rolled his eyes before he caught himself and frowned instead, clearing his throat awkwardly.
The barista called their order and Cassie handed him his drink. She watched him take a sip and waited for a reaction.
“Well?” she asked expectantly when he capped the paper cup and started to walk away.
“I’ll see you at work, Dr. Valentine.” And then he was gone.
Cassie rushed to the glass windows of the café, feeling immense satisfaction when she watched the pleasure spread across his face as he took a long pull of the drink in his cup, and then another, while he waited for the cross light to change.
Turning away before he caught her spying, she sat down on the nearest chair and absently drank her own coffee. For some reason, she felt more confident and assured now than she had while getting ready for work and psyching herself for the check-in with Remy.
Dr. Ramsey had liked her coffee recommendation. Even if he’d been too stubborn to say so. 
Well, she was tenacious too and before the end of intern year she would make sure he knew exactly who he was dealing with.
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All Fics & Edits: @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction @bex-la-get @mysticalgalaxysstuff @genevievemd @choicesaddict5 @jerzwriter @rookiemartin @schnitzelbutterfingers @vi-writes-stuff @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @dorisz @zahrachoices @lucy-268 @a-crepusculo @jamespotterthefirst @ofmischiefandmedicine @headoverheelsforramsey @takemyopenheart @gryffindordaughterofathena @queencarb @crazy-loca-blog @natureblooms24
Ethan & Cassie only: @custaroonie @lady-calypso​
@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
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vtforpedro · 1 year
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personal/med update
My brain is fried mush right now. I survived my disability hearing on Tuesday. It was definitely informal, a little intimidating, but I feel I got through it well enough. My attorney said it’s a toss up because this judge is extremely professional and won’t give any indication and he sure didn’t. The vocational expert narrowed me down to like 3 jobs, then 2, then 1, then 0. I felt that was a good thing? Like am I not disabled if I can’t do any jobs? Either way, my age is working against me so we shall see. It’s very strange that you can be completely disabled and unable to work, but not by US law so they won’t provide aid. Blegh. Gotta wait another 1-3 months for his written decision. ._. Last Thursday, I noticed I had a ‘spot.’ I call them spots b/c I have eczema but I also had a bad ringworm infection in 2015 and called them spots then. Red spots that turn into rings. Anyway thought it was gonna be eczema but by Friday I was covered in many more. Cue me having multiple meltdowns about it interfering with my hearing if it got too bad lmao It didn’t, but it is bad! I had 49 ringworm spots as of last night and they grow in number by day. So, I went to see an NP b/c my dr couldn’t fit me in. Went as well as every other medical professional interaction has, which was terribly, and left me in tears and feeling beat down yet again by the medical field. She wants disabled me, who was bedbound for eight months and currently in PT to recover, to put cream on 49 spots and counting. With IIH and nerve damage that limits my movement and ability to stand for longer than 10-15 min. But she kept interrupting me and wouldn’t let me explain any of this. Her notes said ‘she is not usually terribly active’ so I guess being bedbound translates to that somehow??? She also said I had 3-4 spots on my breasts which is not what she was told by me or what her MA wrote down. lmao so guess who had to message her pcp again!!!!!!!! A completely healthy person can’t be expected to put cream on 49 spots 2x a day. For me, this involves washing my skin since I am unable to shower every day cause of the whole disabled thing. She said a lot more bullshit about my swollen feet and fatigue, so basically I got zero help. It was barely a 10min appt. Fucking hate them, I swear. She refused to give me the oral anti-fungal cause of my other meds, but my mom asked the pharmacist today and she said I’d be fine to take it. The pharmacist asked, unprompted, if an NP, urgent care or ER doctor said no to the oral pill and my mom was like YES! And she said they don’t understand it and won’t give it despite it being used every day even for yeast infections and athlete’s foot. She said her friend went through this shit too trying to get the oral pill. Back in 2015, I suffered this infection for 5mos while applying for health insurance/getting approved/waiting for a pcp because no NP, UC or ER doctor would give me the oral med lmao I saw my new pcp finally and he was like uhhhh no here’s a prescription for it you have way too many spots to worry about putting cream all over your body. Y’all I had been washing my sheets, towels, clothes, taking apple cider vinegar baths, soaking my spots in ACV, then applying one of five or six otc and prescription creams EVERY DAY. I spent two hours twice a day in my bathroom. Ringworm was what I did every day all day for five fucking months. I cannot fathom doing that again. It’s insanity. I was close to a mental breakdown and I only had MH issues back then, none of the physical stuff. I hate it here man Also why do I keep having shit happen every time I turn around. No idea why my feet are swelling, no idea why I have this abnormal fatigue that makes me teary because I sit here and stare at my screen unable to think of anything else but how tired I am. Like for long periods of time. She said to talk to my psychiatrist about it HOOOOOOOO. I woke up this morning and immediately started crying. It’s triggering being treated this way after three years of it. I should’ve waited to see my pcp and used otc in the meantime or something, but my pcp wanted me in asap for my swollen feet so I could get lab orders. Which, according to this NP, ‘there are no labs for swollen feet.’ Where did they get this lady She’s like WHAT ABOUT YOUR LEUKEMIA DID THEY CURE IT? I’m like my chronic, lifelong leukemia? No, it is in remission lmao chronic is right there in the name ma’am. It’s the first word. HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’m gonna go cry again sorry for ranting I am so so so fucking sick of medical professionals and I cannot wait for it to slow down but my february is completely booked and march is halfway there. Chronic pain life baby!!!!
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tiny-yam · 11 months
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I’m going to offer unsolicited advice about your osdd 1-b post so don’t read on if you don’t want that.
*・゜゚・*🪻 🪶🤲🏼🫧🌦️🪷🐚🕊️🪺🌻 *・゜゚・*
If your partner is faking it, it sounds like a pretty manipulative thing to do. That’s not to say that they’re a bad person or that they’re doing it on purpose.
If you do suspect you’re being gaslit/coerced focus on how it’s made you feel, and ask yourself about other times you’ve felt this way. Go through who, what, why, where, and when you’ve felt this way in the past. It puts things in perspective before you decide to take action. It’s important to forgive and work with people where they’re at in a relationship, however, you need to find a balance that’s most comfortable and optimal for you between your partners intentionally and outcomes.
I stayed in a shitty relationship for six years because my partner and I were young and figuring things out, and they (mostly) never meant to hurt me. But at the end of the day what they were doing was negatively impacting my life, even if they didn’t mean to. I had to live with the effects of their actions no matter what their intention was. And they would only change so much, and so slowly. I had to accept that this was the person I was binding my life to—not their intentions and words—and decide from there what I would do.
Best of luck and I hope this gets old to your partner soon and they go back to normal 💛 hope you have a good day and get to do something you enjoy
Oh my goodness you are so sweet, anon - this is wonderful advice (I'm gonna post this so others can see)! 🥺💛 I was actually talking about myself in this post - I have a new and "punitive" (if you will, in schema mode terms) alter that seems to be stuck in a trauma from when I was around 5yo. When I think back now and kind of assess things, I theorize that the split happened a few days ago when I accidentally (somehow; I honestly forgot) found out my boyfriend had bought me an engagement ring. We've been together for a little over 4 years and have discussed this in depth & beyond, so it wasn't an out-of-the-blue surprise to *me,* but it must have triggered something very deep that I didn't even know was festering. I've been seeing my trauma therapist for about 6 years now (it's only been 2 years since finding out about my system though), I've been on and off different meds since I was twelve (you name it, I've tried it)... and I *cannot* bridle the oppositional and antagonistic behavior of this alter even with my arsenal of coping methods/skills and personal knowledge of psychology and how childhood trauma works. My boyfriend knows very, very little - near to nothing - about OSDD/DID/MPD despite me quite literally begging him to learn at least the very basics, otherwise the disorder looks too messy, as if nothing can be done to help. I take full responsibility every time that alter says something out of line, because it's *still technically me* that said it. I don't blame my boyfriend for not knowing what to do about the behavioral pattern, either, because... how would he know? Even *I* don't know. And that breaks my heart, knowing that a part of me can just pop out and take over whenever, without my consent, and just... shatter everything Good in my life. I assume this 5yo part of me doesn't want marriage because I was left alone with strange men at that age. That's all I really need to say.
I made this post earlier out of frustration, after I switched back, because I remembered that there are people out there that *think* they want multiple personalities. Even if you don't have a "mean" alter, it isn't cool or fun or quirky or whatever it is people think. It wreaks havoc on every aspect of my life, even in tiny ways. Thank you again, anon, you're a good soul 💛🙏🏻🌱
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sungbeam · 2 years
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today’s your first day right ??? i’m probably a lil bit late but gl with your classes today !! <333 i hope everything runs smoothly and i’m sending you all the virtual hugs rn 🫂🫂🫂 but ah, physics. pls i was never a science person, so i feel you 😭 it’s ok tho, i’m sure you’ll do just fine. and humanities wow !! pls i was never much of a humanities person either 😭 so that’s admirable honestly 😭 i hope you have a lot of fun !! not just in hum but also physics !! and just all your classes in general ^_^
thank youuu !! the program, like i said, allows me to go at my own pace, so rlly it could be as short or as long as i’d like, but average is supposed to be 6 months skdjdkd and i started it back in january bc my dad encouraged me to but that was obviously when i still had about 6 months of school left djsjsjsk so i obviously prioritized my actual school over this program since i could take my time with it anyway, and it’s rlly inexpensive which is nice. but yeah my goal is to complete then certificate within the next few months to hopefully get a ux design job by like ,, february or so ?? but yeah :D
and oooh the medical field ok i see you 👀 that’s actually rlly cool and is also smth i wish i was interested in bc i love that you get to help so many ppl !! but unfortunately there’s a lot of things that gross me out bc i’m rlly sensitive to certain things 😭😭 sksjsj which is why i rarely watch medical shows sksjksk but i’m glad that’s smth you could possibly pursue !! wishing you the best, whether you decide to go into that field or find smth even better for you on the way 🙏🏻 i’m sure whatever you choose tho will be a good decision :) also gl again on your classes today !! have fun !!
THANK YOUUU (_ _;) just had my first class which was english so it was really chill, and i have a history class in the afternoon (phys tmr sjxnskndjd) so v chill first day lmao but omg EM !! i made another friend today 🥺🥺🥺 i feel like i unknowingly target the chinese-speaking girls 😭😭😭 but she looked really confused and lost and i felt that, and ig it also helps that i speak chinese skxndnfk but she told me after class that she thought i was pretty and i went (´Д⊂ヽ ME????? ME ???!?!?!? like she's so pretty too tf and i feel bad cuz my chinese sucks :') but yeah i hope she doesn't drop out cries
ooh six months !! yes def take ur time w it and that's so great that it's inexpensive like my wallet and my mom's wallet r crying from uni expenses :') sometimes i wonder if i made the right choice picking this school, but i remind myself to make the most of it 😔✨ hope u get the best job and by february as well !! manifesting great things bc i see u doing great things in the future 🙏🏼 what made u want to pursue a career in this industry? do u like coding or compsci things :0 (dunno if im even in the right BALLPARK tbh but pls do educate me TT)
tysmm yeah kind of on the fence abt medicine rn but i really do love helping people :') it's like one of the two major factors that convinced me this was a worth-it path to pursue (?) but yeah, the cards have not fully been revealed just yet and my mom's hoping i can miracle my way into graduating in three years so i can have a gap year btwn med school and undergrad (which would be nice too but we'll see haha)
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kelyon · 2 years
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TMI Tuesday
Good morning Tumblr!
Quick announcement: As of Monday evening, my power has been out for over six hours. If it’s out for the rest of the day on Tuesday, my answers to TMI questions may be... spaced out strangely. As always, I will answer every question I receive, even if I have to wait until next week or do some TMI Wednesday.
This is a real shame because I FINALLY HAVE GOOD NEWS! After a solid month of constant crap and exhaustion and not writing, I finally got my groove back! Not only did I post a new chapter of Dark Mistress last Friday, BUT ALSO I finished the first draft of the next chapter over the course of one weekend! I KNEW once I got the ball rolling it wouldn’t stop!
Chapter 15 (Maturation) will post on 9-9. If you want a snippet, feel free to ask, but this chapter is the only new material I’m offering until then. I’m sticking with the biweekly schedule for now because I’ve also started work on Live Wire. 
Live Wire is a ghost story I’m writing for Halloween where Belle is a ghost haunting the house where Gold and Bae just moved in. I spent a good deal of my work day today doing research for the fic, which always gets me interested in my material. Despite it being a Halloween fic, I’m not intending for this to be especially scary or even spoopy. But what I intend is not always what happens when it comes to my writings. I’m starting this fic early because I want to give myself plenty of time to not know what I’m doing. Hopefully, it will be ready to post at the beginning of October. 
I hope you all are doing well. I’m really, really glad my dry spell is over. I do kinda worry that this current burst of motivation is just part of some “cycle of burnout” and I’ll be exhausted again in a few weeks. But it’s also possible that my meds are working. It’s possible that I can keep this momentum going, and get far enough ahead of schedule that when I need to take another break, it won’t derail me like this mess did. 
And as always, thank you all for sticking with me. Dark Mistress is about to get really interesting. I think you guys might be picking up on that energy, because chapter 14 had more comments sooner after posting than I’m used to getting on this fic. I’m grateful to each and every person who’s going on this ride with me.
Have a great day.
Dark Mistress is here
My inbox is here 
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scribblelegs · 2 years
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So I Can’t remember if I posted this or not but I had an MRI and EEG and it came back that my medication’s are slowing my brain waves which is affecting my memory loss. The MRI came back fine the EEG is where they found that. They said I was probably misdiagnosed and most likely I’m not schizo, but probably do have a bipolar or mood disorder. Of course I still have anxiety, and PTSD which could’ve progressed. But they think I have ADHDL O L and that I say duh. And then I wonder to myself why all these doctors just ignored me all these years, and I feel really much like I was just a learning tool for doctors. To see how these medication’s work on people, because a lot of the times I was getting sample meds and the doctors were getting kickbacks for that. And I had a lot of adverse reactions and my body and mind both paid for it in return.
So I’m gonna be going through some more tests to find out if I have attention deficit disorder or possibly obsessive compulsive disorder
I don’t know a lot about these things however every teacher family member friend person that I met usually asks if I have ADHD. So I’m shocked that it took this long for someone to say that and me not to say it first. I was literally crying to the doctor, because my nurse practitioner is working at a state run facility on a sliding scale and they’re overworked with too many patients. And she uses her political views, religious views, and a personal views to get in the way of her work her work.
She’s really unprofessional and kept bringing up things like well did you used to do a lot of Molly or do you used to abuse benzos. And that I said no, I did not abuse Molly, and the benzos were prescribed. And I said I used to use m3th , But not for nearly as long or as much or as many different medication’s as I had been prescribed LOLOLOL
so she just doesn’t get it and she’s hell-bent on the fact that I use drugs to self medicate in the years that the doctors refuse to listen. And they were plenty of years that I did exactly what they said and even quit smoking weed, quit drinking, and with diet and exercise because they said it would help. OK well whatever I kept ending up in the psych ward and I have a feeling that it was because of environmental factors like it witnessing trauma going through things that were traumatic and seeing things that were messed up, as well as the extreme amount of anxiety and panic attacks that I had all my life. That went untreated,
So I just wonder if you can get triggered into a psychosis when you’re under that type of stress, or depression. Because I found some papers from an admission and it said that I had like severe depression with psychotic features. Which would be psychosis
&I don’t think everybody that suffers from psychosis has a schizo spectrum disorder. I think it’s something that an every day person can suffer from based on what happens to them in their life and they just don’t know enough about it so they just keep giving people these blankets diagnosis is like schizo affective disorder. I think any one that suffers something traumatic or is under extreme stress, or anything that could affect your normal day could possibly be hard for the brain to process thus going into psychosis to protect yourself. Very much like repressing memories. To the point where I’m like maybe a repressed all this stuff and that was like a reset, and it happened 2 to 3 times a year for six years and never again.
Schizoaffective is a lazy diagnosis that they know nothing about and that’s a way for them to say well you’re suffering from a psychotic disorder and a mood disorder so here’s your diagnosis have fun. Take a bunch of meds that probably won’t help that’ll ruin and destroy your mind and body and yeah good luck with that. We’ll see you in a few months.
I just feel relieved and scared and that’s it and then I’m gonna end this cause it’s so long and I’m sorry it went on but thank you for reading lol
 The doctor said that my memory loss could be from the fact that I’m having such a difficult time focusing, listening, and all that other stuff and it’s causing me to get frustrated and forget. To the point where I can’t get anything done or remember what I did yesterday or what I’m doing tomorrow or I’ll be talking and forget midsentence what I’m saying
And it’s embarrassing 
Oh yeah I also have a racing thoughts so my boyfriend thinks I could be cyclothymic and my brother just got diagnosed that as well. My grandma had bipolar disorder and so does my aunt, so it’s totally possible that it could just be a rapid cycling of thoughts my brain not knowing how to process it throwing me into psychosis under the pressure of my environment during my younger years not understanding. Now that I’m older I know the signs and the triggers and yeah I protect myself. I sleep, I eat, I hydrate. I mean I was suffering from a severe eating disorder till I was 22 and I’m sure that had something to do with it too. Having my body depleted of vitamins and being emaciated for so long it probably was a shock to be eating food
So yeah I keep going over things in my head as to why they didn’t just ask these questions and figure these things out from the get and it’s so much simpler when you step back and look at it from the bigger picture
I can’t control my emotions too
😬😑😬😑
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tashabilities · 2 months
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Do I wanna take this mushroom class?
I do but I don't want to be around people for 5 hours
All this isolation has me unmasked, bruh
I'm so visibly autistic.
Most I can do in a class setting is 180 minutes.
I've taken three voiceover classes in the past year, like, two animation classes and one audiobook class
And they've all been 2 or 3 hours
I top out at 3 hours, AND we take breaks in voiceover classes over zoom.
It's not the money.
For once in my life it is not that li'l funky $100
It's being in person with people who are unmasked during a surge,
When I'm already going to a building for 30 minutes a day with unmasked people like,
I really feel like my current health is a post COVID infection issue, because I took my blood pressure today and with all the salad I eat, bruh?
All the vegetables EYE eat?
HOW IS MY BLOOD PRESSURE THIS HIGH?
How is my A1C this high?
I came off the non stimulant ADHD med, I wanna say almost a month ago,
And my pressure still high.
It should be totally out my system by now, right?
I also think that medication is responsible for this tiiiiiny cavity I found on one of my teeth, because medications change the flora of your mouth.
You really gotta get up flossing distance to see it but it's there and smaller than my last cavity, which HAD to be due to Adderall.
So Adderall made my blood pressure high, but it returned to normal quicker like, Adderall leaves your system faster I think
And I took Qelbree for 90 days, way longer than I was able to tolerate Adderall, so that shit really in me and maybe it takes a full month for me to be rid of it?
I'm not high, bruh.
This is no good.
I'm not gon be able to make treatment tomorrow.
Then again, my high might stay away til I get home from the clinic, like,
I might be able to drive myself there and back, a delayed high has happened to me a few times and may be happening now,
Because I took that half teaspoon of canna coconut oil at 7:40 PM
AND THAT WAS SIX HOURS AGO and my high STILL ain't came on, and neither has my executive function.
I had a li'l munchy feel so I ate Spaghettios.
I think the issue is I'm overfed, and fasting will help.
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luckydiorxoxo · 9 months
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Your meds may need to be switched entirely or the dosage corrected. If you don't have this already, you should be working with a psychiatrist and a therapist.or maybe a new team entirely if possible. Not every psychiatrist has a good beside manner. //
Limited funds, meds take six to eight weeks to see if they work and unfortunately come with horrific symptoms that make my day to day unmanageable. I can’t afford it right now.
I’ve called suicide hotline before got out on hold one time….understandable. Another time the person on the other end must’ve been….new. I ended up just talking myself down.
I mange, I’ll deal. Just venting. I wish it were as simple as calling a number or seeking a great doctor but throw in economics, race and other factors and you have a whirlpool of mess. Minorities in the mental health system are failed time and time again even at home with their families being detrimental and dismissive of things. “We didn’t have time for depression” “what do you have to be depressed about”. I’m traumatized and exhausted. I’ve advocated for myself and did everything to get help, but you get to a place when your realize you can scream for help all you want….no one is coming to save you. People tell others to easily ask for help but what happens when you ask for help numerous times and never get it….you try and try again until you stop asking. Your brain and nervous system aren’t aligned and you can’t think straight and develop trust issues on top of that. It’s deeper than this.
All I'm saying is that alot of people post and tweet saying to reach out to them and they have no experience at all with mental health and want a large number of likes and retweets. Especially since angus cloud just died of a possible overdose. I agree with you on the many factors that make therapy hard. I think I can get biased sometimes because in my work we are very client centered and use different practices to help clients.
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kittydoggie · 2 years
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When did you become radicalized?
It was a long time coming. I've never cared too awful much for authority, and lost my faith in my 'betters' in general at the ripe old age of six or seven, when my house was stolen from me. A payment had gotten skipped, but we had the money within the allotted time to correct course. The bank told us that our house was worth more than our money, and took the roof from over our heads. I only later learned that this was abnormal, and had we the money, we could have sued. I remember recounting it to my step-mother, and her doubting me, repeating "But that's highly illegal!" Yeah, dawg, sure is if they pull it on someone who can fight back. Laws are just as made up as any other rule, and go just as out the window if you have money.
But that's not what really did it. It was just a stepping stone. From there, the teacher that told a new kid with a crumbling home life that she didn't have time to teach him division, to the church that tried to erase my identity, there were many more stones. Every path, however, has a destination.
I arrived at mine in a hospital room, as so many do. I've pinpointed it, the exact place it snapped. I was direly depressed, in my last college year, straining over the insane workload of an animation major. I became suicidal. One night, my spouse (fiance at the time) wrested the knife from my hand. I had hesitated, not breaking my own skin, and they pulled it away. I couldn't fight back, or I risked hurting them. I was talked into calling a suicide line.
What happened next was such a violation of my agency that I still don't feel ok giving out suicide hotlines to those in need. I can't trust them. An operator that was half lackadaisical and half irate answered. I mustered up the courage to confess that I was a danger to myself and needed help. They demanded I go to the hospital. I didn't want to go, I had no insurance at the time- thus why I was off my rocker, given that I could afford none of the meds I needed and was in the throes of withdrawal. Effexor withdrawal is hell. It's actually worse than certain hard drugs, and plays havoc on your body.
But this person insisted I go to the hospital. I balked, and I still remember the annoyance in their voice as they told me they'd have to call the cops on me if I didn't comply. I was terrified early 20-something at the time, I didn't want to fuck with cops. These days I'd tell them to fuck themselves, and hang up, but these days I'm not suicidal. So they sent these people out to lead us to Grady.
I'll never forget.
Grady is a hospital that serves the poorer side of ATL. They told my brother he could fucking reuse insulin needles. The place smells of piss and death, and everyone is exhausted. Even back then. I can't imagine what it's like now, post pandemic.
I was ushered in, it was evening. I was made to tell what I was going to do to myself, and was separated from my only support in the world at the time, my fiance. I waited. Was put in a room. Made to tell again what I had planned. I was allowed my sketchbook. I doodled numbly.
There was a ruckus, I look up, and there's cursing from the other side of the curtain. For non-Americans, sometimes an emergency room will be split with just a curtain. You can't see the other patient, but you sure as hell can hear them. And what I hear. At first, I get riled as hell because this lady is screaming at the nurses. And that just flies all over me, because these people are doing their damndest in the ER, that's a hard fucking job. None of them have been anything but good to me up to this.
I start scribbling in my notebook, writing down events as they happen. It gets crazy. This woman is fighting with them, and with someone else- I can't recall all the details. I don't know if she was hurt, but I don't feel right divulging what I don't need to. What I must divulge is that as things unravel, they're taking a history. She blatantly admits she's been smoking crack because she's got stomach cancer and can't afford pain meds.
I remember the switch in my mind that flipped. I was still hot she was cruel to the nurse. But she was whacked out in pain. This lady, I don't know her name. I don't know anything else about her. But she was dying- if she can't afford pain care, she sure as fuck couldn't afford the rest. She's likely dead.
The rest is a blur. The night wore on. They needed the intake room. I was put on a stretcher in the hall late at night. People cycled in an and out. I put my pencil behind my ear, pulled my bandana over my eyes and dozed uneasily. A doc and his gaggle of interns came by, the doc looked at me like detritus and asked what I was doing there. As in asked ME what I was doing. I was shuffled around, finally ending up on the ward. I was ultimately deemed not a threat to myself, given two days of meds, and sent on my merry way.
The cost? Over $1000 in 2011 money. Cheap. Cheap. And I didn't have the money for it. $1000 dollars for a couple pills, sleepless night, and some OJ. And that's where it really broke, when my nose was shoved right up against human suffering outside of my own.
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helloalycia · 3 years
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my patient’s neighbour [one] // wanda maximoff
summary: whilst caring for a new patient of yours, you definitely didn't expect to fall for her cute neighbour, Wanda Maximoff
warning/s: very minor mentions of injuries and death
author's note: okay so firstly, buckle in, folks, this is gonna be like 6 parts long lol. Also, I google translated all the Russian bits so i apologise if they are incorrect! okay, you may enjoy now :)
part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad
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"38... 38... 38..."
I scanned the doors to the many apartments in the hall, hoping to find the one that belonged to my newest patient – Anna Pivec. As a nurse, I was always given new patients to visit and tend to until they no longer needed it or chose not to have me around. I'd just been assigned a new patient, Anna, and was excited to meet her.
"38!" I said to myself, spotting the door at the end of the hallway. I knocked on before waiting patiently, hoping she wasn't sleeping or anything. It wasn't too early – 10AM – and she knew I was coming, so finger's crossed.
The door opened to reveal a short, old lady with grey hair and a cane in her hand. I smiled kindly, meeting her cloudy gaze.
"You must be the one my granddaughter is paying to look after me because she can't do it herself," the woman spoke before I could introduce myself. Stepping to the side, she motioned with her cane. "Come on in."
My smile dropped at her abruptness. "I, er, yeah, I guess that's me." As I walked in, I said, "My name is Y/N Y/L/N. The nurse from–"
"Yeah, I know where you're from," she cut me off, closing the door and heading further into her apartment. "They sent me a brochure, milaya."
I followed after her, surprised at how quick she was for an old lady with back and heart problems. She was leading me into the open plan living-room and kitchen.
"I'm sorry – milaya? What does that mean?" I asked politely, hoping I didn't come across as rude.
She waved her hand dismissively, mumbling something to herself in what I think was Russian. Her profile did say she was from Sokovia, so maybe that was it.
"Okay, erm, well, as I said," I changed the subject, figuring she wouldn't give me an answer, "I'm Y/N. I'll be here five times a week and basically be doing anything you need me to do. Of course, I only want you to be comfortable in your own home, so if you ever feel anything but, please let me know."
She hummed in acknowledgement before motioning for me to follow her. I set my bag on the kitchen counter before sitting on the couch as she did so on the recliner. She sighed with content as the pain on her back was eased from taking a seat.
"Tell me about yourself," she said gently.
I smiled with amusement. "That's usually what I ask my patients."
"Do forgive me, milaya," she said, and I made a mental note to bring a Russian-English dictionary with me tomorrow, "but you're a stranger in my home. I'd prefer to know about you before I let you take care of me."
I nodded, slightly impressed. Her profile didn't do her justice. Usually, the elderly I cared for were quick to allow me to do my thing, never really questioning who I was or what my intentions were. I was starting to get the impression that Anna was a strong, stubborn woman in a little old lady's body – definitely not one to mess around with.
"Okay, well, I'm a nurse," I began with the basics, and from there, went into a long ramble about my job, how I got into it, what it consisted of...
Anna was full of questions, taking the time to get to know me and I her. Once I had told her everything I could think to, she told me about her life. How she lived in Sokovia up until she was thirty-five years old and had to flee with her husband and daughter because of the war. She gushed about the both of them, a twinkle in her eye as she recalled their livelihoods like they were still alive. Her husband had unfortunately passed many years ago due to liver problems – "All that drinking, milaya! Us Sokovians are a force to be reckoned with!" – and her daughter had passed in a car accident not long after.
It was a tragic tale, but she didn't let it bring her down. In fact, she seemed grateful to have lived it and I couldn't help but smile as she shared it with me.
I noticed she would speak short phrases in Russian mid-conversation, without realising, which didn't make it easier for me to understand, but I couldn't bring it in myself to interrupt her to ask what they meant because she said it with such sincerity that I figured it reminded her of her home.
After our conversation, I made her lunch and gave her her medication before watching some TV with her and pretty much talking to her once again. She was quite an interesting woman, different to my usual patients, and I was enjoying our time together. After spending the day there, I wished her a good night before leaving.
When I returned the next morning, I let myself in with the key Anna gave me and called out a good morning.
"In here!" an unfamiliar female voice called out.
I furrowed my brows as I took off my jacket and headed into the living-area. Anna was sat in her recliner as usual, but she had a guest sat on her couch. A young woman, possibly my age, with long dark hair and a friendly smile on her lips was sat comfortably; she had a cup of tea in her hands and her legs pulled up on the couch like she lived there.
The stranger and Anna exchanged words in Russian briefly before the former stood up, about to introduce herself.
"Oh, are you her granddaughter?" I asked, putting two and two together. It was the only explanation I could think of for how comfortable she was and the fact that she was also Sokovian (I assumed, anyway).
The girl laughed, her green eyes sparkling as she shook her head. Putting out her hand, she said, "I'm Wanda Maximoff. Anna's neighbour."
Slightly embarrassed by my mistake, I smiled awkwardly and shook her hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have– I just thought because you were speaking Russian that–"
"It's fine, no harm no foul," she put me at ease quickly, before taking her seat again. "I've lived next door to Anna for about a year now. Sometimes I keep her company on my days off."
I set my bag on the floor before taking a seat on the couch, leaving a gap between Wanda and I.
"That's nice," I said with a smile before looking to Anna. "How are you feeling this morning, Mrs Pivec?"
She sighed, waving her hand dismissively, before saying something to Wanda in Russian who was listening intently. Nodding her head, Wanda looked to me with amusement.
"What did she say?" I asked, quirking a brow.
"She said she told you to stop calling her Mrs Pivec yesterday," Wanda translated, trying not to laugh.
"Just call me Anna, Y/N," Anna added with a nod. "And I'm fine. Just had breakfast with Wanda here."
"Breakfast," I repeated slowly. "How long ago was that? Just gotta make sure you get your meds."
"Shoot, am I doing your job?" Wanda asked, slightly panicked.
"No, no, you're not." I laughed at the way she scrunched her nose. "I mean, it would help if I could have breakfast with Miss– Anna, so I know when she has her medication. But it's all good."
"Are you sure? I can leave if I'm in the way," Wanda said with a frown.
"No need," I reassured her. "If Anna doesn't mind your presence, it's all good. I'm just here to look after her, clean up, make sure she eats, has her meds."
Wanda looked to Anna, who seemed unbothered by her presence.
"She can stay," Anna said with a shrug. "Makes it feel less like I'm a pet."
I opened my mouth to say something, possibly make her feel better, but I wasn't sure what to say.
"Don't mind her," Wanda reassured, giving Anna a knowing look before shooting me an easygoing smile. "She tends to speak her mind exactly as it is. No filter whatsoever. And very stubborn. You may have noticed."
I cracked a smile, feeling better knowing that it wasn't just me who noticed Anna's unique personality traits.
"Hey, that stubbornness and lack of filter is exactly how I beat my husband and his friends in every poker game back home," Anna said with a playful smirk.
Wanda and I chuckled, before the brunette leaned on the couch comfortably and looked to me.
"We finished breakfast, maybe, ten minutes ago? I made us eggs and toast," she answered my question from earlier.
I hummed before getting up with my bag and heading to the kitchen. Setting my bag on the counter, I grabbed my diary and also Anna's medication from its place on the kitchen counter.
"I'll give you your medicine now, Anna," I told her, already grabbing a glass of water for her.
"Thank you, milaya," she called back, and I spun around, immediately going to get my Russian-English dictionary from my bag. "Wait, I know what that is!" I flicked through the pages and scanned it eagerly. "Milaya... milaya... milaya! Okay, it means... sweetie."
"Sweetie," Wanda said at the same time, and I looked up to see her watching me from behind her cup of tea, trying not to laugh again.
"I guess another perk of your presence is being the translator," I said sheepishly, realising just how eager I was a second ago. "Anna likes to speak Russian a lot, which I'm fine with of course, but..." I waved the dictionary in the air.
"It's funny watching tvoye lichiko, milaya," Anna said with that same mischievous smirk on her face.
I looked down to my dictionary, struggling to pinpoint a single word in her sentence that I could search. It was overwhelming, the words going in one ear and out the other.
"She said it's funny watching your little face, sweetie," Wanda translated upon seeing my frozen state.
I relaxed my shoulders. "Thanks." Then I realised what she said. "Hey!"
Anna laughed as Wanda grinned, and I was suddenly glad she was here. I grabbed Anna's meds with a glass of water before giving them to her. After making sure she swallowed them properly, I put the glass to the side and took a seat on the couch again.
"So, you said you visited Anna on your days off?" I asked Wanda, intrigued by why a neighbour would be so interested in another. It wasn't very common in today's day and age.
"She's almost always here," Anna answered before Wanda could speak. I looked to her as she continued with a grateful smile. "Helps me with everything. Groceries, cleaning, my medication."
"So basically me but unpaid," I joked, and Anna laughed.
"Exactly," she agreed, and I looked to Wanda to see her blushing, eyes avoiding mine.
"That's really sweet," I said gently, earning her attention. "You're a really good neighbour, Wanda."
Wanda ran a hand through her hair. "It's nothing. If anything, I enjoy being here. Anna reminds me of Sokovia and my family and, well, home."
"Oh, so you're Sokovian, too?"
She nodded before smiling playfully. "Did the accent not give it away?"
I hid a smile. "I didn't want to assume. I mean, you could've been Czech. Slovakian. Basically anything else."
"Okay, I'll give you that," she gave in, tilting her head to the side, smile widening.
It was then that I learnt her smile was extremely contagious.
Same as yesterday, my plan was to stay the day with Anna, though this time Wanda also kept her company (and me, too). After lunch, I left the two of them to watch some TV as I excused myself to change Anna's bedsheets in her room, ready for bed tonight.
As I was doing so, I heard the door open and glanced over my shoulder to see Wanda entering the room. I gave her a smile before continuing to replace the pillowcase.
"Here, I can help," she offered, and didn't give me chance to decline as she grabbed the pillow on the other side of the bed and began to change its case.
"You sure? You know it's my job, right?" I teased, looking up at her over the bed between us.
She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm aware. Just thought I'd make it a bit easier for you."
I chuckled. "Well, I appreciate it... how is Anna?"
"Dozed off," Wanda quipped with an expectant nod. "Same time every day. Like clockwork."
"Huh." I thought back to yesterday and how she ended up taking a nap after lunch, too. "Noted. Thanks."
Wanda smiled before putting the pillowcase on the pillow and puffing it with her hands. I did the same, content with its appearance, before moving to the duvet. Wordlessly, Wanda grabbed one end and began to help me put it on, which I appreciated. The duvet was bigger than I was and definitely a two-person job.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" I spoke out of the blue as we were putting on the duvet cover.
"Go for it," she said encouragingly, glancing sideways.
"Of course, you don't have to answer, but I thought I'd ask since I'm going to be looking after Anna for a while," I gave a little disclaimer, before saying, "She makes a lot of snide remarks about her granddaughter. Do they not get along?"
Wanda sighed quietly. "Her granddaughter doesn't really visit her here. She rarely calls."
"Her daughter's kid?"
"The only one," Wanda confirmed. "She keeps her distance, ever since her mum – Anna's daughter – passed. She just pays for, well, you."
I frowned. "That's sad."
"Yeah," Wanda agreed, breathing out.
The two of us spread the duvet over the double bed before I looked to her with a small smile.
"At least she has you," I pointed out. "It's nice you give up your free time to spend it with her."
"Like I said, it's good for me, too," she reminded me, returning the smile.
"So what do you do when you're not here keeping her company?" I asked curiously, moving to Anna's bedside to clear it up a little.
Wanda hid her smile behind a look of confusion. "Do you not– don't you recognise me?"
I quirked a brow, pausing my actions. "Am I supposed to?"
She snickered, shaking her head, eyes falling to the bed with mild disbelief. "I mean, I guess not. I'm–" She chuckled, looking to my confused face. "I'm one of the Avengers."
I studied her, her words not quite settling in. But when they did, I realised I actually recognised her and she was one of the Avengers.
"Oh my God!" I blurted, the penny finally dropping. "The one with the weird red energy powers! I mean– not weird but– the magic!"
She stifled laughter, nodding her head. Just like her smile, her laughter was contagious, too.
"Yeah, that's me," she confirmed.
I made a weird motion with my free hand, like I'd seen her do on TV when saving the day. "Does Anna know about your y'know?"
Wanda crossed her arms, raising a brow and watching me with a humoured gaze. "Is that supposed to be my powers?"
I stopped making the motion and felt my neck heating up. "I– yeah."
Laughter spilled from her lips yet again, automatically making me smile. I didn't mind that I'd made a fool of myself all of a sudden.
"Anna knows, yes," Wanda said with a bright smile. "She actually recognised me straight away. Much quicker than you. And she's eighty."
Waving my hand to distract from my flushed cheeks, I said, "Pfft, she probably confused you with someone else and played along when you told her who you were."
"Yeah, I'm sure that was it, ty milyy maneken," she retorted with her piercing gaze.
"No fair, my dictionary is in the other room," I said with a pout, and she only laughed even more.
"Guess you'll never know," she teased with a smirk, making me roll my eyes to distract from the way it made me feel when she stared at me like that.
It was much later on when I learnt that she had called me 'a cute dummy'. And that was the beautiful start to Wanda and I's introduction into each other's lives.
From then onwards, about eighty percent of the time I would go to care for Anna, Wanda was present, too and I didn't mind one bit. Not only did she keep Anna company, but she made my job a lot easier whilst keeping me company as well.
I was beginning to look forward to seeing her whenever I would open the door. Whether she was cleaning something up, playing board games with Anna or simply having a tidy up around the apartment, she'd always stop what she was doing and help me with whatever was in my hands as she greeted me at the door. It was adorable. She was adorable.
The few times she wasn't present because of work only made me miss her, the apartment feeling emptier than usual. Even Anna agreed, the two of us making up for the lack of the Sokovian girl's presence by distracting ourselves with other activities.
I was convinced Anna was warming up to me as she freely let me care for her without resistance. Obviously, she wouldn't be Anna if she didn't throw funny remarks my way or speak to me in Russian, knowing I didn't understand her, but it was tolerable. And I was liking her, too; she was easily becoming one of the best patients I cared for. There was just so much personality to her that I couldn't help but smile whenever I spoke to her.
One time, I was helping Anna out at her place when Wanda wasn't present. I was leading her into her bed when I decided now was a better time than ever to ask her about her birthday on Sunday, which I knew was then because of her file.
"So, I'll be seeing you in two days next," I told her as I pulled the duvet over her. "And a little birdie told me it's your birthday then. Eighty-one, Anna! That's amazing!"
She smiled but seemed embarrassed that I knew.
"Tell me what you want and I can make it happen," I said promisingly, smiling down at her.
She waved her hand. "I don't want anything, milaya (sweetie). Your presence is enough."
I chuckled. "As sweet as that is, I know everybody wants something for their birthday. Now please, Anna. What can I do to make the day a bit more special?"
She pondered my question momentarily and I waited for her to speak, hoping it was something doable.
"I would love to have a traditional Sokovian meal," she said reluctantly. "It's been a long time."
I breathed out quietly, patting her hand gently. "I can do that, Anna. Don't you worry."
She smiled genuinely, before shooing me away. "Okay, enough sappiness, ty mozhesh' uyti seychas (you can leave now)."
I laughed, standing up and dusting my pants off. I only knew what that phrase meant because she said it almost every time before my shift ended and I left for the day. I knew she didn't mean it as harshly as it sounded.
"I'm going, I'm going," I said, already heading to the door. "I'll see you Sunday, birthday girl."
She groaned quietly, making me grin, before I double checked everything was okay in the living-area and grabbed my stuff to leave.
As easy of a request that it was, I knew absolutely nothing about cooking a traditional Sokovian meal. But I knew of one person who did and instantly headed to Wanda's apartment next door to see if she was home.
With a quick knock, I waited patiently. I wasn't sure if she was even home since she hadn't visited Anna today and she usually did so if she was. When I was beginning to think she wasn't, I told myself I could Google a recipe and put something together, but then the door opened and revealed a tired-looking Wanda.
"Y/N," she said with surprise, but a friendly smile was on her lips nonetheless.
"Hey, I'm so sorry to disturb you this late, but I wanted to ask– wait, what happened to your face?" I stopped speaking and lost my own smile when I noticed the faint scratches and bruises dusting her skin.
"Oh, it's nothing–" she started, raising her hand, fingers wavering over her head, but I cut her off.
"Shit, Wanda, what happened?" I reached out, taking her hand in mine and studying the cast that was around her wrist. Concerned frown on my lips, I glanced up at her. "Are you okay?"
"It's fine, Y/N," she tried to reassure, but I couldn't help it as my worry got the better of me and I studied the cuts on her cheek. "I just came back from a mission. Minor injuries. Honestly."
I let go of her hand, realising I was still holding it, and nodded slightly. "Right..." Realising she must have been exhausted, I awkwardly stepped back and shook my head with realisation. "Sorry, I should go. I didn't mean to bot–"
"You were saying something," she interrupted, nodding encouragingly. "You wanted to ask me something. What is it?"
I paused, nodding. Admittedly, I was still worried about the bruises on her forehead. I knew she was an Avenger and this was probably the norm for her, but to me, it looked like she'd just got mugged. And the irregularity of that worried me.
"Yeah, I was saying," I finally found my words, trying to ignore the way her tired eyes peered at me hopefully. "It's Anna's birthday on Sunday and she wants to have a traditional Sokovian meal to celebrate. The only problem is, I don't know what that is." Wanda cracked a smile as I continued. "Do you, maybe, have a recipe I could use?"
"Of course," she said before motioning for me to follow her. "Come on in."
I followed after her, closing the door behind me, and stopped at the kitchen counter patiently. As she searched for a notebook in her drawer, I subtly glanced around, taking in the inside of Wanda's apartment. I'd never actually been in it before, but the minimal décor was very her. She didn't have many knickknacks and everything on display served a purpose.
"There's some recipes in here," she said, grabbing my attention. She slid the notebook across the counter and leaned forward with a smile. "Take your pick."
I flicked through it briefly, smiling at the notebook filled with recipes, all in Wanda's neat, cursive handwriting.
"Thank you," I said gratefully, looking up and catching her staring.
She perked up, clearing her throat as she nodded in response before looking the other way. Cute.
"Are you working on Sunday?" I asked with a raised brow, before rolling my eyes playfully. "What am I saying? Of course you're not. Not with that wrist."
She chuckled, still avoiding my eyes. "I'm not."
"Well, why don't you come over for her birthday? You can help me cook her a meal. Or rather, I can help you cook it since I'll probably screw it up."
Finally meeting my eyes, she smiled with amusement. "Are you sure?"
I gave her a knowing look, ignoring the butterflies swirling in my stomach as she held my gaze with her intense dark eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Anna will love to celebrate with you. And..." I pursed my lips, taking a leap of faith and adding, "and I'd love it, too."
Wanda let out a quiet laugh. "You would, would you?"
I straightened up, smile widening. "Yeah, I would."
She tilted her head, studying me with a curious smile. "Well then, I clearly can't say no."
Something stirred in my chest the longer she watched me and I oddly liked it. It was obvious that Wanda was a beautiful girl with a heart of gold, but I guess I hadn't really acknowledged that I may have had feelings for her until now. And I didn't mind one bit.
"Great," I finally found my words, nodding slightly. "I'll see you Sunday."
She mirrored my expression, saying, "See you Sunday," and I knew I couldn't wait until then.
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red-jaebyrd · 3 years
Text
She Made Everything Better
Summary: Dick has his first cold since moving into the Manor with Bruce. All he wants is the one person he can’t have – his mom. Bruce does his best to fill the void as well as helping an ill and still grieving boy find safety and security in his new guardian.
For @ckbookish
There are many things that Bruce wasn’t prepared for when he took in 8 year old Dick Grayson. Little things like enforcing bedtimes and daily baths; to big things like no swimming in the pool alone and making sure Dick stayed off the front foyer chandelier…or any chandelier in the Manor. The other was taking care of a sick child.
Dick had only been living in the Manor for six months and had yet to come down with any kind of illness. Considering all the stories Bruce had been told by well-meaning co-workers of their kids coming home frequently with colds; he considered himself fortunate that Dick had remained cold-free.
Until one morning when he could hear faint coughing coming from the bedroom down the hall.
“Bruce,” Dick cried, dragging out his name followed by a series of more wet coughs.
Oh no, Bruce thought to himself. Those coughs didn’t sound good at all. He followed the cry and coughs to Dick’s room and saw the boy laying down on his bed bundled in blankets and surrounded by discarded tissues. His cheeks were flushed, his nose was red, and eyes were glassy.
“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed.
“My head hurts, my nose won’t stop running, and I’m coughing,” Dick answered, pulling his blankets up to his chin.
Bruce quickly went through a mental checklist of what the boy might need while dealing with a cold. By the looks of the boy’s flushed cheeks, he likely had a fever. What was that saying, ‘feed a cold, starve a fever’; that didn’t sound right to Bruce.
Dick coughed and then groaned, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts.
“Why don’t you drink some water. It’s important to stay hydrated,” Bruce suggested, walking over to Dick’s nightstand and handing him his water bottle.
“No,” Dick whined with a pout pushing the water bottle away. “Water tastes gross, and it hurts when I swallow.”
“Understood,” Bruce said, a bit bewildered by Dick’s whining. Set the water bottle back onto the nightstand. He sat on the bed in front of Dick reaching to feel Dick’s forehead with the front of his wrist. Dick shivered at the contact. “You feel warmer than usual. I’ll be right back with a thermometer.”
“No,” Dick moaned, reaching his hand out for Bruce from under his blankets. “Don’t leave me.”
“I know you’re feeling bad, Chum, but I need to get a thermometer to see if you have a fever,” Bruce soothed, sweeping Dick’s sweaty bangs from his forehead. He smiled, taking Dick’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “I’m not leaving I’m just going to your bathroom to get the thermometer.
Bruce walked toward the en-suite bathroom in search of the thermometer but came up empty. He searched all the cabinets, and they didn’t even have any children’s medicine, just polysporin, hospital grade antiseptic and, tons of band-aids. Bruce could have sworn they had children’s Motrin, but sadly there was none.
“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” Bruce said, closing the bathroom door and making his way toward the bedroom door.
“No, don’t leave,” Dick pleaded, reaching out frantically to Bruce this time with both hands. His eyes welled up with unshed tears. Bruce shoulders slumped and he sat down one the bed again, taking Dick’s cold hand in his and rubbing soft circles with his thumb.
Bruce furrowed his brow in concern at Dick’s behavior. It was extremely unusual for Dick to be this clingy and demanding when it came to Bruce. The two did spend more time together now that Bruce had changed his schedule a few months ago. Dick did like to seek attention from his guardian in the most heart stopping ways imaginable. Bruce quickly recalled the first and last time Dick backflipped off the second landing stairs nearly giving Bruce and Alfred a heart attack.
As Bruce had gotten to know Dick, he had learned that the boy liked being with people; liked spending time with Bruce and once Dick had got his fill of ‘peopling’, he’d be off outside or in his room playing alone. The boy liked attention, but he was far from clingy.
“Dick, I’m not leaving. I’m just heading to the intercom near the door to speak to Alfred,” Bruce explained, using his free hand to gently card his fingers through Dick’s hair and resting his hand on the boy’s cheek. “I’m not leaving.”
“Okay,” Dick sniffed, letting go of Bruce’s hand to rub his face with his blanket.
Bruce wrinkled his nose and handed Dick a fresh tissue from the discarded box on his bed. He then headed to the intercom near Dick’s bedroom door and pressed the button hoping Alfred was still in the kitchen.
“Alfred, I need a thermometer. Can you bring one to Dick’s bedroom, please.”
“Right away, Sir,” Alfred answered promptly.
Bruce turned and gave Dick a small smile, but the gesture wasn’t returned. He expected as much considering how poorly the boy felt. It warmed Bruce’s heart to know that Dick found security and safety in his presence. A little hand reached out to him from under the blankets. It made Bruce chuckle, so he made his way back to the bed and sat down taking Dick’s hand. Dick slouched low against his pillows blinking tiredly at Bruce.
“I wasn’t going to leave you. I told you I wasn’t,” Bruce reassured, trying to tuck Dick’s duvet around him with one hand and failing. Dick let go so Bruce could finish with both hands. “Do you want anything to eat?”
Just as Dick was going to answer Alfred arrived with a thermometer and a fresh box of tissues. He handed the thermometer to Bruce and set the tissue box on Dick’s nightstand. He then proceeded to collect the dirty tissues and deposit them in the trash bin.
“Will that be all, Sirs?” Alfred asked, moving the bin closer to the bed so it stayed within Dick’s reach near the nightstand.
Bruce stayed sitting on the bed and gave Alfred a rundown of all the supplies that they would need while Dick blew his nose. As usual Alfred had a pen and notepad on hand and wrote down everything.
“Anything else? Master Dick, would you like something to eat before I go?” Alfred asked, tucking the notepad and pen into his front jacket pocket.
Dick didn’t answer Alfred right away. The boy looked lost in his own thoughts, but mostly he looked tired. Poor guy, Bruce thought to himself, he must be feeling so out of it.
“Dick,” Bruce whispered, gently squeezing Dick’s hand to get his attention. Once the boy’s glassy eyes met his, Bruce took that as a sign to continue, “Are you hungry?
“Oh um –“ Dick stammered, and started playing with the hem of the duvet. “Would – would it be okay to have toast with cinnamon on top, please?”
“Certainly, young sir. I’ll get to it straight away.” Alfred replied and left the room closing the door behind him.
Bruce proceeded to take Dick’s temperature and just as he suspected after the thermometer beeped; he frowned looking at the number on the screen. Dick had a fever. Bruce was trying to remember if he should call a doctor right away or if he was supposed to wait two or three days if nothing improved. He’d likely call Leslie today just to be sure.
“Is it bad?” Dick asked, bringing the blanket up to his eyes.
“Well, it’s not good, 102.2, buddy. We’ll keep an eye on it. Make sure it goes down with meds. If not, I’ll have to call Dr Thompkins,” Bruce clarified, turning the thermometer off and setting it on the nightstand. “So cinnamon toast?”
“Mom would always give it to me whenever I got sick,” Dick swallowed thickly, looking down at his blankets. “She – she said the cinnamon had healing properties that would help make me feel better.”
“I’m sure it did,” Bruce said, brushing Dick’s bangs away from his face. “Moms are good like that aren’t they?”
Bruce tried to give Dick a smile, but it felt stiff on his face as he fought against the lump forming in his throat at the memory of his mom making him chicken noodle soup whenever he got a cold. He remembered loving the noodles and the broth but like all kids his age, Bruce hated the chicken and veggies. Over the years the soup was something that Alfred had tried to replicate, but to no avail. It just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his mom’s soup.
“My mom would –,” Bruce sniffed and then cleared his throat, but before he could finish his sentence; Dick’s face crumpled, and he started sobbing.
In the short time that Dick had been staying at the Manor, he had only cried a handful of times. Even after a nightmare, tears spilled down silently. Dick was always quick to wipe the tears away before Bruce could fully envelop him in a hug. Always pulling away from the embrace claiming he was fine as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. Bruce had never pressed as he never felt he had the right words to say. Because ‘I know how you feel’ and ‘I’ve been there too’ didn’t really seem like great words of comfort.
But maybe they were the exact words that Dick needed to hear.
“Oh Dickie, come here,” Bruce offered, his arms outstretched and his own eyes filling with unshed tears. He gathered Dick in his arms and settled him on his lap. The boy practically melted into his embrace.
“I don’t feel good, Bruce,” Dick bawled, his breaths hitching from crying so hard. “I want – I want my mom.
The last sentence was said in a whisper in between sobs. Dick’s fingers tightened as he clung onto Bruce in a desperate hug.
“I m-miss her,” Dick mumbled, trying to catch his breath and failing. “I miss how – how she made everything better.”
Bruce’s heart sank; his own tears finally falling down his cheeks. She made everything better. It echoed in brain and he couldn’t deny that the boy was right. Of course, Dick missed his mom; it made sense that he missed her. Every child who felt ill wanted their mom to be the one holding them, taking care of them, and making their favorite comfort foods; not some stranger they’ve barely known for six months.
He hugged Dick a little tighter and sighed. They had come a long way these past six months, dealing with Dick’s anger and trust issues that had only been fueled by Bruce’s incompetence and neglect in the guise of protection. While necessary changes to his schedule were made to fit Dick into his busy life and it had changed the dynamic in how they interacted with each other; the change still didn’t do much to help Dick feel safe enough to talk to Bruce about the loss of his parents. Until now, so naturally Bruce took advantage of a missed opportunity.
“I know you do. I know you miss her so much and I’m so sorry,” Bruce empathized, resting his cheek on the Dick’s head and rubbing small circles on his back. “I know – I know how you feel, chum. I really do. I’ve been where you are and it – well it sucks.”
Dick nodded in silent agreement and continued to cry.
“I know it feels like – it feels like the pain is so much bigger than you, but one day it won’t feel so big and overwhelming,” Bruce comforted, wiping away his own tears with his free hand. “And – and while the hurt won’t go away completely. It will get better in time. For you, that I promise.”
Bruce continued to hold Dick as his body calmed from his crying jag. The boy’s breaths slowly regulating from shuddering gasps to hiccups. Bruce was happy to finally be able to provide such comfort to Dick after so many months of him pushing him away. His feelings were never hurt from the boy’s rejection, Bruce understood firsthand that type of vulnerability and transparency in grief can be scary, especially in an unknown environment.
He had hoped that their conversation today would help pave the way to more talks and further healing for Dick. Bruce was confident the boy would be alright, but these difficult conversations had to be something that Bruce initiated and participated in as well.
“Any time you want to talk ab out your mom or your dad; come find me, okay?” Bruce offered, giving Dick a reassuring smile. He wiped away Dick’s remaining tears with his thumb. “Even if it’s in the middle of night. Understand?”
Dick nodded, his breaths finally evening out.
They sat on the bed in companionable silence. Bruce hummed a tune he remembered his mom singing whenever she was knitting or just needed to fill the silence. He could slowly start to feel Dick’s body going boneless against his chest with exhaustion; his breaths gradually getting deeper with sleep.
Just as Bruce was about to close his eyes a knock on the door startled him and woke up Dick.
“Here is your toast, Master Dick,” Alfred announced, setting a tray on the other side of the bed. “I also added a few digestives and the last juice box until I can get the apple juice you requested.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick sniffed, still clinging onto Bruce.
Bruce brought the tray closer to Dick so the boy wouldn’t have to move from his place of comfort.
“You are very welcome, young sir. If there is nothing else you require of me, I shall leave to retrieve the necessary items.”
An hour later, once Alfred returned with the medicine, Bruce was pleased to finally be able to give the boy some much needed relief from the headache and congestion. Dick still wouldn’t let Bruce leave, so Bruce suggested they move to the media room to watch a movie.
Bruce covered them with a blanket thin enough to make Dick comfortable, but not too thick to spike his fever. Dick settled himself right up against Bruce’s side, draping a thin arm around him and using Bruce’s chest as a pillow. Dick fell asleep ten minutes into the movie. Bruce stayed watching the rest of the movie, carding his fingers gently though Dick’s hair relishing the closeness and comfort he was finally able to provide his hurting foster son.
159 notes · View notes