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sirfrogsworth · 6 months

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Froglock Holmes, Internet Sleuth

I don't remember dates very well, but I believe sometime in the mid 2000s I had a friend drive me from St. Louis to Detroit. It was a very difficult journey. I have never done well as a car passenger and driving for an entire day was one of the more miserable experiences in my life.

But I got through it because I was *convinced* I was about to be cured. Back then it was the only thing I wished for and I was willing to try absolutely anything.

So we were off to see the Wizard about my wish.

During that time there were no doctors in St. Louis who knew anything about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. But I found a website for a medical company that claimed if I saw one of their approved doctors, they could guarantee a 50% improvement. And when I did my pre-interview on the phone, that lady said some patients experienced a full recovery. To which I replied, "Yes, I will take one full recovery please."

But the closest approved specialist I could find was in Detroit and she would only treat me if I did my first consultation in person. She would then continue treating me over the phone.

My friend took three days off and she borrowed her parent's SUV so I would have leg room during the 8 hour trip. We loaded up on snacks and compact discs and began our road trip to wellness. We merged onto the Yellow Brick Road (a.k.a. I-70 East) and headed toward the land of Marshall Mathers.

The more I got car sick, the more I focused on asking the Wizard to grant my wish.

A new... mitochondria?

Plus several trillion.

A new several trillion little powerhouses.

This doctor was part of a national network of facilities that claimed they could effectively treat Fibromyalgia and CFS with a groundbreaking 6 step "holistic" approach. It was super holistic. Extra super duper holistic. The website made sure you knew it was holistic.

And those 6 steps sounded very fancy.

I mean, that all seems pretty legit. They were going to enhance my cells and address coagulation deficits. That's a thing, right?

Now I know that "holistic" is a buzzword that should be met with skepticism, but back then I was really hopeful they could help me. They enthusiastically made bold promises and filled me with such assured hope that I sold my car to help pay for everything.

We arrived in Detroit the evening before the appointment. I slept maybe an hour. Morning eventually arrived and we headed to the office. They gave me a clipboard full of paperwork that took forever to fill out.

"Can I please just see the Wizard and get my wish?"

I got to the exam room and they put me in a gown with the butt showing—which I don't think my friend was prepared for. I have a condition known as Hank Hill Butt and it can take a bit of getting used to upon first glance.

My poor friend refused to make eye contact while I was wearing it.

The doctor finally arrived and this supernatural healing wizard turned out to be a very short Greek lady. She asked dozens of questions—most of which I answered on the forms already. She poked my belly, checked my reflexes, and at no point did her examination require a gown with the butt showing.

She officially diagnosed me with severe Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and told me she was going to type up a custom treatment regimen and while she was doing that, I was going to get a special IV they designed to specifically combat CFS.

They took me to a room full of comfy reclining chairs and hooked me to an IV full of orange nonsense. Once that was done I met back up with the Wizard and she had created the afore-mentioned "customized" treatment regimen full of expensive supplements and vitamins that were not covered by insurance. Many of which I had to buy directly from the facility. As I looked over the treatment worksheet, I realized they gave the same document to all of the patients.

It was at this point, 560 miles away from my home, stuck in some office in the suburbs of Detroit (which will eventually be taken over by a tooth pulp dentist), with my Hank Hill butt hanging out...

I realized this could have been an email.

I decided to put everything on three different credit cards. Combined with the money from my car, I had about $20,000 to invest in fixing my broken body. My plan was to get all better so I could get a job and pay everything back. I even told the doctor this brilliant financial stratagem and she agreed it was a good plan. No notes.

Young Froggie was being hit in the face with red flag after red flag and Old Froggie is a little embarrassed about that.

I don't remember any of the supplements, but they had names like "EnergyMax Plus" and "Ultra MitoBooster 3000." They definitely sounded like legitimate, evidenced-backed medical supplements and not knockoff energy drinks endorsed by D-list Instagram influencers.

It wasn't all overpriced vitamins though. The doctor had some silly ideas that were actually covered by insurance. She said I should thin my blood so it took less energy to circulate. And I should boost my testosterone levels above the typical range to improve energy. So I had to inject myself with blood thinners and rub testosterone cream on my legs every day for months.

The blood thinners gave me tons of painful bruises at the injection sites and made me dizzy from time to time. The shots became so painful I would have to close my eyes and have my dad inject me. Otherwise I would chicken out. We kept running out of places that didn't have bruises so he would just pick the smallest bruise and stick the needle there.

And the testosterone cream had an interesting side effect that I am debating whether to talk about as I write this sentence.

Okay, I'm just going to tell you.

We are all adults here and we can handle adult conversations while remaining dignified and mature.

The testosterone cream gave me constant, spontaneous, hours-long boners.

I hadn't experienced anything like it since I was a teenager. No erotic inspiration required other than a gentle breeze. Only this time I didn't have a math book to hide behind.

None of it helped my fatigue.

In fact, the constant bonerpalooza was exhausting to deal with.

"Oh look, that actress I enjoy has a fully exposed ankle." "I bet that attractive lady has boobs under that heavy winter coat." "Hey, is it Wednesday?"

At some point it becomes a chore, ya know?

Thank god it was well before 2014, because if I had seen Chris Evans bicep curling a helicopter I probably would have needed hospitalization.

/end dignified adult conversation

After six months I had 0% of the promised 30-50% improvement 90% of the time and she kept saying I just needed to give it more time. She said it works quicker with the IVs full of orange nonsense. But they custom made those IVs and can only administer them in Detroit. She claimed the oral supplements were filled with the same nonsense, but took much longer to kick in. She told me I could be patient or drive to Detroit once a week for an IV treatment if I wanted faster results. If that were true, I feel like that should have been disclosed at the beginning. But I was assured I could get the same results without the IV treatments.

It didn't matter at that point. My credit cards were maxed out and I was out of money. I called the doctor and asked if there was any treatment she could recommend that was covered by my insurance. She got very quiet and awkwardly said she would try to figure something out. Roughly 30 minutes later I was emailed a coupon for $20 off our next phone consultation. I responded and told her I literally had no money left.

I never heard from her again.

The Wizard had no ability to grant my wish for several trillion properly functioning mitochondrias. She had no magic treatment. I finally saw her for what she truly was.

With perfect hindsight I could now see all of the red flags.

Though if I hadn't at least tried, I probably would have wondered and regretted it.

Hard to say.

I was kind of amazed how they built a country wide collection of clinics and they were able to operate for years solely on the placebo effect.

Years later I was curious what happened to this network of quackery. I found a news article saying it was all shut down due to fraud. I don't think they had a holistic approach to paying their taxes.

The reason I am telling this tale is because I have been playing detective and gathering evidence for my disability case. I started to wonder if maybe I could find my fraudulent Wizard to see if she had any kind of records or something that might help me. I knew it was a long shot, but I didn't want to leave a stone unturned.

At first all I could remember was her last name and that she was a D.O. and not an M.D. Standard Google searches were not turning up anything. I couldn't find her current practice nor any contact information. Apparently her Greek last name is a popular Arabic first name for men... so all my searches kept resulting in doctor dudes. This was not the time for a sausage fest and I was getting frustrated.

And then I finally remembered the name of the medical company.

Fibromyalgia & Fatigue Centers, Inc.

I even remembered their URL... fibroandfatigue.com

So I went to the Wayback Machine and I was able to find their now-defunct website. I suddenly remembered its cloudy banner image and "concerned_woman.png" like it was yesterday.

Why, yes... I am tired of being tired.

I also remembered their promise that over 90% of patients had at least a 30-50% improvement. Which was the claim that sent me down this rabbit hole to begin with all those years ago.

I started searching different versions of the site to see how their claims of effectiveness changed over time. At first they basically implied they made everyone completely better.

If I saw that I would definitely think I was getting a cure. But I imagine this caused some problems so they had to dial it back a bit.

I couldn't find the 90% version, but I did find the 30-50%.

This actually sounds like you have a 100% chance of a 30 to 50% improvement.

As I skipped around to the archived captures of different years, the promised percentage kept changing. I don't think they did an actual statistical analysis of their patients. I think they just picked a percentage that sounded enticing without promising too much. Just enough to be life-changing with a built-in excuse for when it all goes tits up.

Years after my experience, the site finally settled on a 65% improvement in energy levels. It was on their new page detailing how "affordable" their treatment was.

$20,000, you say? Balderdash, no one would spend that much.

If you were curious, they claim their treatment is now affordable due to a new monthly payment plan system. It did not become any cheaper.

However, under the 65% promise, they added this disclaimer with a large bold heading...

Success depends largely on your dedication and commitment. Our most successful patients are the ones who make the commitment to follow the treatment program rigorously. Patients who are aggressive and comply with the treatment process experience significantly better long-term results than those whose dedication is half-hearted and whose compliance is minimal.

In other words, "If our bullshit supplements don't work, it is YOUR fault."

Or in my case... "If you run out of money, it is YOUR fault."

Oh and there was also this...

Looking at all of the versions of the Fibro & Fatigue, Inc website was certainly fascinating, but I had to quit dicking clicking around and find my focus.

I still had detective-ing to do.

I was on the hunt for a Detroit-area Greek doctor of osteopathy.

There were ~250 captures of the site between 2004 and 2016. She wasn't listed in the newest captures, nor the oldest captures. So I kept trying to drill down to find the exact time period she worked at the company.

And then... EUREKA!

She was hiding in 2005 on their "Meet the Doctors" page.

Her first name was *drumroll* Sultana!

I can't imagine why I didn't remember that common first name.

Finally, after weeks of trying to figure this out, I now had enough information to do a proper Google search and discover what the heck she is currently up to. Probably putting people in open-butt gowns to check their tonsils or something.

*googling noises intensify*

I'm not sure I've ever come across such a literal dead end.

Should I be making puns about this?

I mean, she did help exploit me out of my entire life savings and put me in significant credit card debt with the Sex Panther-approved promise of a guaranteed 30-50% recovery 90% of the time.

And the institution she was a part of was shut down for fraud.

Still... I never wished an early death upon her.

I would have been happy with a trip to small claims court.

#long post #trigger warning #needle mention

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blackrosesandwhump · 2 months

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Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

CW: experiment whump, unconsciousness whumpee, creepy whumper, needle mention

It’s happening again.

Whumper sighs in frustration and slaps whumpee’s face, gently at first, then more forcefully a second time. Nothing. Unresponsive, right at the critical juncture in the experiment. Whumper frowns and bends closer, examining his subject. Pale, damp skin. Shallow breathing. Weak pulse through the stethoscope. Not an ideal situation, especially when whumper is so close to success.

“You’re not being very helpful, whumpee.” Whumper steps back from the table, crossing his arms. “I told you to stay awake this time. But did you listen? No.” He pauses, observing whumpee for a moment in intense silence, then springs into action, readying various instruments and a syringe. The bright lights overhead wash out whumpee’s skin completely, making him look dead.

But he isn’t, and he won’t be, not while whumper needs him.

“And now, since you didn’t listen,” whumper says, plunging the syringe into whumpee’s chest, “we have to start the experiment all over again.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday21 #unresponsive #whump #whump snippet #whump drabble #lab whump #experiment whump #experimentation #human experimentation #blackroseswrites #syringe #needle mention #unconsciousness #unconscious whumpee #creepy whumper #laboratory

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lostcitysystem · 6 months

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I feel like we don’t talk enough about medical trauma as a cause/contributor for DID/OSDD/DDs.

We spent three months in the hospital at age 5 due to complications from a major surgery and it kickstarted a lot of our dissociative symptoms since we constantly felt trapped/scared. We now also have a dedicated alter (Ghost💊 or sometimes Newt🦎) to cope when we get a common cold or something similar. Rn we have a sinus infection and Blue🌌 is seriously struggling with keeping up and fronting. It also caused us consistent trouble in staying vaccinated because of the association of needles with our trauma.

What I’m trying to say is that a lot of dissociative disorders are cause by prolonged/repetitive and serious trauma and this absolutely includes medical trauma.

If you experienced medical trauma you are valid.

If it caused many of your psychiatric disorders to date, you are valid.

If you get triggered by medical scenarios and or have specific alters to deal with medical stuff, you are valid.

If you struggle to go to the hospital, get vaccinations, get tested for diseases etc, you are valid.

#osdd 1b #osdd #osdd system #osddid #did #osdd 1a #dissociative identity disorder #dissociation #dissociative disorder #actually dissociative #dissociation mention #dissociation tw #tw dissociation #needle mention #needles #needle #tw needle #needle tw

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greenglowinspooks · 23 days

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Just took my new medication for the first time (injections) and I almost passed out from how scared I was but I’m being so brave about it

#spook speaks #I was shaking like a leaf #but I’m ok now!!#markiplier re7 playthrough was so right I AM a brave boy #at least my injections are weekly #and I’ll be having them every Tuesday so my calendar reminder can be called take it in the ass tuesday #needle mention #ok to rb

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pepperpepperz · 3 months

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sherlock and co? more like transgenderism tuesday

[ID: a pencil comic of john watson and sherlock holmes, from sherlock and co. watson looks shocked, and exclaims "JESUS CHRIST", he puts his hands out and asks "can you PLEASE stop shooting up in the parlor?!" sherlock sits in a tshirt and shorts on the burnt couch, giving himself a t-shot into his thigh. he looks irritated and says "so sorry for engaging in my nasty little TESTOSTERONE addiction, doctor." off-screen, watson replies, "oh. carry on."/End ID.]

#has id #sherlock fandom #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #sherlock holmes #john watson #comic #dr john watson #dr john watson md #needles #tw needles #needle mention #needles tw

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kabie-whump · 21 days

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CYOA Whump - Part 11

First | Previous

You chose: Yes! Father didn’t raise a quitter.

cw: metaphorical needles, coughing up blood

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

You're exhausted but you choose to push yourself even harder, squeezing your eyes closed. Controlling the winds is your birthright. You shouldn't have to struggle for it.

You can feel your whole body trembling. The pain has spread from your head through the rest of your body, a sensation like being prodded with thousands of needles. Under the roaring of wind you can hear yourself crying out.

"This has to stop, captain! He can't-"

"Silence, boy."

"But he-"

"I said shut it!"

You can't get enough air. It's like your magic is pulling the very breath from your lungs. You gasp and cough, the metalic taste getting stronger as you spit out blood.

Rough hands grab your face, tilting your head back. "Kid? Open your eyes."

You can't. Your eyelids are too heavy. An open palm slaps you across the cheek and even that doesn't bring you any closer to awareness.

"Alright. You're done. Stop it."

You can't do that either. You've opened the dam that holds your magic at bay too wide and you don't have the energy to close it again. You can feel your life force draining away...

When you wake up it's in small waves of realization. First, you're horizontal, not tied sitting up like you have been so far. There's a thin mattress under you and a blanket covering you. Your hands are cuffed together and resting on your stomach.

You pry your eyes open. The room is small and dark except for the soft orange light of a lantern. Sitting at your bedside is Onthyes.

He looks up, smiling when he sees you awake. "Thank the gods. I wasn't sure if you've make it. You've been out for a whole day and night."

You groan, your throat painfully dry.

"Here." Onthyes helps you sit up, and a clinking sound catches your attention. There's a length chain attached to your cuffs that reaches out and connects to a similar cuff around Onthyes's left wrist.

He holds a cup of water to your lips, letting you drink your fill before he gives you some bread and jerky. You're able to feed yourself with your bound hands, but the chain connecting you and Onthyes serves as a constant distraction.

"Why are we chained together?" you ask when you're finished eating.

"Captain doesn't want you unsupervised for even a second now that you aren't tied up. And he said I'd discourage any escape attempts, since my body would be too heavy for you to lug around if you decide to kill me."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "I could cut off your hand."

Onthyes winces. "Please don't do that."

You hum, not making any promises. You're not even sure you're capable of doing something like that, but he doesn't need to know that.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CYOA whump taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump @whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday @whumpisfun @whumper-whimsy @ghost-whump @fabled-whump @violets-whumperflies @whumped-by-glitter @thewhumpening-thesequel @lumpofsand @whumpycries @unicornbeck @gala1981 @a-formless-entity

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hurtthemgently · 1 year

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Hurt your whumpee prompt list, number plus character, you all know the deal

Purely for whump fiction.

Sound torture

Sensory deprivation

Sleep deprivation

Whip them

Use a riding crop

Grab their hair

Gel electrodes

Taser

Car charger

Cattle prod

Drug them with a sedative

Drug them with a stimulant

Inject something painful

Make sure they see the syringe

Drowning

Waterboarding

Clamp a hand over their nose and mouth

Put them in an air controlled chamber and take out the air

Stress position

Lock them in a freezer

Pour ice water on them

Pour boiling water on them

Burn them

Brand them

Give them a new tattoo

Give them a new piercing

Break their wrist

Leave them hanging by the wrists

Slowly trail a knife across them

Cut them deep

Kick them while they’re down

Knee them in the stomach

Knock their head into something

Grab them by the lapels of their shirt

Shove their back against the wall

#whump prompt list #send a number plus a character #pls don’t let this break containment tho #needle mention #cold whump #tw torture #electrocution tw #non con body modification #manhandling tw #I’ve been wanting to make one of these for a while #mostly just a list of stuff I’m comfortable writing tho

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hold-him-down · 8 months

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🚑 Rushed to the hospital

✥ The Hospital Arc - Part 1 ✥

Notes: ~ 18 months in, just a little introduction to a long awaited mini-arc.

Trigger Warnings: Med Whump, Panic Attacks, Hyperventilation, Medical Restraints, Needle Mention, Institutionalized Slavery

✥ ✥ ✥

It was supposed to be a simple enough task. Go to the grocery store. Get the things on the list. Go home and get back to his books and cook dinner and watch the sun set and, if it’s a very good day, once Luke gets home they can watch a movie in Luke’s bed and maybe Luke will hold him, even if just for a little bit.

But it’s not a simple task. Anxiety builds in Leo’s peripheries as he weaves through the aisles, hyper-aware of every person he encounters. It’s busier here than he’s comfortable with, and the noises and the lights and the narrow walkways put him on edge. He urges himself, not for the first time that day, to pull himself together.

Still, he selects items almost carelessly, checking off his mental list as quickly as he can.

It’s because he’s moving too quickly, and he’s too jumpy, and everything is too much, that he makes the mistake. He rounds the corner to the cashier, and his cart nearly collides with someone else’s. He dodges it, issuing an anxious, “I’m sorry,” and tries to keep his head down.

He knows the moment that he sees the scrub bottoms, though, that he’s in trouble. Handler, his mind screams at him. He tries to quiet that voice.

He closes his eyes, taking a breath. Another. Another. The sounds of the store grow distorted, far away and warbly and almost silent against the ringing in his ears.

It’s just a doctor or a nurse. The hospital is nearby. It is not a handler. It’s just a doctor. Maybe it’s Rob. Maybe it’s Luke. It is not a handler. Rationally, Leo knows that the nearest site is over an hour away, and no handler would still be in their scrubs after their shift. Leo’s not thinking rationally, though.

He struggles to pull in air as he forces his eyes open.

The man is staring at him. Does he look angry? He’s speaking to him, he thinks, but he can’t make out the words.

I’m sorry, he tries to say again, but isn’t sure if the words come out.

He takes a step back, raising his hands in apology, and tries to draw in another breath. He’s hyperventilating. His fingers shake as he reaches toward his pocket. If he can call… if he can call Luke, Luke can explain. If he can get home, he has medicine in the pantry he can take, and he can… he can hide somewhere until Luke gets home and helps him. He can… he needs to get home, he tries to say.

The man takes a step toward him, his hands up, mirroring Leo’s. Leo’s eyes dart around the store, but he processes none of what he sees.

He can hear voices behind him, telling the man to back off, he thinks.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I–” He wants to tell them he’s allowed to be here. That he’s under contract, and that Luke told him to come here. He wants to tell them not to touch him, that if they touch him right now, it’ll be so much worse. He wants to tell them he’s going to be sick. He wants to tell them he can’t breathe.

But all that comes out is another apology, choked off with a sob.

He’s going to black out. He reaches for his wallet, for his phone, for anything. He grasps at whatever memories of Luke’s voice he can find, clutching onto the sound and the words with every piece of rational thought that he has left.

From behind him, he feels hands on his shoulders, and almost instantly, he’s back in training. The handlers are shouting at him, the handlers are holding him down. He’s crying, he’s begging them to let him go. He’ll do better, he cries. He’s so, so, sorry.

✥ ✥ ✥

There are hands on him when things come into focus. There are fingers pressing into his neck, there’s a mask over his mouth and nose. Breaths don’t come easily, but they come, chased by a burning pain.

He feels a jolt, and forces his eyes open; he’s in an ambulance, he thinks. He reaches up to take off the mask, to tell the man who’s holding him that he’s okay, to beg him to call Luke and to tell him that Luke will help him. His hands won’t work, though.

“It’s alright,” the man says. “Take it easy.”

Do they know he’s a worker? Do they kn… do they know he’s under contract? He tries to ask them if they’re taking him back to a DLS site, but he can’t. He feels tears pooling in his eyes; he tries to lift his hands again, but canvas straps dig into his wrists at the movement.

He sobs, while a desperate plea that probably isn’t understandable to the man works its way out of his chest. The mask muffles the sound, and the man looks concerned, so Leo lets himself hope that maybe… maybe he’ll listen.

Focusing is difficult. Producing words is even harder.

“Let him talk,” another EMT says, nodding.

The first, the man at his head, says, “Stay calm and breathe, okay? You’re gonna be alright.”

The man is obvious with his movements as his hand closes in on Leo’s face, and Leo shrinks into himself. The moment he’s free from the mask, Leo immediately whispers, “I’m s-sorry,” broken by a kind of panicky gasping.

“It’s okay,” the man responds. Leo’s not unaware of how closely he’s watching him, “You’re not in any trouble. They’ll get everything sorted out at the hospital, you’ll be out of there in no time.”

“C-Can you call Luke?” He swallows, forcing as much air into his lungs as he can. It’s not enough. “B-Bennett,” he whispers. “He’s my… he holds my c-c-c-” His whole body is shaking, and the man puts the mask back over his mouth.

“Your contract,” the other EMT says. She squeezes his hand, eying the strap holding it in place. “They’ll call him as soon as you get checked out,” she continues. “There’s… protocol, we need to follow, with people in the system.”

Luke will come, he tries to tell them. More importantly, he tries to make himself believe it. The world is spotting, though. The handlers’ voices are back in his head. Every time his eyes close, images of restraints, of hands on him, of laughter, of his collar, of tubes and white coats and bright lights and scrubs and pain, force their way to the front.

He can’t quite parse out what’s real and what’s in his head, so he sucks in breath after breath, tears streaming in waves down his cheeks as two hands turn into four hands turn into so many hands, and he's too scared to open his eyes and he's too scared to speak and all he can think of, over and over, is that Luke will come for him. He just needs to be good, and Luke will come for him.

FIGHTER TAG LIST: @whump-cravings , @afabulousmrtake @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @pumpkin-spice-whump @distinctlywhumpthing @thecyrulik @highwaywhump @batfacedliar-yetagain @finder-of-rings @dont-touch-my-soup @skyhawkwolf @suspicious-whumping-egg @also-finder-of-rings @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @prodigal-zoe, @peachy-panic @melancholy-in-the-morning @urban-dark @nicolepascaline @quietly-by-myself @pigeonwhumps @whump-blog @seasaltandcopper @angstyaches @i-msonotcreative @mylifeisonthebookshelf @anonintrovert @whump-world @squishablesunbeam @considerablecolors @whumpcereal @whumperfully @pirefyrelight @whumpsday @whumplr-reader @lonesome--hunter @darkthingshappen

#didn't do either of the poll asks #because #reasons #the fighter #institutionalized slavery #Med Whump #Panic Attacks #Hyperventilation #Medical Restraints #Needle Mention #Institutionalized Slavery #i will not allow myself to post a different thing until i post part 2 of this thing #so be on the lookout for that like... tomorrow or monday or something #i think it'll be 4 parts total

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magz · 9 months

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Personally, do not think fatphobia an extension of misogyny n that do not think fatphobia should only be discuss in that context.

Is good that so many discussion about fatphobia are by (cis/trans/nb) women, especially women of color, though

- despite fatphobia not exclusively of that -

Intersectionality tend make worse those experience. Like with any discrimination do. Fatphobia n dieting have been very targeted toward women*, after all.

Undeniably - the roots of modern fatphobia are inform by misogynoir*, racism, colonialism, classism, ableism, and medicalization.

We need have more discussions about how systemic n entrenched fatphobia - not for sake of Tumblr Arguments n hypotheticals.

But for actually care about fatphobia - the inaccessibility n hostility n misinformation that surround fatness.

Yes, anywhere from difficulty in get important vaccination from not have appropriate needle length*, adverse effect of average airplane seating and scheduling, increased difficulty in getting disability financial aid, misidentification of eating disorders, food neglect and weight-based child abuse, the blaming of fat people in poverty, and anything else.

*("Dieting in the Long Sixties: Constructing the Identity of the Modern American Dieter" by Nancy Gagliardi. Book.)

*("Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia", by Sabrina Strings. Book.)

*(Pratt Institute's "Fat Liberation" Guide. Example from "Medical fatphobia" section, with books n articles n video. Website.)

#fatphobia #needle mention #child abuse mention #weight mention #racism #misogynoir #etc #sij #text post #o post

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pixel-with-wings · 23 days

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me when the disability with “embarrassing” symptoms disables me in an “embarrassing” way:

#anyways I just had a meltdown #because I had to get some vaccines unexpectedly.#I genuinely didn’t know until midway through the appointment #also didn’t remember anything about the specific vaccines #and that combined with my bad experiences with needles kind of fucked my brain #autism #actually autistic #meltdown #autistic meltdown #autism meltdown #autistic #needle mention

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 6 months

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Day 8 - Panic Attacks/Dissociation

Just a sequel to yesterday's piece!

Pinglist: @ailesswhumptober, @whumperofworlds, @whump-captain

TWs: suffocation, panic attacks, hospital setting, dissociation, needle mention

Everything after going into the training room with Luis was a blur. Mariano vaguely knew that something had happened. He couldn't remember what it had been exactly, but Luis had been casting and there had been water over his face and in his mouth and down his throat and shouting and his chest hurting and--

And then he was being toweled off and people were asking him questions that he didn't have the answers for or the voice to communicate that fact. Mariano hadn't even realized that Luis had been holding him until they'd taken his arms and unwound them from Luis' neck. "Let us listen to your lungs, Mariano." They had said, as other voices drifted around him.

Mariano let them. Luis had sounded upset. So had the doctor.

He was so exhausted.

There was a hard table and voices telling him to be still. They draped heavy blankets over him, and Mariano thought he heard them explaining something about lead and protection. None of it stuck. He looked up through heavy lashes and smudged lenses and listened to the beeps of some machine.

He was moved again to something soft, electricity coursing through his ribs with any movement and drawing hitching noises from him. There were more voices and Luis was holding his hand, then. Luis' voice was grounding, it settled something in Mariano.

He'd dozed, being snapped awake every time by more voices and hands and people talking more urgently.

"Deeper breaths." They said, and Mariano tried, even as it felt like he'd run a marathon after a hypoxia test. "Eyes on us. We need you to stay awake a little longer." He tried to obey as they fitted an oxygen mask to his face, and Luis tried to explain that he'd been up all night so he might be pretty tired.

No one seemed to listen to Luis. Distantly, Mariano thought it was strange. He didn't know where Luis went after that.

The night had crept into early, early morning by the time everything had settled down. As the midnight blue started to morph into deep red, Mariano's clumsy fingers tugged the blankets up to his shoulders. With no more oxygen mask and only some wires to worry about, he was almost comfortable. The nurse attending him, Roberto, finished checking the monitors at his bedside before turning to him.

"If you need anything, press the call button on the side of your bed here and someone'll be here in less than a minute. Get some sleep, we'll check on you in a bit."

Mariano nodded, taking his glasses off again. He settled back against his pillow, feeling like his body was impossibly heavy. Finally, after ages, he was warm and dry and allowed to rest. He closed his eyes and was asleep before Roberto even had a chance to dim the lights in his room.

By the time Mariano opened his eyes again, the sun was high in the sky. Afternoon light streamed into his room, and he was aching and drowsier than he thought he'd ever been. He knew something had happened, something with Luis. He remembered not being able to breathe.

It was still sort of hard to breathe, Mariano realized. It felt like he'd caught an awful chest cold, a crackling wheeze filling the air. Did he get sick? It was hard to keep his eyes open. Whatever he'd caught must've really taken the energy out of him.

His eyes drifted closed again, the exhaustion dragging him back under.

It was even later, with the orange glow of early evening painting his stark-white walls, when he realized he couldn't breathe. He opened his eyes again to the feeling of his own hand gripping his chest. The fabric of his hospital gown and the blankets were bunched up in his fist, and his lungs felt like someone had filled them with lead.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. Where was he? Someone had told him something earlier. They'd said something about what to do if he needed something. Mariano's chest caught on an exhale, and before he could try to breathe through the urge to cough it ripped through him.

He curled in as the fit took him, wheezing and long. Stars exploded behind his eyelids as electricity ripped through him. He felt his ribs screaming with every cough, and all he could do was clutch at his side with one arm and cover his mouth with his other hand.

All at once it felt like he was back on the training room floor--was that where he'd been before?--but there was no Manuel to grab for, no Luis to hold onto. His head spun as his thoughts disappeared into a terrible buzz. Something rushed up his throat as the coughing fit threatened to strangle him. Pink foam spattered into his palm as he struggled to draw in a panicked breath. He needed someone--anyone.

He was going to die here.

He didn't want to die here.

His clean hand reached out and started fumbling along the side of his bed. There had to be a button, it felt like there had to be something. Just as he was starting to lose hope, thinking that he'd imagined the man telling him to hit a button for help, his fingertips pressed something down with a click.

Another wave of coughing pulled both of Mariano's hands to his mouth as he tried to keep the awful pink slime from dripping onto the white sheets. Just as Mariano felt it start to pass, he heard the door open. "Good afternoon--oh!"

That voice was familiar, and in a moment there were two hands on him. One on his shoulder, the other at his hip, and he heard them muttering to themself. "I'm going to call for some backup, keep breathing for me, Mister Ortiz."

The request was easier said than done, and Mariano only dimly heard them hurry to the phone on the wall and page for some names. It felt like hours before more people showed up, as Mariano's hands were gently pulled away from his face and wiped off. He panted against his pillow, shallow and rattling as voices and shadows swam above him.

"He was the drowning case from last night, has to be pulmonary edema."

"Are you sure?"

"Look at him, you can hear his breathing from the door, and that sputum never lies. Why wasn't his O2 being monitored? Who was doing rounds?"

"I'm not sure, I'd have to check with first shift--"

"Get a line started. Push a diuretic, and...yeah, some morphine. That heart rate needs to come down. Get him on some oxygen too."

"You'll feel an ant bite, aaaand there, don't mess with that."

"Alright, a rush of cold, then you'll have something in you to help you feel better."

"Should I adjust the bed...?"

"Yes, just sit him up a little, it'll help him breathe--"

"Seems to be losing--"

"That's--O2 is--"

"--Like that, Ortiz--"

"Mister Ortiz--"

"Ortiz!"

"Mariano Ortiz if you don't start breathing right fucking now, I'm going to--"

Mariano opened his eyes.

It was dark and quiet.

Luis was at his bedside. His face was drawn, the natural angles sharpened by the harsh moonlight that spilled in. He had one of Mariano's hands in both of his. His thumbs were feather-light along the back of Mariano's hand.

"You scared us there, Marito."

Mariano's throat felt like it was on fire. "M'sorry." He muttered through the oxygen mask, his voice sounding like a gate that hadn't been oiled in a century.

"Shh." Luis didn't have any real fire behind the shush. "Don't talk. Your body has been through a lot so you need to conserve your energy." His hands squeezed Mariano's as he looked across the room and out the window.

"I...wanted to apologize for the accident." Luis said, not looking at Mariano. "It won't happen again."

Mariano squeezed Luis' hand back. If he saw Luis wipe at his eyes with one hand, he wouldn't say anything. Luis didn't look back down at him, even as that hand slid into Mariano's hair.

"Sleep, Marito." Luis' voice was soft as he pressed his forehead to the back of Mariano's hand. "You're safe. Sleep."

Mariano closed his eyes again. He didn't let go of Luis' hand. He didn't dream.

#whump #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday8 #day 8 #panic attacks #dissociation #hospital setting #needle mention #suffocation #medical mistake #mage of violence #the leader

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