#seriously getting diagnosed is as simply as a blood test

[homunculusrex]

saw somebody on tiktok try and say that being sluggish in the morning and having a low libido is a sign of PCOS so buy my vitamins and im like HAVING HIGH T GIVES YOU A LOW LIBIDO?! have u met a trans man.

#yapping #it does NOT LEMME YELL YA #I am never NOT horny. #and have always been like this but T is making it WORSE #Yall need to just fuckin talk to ur doctor about PCOS or somethin bc the worst ur doctor will ask of u is like go on birth control? #and thats if u even want it treated you dont NEED to #Im not treating my PCOS bc it does nothing but benefit my trans ass #seriously getting diagnosed is as simply as a blood test #and treating it is NOT hard #over the counter acne treatments. Hair treatments for both the hair loss and extra body hair #Theoretically? Taking hormones might help? Ive never seen it suggested but i mean. Its not like a cis women cant take estrogen #btw if you get diagnosed please get a ovarian cancer screening you might be at risk #or at least according to my doctor i might be!!

[alpaca-clouds]

Something I am thinking about a lot while I am in the hospital is how our measurements of expertise are bound so strongly to structures of power. This is not inherent to expertise - it is just how our current system handles things.

The fact that someone has a doctorate in a field of medicine does not inharently enable them on a reality level to actually treat someone, who is sick. It enables them to do so legally, yes, but not realistically.

As someone who has struggled with health related issues forever, I can tell so many stories of times, where it was not a doctor who helped me but some other person. There was a nurse once, who saved me from being poisoned by a doctor, because she realized - other than the doctor - that the doctor accidentally had prescribed me the wrong medication. And there was only two years a nurse in the psych hospital who fixed an issue with my knee that so far several different doctors had failed to fix.

Throughout my life I several times correctly diagnosed myself with medical conditions, after different doctors misdiagnosed me.

The same is happening right now as well. @g-vlssz and I correctly identified the issue plaguing me right now TWO FUCKING MONTHS ago, and my current deterioation in health could've been prevented if any of the multiple doctors who saw me during this time just gave me corticoids. But they didn't, because I do not have a medical degree. It took me six weeks to convince a doctor to just look into our suspicion - a test that any other doctor could have ordered as well.

And the only reason that nobody took it serious, despite me arguing on a medical level (like with blood lab results and stuff) why I was suspecting the thing I was suspecting. And the only reason why it was not taken seriously is, that I do not have a piece of paper by a medical institution that gives me the legal power to just prescribe myself the medication.

Self-Diagnosis is always this massively politically charged topic, especially when it comes to a plethora of disabilities. Not only will doctors often get really angry, when you bring the topic up, but a lot of non-doctors, who believe in the existing power structure will as well.

It is something that on some level does make sense intuitively. Like, sure, we do not want people to be able to prescribe themselves like morphines, I guess.

But a lot of talk also always centers around the fact, that a lot of people do simply fear cancer. So, when some varied symptoms show up, they often will jump to the conclusion of "OMG, it has to be cancer". But... like... You are aware that this happens mostly because those people end up often feeling neglected by their primary medical providers after like going to the doctor for their chronic stomach issues and do not get serious - or will not even get to see a doctor in months because the waiting lists are so long. Nobody WANTS to be sick with cancer - but if nobody looks into any causes, what information do have people to go on? It is simply a fact that cancer is one of those sicknesses with a lot of information available on it. So, when someone starts to google: "Chronic stomach ache cause" cancer will be one of the things that will come up.

I mean, the reason why both I and my friend were correctly able to identify my symptoms (not with the exact sickness but the correct type of sickness) was that I managed to get at least seen by doctors and get some blood work done - and that I simply went into it assuming that the various symptoms that showed up unrelated over the last year without a cause ever being found were connected. And one of the symptoms is something that basically only shows up with the type of sickness I have. No, I did not know that to begin with, but I googled it and other than what the anti-self-diagnosis crowd tells you, you can actually get pretty good information that way.

I have yesterday contacted a lawyer. I will talk to that lawyer later today. But I cannot help but think about not only how unfair this entire situation is to me (had the doctors given me corticoids 8 weeks ago, I never would have ended up in hospital), but also towards other people. Because right now there is a lot of healthcare money and man hours put into my case. Things that would be probably be better spend with someone, whose issue could not be fixed by just giving them a two weeks course of corticoids. Like, I am taking up room in this hospital for at least two more weeks, and by the end of it my health insurance will have paid between 30 and 40k for this. Simply because my GP was not available and nobody else would just give me the medication I needed?

#anarchism #elitism #self diagnosis #health care #bizarro world

[scribblesbyb]

Irene

Here's B's first scribble. Enjoy the blurb!

Disclaimer: Themes of violence, gory images, and l'appel du vide vibes. POV: absurd.

Irene (what kind of name was Irene anyway? Was it Irish? I wouldn’t know; look it up yourself) has always been haunted by distasteful visions of murder. They would hit her at the most random of times. 

Irene (seriously, Irene, that’s what we’re naming her?) sits in the doctor’s office. She listens and nods as this medical professional (professional my ass, he barely passes for a nurse) victim-blamed her instead of diagnoses her. Her fingers tap impatiently against her thigh (of course the doctor was a man, it was always a male doctor that’d make her uncomfortable) as she waits for him to finish telling her off,  

“There are no side effects. You’re making it up. You should be a writer; you’d make a really good one. My meds didn’t affect you. It’s your personality, Miss.” 

Scream at him; a primal, guttural scream that would shake his desk and make the dandy receptionist outside jump in her swivel chair. You can do it, Irene. Grab his snazzy tie – oh, look, there’s a black ink stain on it – and slam his head onto the X-rays laid in front of him. Do it.  

The doctor goes on. Irene looks up, fingers still tapping away, and notices the plaque this man (who could pass as her father for heaven’s sake, why was he being so rude?) flaunts on the wall behind him. Snatch it away and smash his brains in. Watch him spew blood onto your clothes and laugh. Release your anger with him on him. He deserves it. 

“And could you stick to what I tell you next time? Don’t go asking for blood tests I didn’t request, simply because you’re worried. Stop worrying, Miss.” 

Have you ever tried to relax? It’s a paradox. Isn’t that a quote from Rick & Morty? Does Irene watch that? The disturbing images on that show fit the ones that run through her head daily.  

What about Happy Tree Friends? Now that's a show Irene would love. How she’d cherish taking a chainsaw to the doctor’s gray hairs – or maybe stuff it in his big, round belly, make a mess of his intestines.  

Fun. 

She smiles as he reminds her that she should come in next week for a follow-up. Eat more of my money, you rude, fat fuck. That’s capitalism for ya. Or was this sexism? The dismissal of everything Irene complained about certainly felt like it.  

The receptionist meets Irene with dazzling white teeth. Is she trying to blind the patients? Is she flirting or something? Why the big, air-head smile? Supposed to make people want to kill you less? 

Irene hands her too much money (do I have the right change? Do I need some for gas later?) and thinks that maybe this is capitalism after all. The receptionist’s tight bun would look nice wrapped around that gazelle neck. Crush her. Drop her body onto the shiny tiles (did they just mop this?) and sit on her ribs. Punch those white teeth out. Step on and break them. Oh, she can practically hear the splendid sound tickle her ears. 

Irene – sigh, I regret that name – tucks her purse away to leave.  

The floor is too clean, it’d be hard to get the blood out of it, but it would look so much more beautiful with that wet, red color staining it.

Down the stairs, we go, out into the world, and as for those visions; mom’s the word. 

#writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing #absurd #horro #horror writing #gore writing #cw: gore #call of the void #l'appel du vide #blurb #writing prompt

[edgersense5]

The 9-Minute Rule for Natural Remedies for Fungal Nail Infections

Diagnosis Your health care supplier will definitely check out your nails and perhaps take some nail cuttings or scrape particles coming from under your nail. Depending on the ailment you're identified, a lab test might be made use of to calculate your nail style. A physical examination or pee test is the most essential exam. Learn More Here are going to carry out a skin layer exam -- which gives you the full image of your nails. A unique hair example may be offered to offer you a far better diagnosis. These examples are sent to a laboratory to pinpoint the cause of your signs. Many research laboratory exams are just a few hours away and have not been made use of to figure out which is creating your signs. Some of these samples are sent to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, where they are assessed through the Consumer Product Safety Commission (CPSC), a federal government agency generated by the U.S. military to determine and observe products. Various other conditions, such as skin psoriasis, may resemble a fungus disease of the nail. A popular trigger of nail damage when an contamination happens is nail policomyelitis (inflammation of nail bones). Other health conditions typically lead to nail pain that is a milder infection. An additional typical cause of nail discomfort or skin layer burn is a microbial infection. Commonly these diseases have resulted in discomfort, therefore managing your nail is an reliable technique to manage the reason of nail discomfort. Microorganisms such as yeast and micro-organisms also can easily corrupt nails. In purchase to maintain blood stream clots, a higher attention of bleach can be used. When the blood ends up being too close to the skin, the blood stream bacteria go into the nasal lining. When this happens, the microorganisms become more common and usually current as reddish blood stream cells. This reddish blood tissues consist of the regular chemical essential for blood stream clots as effectively as some unique special antibodies. The antitoxins consist of enzymes to protect against the blood stream coming from clots.

Knowing the cause of your contamination helps figure out the best treatment. When Do I Affect My Automobile? If you are a young person with cystic fibrosis, or even if you are a incredibly lately diagnosed adult, you are at an increased risk. Some individuals may possess severe signs that possess no various other issues, but some folks who do possess extreme signs may also have symptoms that seem to be to have the exact same seriousness or also overlap, such as queasiness or vomiting. Therapy Treatment for nail fungus isn't always required. Right here are some instances: It's not important to possess a skin layer procedure for nail fungus, but it's a great tip to manage it through sun screen lotion in enhancement to making use of sunblock at least once a time, and hydrating it all the time. Nevertheless, if something bothers you, simply make an effort it, at that point try not to touch it. In the final 4 weeks, I've experienced nothing; no concern with any sort of style of fungi. And often self-care and nonprescription products get rid of up the contamination. This has actually to wait for more analysis and scientific tests before a brand new procedure can get started with even more than one individual infected, and usually there are no quick remedies for the very most popular diseases. A whole lot of the early analysis on pre-exposure prevention could be based on pre-existing complications that are understood to be the reason of contamination later in lifestyle. However, the documentation is thin on details. Speak with your wellness treatment company if your disorder doesn't enhance. Ask for therapy. Cost-effective medicines and prescription medicines (consisting of antipsychotics) can easilynot treat it. Chat about your health and wellness care carrier concerning the threat of problems due to an contamination that can easily lead to organ breakdown or death. Speak with your health and wellness care supplier regarding the risks of conditions for the individual. Plan your procedure. Find out if you can alleviate any of the following disorders. Procedure relies on the severeness of your ailment and the type of fungus triggering it. The fungi can at that point be determined coming from samples of tissue and food contaminated with it (some microorganisms might not be able to endure in the setting it was supplied at). In some illnesses, microorganisms that cause the fungi may ultimately come to be immune and can easily result in severe issues. In these disorders, the meals is not tainted along with the fungi and maynot be made use of in human beings. It can easily take months to see results. But what's the greatest technique to receive your service to take activity without having to go with a gigantic, cluttered procedure? Well, one large device is free of cost marketing remedies. There's free of charge marketing options that really function, but for me it's the best means I've found (along along with making use of the cost-free template of training program) to acquire your information and your possible customers without having to invest the opportunity writing manuscripts on something that's really a project.

#nail fungus #acrylic nail fungus #nail fungus treatment #treatment for nail fungus

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Acute Covid-19 is not only a lung disease, but significantly affects the vascular and coagulation systems

My lab has found significant microclot formation in long Covid patients. Unfortunately, these are missed in routine blood tests

One of the biggest failures during the Covid-19 pandemic is our slow response in diagnosing and treating long Covid. As many as 100 million people worldwide already suffer from long Covid. That staggering number will eventually be much higher, if we take into account that diagnoses are still inadequate, and that we still do not know what the impact of Omicron and future variants will be.

Patients with long Covid complain of numerous symptoms, the main ones being recurring fatigue and brain fog, muscle weakness, being out of breath and having low oxygen levels, sleep difficulties and anxiety or depression. Some patients are so sick that they cannot work or even walk a few steps. There is possibly also an elevated risk of stroke and heart attacks. One of the biggest sources of concern is that even mild and sometimes asymptomatic initial Covid-19 infection may lead to debilitating, long-term disability.

Since early 2020, we and other researchers have pointed out that acute Covid-19 is not only a lung disease, but actually significantly affects the vascular (blood flow) and coagulation (blood clotting) systems.

A recent study in my lab revealed that there is significant microclot formation in the blood of both acute Covid-19 and long Covid patients. With healthy physiology, clots may form (for instance, when you cut yourself). However, the body breaks down the clots efficiently by a process called fibrinolysis.

Acute Covid-19 is not only a lung disease, but significantly affects the vascular and coagulation systems

In blood from patients with long Covid, persistent microclots are resistant to the body’s own fibrinolytic processes. We found high levels of various inflammatory molecules trapped in the persistent microclots, including clotting proteins like plasminogen, fibrinogen and Von Willebrand factor (VWF), and also Alpha-2 antiplasmin (a molecule that prevents the breakdown of microclots).

The presence of persistent microclots and hyperactivated platelets (also involved in clotting) perpetuates coagulation and vascular pathology, resulting in cells not getting enough oxygen in the tissues to sustain bodily functions (known as cellular hypoxia). Widespread hypoxia may be central to the numerous reported debilitating symptoms.

So why can long Covid patients not go to their nearest clinic or health care practitioner to find treatment options? Currently there are no general pathology tests readily available to diagnose these patients.

Desperately ill patients are told that their pathology test results are within normal/healthy ranges. Many are then told that their symptoms are possibly psychological and they should try meditation or exercise. The main reason the traditional lab tests do not pick up any of the inflammatory molecules is that they are trapped inside the fibrinolytic-resistant microclots (visible under a fluorescence or bright-field microscope, as our research has shown). When the molecular content of the soluble part of the plasma is measured, the inflammatory molecules, including auto-antibodies, are simply missed.

More than a million of us are suffering with long Covid – yet still it’s not taken seriously Joanna Herman Read more

Preliminary results indicate that treatments such as antiplatelet and anticoagulation regimens have shown promising results in long Covid cases, provided there is careful professional monitoring of any danger of bleeding that might be caused by taking these medications. In addition to that, so-called Help (heparin-induced, extracorporal, lipoprotein/fibrinogen, precipitation) apheresis – in which microclots and inflammatory molecules are filtered out in a dialysis-style treatment – may also have positive outcomes for patients. (See a recent BBC interview with Dr Beate Jaeger and Dr Asad Khan.)

We urgently need to invest in more research and clinical trials to better understand and further confirm the link between abnormal blood clotting, hypoxia and vascular dysfunction in patients with long Covid. Even those without long Covid could benefit from such research, as symptoms noted in long Covid patients show many similarities to those seen in chronic and viral-related illnesses including myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS) – another disease that has been dismissed as “psychological” for decades. Just because we have not yet identified a biomarker for long Covid does not mean biomarkers do not exist. We just need to look harder.

Resia Pretorius is the head of department and a distinguished research professor in the physiological sciences department, faculty of science, Stellenbosch University, South Africa

#covid 19 #long covid #PSA #this needs to be taken more seriously #boost #get boosted #get vaccinated #wear your mask #wear a fucking mask people #as someone with long covid symptoms I can attest that even mild illness can and likely will lead to long lasting terrible effects #AND this article doesn't even mention the NEUROLOGICAL effects of covid #that's the worst and I feel it everyday #jan 5 2022 #jan 2022 #public health

[senorarelojes]

Ficlet: Violator (1/1)

Summary: This prompt from @songsofgayanddevotion and @raphinas: "basically, dave goes to have a prostate exam and alans the doctor and basically dave comes over the table while alan is checking him LMAOOOOO" Rating: Mature

.

When Dave opened the door, he thought he’d gotten the wrong office at first. “Oh, sorry,” he said hesitantly, hovering in the doorway. At Dr. Miller’s desk was an immensely good-looking young man who was scanning a clipboard, his eyebrows raised inquiringly at Dave. “Erm, I think I’ve got the wrong office--” Dave began.

“Are you David Gahan?” the man said pleasantly before rising to his feet. He was a little taller than Dave, six feet of trim muscle in neatly pressed grey trousers and a black Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was a world away from the casual polo tees and slacks that Dr. Miller favoured. “You’re here for the prostate check?”

Dave only belatedly realised his mouth was hanging open when the bloke’s eyebrows inched higher, waiting for Dave’s response. “Um, yeah, yeah that’s right,” he said hurriedly, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. “Sorry, I was expecting Dr. Dan Miller--”

“He’s down with a very bad flu,” the bloke said, before offering his hand. He had the longest, most elegant fingers Dave had ever seen, and Dave forced himself not to think about where those fingers would be later. “I’m Dr. Alan Wilder, I’m the locum taking over his patients for today.”

“Oh. Um. Cool.” Dave shook his hand a little awkwardly, trying not to notice the nice firm grip of Dr. Wilder’s handshake. “I’m Dave Gahan.”

Dr. Wilder’s mouth curled up a little in amusement. It somehow made him even more attractive; Dave was fucking doomed. “Yes, I know,” Dr. Wilder said, tilting the clipboard at Dave. “Do have a seat, Mr. Gahan.”

“Dave!” he blurted out, before realising that Dr. Wilder was staring at him. “I mean, Dave is fine. No need for Mr. Gahan.”

“Sure.” Dr. Wilder just smiled at him, and Dave decided this must be divine punishment for all the grief he’d put his mother through as a wayward teenager. “So I read through your files, and I understand you told Dr. Miller that you had concerns about prostate cancer.”

Dave nodded, feeling a bit more settled back on familiar territory. “Yeah, my uncle was diagnosed with it last month. And I don’t know the medical history of my dad - my bio dad - so I thought I should get it checked on.”

Dr. Wilder simply nodded without judgement. “You’re in your 30s now, so you’re not in the typical at-risk group for prostate cancer. Still, whenever family history is involved, it is understandable if you have concerns.”

Dave let out a long breath, relieved that Dr. Wilder seemed to be taking him seriously for now. Besides, Dr. Wilder had a very calm, relaxing manner about him that felt infectious, something about his voice that was pleasant and soothing. Dave would pay money to hear this bloke read audiobooks.

Then again, Dave would also pay to hear and see the very handsome Dr. Wilder do a whole manner of other things.

“So what’s going to happen now are two things,” Dr. Wilder explained. “First, we will conduct a Digital Rectal Exam, which would be a physical examination by a trained physician to see if you have an enlarged prostate. Then we will also do a blood test to check your prostate-specific antigen levels.”

“Right.” Dave desperately tried to ignore the heat suffusing his face. He wasn’t going to blush in front of a medical professional because of a fucking prostate exam. “Yup, I get that.”

Here, Dr. Wilder hesitated. “It’s important that you feel comfortable with the doctor conducting the digital rectal exam,” he said quietly. “If you would rather have Dr. Miller do the test with you, we can reschedule--”

“No I want you,” Dave said a little too quickly. His face felt like it was on fire as Dr. Wilder’s smile curled up in amusement again. “I mean-- fuck, sorry. I meant I don’t mind you doing it.”

“If you’re sure.” Dr. Wilder was already pulling the drawer open and taking out a box of latex gloves, so hell yes, Dave was fucking sure.

Dave tried not to look too eager as he unbuttoned his jeans and shed them, going to where Dr. Wilder was telling him to stand. “Could you take off your briefs, then bend over the examination bed?” Dr. Wilder politely asked him, and Dave had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t respond that he would do anything Dr. Wilder asked him to that involved beds and getting naked. Slipping off his briefs and folding them on top of his jeans in a neat pile, Dave shivered a little at the cold air hitting his exposed bottom.

Getting into position as he leaned against the bed, Dave heard the snap of Dr. Wilder’s gloves, along with his footsteps coming closer. “Relax,” Dr. Wilder said, a cool hand resting on Dave’s bum. “I’m a doctor.”

Dave could only nod in response, not trusting himself to speak. Already he could smell Dr. Wilder’s clean scent, a mix of aftershave and a faint whiff of tobacco. Dave closed his eyes, thinking about Dr. Wilder’s hands on his body, touching the most intimate of places that only his ex-wives had breached. He could also feel the heat emanating off Dr. Wilder’s body behind him, and Dave couldn’t help thinking about what the man would feel like in bed, spooning behind Dave and fucking him from behind, that sly refined mouth pressing kisses to Dave’s neck.

To Dave’s horror, his dick started taking a very keen interest in Dr. Wilder’s nearness as well as the lurid fantasies running through Dave’s head. “It’s fine,” Dr. Wilder reassured him, his voice dropping to that low and relaxing tone again. “Don’t worry about it, it happens to patients sometimes.”

Dave was thankful that Dr. Wilder was both acknowledging his erection while not being weird about it or put off. “I don’t, I’m sorry--”

“Relax, Dave.” The silky way Dr. Wilder said his name made Dave jerk a little, his cock starting to leak over the sterile paper sheets on the examination bed.

Now Dave could hear the squirting of lube from a pump bottle, then Dr. Wilder slicking his fingers. “Spread your legs a little wider,” Dr. Wilder said, and maybe it was Dave’s imagination but the doctor’s voice sounded a little rougher than normal. “Mmm yes, that’s good. Open up for me.”

Dave bit back a moan as he felt Dr. Wilder’s finger slipping inside him, slowly at first so as to help him get used to the intrusion. “Okay?” Dr. Wilder asked, his voice so gentle that Dave fought the temptation to turn around and kiss the living daylights out of him.

“Yeah.” Dave kept his breaths slow and easy, biting down on his forearm as Dr. Wilder slid in a second finger, in and out of Dave in an easy glide. “Keep-keep going.”

Dr. Wilder didn’t say anything, but he pressed a comforting hand on the small of Dave’s back while his fingers inside Dave were searching around for his prostate. This time Dave couldn’t hold back the moan when Dr. Wilder finally found it, pressing on it gently and making Dave leak embarrassing amounts of pre-come all over the covered bed.

“All right?” Dr. Wilder was definitely breathing faster now, even though his voice was still even, but Dave was too busy rolling his hips back, greedily demanding for more pressure from those talented fingers, too far gone with pleasure to care about propriety and inappropriate doctor-patient boundaries and getting sued by the hospital. All he cared about was the insanely hot man behind him with his fingers sending Dave through waves and waves of toe-curling pleasure, on the brink of one of the most intense orgasms he would ever experience.

“Dave--” Dr. Wilder sounded so breathless and stunned that when his fingers crooked against Dave’s prostate again, Dave came and came with a resounding yell, spurting all over the bed and his own bare feet, his legs shaking so hard that they almost couldn’t hold him up. Dave was gasping for air, trying to recover from the brain-melting orgasm as his head thunked down on the bed.

Oh fuck, Dave thought, remembering that Dr. Wilder definitely did not sign up to finger fuck one of his patients into oblivion. Shakily standing upright, Dave turned around with a litany of apologies at the ready. “Fucking hell, I’m so sorry--”

Dr. Wilder was staring at him, his cheeks pink with pleasure and his eyes brighter than stars. His gaze dropped down to Dave’s mouth, and Dave suddenly realised - with a white-hot pleasure - that he had nothing to be embarrassed about because the doctor was licking his lips while staring at Dave’s dripping cock.

“I, uhh--” Dr. Wilder quickly took off his gloves before handing Dave a box of tissues. “I will give you a while to clean up, Mr. Gahan. Someone else will be along shortly to help you. Sorry about that.”

“What do you-- wait!” Dave called out as Dr. Wilder left the examination room, but it was too late.

***

After Dave had finished cleaning up and putting on his jeans again, a nurse came in and apologetically told him that Dr. Wilder had been called to assist with an emergency, so Dr. Miller would follow up with Dave next week about his test results. “Emergency my arse,” Dave grumbled under his breath as the nurse led him out. Outside, Dr Wilder was nowhere to be seen.

Then Dave had an idea.

He only had to wait outside the hospital for about 15 minutes before he spotted Dr. Wilder heading to the designated smoking area, looking a bit shaken as he dug around for his cigarettes. When Dave walked up to him, Wilder avoided his eyes. “If you have any complaints, you can lodge them with the hospital,” he said in a tired voice.

Dave gaped at him. “Wh- wait, why would I want to lodge a complaint?” he said in amazement. “I came to fuckin’ apologise to you, mate.”

“Oh.” Dr. Wilder took a deep drag of his cigarette, a bit confused. “So you’re not mad I took advantage of you?”

Dave stepped a little closer, taking Dr. Wilder’s cigarette from him for his own drag. “As long as you’re not mad I came all over your table.”

They smoked in silence for a while, at least until one of the nurses popped her head out of the back door and called Dr. Wilder’s name, saying his next patient was here. Dr. Wilder stubbed out the cigarette, looking carefully at Dave.

“They warned us about this in pre-med, you know,” Dr. Wilder said with a little smile. “Being attracted to one of your patients. Never happened to me until today.”

Dave’s grin at him was so wide that it was hurting his cheeks a little. “Well, when Dan Miller comes back, I won’t be your patient anymore, will I?”

Dr. Wilder’s smile widened in response. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then it’s a date.” Dave grabbed his arm, taking the pen from his pocket and writing his number on Dr. Wilder’s arm. “So you don’t have to nick my mobile from my personal data.”

“Because that would be wrong.” Dr. Wilder smirked at him before heading back inside, leaving Dave laughing at the smoking area.

#dalan #fanfic #saph's and raphinas' prompt #Mo I included the Family Guy reference here as a nod to you

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [13]

Masterlist

~^*^~

Your eyes fluttered open. The amber sun beat down on your face through the cracks in the curtains. Your phone buzzed excitedly on your bedside table. With a groan, you reached out, missing once but grasping it firmly the second time. Eyes a little blurred, you answered.

“Hullo?” You asked groggily.

“Good morning, Princess, did you sleep well?” Dracula’s voice rang through.

“Very.” You hummed.

“Good... I’ll be back in a couple of days. Behave yourself and I might just be tempted to show you a little gratitude for it...”

“I have no idea what that means but you have fully intrigued me.”

“Ahh, now you have just a fraction of an idea on how I feel about you.” A smile broke out onto your face at his words.

“The most romantic thing anyone has every said to me and it’s from a vampire.” You playfully mused, rolling your eyes.

“So that is where we are,” he pondered, “a budding romance?”

“Ah, well, no, I didn’t mean it like that-“

“I think I like that very much.”

Your smile softened. And then your phone began to vibrate once more. Zoe was trying to call you. Your heart faltered. You hadn’t heard from her in so long. Worry had begun to settle in your gut, but here she was calling you.

“Drac, I’ll have to call you back.” He tried to protest, however you cut him off and answered Zoe, “Zoe? Is everything alright?”

“[First].” She spoke slowly, voice weak and having lost its character.

“Zoe...?”

“You need to come to London...”

“What’s going on? Why? Why do I need to come to London?”

“I’m in the hospital...” she told you slowly. She kept gasping quietly for breath, “my health... deteriorated... I was moved to Westmoreland Street hospital... the oncology ward... bring all your files and come...”

“What about Jack...?”

“He arrived yesterday... his friend, Lucy... is about to die...”

Your heart swelled with guilt. You had caused that.

But could you go back to London? Could you return to the place that you had once fled? Where every street had its memory - most more than painful - and every place that you had ever been there tainted with heartache. Zoe had beckoned you to join her in what you suspected were her final days but you didn’t know if you could. Over the last two years, she had become a stand-in mother figure while you were so far away from your own. She was your mentor, and your inspiration. How could you go and watch her die? How could you go and relive all that heartbreak only to create more?

~^*^~

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see the city rise up from the horizon. Already, you missed Whitby. You missed the screech of the seagulls, the constant whisper of the waves, the groan of the boats coming up and down the harbour.

A good 20 minutes later and you were hauling yourself and your bags off of the coach, wishing that you weren’t here. The familiar and unforgettable scent of London filled your lungs and you almost burst into tears right there. But you didn’t. You simply pulled up the handle on your suitcase, held your canvas bag tightly and began to walk. The coach had stopped opposite Regents Park station, and you knew it wasn’t too much of a walk to the hospital. It was a short journey. Soon you were navigating through the winding halls, trying to decipher where on Earth the oncology ward was. After asking several nurses, you found yourself outside of her door.

‘072 A

Zoe Van Helsing’

You wanted to cry for her. Your fist rapped on the door and you entered. She was lying back, head elevated slightly with cushions. Her once glowing skin was pale and opaque, matted with deep bags under the eyes. Her lips had pastelled and cracked up. She didn’t look great.

“Hi, Zoe.” You greeted softly.

“[First], you came.” She didn’t push back the tired smile, but her voice gave away her exhaustion.

“Of course I did.” You set the bags down, walking towards her side. Closer up, she looked even worse.

“Jack... asked about you...” she told you, “his friend... Dracula has been drinking her,” she stopped, just for a moment to weakly cough, “blood.”

“I...”

“She was an old friend of yours... wasn’t she...? You must be upset.”

“...not really... our friendship ended on bad terms.”

“I...” her eyes looked past you, as if she was looking at another person. You turned your head, seeing no one, “see...”

“What? What is it?” You asked her softly.

It was probably the high dosages of medicine making her hallucinate. It was the only explanation. You sighed.

Her eyes fluttered a few times before slowly closing. She was clearly exhausted. Whispering your goodbyes, you left the room and plucked up your bags. Just as you were turning to leave, very familiar male.

“Hey!” You called. He turned to look at you and then began to walk a little faster, “stop!” You called. Reluctantly, he turned and gave you a nervous smile, “Renfield, right?”

“Sorry, Miss [Last], I didn’t realise it was you.”

Yes you did, you slimeball you thought

“That’s okay!” You smiled sweetly, “can you do me a huge favour?”

~^*^~

Renfield shuffled a little away from you as you turned your head up to smile at him. It was obviously fake and very much forced. He gulped. You wanted to laugh. You had seriously unnerved him but you didn’t care.

He began to panic in his own head beside you. The lift pulled you up to the penthouse suite. Dracula had given stern orders that no one was to visit, except for... well, she wasn’t an issue anymore, she was dying. But Dracula had only mentioned this sweet [First] [Last] as his “lady in the North”. He often neglected Renfield’s plans to visit you for a few days. However, the lawyer couldn’t see what he saw in you. He rubbed at the scar on his neck.

When the doors opened, he stepped out and you happily trailed behind him. His shoes clicked on the floor until he came to the wooden door.

“Stay here for a moment.” He commanded, voice growing with nerves.

He carefully opened the door so that you wouldn’t be able to see inside and slipped away. Dracula sat at the head of the table, reading on his kindle. He had grown very close with it, having realised just how many books the tiny slab of plastic contained.

“Count Dracula...” Renfield began.

“Why do you sound so guilty, Renfield?” Dracula apple, not looking up from the page he was reading. He was playing with his fingers with his free hand.

“There is a lady here to see you...”

“Ah,” Dracula looked up, “so soon? I knew she was a lively one... though I did expect her to be trapped in her physical body... perhaps she was much stronger than I anticipated.”

“N-no, Count Dracula-“

“Enough. You can go and sort your work out. I’ll entertain our guest.”

Renfield retreated immediately. He knew Dracula had grown fond of you but he didn’t know if he would be angry that you had found him where he occasionally had the other lady around for... activities.

Dracula’s pace was slow. He knew that on the other side of the door, he was heard. He was prowling, testing the impatience of the person waiting for him. He was teasing.

His fingers reached out. He grasped the handle. He pulled.

“Just the very person I was expecting, much sooner than I expected thou-...” his voice cut and trailed off. His eyes locked with yours. He was genuinely shocked to see you standing before him, smiling. You let a small giggle pass your lips and had he had a beating heart, he knew it would have skipped a beat at the sound, “[First]?” He managed to ask through his question.

“Who else were you expecting?”

You already knew the answer, and the pain in knowing that she was openly welcome to this place radiated through your chest. But the reminder that she was dying due to becoming acquainted with him, whilst you still bloomed with life gave you some peace on the matter.

“My goodness this is a shock.” He breathed.

“Not to quote a close undead acquaintance of mine, but will you invite me in?”

He breathed a laugh. He could sense that you were angry at him, but you still joked around with him. You were smiling through the pain. Goodness, how he admired that on you.

“No.” He deadpanned, “I’m demanding your entry.” The wicked smile appeared on his face and you pushed back a laugh.

You made your way in, admiring the darkness of the room. A long table ran the length of the room and a tall, slender window was covered to conceal the sunlight. There were purple and cyan lights and it was very pretty.

You wondered where Renfield had disappeared to. There were a few doors and you wondered where they lead.

Dracula’s hands slipped over your own for a moment and the contact sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He lifted the suitcase and the bag from your grip and moved them, setting them down by the door. You watched him move around. He seemed very much at home here, but after two months, you supposed he would in a place he could fully call his own. He fit in very nicely in the sophistication of it all.

“When did you get here?” He inquired.

“A few hours ago. I took a coach.”

“You took a coach? That must’ve taken so long.”

“Six hours. And then I went to visit somebody...” you didn’t want to say who.

You knew that over the time Dracula had been coming back to visit you, he had also been having secret meetings with Zoe. She had never told you this. You had found out yourself during your absence when Jack directed you to her office to find some paperwork he needed. You had found the diary entries, dates and all, documenting her meetings with him. He had been the one to diagnose her cancer (her blood had been poison to him - which both horrified and intrigued you), she had drunk the rest of the sample of his blood that she didn’t send off for testing, and they had been meeting secretly for months.

Count Dracula had proved himself to be somewhat of a playboy, managing three maidens all at once.

You scoffed.

“What?” Dracula, who had sunken down into the chair nearest to you, looked up at you.

“Nothing.” You shook your head.

“You must be tired, I suppose. Do you want to lie down for a while?”

You simply hummed and nodded. He stood once more, gently taking your hand and leading you towards one of the doors. He paused.

“Renfield!” He bellowed, “fetch some food for our guest! And make it nice!”

You stifled another laugh as he pushed open the door and pulled you through. The next room was similarly as dark and featured a beautiful black four poster bed, with black satin canopies. The bedding was silk, and glistened. Pushed against the wall you had just entered through, to the left was a matching black wardrobe and on the opposite side of the room beside the window was a matching tall chest of drawers.

You audibly gasped at the sight. Dracula smirked at your reaction. But then the memories of what had happened here filled his head.

Did he feel guilty...?

“Impressed?”

“Very much, Christian Gray.” You joked.

“[First],” he warned lowly, turning to face you, “never ever quote that book again.” He turned away from you, “at least I know what BDSM is now.”

“You actually read Fifty Shades...”

Oh, how badly you wanted to laugh at the thought of a well-mannered and charming gentleman reading such a book.

“It was recommended to me.” He stated plainly.

“Believe me, Drac, that book doesn’t even scratch the surface of BDSM.”

You pulled your hand out of his and he turned his head so quickly you would be surprised if he didn’t end up with whiplash. He eyed you. You bit your lip in order to prevent the laughs. And then he did the most unexpected thing. He trapped you in his arms, bringing you close as they slithered around your waist. You were pulled into him, the mere feeling of him holding you knocking the breath from your lungs. He lowered his head, connecting his forehead with yours.

“I suggest you stop right there, darling.” He whispered.

“I’m tempted to carry on now.” Your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Yes, carry on, see where it lands you.”

Your eyes flickered to the bed and back to him. Both of you seemed to have the same thought and you began to laugh. Hard. The ridiculousness of it. Part of you was tempted to bring up a certain movie scene where a mating between a vampire and a human lead to an utterly destroyed bedroom, but you opted against it.

You planted your forehead on his chest as you laughed into him. The sweet sounds that came from you vibrated through him and he found himself holding onto you just a little tighter. He threw his head back, inhaling deeply. Slowly but surely, the room was being taken hostage by your scent.

When your laughter had died down a little, Dracula released you and you stepped back to look at him. Your eyes truly did sparkle in every light, didn’t they? Was it simply the life flowing through your veins? Or were you truly just that special?

He announced to you that he’d leave you alone to rest and your eyes lingered on the door after he gently shut it. Sighing, you turned and decided to have a little root around the room. You began at the wardrobe, opening the doors to reveal many freshly ironed suits, crisp shirts, some sweats and other items of clothing hung up neatly and colour-coded. You scoffed. Trust Dracula to have a colour-coded wardrobe. Then again, being awake 24/7 must end up proving to be extremely boring.

The next place you looked was in the chest of drawers. Everything was seemingly normal, until you found yourself opening the bottom drawer.

Women’s clothes?

You tugged a t-shirt out you gasped at the shirt beneath it. It was so recognisable. The eyeliner stain was still there.

~^*^~

You laughed as Lucy began to swipe eyeshadow all the way out towards your temple. Clearly she had gotten bored with doing a nice job with your makeup and wanted to start clowning around a little. She swapped out the eyeshadow after a moment with her brightest liquid lip and began to paint it on your cheeks, and your laughing caused her to lose the grip.

The applicator fell, not without leaving a vibrant mark on your white pyjamas.

“Lucy!” You whined.

She was too busy laughing at your despair to help. So, you did the only thing a teenage girl could think of doing. You grasped her liquid eyeliner, ripping open the lid and began to draw lines up and down her arms.

She began to laugh harder with the sensation and then, you began to swirl a dark mark into her pyjamas. She only laughed, and you couldn’t help but join her once more.

~^*^~

You dropped the t-shirt immediately and pushed yourself back. Due to the fact that you were crouching, you toppled backwards and landed on your backside. You drew in a breath and waited for Dracula to come in and find you snooping. He’d make a stupid remark at you being so nosy and would most likely forget about it sooner or later. But he never came. Instead, there was silence.

Not wanting to look inside of the drawer anymore, you kicked it shut and flopped onto your back.

So she had been here? She had been in his bedroom? She had been so often that she needed to leave clothes? So she had been staying the night... how many nights? You couldn’t help but think about what they did during that time.

Dread filled you as you pondered on it longer and longer.

Why hadn’t Dracula ever invited you down to London if he had such a beautiful home here? Did he wish to conceal his close relations with Lucy so badly from you? It must’ve been her he was expecting. You wondered how disappointed he must’ve been when he opened the door and realised that it was you and not her.

You couldn’t stay here. You had been awake since 5am, and had been on a coach since 6am. You needed your sleep. It was only 2pm. A few hours wouldn’t hurt, as long as you left before the sun went down. If you planned it correctly, you could even get the same coach back to Whitby.

Pulling yourself up, you made yourself to the bed. When you sunk down, you were surprised to find that the mattress was memory foam. The sheets were slippery beneath you. You didn’t like them much, if truth be told. Maybe Lucy had picked them out...

Instead of thinking about it anymore, you shut your eyes and regulated your breathing. There was no point on dwelling on it. She was as good as dead.

When your eyes fluttered open, the room was pitch black. From outside of the room, you could hear the soft hum of music. What time was it? You pulled yourself up and your legs were wobbly with having just woken up. You pushed past it and made your way out of the room. A soft light hit you and at the sound of the door opening, Dracula turned to look at you.

He had a glass before him, it was half full. He ignored it, however and strolled towards you.

“Did you sleep well, darling?”

“Is that what you asked her every time she stayed over?”

You were too tired to process your slightly bitchy attitude. He cocked an eyebrow. Then he sighed.

“She didn’t stay as often as you are imagining.”

“But she’s stayed more than I have.”

“Trust me, I’ve spent more time with you.”

“Did you sleep with her?” You asked sharply.

“Would you prefer my honesty or will you flee in anger again?” He was treating you like a ticking time bomb. Good.

“Just tell me. I need to know.”

You did. You needed to know how she had won him over. How she had won another person against you. Whatever she did, she was too good at it. If this tiny piece of closure would help you heal, then god damn it, you needed it.

“Fine...” he took a step towards you warily, “only... when I drank her blood... and only here. Every other time I drank her, we were in less intimate places...”

“How many times...?” You could barely speak louder than a whisper. Your heart was pounding with what you could only describe as jealousy. But why on Earth were you jealous?

“Three times.”

Your bottom lip trembled.

Why did you decide it was a good idea to inquire about such things? Why did it hurt so much? When had you grown so attached to him?

“... why not me...?”

“Why not you?” He repeated, “darling, because I have more respect for you than that. And should our blossoming romance progress, I’d rather not drink your blood. Not again. It is much too valuable.”

You turned away from him. If he saw the tears in your eyes, he’d pin you as weak. You weren’t weak. You were devastated that Lucy had wormed her way in between you and another person. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here.

“I’m gonna go, Drac.” You whispered.

“You’re leaving so soon?”

“Yes, I haven’t been to see my parents and-“ you lied, voice shaking, “I should go and see them.”

“At three in the morning?”

It was 3am?

“...yes...?” You lied once more but you sounded more unsure of yourself than ever.

“I suppose I cannot convince you otherwise. However, I am indebted to you. May you allow me to pay you back?”

“You aren’t in debt to me-“

“That’s where you are wrong. Indeed I am. I left a very beautiful lady alone at a ball after only one dance. Will you indulge me in just one more?”

He extended his arm to you and you looked at him in disbelief. Did he have to do this now? You didn’t want to think of the consequences if you didn’t; besides, you couldn’t leave now that it was dark, he’d follow you.

“Only one.”

“Thank you. Sincerely, thank you.” He smiled softly at you, “and instead of waltzing you around, we shall dance a little closer to how your generation does it.”

What?

“Hold up, if you think for one second I’m gonna grind up on you, you are wrong-“

“I’m not going to ask how you came to that conclusion. Now take my hand, darling.”

He truly was mesmerising when he wanted to be. You were a moth and he was the burning light. He drew you in even if you knew he was dangerous. Even if he would kill you, something inside of you screamed to get closer and closer evermore to him. You took a few steps forwards and took his hand.

Gently, he pulled you into him and wrapped his free arm around your waist. Your other arm came to rest on his shoulder and he pulled you just a little closer.

‘My lover’s got humour, she’s the giggle at a funeral, knows everybody’s disproval, I should’ve worshipped her sooner’

You scoffed quietly at the song choice. Slowly, he swayed your bodies, relishing in the feeling of you. Again, he could hear your pulse. Dear lord, he was begging whatever force there was to keep you this close. He had never in his 500 years imagined to meet somebody like you.

He could stay like this with you forever and he would be content. Absolutely, utterly content.

“Take Me to Church?” You whispered questioningly, “I thought you shunned anything holy.”

He chuckled.

‘The only heaven I’ll be sent to, is when I’m alone with you, I was born sick but I love it’

“I suppose this is an expection.” He whispered back.

He slightly tightened his grip, wishing to feel the beat of your heart against his chest. You sighed a little at the closeness. You shut your eyes and disconnected your hand from his, and instead wrapped it around his neck. His now free arm worked it’s way around your waist.

“Why?”

‘I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death, good god let me give you my life’

He pulled you ever tighter, inhaling your scent. You buried your face into the crook of his neck. Here, his aftershave was strongest. You liked the smell of it. The feeling of your youth, of your life made Dracula feel more alive than he ever could devouring other humans. The rush of adrenaline he got with that was nothing to the way he felt holding you like this.

God, what was happening to him?

“Because it reminds me of you.” He whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to your head.

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @cryiner @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites @lokiphan @newheart97 @middlespellman @bratty-sweetheart @dipsylou @lilmou5ie @the-fangirl-life10 @enchantersnight @imthedoctorlove @haleyea @hoefordarkness

#whoooooo boy #that took way too long #hope you guys enjoy #something different #dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang #dolly wells

[phantoms-lair]

Serious Freakzoid thing (Freaking Out) Part 3

It was a familiar chiptune that woke Dexter up, one he had set to play when his custom GUI loaded. He forced his eyes open and realized he was one the floor. What was he doing there? 

Seeing the side of his computer opened jogged his memory of the Pinnacle Chip going nuts. Or did it? The computer was functioning perfectly now, humming quietly along with the screen. He looked at the hand where he'd grabbed the chip and saw no sign of the massive electrical burn that would have had to be there. 

An electrical burn is a burn that results from electricity passing through the body causing rapid injury. Approximately 1,000 deaths per year due to electrical injuries are reported in the United States, with a mortality rate of 3-5%.[1] Electrical burns differ from thermal or chemical burns in that they cause much more subdermal damage.[2] They can exclusively cause surface damage, but more often tissues deeper underneath the skin have been severely damaged. As a result, electrical burns are difficult to accurately diagnose, and many people underestimate the severity of their burn. In extreme cases, electricity can cause shock to the brain, strain to the heart, and injury to other organs.[3] 

What....? Dexter shook his head, trying to figure out where that had come from. 

He shook his head and Mr. Chubbikins meowed and rubbed against him. Dexter reached to pet him when a strange feeling shot through his head.

Pheomelamine is the pigment responsible for the ginger color in cats. 

A huge 80% of all ginger cats are male

♪ Cat *wink* I’m a kitty cat. And I dance dance dance. And I dance dance dance ♪

Words and images flooded his head and all of a sudden it was hard to think, to focus. He saw Mr. Chubbikins and for a moment didn’t recognize him as his beloved pet, but simply a cute cat.

“Kitty Kitty Kitty,” he cooed in a tone that wasn’t like him at all. It was certainly enough to scare off Mr. Chubbykins, who nyoomed under the bed. The disappointment of the moment was enough to bring him to his senses.

He turned on his heels and ran to the bathroom. He examined himself in the mirror, trying to see if there was something wrong with his head or eyes. He ran through the Stroke checklist, but passed the standard tests. “Am I just going insane?” he muttered to himself. “Next I’ll be seeing little blue men.”

As he said this he felt a gentle buzzing on his skin. Looking down he saw a wave of electricity passing him over, leaving his skin blue in its wake. He whimpered, his mind trying to wrap around what he was seeing, What on Earth could turn his skin blue?

Cyanosis refers to a bluish cast to the skin and mucous membranes. Peripheral cyanosis is when there is a bluish discoloration to your hands or feet. It's usually caused by low oxygen levels in the red blood cells or problems getting oxygenated blood to your body.

No, this wasn’t cyanosis. Even he knew enough to know humans didn’t turn that particular shade. And why the heck did these...data pieces keep forcing their way into his brain?

His thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the door. “Hey Dorkster, open up. The rest of us need to use the bathroom too!”

It was all Dexter could do to keep from hyperventilating. He couldn’t let his family see him like this! They already thought he was weird! What could he do? Disguise himself?

He felt the lightning tingle again, around his eyes and the top of his head. A glance in the mirror revealed his hair had become black and spikey, while a domino mask appeared about his eyes. As his panic rose, he felt a strange bubbling feeling in his mind. His thoughts broke apart and drifted away, no matter how hard he tried to hold on to them. Why was he trying to hold on to them anyway?

“Come on, freakazoid, open the door!”

Oh right, Duncan. Huh, Duncan had always been upset Dexter wasn’t like him, big and strong. If everything was changing, maybe he could change that?

He grinned as he became taller and gained a physique not seen outside comics. Duncan would be so happy! He opened the door with his grin growing ever wider. “Let’s Wrassle!”

~~

Roddy took a deep breath as he stopped the car, ignoring the ache in his ribs it caused. There was no ambulance or people screaming, so hopefully no one had been seriously injured. It was a small comfort, but it was there. He grabbed his old Apex employee card and the cane he hated but needed to be mobile right now.

He made his way to the front door carefully, avoiding icy patches on the walk and steps (oh how he’d come to loathe steps) and rang the bell.

He heard some movement inside and the door opened to reveal a middle aged woman with a smile that seemed almost grafted on.. “Can I help you?” “My name is Roddy McStewart, I work for Apex International, creators of the Pinnacle Chip.” He handed the man both his Work ID stating he was an employee and his driver’s license. “We received a signal from a newly installed Pinnacle Chip of a malfunction and I’m here to take a look at it.”

“On Christmas Day?” she asked, surprised.

“We all do what we can to make a living.” He gave her a sad smile.

“Well, okay then. Dexter’s room is upstairs, second door on the right.” Roddy blinked. Just like that? Still he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if it involved stairs.

He was nearly bowled over by a teenage boy running past him, yelling about something blue. Roddy looked to the woman who’d opened the door, but she'd just called up to ‘Dexter’ that he had a guest.

Odd Family he thought, as he made his way up the stairs.

~~

This was some quality family bonding he thought as he sat on Duncan’s back locking up one of his brother’s legs. That’s what it was, right? That’s why it was okay for Duncan to get physical with him.

“I give! I give!” Duncan called out.

But he knew this game. It wasn’t over because the other person gave up. You had to make them say something. “Sing ‘I’m a tugboat, Call me Mel’.”

“I’m a tugboat...call me Mel...I can’t, I don’t know the words?”

“That’s a tough one since I just made it up.” He admitted, but let Duncan up since he had tried.

Duncan tore out of the room, so he knew he’d done a good job, until he heard his mother’s voice coming from downstairs. “Dexter, you have a guest.”

Dexter. That’s right, he was Dexter. And with that realization the floating feeling he had vanished as his thoughts coalesced and his body condensed into the body he’d always had. He fled back into his room and huddled on his bed, too freaked out to try and do much more.

There was a knock on the door and a red-haired man entered. He glanced around seemingly surprised at the computer, still humming along. “Are you Dexter?”

“Yeah, who are you?”

“Roddy McStewart. I’m here about a malfunction with your Pinnacle Chip, but everything seems to be-”

“That was real?” Dexter blurted out. “Ever since that happened...I think I’m going insane.” he clutched his head.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Roddy asked. The room wasn’t a mess of shrapnel as he feared, but it was obvious something had happened.

“After I installed it the cat jumped on the keyboard and it started going nuts. I tried you yank the chip out to save the computer-”

“Are ye daft boy! You could have electrocuted yourself!” 

“I know, I wasn’t thinking!” Dexter snapped back. “I grabbed it and I thought I got shocked and blacked out, but my hand was fine when I woke up. And...thoughts keep popping in my head.”

“What kind of thoughts?” Anything besides a broken computer was well out of his wheelhouse, but Roddy couldn’t just leave the kid when he was so upset. Especially given the concern he now had with the lad’s mother sending him up to see her teenage son without any supervision.

“I dunno, random facts? It’s like articles and videos are just pulling themselves up in my mind. And then everything goes fuzzy.” Dexter didn’t mention what had happened in the bathroom. There was no way that was anything other than a hallucination.

There was the beginning of an idea forming in Roddy’s head, but he wasn’t ready to admit it was possible yet. That the reason Dexter’s computer had been spared was the Pinnacle chip had found a better storage solution for its mass internet download.

Before he could even think of how to check or even explain the door burst open and a taser fired directly at his chest. Roddy’s world exploded in pain, both from the electricity and his ribs from the body spasms, and everything went black.

~~~~

I’m trying to do more of a buildup to Freakazoid’s development and not him just being created fully formed by the accident. In the first episode Dance of Doom Freakazoid states that he and Dexter are two aspects of the same person so I wanted to show how he comes from Dexter.

#Freakazoid #Freaking Out #Ghost Writing

[drawlfoy]

The Sound of...Magic? (don’t hate me)

pairing: draco x nanny!reader

warnings: i was considering making it a little nsfw but then i remembered my grandkids might find this blog one day and i’ve gotta play nice. mentions of death (if you couldn’t already tell from the request). this part is gonna be a little sad so if you’re a crier i’d bring some tissues--i recommend the kirkland signature brand, a great bang for your buck. (not sponsored but if you’re reading this kirkland signature, i’m up for the challenge). also mentions of alcohol abuse

special thanks to @ihavebeenahurricane for sending the request!

summary/request:  Draco x Reader request! Draco hires reader as a nanny after his wife dies and slowly falls for the nanny who’s a halfblood from America trying to find herself 😍

a/n: i’m going to take the whole “slowly falls” wording from the prompt and RUN with it! if you haven’t already guessed, i’m a giant fan of longer stories. i love this prompt (and i’m getting major sound of music vibes from it, which is the ultimate summer musical to me) and i’m going to milk it for all it’s worth. the first few parts will be dedicated to fleshing out the characters and setting the stage for what’s to come, so buckle up bitches, we’re going for a multichapter ride. you decided to read stuff from a slow burn fanatic, so this is on you :P

FINAL a/n: in all seriousness, i’m going to twist the canon a little bit. in this au, draco’s wife dies when scorpius is much younger for the purpose of the whole nanny aspect. i apologize if this doesn’t follow the canonical universe to a T--i’m just here to have fun and flex my writing muscles! i apologize for any sloppy mistakes i may have made writing this. i never had a chance to proofread and i have a lot of writing to do now that requests are coming in! i promise to come back and edit.

music recommendation: i recommend listening to peer pressure and row from the soundtrack of the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. i listened to it while writing this. it’ll make you cry. even if my writing doesn’t, the music will by itself.

enough of my blabber. thanks to anyone who read my incoherent 11pm babblings. onto the story--specifically Draco’s backstory!

word count: 1,304

Draco Malfoy owed everything to Astoria Greengrass. After the Second Wizarding World War, he felt as though he had nothing left. The social structure and core values he was raised under were suddenly ripped out from under his feet. It wasn’t that he was born with hatred of the impure--he just didn’t know any other way. The mark on his arm only made the transition into life after the war more difficult--the hours and hours of wizard trials he had to endure were nearly as painful as being under Voldemort’s constant supervision. Seeing the eyes of so many he had grown up with glare at them from the crowds, admitting that he betrayed them...it was a test beyond anything he had known before.

And yet, by some spontaneous miracle, his charges were dropped. His father, Lucius, was given a life sentence in Azkaban, and his mother, Narcissa, was on house arrest for four years. Potter ended up testifying for him, stating that he refused to identify him when he was brought to the manor even though it was obvious it was him. It was very likely that Draco had saved the Order in that one instance of bravery, and the Ministry decided that the act was enough to prove Draco’s innocence. 

Saying goodbye to his father was difficult, but Draco always held a bit of resentment towards him. If it weren’t for his father, he would never have been forced to bear the mark. He’d miss Lucius dearly, but there was a silver lining--Draco would never have to witness another raging alcoholic fit towards his sweet mother. The conflicting feelings that plagued him when Lucius blew up at the two of them, throwing various objects and causing carnage around his house, and then immediately following it up with promises of gifts and love would no longer be around. Draco, in a sense, was never freer. 

He had always known of Astoria. While she’d been two years below him, she often hung around her older sister, Daphne, whenever Slytherin common room parties took place. Of course, he never saw much of her during the war when she was evacuated from Hogwarts, but he had taken note of the slight brunette with light green eyes. 

It was only during one of Narcissa’s dinner parties, when he was 20, that he noticed just extraordinarily light green they were. He remembered thinking that with her eyes, she would never have to bother with jewelry--all the sparkles in the world were already carried in her eyes. 

They had spoken that night in the balcony, outside of his room. She’d confessed just how afraid she was about the new wizarding world and how she thought no one would accept her. Draco had gently picked up her hand, tracing the delicate knuckles in fingers.

He’d told her that she’d always have him. She’d blushed, a magnificent rose, and Draco couldn’t help himself. Before he knew it, her lips were pressed to his,their eyes had fluttered shut, and his hand had snaked its way around her tiny waist. In that moment, Draco began to feel like a person again--a whole, loving person, with love, and love, and...love. 

Their wedding hadn’t been the most extravagant of weddings, a fact that a younger Draco would’ve been shocked at but a wiser one adored. Astoria had looked stunning in her pale green gown--an escape from tradition, Draco had thought fondly--and had her dark hair loose and wavy around her shoulders. Draco had worn a dark green suit with a boutiienniere JKFKLFjkl;f charmed to sparkle silver pinned to his lapel.

It was just enough to be a true Slytherin wedding.

Narcissa, Daphne, Blaise, and Zabini had attended. With both of her parents deceased, Astoria had been nervous at first, but Narcissa had taken her in with open arms and welcomed her as her own.

It had been a tough couple of years after the marriage. After complaints of fatigue and chronic migraines that not even the strongest of potions could cure, his beloved Astoria was diagnosed with a blood curse. When Draco asked the healer how long she had, the healer simply shook his head and responded, “Just enjoy the time you have.”

Astoria had taught him to be open-minded to the new world, designating every Friday night as a “Muggle Date Night”, much to his initial chagrin. She dragged him to countless attractions--bowling alleys, movie theaters, old thrift stores, their local IKEA, even the quaint café on 42nd. The latter was his favorite. Astoria would always order her coffee black and discreetly charm it to her taste while Draco would simply settle for a scone and some tea. The pair would look out into the city nightlife, picking out interesting people and making up their life stories. Muggles weren’t so bad anymore. 

The day that Draco figured out he was going to be a father was the one of the best days of his life, only second to the day he married the very person who was mothering his child. They had both burst into tears when the pregnancy indicator potion turned a deep blue, informing the couple that they were having a boy. 

Muggle Date Nights began to happen less and less often as Draco worked harder hours at the Ministry to attempt to prepare for the new addition. With Lucius behind bars, the majority of his family fortune had been seized, and as a result, Draco was forced to work to support both his mother and his wife until they were able to join the workforce themselves.

Arguments, when they came, were brutal. Neither of them ever raised their voices, but Astoria cried and stated the truth, which was infinitely more painful. She told him how he was never home and how her time was ticking. She reminded him that their child was going to be motherless and that her husband was going to be wifeless very soon.  Draco reminded her that it was either his work or eviction from their manor, to which she stated, “screw the manor. I want you.”

But of course he didn’t listen, He wanted his son to have the best life possible, and in some immature part of his lizard brain, he believed that the blood curse would go away if he just worked hard enough. Everything always happened for him if he worked at it enough. That’s just how the world worked.

Scorpius came into the world in the dead of winter, very fitting for the tragedy about to come. Astoria cradled him in her arms once, and then passed them to Draco,

“I think I need to go now,” she said wistfully, looking out the window of the hospital wing into the cloud of black outside. 

“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Draco asked, amusement in his voice. 

She must be very intoxicated on those pain potions he remembered thinking to himself. 

But then the healers began rushing in, one by one, each yelling her name and preparing random concoctions Draco had never even heard of in even his most advanced potion courses. Her once golden skin turned pale and her light green eyes, once sparkling with Slytherin pride, were beginning to dull. 

“Draco, my love,” she croaked, reaching one frail hand out to grasp at his own, “You must give him the time you were unable to give to me.”

“But I love you!” Draco sounded more like a child than his own baby did, crying in the corner in his cradle. 

“And I you.”

Just like that, it was over. She had lost the battle, and Draco had lost the war.

Tears began clouding his vision as he looked back and forth from his baby to his now deceased wife.

He never expected his first day of being a father to go like this. 

#draco x reader #draco x astoria #daphne greengrass #pansy parkinson #draco imagine #astoria greengrass #ron weasley #ron x reader #harry potter #harry x reader #blaise zabini #theodore nott #luna lovegood #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #fanfic #hermione x reader #hermione granger #voldemort

[ladyofpurple]

here it is: the post Literally no one was waiting for. i'd put it under a read more thing but i'm on mobile and can't be assed to get out of bed so fuck it. we air our dirty laundry on main for the world to see like men.

so waaay back in february or something, i started seeing a psychologist again. i'd been seeing a psychologist for a while last year, but she had a private practice and got too expensive over time, so i had to stop. now, however, i finally got a referral to the public mental health offices in my county. which is nice, because norway has this neat thing that means when you go to the doctor, public health care facilities, refill prescriptions for medications you have to take daily, etc, the money you spend on those things gets recorded and after you've spent like $260, you get a free card that gets logged into your medical records and you don't have to pay for any of those things for the rest of the year.

anyway, i mentioned a couple of years back that i finally got put on antidepressants for the first time. they helped a lot, but then i just... stopped taking them. there wasn't a reason, really. i just forgot to take them one week when i was stuck in bed with a headcold, and then it was hard to get back in the habit again. i tried to get back on them off and on for a long time, but i'd inevitably just forget again. until, like, i wanna say november/early december last year? i started taking them again. there were still some slip-ups every now and then, but for the most part i took them almost every day. any gaps were no longer than two, maybe three days at the most, and those gaps were maybe once a month or so on average. averages aren't really useful in this context, but i hope you get the idea.

anyway, i finally convinced my doctor that, no, seriously, i really need to see a psychologist, i've always needed to see psychologists my whole life, seeing psychologists help me, i can't afford a private psychologist so i need a public one, and after a lot of begging and insisting on my end and a lot of hemming and hawing on her end she finally agreed to refer me. except she forgot to actually send the email she'd been typing in front of me, and then she quit, so there was a lot of confusion and time spent sorting things out until i got my first appointment.

i didn't like my psychologist at first. she was way older than i'm usually comfortable with (that's a personal me-problem that i know is irrational, and i'm not gonna go into the why but yes i'm working on it), and very blunt in an exasperated sort of way. she made me angry sometimes. she made me feel like i wasn't trying hard enough. but she helped me get shit done, so i guess she was doing something right.

in june she called in a psychiatrist to help adjust my medications, so i started taking zoloft in addition to the other medication (remeron, aka mirtazapine) that i was already taking. the mirtazapine was helping with my depression, but my anxiety was still pretty bad. the zoloft helped.

by my second appointment with my psychologist, she asked me whether i could have adhd, or if there was a history of it in my family. now, i have a lot of family with adhd (how closely related we are by blood is a bit of a mystery to me, my family tree is more like an overgrown hedge and who knows who fits where), and my grandma used to joke that the women in our family "all have a little bit of that adhd brain in us", but as far as i knew, nobody in my immediate, direct bloodline had such a diagnosis. i had my suspicions about myself, of course — i knew that not every focus or attention related problem necessarily has a specific attention disorder source, but i also knew that what i was experiencing couldn't be "normal," in the sense that if i walked into a room with 100 people in it, 86 of those people wouldn't necessarily look at a list of my symptoms and go "oh same hat." i've had add on my about me for a while now. maybe that was silly of me; i hadn't been diagnosed with it, and what i knew about the specifics of it were picked up piecemeal off the internet. you know, that super-reliable place where everyone is honest and factual all the time?

anyway, this began the process of investigating the merits of such a potential diagnosis. research was begun. questionnaires were taken. my mom was invited to one of my sessions, in which she revealed that, oh yeah, bee tee dubs, she's always suspected i have adhd. did she mention that she has also apparently always suspected ocd and that i'm autistic? no? whoops, well, she has now.

end of june i was referred to the neuropsychologist devision of the public health care place. over the course of a little over 6 weeks i went in for 2 interviews, in which i answered several questionnaires, talked about my life and childhood and traumas and what my mom had told me about her pregnancy and labor, every possible symptom i'd ever had, and was sent home with even *more* questionnaries. in addition to these, i went in for two rounds of "testing," in which i was tested on my memory, pattern recognition, reaction time, impulse control, and probably a dozen other things. i was nervous. it was exhausting. i wanted answers but was terrified of what those answers would be.

end of august, my mom came with me for the big reveal. and guess what? she was right. primary diagnosis: adhd, special emphasis on the attention deficit part. bonus diagnosis: asperger syndrome. surprise! i'm autistic, i guess.

it was hard to come to terms with. which sounds really silly, since i wouldn't have even been taking those tests if i didn't think the outcome was a possibility. and it's not like the diagnoses were surprising either. the adhd part was easier to accept, mostly because i already felt pretty confident i had it. but the asperger diagnosis was harder. having to unlearn all those ingrained ableist stereotypes and social stigmas is hard, especially when you had some you didn't even realize were there. it's very surreal to think a thought and be like "no, wait, i do that. that joke is about me." it's a very surreal and slightly upsetting experience to realize how biased you are as general rule, but especially about a facet of your own identity you weren't aware of. and the feeling of everything and nothing changing all at once. i've always been like this. a doctor telling me i have two cognitive/developmental disabilities isn't an event that magically gave me these disabilities. my brain has always worked like this. the only difference between me now and me a year ago is that i have an official, medical reason for Why now.

that's another thing: coming to terms with the idea of being "developmentally disabled." it's not like i'm suddenly a different person — i have to constantly remind myself that my brain has always been like this. but having a piece of paper confirming that i am legally entitled to special allowances in the workplace or at school because i have not one, but two "disabilities" is absolutely buckwild to me.

it makes me reevaluate my life and my past. how many situations did i make worse because i did not have the capacity or knowledge about how my own brain works to self-reflect? was i high-functioning in the past because life was simpler? was it because i subconsciously had a better handle on what works for me and what doesn't, and somewhere along the way i lost that? or was it simply because i didn't have the option to be anything other than high-functioning? it's confusing.

i also lost my spot at college. i can still reapply next year if i want, but at least now i know why i was failing out lmao

anyway, by my birthday in september we started the process of adjusting my medication again. upping my zoloft, getting me off remeron, and as of 6 weeks ago or so, beginning ritalin.

it was a rocky start, but i'm up to 60mg now. two pills in the morning, one in the afternoon. i have a goddamn alarm for 8am every day, even weekends. my sleeping is still wonky, but at least im genuinely tired by 8pm every night. the psychiatrist still wants me to try melatonin for a month (even though i told her multiple times it has never worked for me, and my problem has never been "i'm not sleepy enough"), so i'm on a whopping 2mg of melatonin for the next 30 days. norwegians are fucking WEIRD about melatonin, don't even get me started.

a slightly unexpected side-effect (on my end) of these medication changes: remeron made me gain weight. like, a lot of weight. and i was constantly hungry all the time, overeating to ridiculous amounts. why did nobody ever tell me that weight gain and metabolism changes are a side-effect of anti-depressants? i was more active this summer than i'd been in, like, three years and i just got fatter. which was incomvenient because i kept outgrowing my clothes. anyway, a side effect of ritalin is a loss of appetite and general weight loss. the combination of regularly taking ritalin and dropping remeron entirely? i eat a fraction of what i used to before, i've almost entirely stopped snacking, and i've lost 15 lbs in less than a month. i've already noticed my face is slightly slimmer now. maybe by christmas i'll be able to fit into my old tshirts again.

anyway, my psychologist quit, so i have a new one now. i've only seen her a few times, but she's veeeery different from my old one. i can't decide if i like her or not.

in the middle of all this, i've been going to the social security office as well to kind of get some of my own money, possibly help me get a job at some point in the future. my caseworker is super nice. if she's over 30 i'd be shocked. i relate to her really well, she's very helpful and understanding, and she's very patient with me and my bullshit. she's the kind of person where if we met at a party or something we could probably hang out.

anyway, she's helped me get out of the house sometimes. she introduced me to this youth club volunteer group thing called the fountain house, designed for young people who've dealt with or are currently dealing with mental illnesses and such. i hung out there yesterday and the day before and did some basic office work. it's nice. and then there's a work placement place that can either give you a job on site in one of their four departments, or help you get a job at an actual business elsewhere with more support and leniency than you might get if they just hired you off the street. i'd start in their second hand store. they clean and restore all donations they recieve, and they're super fucking cheap. i treated myself to my literal lifelong dream of owning a vintage typewriter (!!!!!) yesterday, because it's almost christmas and goddammit, i've been doing so much shit the past couple of months i deserve it. do i have space for it? not really. do i have a plan on what to use it for? no. was it heavy and miserable trekking through the snow and rain yesterday back and forth? was it worth the backache in the morning? fuck yeah it was.

a fucking lot of things are happening all at once. diagnoses, medications, lifestyle changes, work placement, social clubs, dealing with bureaucracies on all sides just so i can feel like a person again, not to mention juggling hobbies like writing and drawing and maintaining my irl friendships. i'm getting as many balls rolling as i can while i have the opportunity and mental/emotional capacity to, but i'm worried i'll burn out again. i'm stabilizing and slowly building my life back up, but jesus christ it would suck if this stupid house of cards collapsed again. but i'm tentatively optimistic. who knows, maybe it's not to late to course-correct my mistakes.

so long story short, that's why i've barely been active on tumblr for months. that's why i haven't been writing, drawing, or reading fic. it's coming along, but it's slow.

i guess the most important thing is that it's coming along at all.

#the tmi nobody asked for and will probably never read — you're welcome #Lady of Purple's slice of life #mental illness #medication #adhd #autism #personal

[sabertag105]

Me in a nutshell

There’s always a certain anonymity to using the Internet (and Tumblr for that matter especially), it’ one of the things I love about Tumblr. There’s no pressure to be perfect, it’s a great place to find a community that has the same interests as you no matter your interests, and there will always be someone here to which you can reach out. And I love Tumblr for all those reasons and more.

But in the pursuit of preserving that anonymity, I feel like I skirt around those details about me. I make jokes that only 2 people will understand, I make jokes that, decontextualized, are not funny at all. So I feel like it would be worth it to take a moment to tell everyone that cares to read this a little more about me. Not everything will be complete, but it is my promise that everything is true.

My name is Matthew. I’m 19 years old, and I’m a freshman at the College of William and Mary. I graduated in 2019 with an advanced diploma and an International Baccalaureate Diploma. I became an Eagle Scout in 2018, and I wrestled for three years in high school. All of this is to say that these are the few accomplishments that I feel like I’ve had that have made the most impact on my life. I’ve had others as well, like Highest Scorer in Scholar’s Bowl in middle school and 1st place in Jump the River on Field Day in 2nd grade (which I’m still proud as fuck about), but these few achievements have made to who I am. 

Wrestling gave me the strength, both mental and physical, to do everything else that I wanted to do. It gave me the physical confidence to be who I knew I could be, and my coach instilled in me the mental grit it took to become an Eagle and an IB Diplomat. I gave my coach my Eagle Mentor Pin, and I will be forever grateful for the time he put into making me a man.

Becoming an Eagle Scout was the longest-running goal I have ever had. It was the ONLY goal that persisted from the time that I was in 4th grade all the way to when I became a legal adult. The IB Program, wrestling, all my other major achievements didn’t even become a possibility until I was 14. Being an Eagle had always seemed to be my goal in life. So much so that it seemed like a given. Like If I didn’t just stop Scouting cold turkey that I was guaranteed to get it. but the thing I didn’t get until I was 17 was that you don’t get your Eagle Rank. You earn it. And I was behind. So what I did was what Coach had taught me to do. Get my sorry ass off the pavement, put my nose to the grindstone, and prove myself wrong. And that’s what I did. One month before my 18th birthday, I turned in my paperwork for my Eagle Project and request for an Eagle Board of Review. And on the 18th of December, 6 days after my 18th birthday, I was awarded with my Eagle Rank. And I couldn’t have been happier. I peaked the mountain that I had been climbing for 8 years. It was the same mountain that a child had started. It felt so strange to finally achieve my ultimate goal and touch the top of the world.

The IB Program, as any IB student will tell you, was easily the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. This one goal was the only goal I have ever cried over, poured over, and considered over all within one week. I hated having to force myself to do so much work that I made myself physically ill. I literally took almost an entire month away from school JUST to take tests that would determine my diploma. I wouldn’t even know my scores until July 16th, a whole month and two days AFTER I graduated. So you can imagine how much anxiety I had over my tests. But I had to realize something. The hay is in the barn, there was nothing I could do about it after the tests were over. So I just took a deep breath, sat down, and waited for my scores to release. And when it did, I saw all 5s and one 4, plus my 1 bonus from the subclass essays, totaling 30 out of the necessary 24. I didn’t feel the ecstasy I thought I would. Instead, I felt peace. Like the tension in my soul was just unbunched and allowed to flow out. It felt good. And I celebrated by playing On Top of the World by Imagine Dragons one time through. Then that was that. Just this past December 19th was when I was officially awarded my diploma.

But that’s enough about what I look like on paper. This post isn’t just for me to toot my horn, it’s so that I can tell an audience that I believe exists about who I am. So more about me in general.

I was born on December 12th, 2000. I have one brother, Zachary, and he’s 22. When I’m not at college I live with both my parents, happily married, but at college, I live on campus in Dinwiddie Hall. I am strictly heterosexual, and I am not in a relationship. Essentially, I’m the poster child for Straight White Male Monthly.

I have dark brown hair (like my mother, but I say her hair is black), I have green and hazel eyes (neither of which are my parent’s natural eye color) with a case of symmetrical central dichromia. Put simply, I have to different eye colors in each eye, but my eyes look indistinguishably identical to one another. So my eyes don’t look different, but I’ve got 2 eye colors.

I don’t really know much about my heritage, but I do know that my great grandmother Ruth was full-blooded German. So I’m at least 12.5% German. My mother was adopted, so my pedigree according to the government is a smidge fucked up.

Now for personal details and preferences. I don’t have OCD, but I have a heavy preference for symmetry. I don’t like it when things aren’t centered or at least tastefully decentered. I am very hyperactive, I’m a bit of a night owl unfortunately (it’s currently 1:13 lol), and I play video games. Less frequently than I used to, but still so. I haven’t seen anyone about it, so there’s no way for it to be diagnosed, but I have had extended bouts of depression in the past. Right now, I feel okay, but it feels like the emotion is still there, but it’s just waiting for a reason to crop up. It will probably happen once the semester comes back. Most of it is caused by loneliness (which explains the jokes I make about it). When I get lonely I become seriously reserved save for around a select group of people, and I just kind of hole up, which is highly uncharacteristic for me. During that time, I tend to use Tumblr as a vice for coping with how lonely I am, so if I do make posts like that please bear with me. I’m doing my best, I’ve just been dealt a bad hand that day.

I’m typically as open as possible with personal stuff, save for private details like bank numbers n shit, so if anything I’ve said strikes a question please ask. I like answering questions. And If you read all this, you’re either really bored or genuinely want to know more about me. Regardless, I’m grateful you took the time to go through all my midnight jargon about myself. I hope you learned something that you wanted to learn, and I hope that no matter the topic, you stay curious and continue to learn. Be safe, stay hydrated, and don’t do anything stupid without proper preparation.

#midnight thoughts #just shit I wanted to say #swearing #swearing in the tags #personal #me #meirl #learn more #about me #just shit #gotta go beddy bye now

[thewrongjackpot]

I hit the wrong jackpot. *Spoiler alert, it’s cancer.*

[Originally written 1/3/20]

Warning: There may be a fair amount of sarcasm throughout this post coupled with some dark humor. Also, if you’re new to this channel, please disregard a lot of the other ramblings here, unless one dares to be bored.

“What jackpot did you hit?” you may ask. I hit the cancer jackpot. You read that right. C-A-N-C-E-R. This fun-loving 26-year-old has been diagnosed with Rhabdomyosarcoma and of a newer subtype called Sclerosing. Take those words in. I had to have Google repeatedly tell me how to say it before I got the hang of it. It’s a jackpot because to say it is uncommon in adults is an understatement. A friend told me I need to get my butt to Vegas with all this rare luck.

“Wait, what? How did this all happen?” asked no one. Here’s a fun “little” deep-dive into everything that’s been going on the past few months, and how I’ve been dealing with it. Remember, you chose to continue reading this long post from here on out.

Well, let’s take it back to early-mid August. It started with what I thought was just TMJ issues because I was stressing some and clenching my teeth, so my jaw and temple started off sore. It then progressed to limited range of motion with my jaw (opening/closing), a small protrusion along my temple, and some numbness on my face. The urgent care doc essentially told me it’s TMD, the muscle is swollen, to chill, and it’ll go away. Well, that was extremely off. I saw my primary doctor, who then referred me to an ear, nose, and throat (ENT) doctor. Now, we’re at the end of November, and I had to take some MRIs and then was referred to another ENT doctor. I had a biopsy, and the doctor said it looks more mild-moderate than severe like he was initially thinking, but he was pretty sure it was malignant with how quickly it has been growing. Christmas Eve morning, I get a phone call. The final pathology came about, and it’s an intermediate grade Rhabdomyosarcoma. I was referred to a hospital with a Sarcoma specialist and saw her just after the new year began. She doesn’t know staging yet because she doesn’t know if it has spread anywhere else yet. I only had MRIs done and that was over a month ago now. So next week I get the joyous pleasure of more MRIs, a bone scan, a lumbar puncture, and a bone marrow biopsy. EXCITING. They’re also going to need to start chemo soon, so they’re working on getting that set up in the background. As of right now, the oncologist was saying it’ll be about 5 months of chemo, radiation and/or surgery, and then more chemo. More will be known in the coming weeks, but at least there’s finally a real start and direction to this all.

Needless to say, it’s been a crappy holiday season and last several months.  Here’s a list of what this jolly (not green) giant growth in my head/neck has caused:

Swollen temple/face

Limited ability to open my mouth (~1.5cm)

Misaligned jaw

Numbness along half my face

Sharp shooting pains throughout my head/neck

Impacted breathing out of my left nostril

Fluid in my left ear (impacted hearing)

Trouble swallowing

Fatigue

Body aches

Pressure throughout the entire left side of my head

Large growth(s) inside my mouth encompassing cheek/mouth real estate

Accidentally chewing on said growths, which I think is the reason there’s blood in my mouth periodically

After my first meeting with the oncologist the other day, some topics hit home harder than others.

One of the points that almost made me cry on the spot was when I was asking about fertility. She was saying that she could recommend me to a fertility clinic to harvest my eggs. However, that could take 2-4 weeks, and we might not have that time to spare. I know that there’s so much more at stake, my health and well-being  taking spot numero uno. I also know that there are other ways to still have kids, but it’s still such a depressing feeling and thought. Along with hearing that 2-4 weeks is not time that can be spared, it begs the question, “How bad/serious is this really?”. Having my own child is a choice that may never even be mine to begin with.  I just always had this picture in mind about how life would be never thinking this is the luck I would be dealt. Then again, I don’t think anyone ever envisions something like this happening to them… Although, my vision of six dogs at any given time could become more of a reality. *shrug* (Honorable mention goes out to my brother who was cheering me up big time on this one.)

Next, the fear started to really set in when talking about all these tests that needed to be done. I’m absolutely terrified of pain, and the thought of all these huge needles makes me want to cry, throw up, and pass out. It’s not just the pain and needles I’m afraid of, it’s everything that comes along with the actualization of what this really is. Since we don’t know the full extent of this, my mind can’t help but think the prognosis is possibly more grim with all these tests needed and how quickly this tumor has dominated my face. I’m scared about having to go to treatments, having to feel sick, fatigue setting in, and withering away. I’m scared about losing my hair because, boy, let me tell you, I’ve always had long thick hair my whole life. There are only two occasions I can think of where my hair was shorter than mid-back. I’ve broken down crying several times in the shower while washing my hair; it was always a safety blanket for me. Although, I said I should jump the gun and get a bowl cut already haha. On a more serious note, I’m absolutely mortified that I’m not going to make it through this…but being a fighter and a survivor is in my blood, so I’m trying to not let that run my mind too much.

On a more physical and literal level, one of the most debilitating aspects of this is the limited range of motion with my mouth because I can barely eat. Eating has become almost a punishment because after a few bites of something, it hurts everywhere. It’s hard to swallow at times; it’s just all-around depressing. At this point, I’m closing in on having lost 30 pounds in about three months. I’m eating maybe 1000 calories a day. I try to force myself to eat, but it’s difficult. Some days everything makes me nauseous. I’ve mostly been drinking smoothies, eating soup, and other soft foods like mashed potatoes. Even when I am eating something, it’s extremely defeating when I wipe soup off my chin because the little piece of potato couldn’t fit in my dumb mouth and caused soup to drip down, and I couldn’t feel it because my face is too busy being numb. Moments like that are extremely disheartening. Stupid mouth.

Also, another difficult aspect of this is sleeping. I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in months. No matter which way I lie, there is either uncomfortable pressure or some sort of pain. I’ve literally woke up crying like a fussy baby because it hurts so much, and all I want to do is sleep.

DESPITE ALL OF THIS, I’m down, but I’m not out. I still have so many things to be grateful for. My husband continues to be amazingly strong, knows how to comfort me when I need it, and has been picking up my slack. Some of my family members have seriously stepped up in ways I could not have imagined that genuinely caught me by surprise. For those family members who have been with me on this so far, they have been so supportive and simply there for me when I need them. My parents are doing whatever they can from wherever they are to help me, e.g. my mom is flying up next week to be with me. I have some solid friends, and even my husband’s friends have been amazing. Work is working well with me through this, and even my old boss and coworkers have been checking up on me. Side note: I saw this lady at work today (whom I rarely interact with) only to find out her brother got treated where I am by the same set of doctors, and she said his experience was great as was the staff. That was an unexpected nugget of good vibes I did not expect today or ever.

One of the other biggest items I realized a few days ago that I am extremely grateful for is having moved away from Hawaii. Since moving, I go back and forth on whether leaving was the best decision, but now who knows what would be of me if I didn’t. If developing this cancer was an inevitable piece of my life story, being in Hawaii would have been one of the worst things for me. For one, there are doctor shortages, so being seen would have been dragged out so much longer than here. Secondly, Hawaii does not have the specialists to even treat me. I would have had to fly somewhere else anyway. As an aside to this, I’m even more grateful that we moved to the west coast because family is more accessible than in DC, and my husband and I have friends here as well.

Well, that’s about it for now. I like to talk/write, so I’m honestly going to post updates on here even if they fall on deaf ears. Just like this page says, I’m someone rambling lol.

If you’ve made it this far, I’ll give you a cake pop one day or something.

TL;DR

I have a rare form of cancer that’s been progressing pretty quickly. A lot of it really sucks right now, but there’s finally some real direction in getting me treated. Also, I am surrounded by a lot of love and dope people, and I still have so much to be grateful for.

#cancer #chemo #sarcoma #rhabdomyosarcoma #tumor #jackpot #rambling #long post #coping #cancer sucks #dying

[spoons4spoonies]

Story Time: POTS diagnosis

I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (or POTS, since that’s a mouthful and a half) in August of last year. It was nearing the end of my gap year, which was supposed to be a period of rest and healing, not of gaining new unwelcome symptoms and new diagnoses.

I had as usual set myself an unrealistically (in hindsight) high goal of becoming a completely healthy and abled person by the time I started university, as I simply could not wrap my head around the idea that I would be able to cope otherwise. In other words, it was get better or you will fail and never amount to anything and always be miserable – and yeah, needless to say as the time drew nearer and my body showed no signs of obeying my strict instructions, I entered more and more panic spirals of despair.

At this point I would like to return to the present to let you know that I have just finished my first year and survived my first lot of exams since the endurance test that was A-levels. Not to say that it has been easy – of course university was never going to be a walk in the park – but I have done well and I should be proud of myself.

(I know this because my mother keeps sending me postcards telling me how amazing I am. Bear in mind that she lives twenty minutes away and visits me once a week – often to hand the postcards over herself to save on postage.)

Anyway, unless you have it or know someone who does, you have probably never heard of POTS. It is essentially a problem with my blood pressure and that is what I stick to when I’m asking someone for their seat on the tube. When a normal fully-abled person stands up, their blood pressure increases slightly to account for the increased effect of gravity – mine does not and as a result my heart is forced to pump faster to keep blood going to my brain. My heart rate can increase by up to forty beats per minute just from getting up off the couch.

Symptoms include dizziness, an inability to stand up for long periods of time, nausea, headaches, fainting (though thankfully I have never experienced that one), digestive problems, fatigue (like I didn’t already have enough of that), heart palpitations (just casually in the middle of the night when you haven’t moved for hours) and even shortness of breath. Of all of these, I would have to say that the heart palpitations are the worst. They do not hurt exactly, but they are terrifying – especially before I had my diagnosis – and make it hard to breathe.

It is hard not to panic when your body is doing it’s very best to simulate a panic attack.

I have a friend whom I met online who suspected they had POTS and I’d been aware of it for some time before I started to consider whether I myself might have it too. I’ve read that about a third of those suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome also have POTS so it wasn’t a wholly unlikely scenario. I had also read the NHS page for it and noted that I had many of the symptoms, however, this was not conclusive proof to me as the problem with autoimmune diseases is that the symptoms overlap a lot.

Then I started a course of birth control pills and my CFS specialist, Dr S, wanted me to take measurements of my blood pressure to check that it wasn’t causing any problems. As it turns out I have fairly low blood pressure, so there’s no risk of getting a stroke from my daily dose of oestrogen. More importantly, I noticed how my heart rate would increase far beyond normal levels if I took a reading whilst sitting down and then another after standing up. This was the proof I needed to self-diagnose.

From there on out it was a case of proving the matter, so we brought it up with Dr S and she referred us to a cardiologist.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle when we arrived at his clinic, as it turned out to be a children’s hospital, which as a nineteen year old I was theoretically not supposed to be treated at. On the bright side, there were a lot of cartoon fish on the walls. Whoever decided that adults don’t need cute animal drawings in hospitals fundamentally misunderstands what it’s like to be in a hospital.

Eventually we managed to sort the whole situation out and I was taken downstairs to have an electrocardiogram. This was to test the electrical activity of my heart – don’t ask me how that works or what exactly the point was because the science went over my head. All I can say is that it didn’t hurt and there was something oddly exciting about being hooked up to a bunch of wires. But that might just be me and all the superhero media I consume.

Then I went to meet the cardiologist, Dr D, and give him a history of my symptoms.

It had not even crossed my mind up until that point that there might be something “seriously” wrong with me, by which I mean something life threatening, so needless to say it rather came as a shock when the cardiologist did an ultrasound of my heart to check that it didn’t have any holes (and I quote). In retrospect it might have been a joke, but it certainly didn’t land well with me.

The fact that I had a cold and unpleasantly slimy machine on my chest and was lying there with only a fairly ratty, old bra to protect my modesty did not help. This again was something that had not occurred to me and I was deeply grateful for the presence of my mother in the room so that she could fill the awkward silence with small talk and I could focus on breathing normally. It is extremely strange to hear your own heartbeat sounding like a foetus’s on TV and be painfully aware of the fact that anyone around will literally be able to hear your nerves.

Ultrasound over with, chest wiped down and clothes thankfully put back on we sat down to discuss what was next. Dr D was fairly confident from my description that I did have POTS but obviously I had to go through the whole process before it could be official. In the meantime he gave us some advice about dealing with the symptoms:

1.       Drink lots of water. Aim for three litres a day.

2.       Eat lots of salt. Aim for ten milligrams a day.

3.       Stand and sit up slowly and jiggle your legs to get the blood moving.

4.       Exercise.

This I interpreted as a prescription for Pringles and an excuse to hold in the face of people who tell me to stop fidgeting. My mind happily slid over the recommendation of exercise as a “Problem for later me” A.K.A something I hoped I’d be able to put off indefinitely.

Building up muscle, fitness and stamina are all worthy things and have helped now that I’ve achieved them, but in conjunction with my CFS they have often seemed impossible goals. Also, I like sitting down.

I shall now elaborate on the third recommendation, which I follow every morning, doing a funny little dance about my room to bring my limbs to life. I pity the person who lives below me in my student accommodation… at least I am rarely up before eleven. The hilarious point about this was that Dr D took it upon himself to give us a rather long and overly serious demonstration, standing up from behind his desk and jiggling about on the spot with a completely straight face.

Both my mother and I were struggling to maintain the same level of facial control.

It was a couple of weeks before we could return to London to embark on the next step of diagnosis: getting a blood pressure monitor fitted that must then stay attached for a whole twenty hours, taking measurements on the hour every hour. This was something of a trial as I had to walk around with a bunch of thick tubing wrapped round my neck and with the machine strapped round my bicep.

I garnered a lot of stares as people must have assumed I had something serious going on. The fact that it beeped loudly and inflated with a sound like an airbed being pumped up at every measurement, did not make it inconspicuous to say the least. It also meant that I barely slept through the combination of loud noises and the clamp tightening on my arm.

I was thoroughly exhausted the next day when we went to drop it off and then continue on to a hospital in order to do the tilt test. This involves being strapped to a table which is then tilted upright from the horizontal and then being stuck there for the next twenty minutes (feels like three hours) whilst measurements of your blood pressure and heart rate are taken. I already felt ghastly but by the end of this I was ready to curl up in a ball on the floor and stay there for the rest of my life.

The doctor administering the test ran through the results with us, confirming that I had POTS – though technically we still had to wait for Dr D to give the all clear as it were – and then confidently asserting that I didn’t have CFS and certainly didn’t have any mental health problems and should stop taking my antidepressant straight away since it was all because of POTS and once I started doing some exercise I’d be fine.

Right…. Thanks Karen.

One more appointment later I had my official diagnosis. Alas, having trekked halfway across London to make this appointment, it only lasted ten minutes and mostly consisted of me being told to come back in six months when I had tried some exercise and then we’d see about medication.

We have postponed this reunion indefinitely as I have seen little change for the better – though in truth I have not gotten started on the rigorous exercise plan he had in mind – but nor is it sufficiently bad that I am in desperate need of medication.

I have found that the most useful tool in combatting my symptoms are compression garments as they help with my circulation. I have some tights, a knee support, gloves and several random bits of tubing that can be used anywhere. They reduce pain and allow me to stand up for longer.

Mod H

#pots #pots diagnosis #spoonie #diagnosis #spoonie humor #story time #doctor embarassment

[wellesleyunderground]

WU Reviews: Elizabeth Holmes and the Theranos Scandal

When brainstorming ideas for the next WU Review, we discovered that Tiffany Chan ‘15 had read Bad Blood, a book chronicling the rise and fall of Theranos; Cleo Hereford ‘09 had gotten the whole story via The Dropout podcast; and Shloka Ananthanarayanan ‘08 had watched the events unfold via the HBO documentary, The Inventor. Therefore, we three editors decided to combine forces to give you one mega-review about this fascinating story. Settle in!

Bad Blood reviewed by Tiffany Chan ‘15 (@omgitstiffyc)

Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup is a book written by John Carreyrou detailing the meteoric rise and fall of the blood diagnostics company Theranos. While many of us came to know this story relatively late in the game, John Carreyou was the Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter who originally broke the story of Theranos in 2015. The format of the book allows for the stories and characters involved in the downfall of Theranos to be developed richly.

The book takes the reader on an emotional rollercoaster ride. The beginning is a slow build, as Elizabeth starts the company. Over several years, the company grows steadily, and towards its late phase, it is a full sprint towards chaos. I was struck by how many people tried to stop Elizabeth Holmes and failed. Part of what makes this story enthralling is the number of people who simultaneously saw through the mirage and those who were sucked in. She managed to survive a for-cause audit by the FDA and almost being ousted as CEO by her board of directors. Then Vice President Joe Biden took a tour of her lab and was impressed by her work. Frankly, I started to wonder if she was some sort of Superwoman, immune to the rules us mere mortals live by.

While other accounts may focus on Elizabeth’s charisma, Bad Blood focuses on the people who were hurt by her actions. Each excited and talented employee was initially taken in by the promise of Theranos and all ultimately left disgraced and disappointed. The book underscored Holmes’ secretive, ruthless, and litigious nature where Theranos’ intellectual property was concerned. For me, this book also most clearly demonstrates Holmes’ failings as a leader. She made so many people collateral damage in the pursuit of personal glory. This point was most poignant in the case of Ian Gibbons, a long-time Theranos employee who was called to testify in court and tragically took his own life, balking under the pressure he was facing from the company to not say anything. Additionally, the narrator enters as a player in the third act and I found this to be really effective because we the readers empathize with him and understand his frustrations as he tries to tell this story while facing Theranos’ intimidation tactics. By building this cast of smart and relatable people, Carreyrou builds a sense of horror and outrage on multiple levels.

Simply put, this book was a trip for me to read because of all the ways it intersects with various aspects of my life. As someone who spent time working in the pharmaceutical industry, it was incredibly discouraging to hear about all the ways Theranos circumvented the checks and balances designed to keep people safe. While we might not be happy about all the regulatory hoops we need to jump through sometimes, they exist to ensure that our drugs and devices have been tested rigorously and I think people need to know that a majority of people in the industry take those standards incredibly seriously. As a Longwood Medical Campus student at the time, I can easily see how this young, female Silicon Valley CEO was lauded as THE lecturer of the year, the next big innovator. As a bench scientist, it was obvious to me from the beginning that Theranos’ pitch was pure fantasy but I had my doubts about whether I would have had the wherewithal to realize it without the gift of hindsight.

I liked the medium and content of Bad Blood because it underscores how much of Theranos was visual facade. Elizabeth LOOKED (and sounded, ha) like the next Steve Jobs. The Edison LOOKED beautiful when really it was just a sleek box with a robotic pipette inside. This story has been endlessly sensationalized in popular media but Bad Blood grounds us in what was the ludicrous and sometimes frightening reality for Theranos employees. I think this format allows for us to truly focus on the actions of the company and keep that in mind without getting sucked in by the ersatz company.

The Dropout reviewed by Cleo Hereford ‘09 (@cleoc87)

The Dropout is a 6-part podcast produced by ABC News and narrated by chief business, technology and economics correspondent Rebecca Jarvis about the emergence and downfall of Theranos CEO Elizabeth Holmes. Each episode is between 37 and 45 minutes, giving the listener a brief but comprehensive overview of Holmes, the founding of her company, and Theranos’ eventual demise. 

The podcast does more than simply narrate the series of events; it also includes interviews with a number of the key figures including Stanford Medical School Professor Dr. Phyllis Gardner (who heard early plans for The Edison technology and questioned its viability), whistleblowers Erika Cheung and Tyler Schultz, and Bad Blood author John Carreyrou.  The most striking interview, however, comes from the widow of Ian Gibbons, a biochemist who worked as Theranos’ chief scientist before taking his life in 2013 in the context of what is described as a toxic work environment and a pending patent lawsuit. 

What I walked away with after listening to The Dropout were the parts of the story perhaps touched upon but not fully highlighted in the hype surrounding the scandal: just how many lives were negatively impacted through the scheme either by Theranos’ work environment, the technology’s misdiagnoses, family disagreements or in Gibbons’ widow’s case, death, among the many issues that existed outside of or leading up to the truth behind Theranos being made public. Oftentimes, those affected by a particular person, organization or incident are forgotten in favor of whatever emblematic figure perpetrated the wrongdoing. The strength of The Dropout is that it does center Holmes while also highlighting the stories of and giving a voice to those she hurt. For those with longer commutes, I would fully recommend this highly engaging podcast.

The Inventor reviewed by Shloka Ananthanarayanan ‘08

My first thoughts upon starting this documentary - that lady really talks like that? I know we as a culture are entirely too obsessed with policing women’s looks and voices, but Elizabeth Holmes specifically cultivated her look (a wardrobe solely composed of black turtlenecks, à la her hero Steve Jobs) and apparently employed a fake voice, dropping down to a lower register, perhaps in the hopes that this would imbue her with more authority. Many people in the documentary also comment on her almost reptilian stare, and how she wouldn’t blink for ages. Thus, from the outset, you get a sense that this is a terrifically odd woman. And as the documentary progresses, you watch with spellbound horror as she cons some of America’s most senior business and political leaders, with seemingly no remorse once she gets caught. The woman is undoubtedly a villain, but she is a compelling one.

Directed by Alex Gibney, the film is a fascinating look at Theranos in particular, but Silicon Valley in general, and how entrepreneurs like Elizabeth Holmes can take advantage of certain loopholes and privatization to orchestrate scams of this magnitude. It’s well and good for Silicon Valley to embrace a model of disruption and to “keep breaking things,” but in the case of Theranos, when you are trying to create a revolutionary diagnostic product that human beings depend on for vital medical information, you can’t simply barrel ahead without appropriate testing, rigorous scientific discipline, and a basic understanding of regulatory compliance and ethics. The film features many interviews with employees, who initially started working at Theranos with bright-eyed optimism and visions of changing the face of healthcare, and who ended up disillusioned, terrified that they had harmed the public, and personally fearful of lawsuits and ruination. Through it all, we have Elizabeth Holmes as the Messiah, promising the world that she could diagnose hundreds of diseases by testing a single drop of blood, and lying through her teeth every time she was questioned about the technology behind this miracle.

Indeed, this film is about a cult of personality. At one point in the film, someone defines the word “credit” as deriving from the Latin “credo,” which means, “I believe.” Ultimately, Holmes managed to con many powerful people in America and make them blindly believe in her. She put many patients’ lives at risk as she sold a product that did not work and tried to orchestrate a cover-up that was laughably audacious and destined to come crashing down around her feet. I honestly don’t know how she thought she was going to be able to get away with her scheme, but it’s certainly thrilling to watch the faces of her employees as they detail what was happening in the office and get increasingly agitated as they realize the magnitude of the criminal enterprise they were involved in. 

If you don’t have time to read a book or listen to a podcast, The Inventor is a breezy 2-hour thrill ride through this scandal, and while it may not have all the details, it certainly has enough content to make you slightly sick to your stomach about how easily we can all be fooled by bright and shiny things that lack any substance whatsoever.

#wu review #theranos #elizabeth holmes #the dropout #bad blood #the inventor

[96thdayofrage]

As we become more comfortable with at-home DNA testing kits and allowing companies to assess our biological makeup, the market continues to shift in a variety of ways including the types of diseases and disorders that can be tested, how accurate the tests are, and the amount of information shared – which can include selling your data to third parties. And this should concern us for a number of reasons ranging from blatant privacy concerns to subtle discrimination by insurance companies to emotional distress caused by unexpected results (23andMe learned this during the holidays) and misunderstood results.

Thus, before you mail in that DNA sample, here are 10 very important things for you (and your family) to consider.

1. Results are NOT a diagnosis. What the results provided tell you is your risk– or the likelihood and impact of you getting a disease or disorder. Before taking results too seriously or making ill-informed decisions based on insufficient information, consult a medical provider.

2. Currently available tests are not as advanced – or accurate – as they often claim to be, and don’t reveal all the things patients may want them to. While genetic tests are presently able to determine thousands of diseases and disorders, in-home tests are limited by the FDA to about 10 diseases and conditions.

3. Tests being marketed directly to consumers can have a high propensity for false positives, implying a person has something when in reality they do not. Results can also produce false negatives, implying a person does not have something when in fact they do.

4. Biomarkers and genetic testing for cancer, diabetes, heart disease and other chronic diseases will not introduce the same level of intergenerational stress and concern for families as neurological and degenerative conditions like dementia. And despite media hype and flashy press releases, there is currently no single test or tool that can accurately diagnose Alzheimer’s disease or predict with 100% certainty who will develop it – or any of the similar neuro-degenerative diseases.

5. We know smoking and obesity kill millions of Americans each year, and yet those behaviors persist. Thus, many believe few will change personal behavior based on DNA test results. Although, findings coupled with personal choices and belief systems could alter the way some individuals, families and communities prepare for disease. But what behavior will certainly change, is how insurance companies, care providers and employers provide and pay for care based on results.

6. At present, long-term care insurance, disability insurance and life insurance can prohibit you from coverage if your genetic tests show a propensity for diseases and disorders. The societal implications of such discrimination could greatly determine who does and does not receive care based simply on profile risk alone.

7. Congress took a major steps toward protecting patient privacy for genetic testing by passing the 2008 Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act (GINA), which prevents an employer or health insurer from discriminating against Americans based on genetic information.

8. You should have major concerns about your privacy. Since 2017, when 23andMe partnered with GlaxoSmithKline (GSK), the world has known that genetic testing companies and pharma are linked. In this particular case, 23andMe gained a $300 million investment, and GSK – along with six other pharma companies 23andMe made deals with – get consenting patients behavioral, health and genetic information.

9. The obvious goal of genetic test companies partnering with pharma is drug R&D and drug targeting to specific individuals. But with many not knowing that their spit sample or blood test results are being sold to third-parties for large sums of money and targeting, privacy issues are certain to mount in the coming years as disease knowledge gets more accurate and more serious.

10. We’re going to need a lot more genetic counselors to help with the new knowledge and care plans. Without cures or highly effective symptomatic treatments to go hand-in-hand with genetic testing, the risk and reward of results will certainly take a toll on individuals, families, health care markets and communities.

Perhaps it is true that ignorance is bliss. But if you disagree and decide to participate in genetic or ancestry testing here is some added information and advice from the Mayo Clinic that might help you and your family through the process.

[frogdrip]

Figuring out how to move forward!

(Type one diabetes financing rant)

Hey guys. So I’m working on future life goals for myself (seriously, never done it before), and I’m doing research right now on ways to earn a living while being a type one diabetic, as well as the basic costs of living. 

Living cost is insane for the average person, including: gas, food, car insurance, basic grooming tools, rent, as well as others like transport, utilities, etc. Besides all of this, we as T1D patients have to struggle with the cost of test trips (around $1 per strip, supposed to test a minimum of 8 times per day, not including when we go low or high, which requires more treatment costs, as well as medication), the glucose meter itself (usually ranging between $20-$100), insulin (Its dependent on the type, but all true insulin is upwards of $100 per vile without insurance, and if you’re not on a pump, you have 2 different types to purchase. You are required to take a shot of short acting each time you have a meal, and for high blood glucose correction. The basal is dependent on the person, but its usually given one time per day at a higher dosage), glucagon (an tool to use in case of critically low blood glucose, usually between $50-100), needles, ketone strips, lancets, and those are just a few of the BASICS.

Then there are tools such as the CGM (continuous glucose monitor), pump, A1C monitor, etc. Don’t even get me started on their pricing, nevermind the tools necessarily to utilize the devices themselves, however the benefits of owning such devices are drastically life altering. 

These are all things the average person wouldn’t need to consider when accounting for their weekly, monthly, and yearly spending. For a type one diabetic, the tools and medications listed above are as secondhand and necessary as the average persons’ grocery shopping. That being said, even this comparison isn’t completely accurate, while a T1D patient isn’t as in control of their usage of these products, such as one simply eating certain meals to avoid higher spending costs. Maintaining a regular A1C and glucose reading is imperative to a type one diabetic, as not only is it reliant on how much he or she spends, but also on their basic health, their longevity of life, and in critical cases; life or death. 

Now, we begin on health insurance. Some insurances will make a person with a preexisting chronic illness pay more, as their cost of living is higher. Nevermind the mental strain this has on someone dealing with T1D, as they may need to accommodate for nutritionists, meal plans, mental health experts, and medications as many experience dramatic highs and lows brought on from the instability of his or hers own body. 

Personally, I’m disabled due to other health complications brought on by my weakened immune system, stress of living, and basic care requirements. I’ve been called a “brittle” type one diabetic since I was diagnosed at 6. 

That being said, I’m determined to not let this hold me down, so back to the drawing board! I want to travel, explore, and experience new things in life. Getting my health under control is check number one, then accommodating for my illness with my goals and dreams...well, that we’ll just have to figure out.

Rant for today!

#t1d #type on diabetes #type one diabetic #1.21.19