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adulting-sucks · 2 years

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Fresh Beginnings

Summary: Everyone has a backstory, a reason they become who they eventually become. Yours just happened to create a monster you couldn’t control.

Steve Kemp x Dark Reader; Eventual Dark Steve Kemp x Dark Reader

Word Count: 6409-eek! This got away from me; Sorry!

This is a dark story. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Pleas stay away if under 18 or if dark subject matter bothers you

Warnings: Smut, Smut, Smut, Dark, if you haven’t watched the movie and don’t want spoilers, please stay away, bad medical jargon only known from watching too many medical shows

This is not proofread, all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

Brendan Steven Kemp was in his second year of surgical residency. At this moment, he was being paged to handle an emergency gunshot victim who had just presented to the ER. His eyes looked at the numbers and words, taking a minute to focus on the blurry images in front of his sleep deprived eyes.

He threw on his white lab coat, pressed the button to acknowledge the page, and made his way to the stairs down to the emergency room. He stopped at the charge nurse’s desk, stating “I’m Dr. Kemp, I was paged for a trauma?” The charge nurse, on the phone with an incoming rig, barely spared him a glance as she said “Trauma room 2” and pointed to the left.

Kemp grabbed some gloves off the wall, and made his way in, past the nurses and the ER doctor, avoiding the bloody gauze and puddles from blood loss. “What have we got?” he asked, taking his place on the left side of the patient, grabbing the mouse on the rolling computer, pulling up the imaging.

“GSW, through the abdomen, no exit wound. BP is low, dropping. We’ve infused 2 pints O neg, he’s received 3L LR, large bore IV wide open. He’s tachycardic, fast scan shows fluid in the abdomen,” the ER doc stated.

“Bullet is intact, I don’t see any fragments. Let’s get him prepped and ready for the ER. On my count, 1, 2, 3!” The patient was moved to a mobile hospital bed, two nurses at the top pushing the bed, and watching to make sure the IV’s remained intact, a tech at the bottom helping to steer. Dr. Kemp followed behind, stopping at the nurses station to place a call to Dr. Avery, his attending.

Nine hours later, an exhausted Avery and Kemp were washing their hands after the surgery, managing to save the life of the victim, although he did code twice on the table. The bullet shredded the large intestine, however the repair was done flawlessly, without the patient needing a colostomy bag.

Kemp walked to the surgery waiting room, calling the name of the victim to give an update on his condition. You stood up, your long legs lithe and accentuated by the six inch heels you wore, your dress pants pleated perfectly, your dress shirt wrinkle free, even after hours of waiting.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Kemp, I just wanted to update you on your brother’s condition. We were able to remove the bullet intact. He suffered massive trauma to his large intestine, however we were able to remove the shredded and damaged area, and reconnect the intestines. He won’t need a colostomy, however we will need to keep him in ICU for the next few days on antibiotics in case he goes septic from the waste that sat in his abdominal cavity. Do you have any questions for me?” Kemp asked, trying very hard to look you in your eyes and not at your chest.

“Thank you so much Dr. Kemp, I think you’ve answered any questions I may have had. When will we get to see him?” you inquired, batting your eyes lashes and wiping away a stray tear.

“He’s still under anesthesia, and will be for the next twenty-four hours to help him heal. Tomorrow morning would be best, you should probably go home and get some rest. Please let me know if you need anything, here’s my card.” Kemp handed you his business card with his cell and pager numbers on them.

“Thank you so much again, Dr. Kemp,” you replied, giving him a quick hug. Kemp breathed you in, wholly intoxicated by your perfume, reminding him of fresh rain in an orange grove.

Dr. Kemp gave a small, lopsided grin, and turned to walk away, needing to finish the chart and check on his patient. He had no idea that this was the very moment his life would change forever, and that you would be everything to him.

“Pull up all information available for Brendan Steven Kemp,” you told your right hand man. “He may be just the surgeon we’ve been searching for now that Gray is gone,” you said, a wicked grin crossing your face. You watched the young doctor’s retreating figure, noticing how nice and meaty his ass was.

————————————-

As Dr. Kemp made his morning rounds, he stopped in to check on his gunshot victim from the other night. Looking at his vitals and noting the amount of fluids running, along with the meds piggybacking into the IV, Kemp was so focused he missed you in the chair in the corner until you cleared your throat.

“Hello, Dr. Kemp”, you said, crossing your legs elegantly at the ankles. Kemp jumped, the sudden company bringing him out of his head.

“Shit! Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here. I can come back later,” Kemp replied, removing his gloves and throwing them in the biohazard bin. He turned to leave when you called his name.

“Dr. Kemp? You’ve been working so hard and taking such good care of my brother. Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Maybe some breakfast? You look exhausted, and even surgeons need to eat, right?” you said, followed by a very sexy, breathy chuckle as you peered at him from under your lashes.

“Uh, sure, yeah. I could eat. It has been about a day or two since I can even remember eating. I insist on paying though,” he replied, not backing down. Men did not let a beautiful lady pay for anything, in his opinion. His mother would be turning in her grave.

“Deal. Where to doc?” you replied, grabbing your purse. You knew the game dictated letting him feel whatever he needed to so you could bring him into the fold. If paying for coffee and a meal is what it took, then so be it.

“There’s an amazing little cafe around the corner. Great and simple breakfasts, and the best coffee in the entire 50 states. He’s also my best friend so I tend to get the better stuff,” Kemp replied, throwing a wink your way.

You know this was supposed to be only business, but damn if he wasn’t just a handsome piece of meat. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, his biceps straining under his lab coat, his thick thighs looking amazing even in oversized scrub pants. His narrow waist and broad shoulders making your mouth water.

You held light, superficial conversation, trying to get a feel for Kemp, seeing if he was the right man for the job. He told you about his hometown, how his parents dying had pushed his career into medicine, how he had moved to Seattle to work at one of the top teaching hospitals in the world. You learned he wasn’t sure what type of surgeon he wanted to be, trauma was his leading lady, but Dr. Avery had also been trying to push him into plastic and reconstructive surgery.

This piece of information is what you needed to start this conversation. Needless to say, this subject matter is still very taboo.

“Dr. Kemp, are you free tonight? I have a business proposal as my company just had a position for a competent surgeon open up. After seeing how you cared for my brother, I think you may just be the one I’ve been looking for,” you said, using his attraction towards you for your benefit.

“Uh, sure, yeah, tonight sounds great,” he stuttered, flushing at the attention and look you were giving him.

“Perfect! I’ll be back around 7 tonight to pick you up. I will have some clothes sent over later today for you. I look forward to seeing you, Dr. Kemp.” You stood and extended your hand. He grabbed it softly, and blushed again, this time the red extending up to the top of his ears.

“Please, call me Brendan,” he replied, holding your soft hand a little longer than what was considered polite.

“See you tonight, Brendan,” you simply replied, turning and walking away, knowing he was watching the sway of your hips and ass, which you purposely exaggerated.

———————————-

True to your word, you had a designer suit sent to Kemp, dark blue, crushed velvet with black trim, a white shirt, black bow tie, and black designer shoes to finish the outfit.

Holding the suit and shoes, Kemp couldn’t help how impressed he was with your taste and ability to have everything tailored perfectly for his body. He realized all of this cost more than what he made in a month. It left him wondering what exactly this job entailed, and had him seriously considering the opportunity.

He received a text promptly at 7 letting Krmp know you were downstairs waiting in the limo at the front entrance. A limo. Kemp had never been in a limo, let alone been with such a beautiful woman. This was so fresh, so new, he could feel his life taking a step up, heading towards an amazing future.

——————————

The minute you saw Kemp, your mouth was watering. He looked so good in his suit, hair slicked back with a lopsided grin. You knew right then you had made the right choice. It was written all over his face, this newfound love for the finer things life had to offer.

Your driver opened the door, allowing Kemp to slide in next to you, his eyes taking in the limo with the innocence of a child on Christmas morning. You couldn’t help the smile that fell on your red stained lips. You saw his eyes widen as he drank you in, your elegant black halter dress snug over your breasts, a large slit on the right side of your leg.

“Hello,” he said, breathless as his eyes wandered all over your figure, that blush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“Hello, Brendan,” you replied, amusement twinkling in your eyes as you smiled at him. “You look wonderful, blue suits your eyes,” you complimented, finding yourself a little shy and flushed. You hadn’t fully realized how gorgeous this man actually was. Sure you had noticed his tight, round ass, but you completely missed his beautiful steel blue eyes and luscious lips. You were in trouble, you fully admitted to yourself, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stay away and keep things purely professional. But you didn’t give one fuck, looking at him, you knew you needed him in every way possible.

He returned your smile as he slid in, moving close without touching you. You watched him bounce his legs, the tension almost palpable in the air.

“I hope you brought an appetite tonight, my chef has prepared some very special dishes for you to try. I hope you don’t mind, it will just be the two of us, I prefer to discuss my business in private,” you explained as the limo pulled up in front of your home.

You weren’t lying, exactly. This was a conversation meant for only certain ears, the content matter very sensitive, but you would be remiss if you denied having ulterior motives for possible pleasure.

“Oh, uh, sure, yeah, sounds good, great,” Kemp replied, tripping over all of his words. You let out a small giggle, completely entranced by his shy and sweet demeanor.

You turned at the limo door being opened for you, stepping out left leg then right. You waited as Kemp scooted over, exiting on your side as well. To say this was a home was an understatement. This was a fortress, hiding more levels than what could be seen with the human eye. Your front door opened as you approached, your staff meeting you so you weren’t waiting.

As you walked through the living room, you watched Kemp take in everything around him, from the dark red carpet, to the leather couch and loveseat, his eyes then sweeping to the large piece of art on the wall. You couldn’t help but admire his face as those captivating eyes swept over every aspect of the room.

“Would you care for a drink?” you asked, walking over to your bar and grabbing the bottle of fine scotch from the shelf. You grabbed a glass and dropped two ice cubes in, pouring in the amber liquid next.

“Sure, whatever you’re having is fine,” he replied, nervously tapping his feet. You began to notice all his nervous ticks, tapping his feet, bouncing his legs, running his hand through his hair. You found it endearing, and also erotic as you imagined those same hands around your hips, him driving into you over and over while he bent you over the couch he was sitting on. These were ideas to revisit later as you needed to get to the matter at hand.

At that moment, your chef walked in and advised that dinner was ready. You moved to follow him, waiting for Kemp to catch up. He followed you into the hallway, chef leading you to the elegant dining hall, two places set already.

“My chef is the top chef known mainly in Asia and Europe. He has created some amazing and exotic dishes for you to try. I hope this experience is truly eye opening for you,” you explained as you spread your napkin across your lap.

Chef had set up four different dishes, pulling the lids off all with a flourish. The first dish was a small helping of steak, cooked to a perfect medium. The second dish was a pasta, sauce heavy with fresh garlic and crushed red peppers, and a delectable meatball. The third was a little simple cheeseburger, standard with a custom sauce, and typical burger toppings. The final dish was a beef stew, the onion and garlic very heavy yet mouth watering.

Kemp looked at all of the choices and smiled. As you watched his face light up, you realized this kind of food isn’t made for just anybody. It takes a rare person to eat these meals and enjoy them. Tonight, you’d find out if Kemp was that person. And if he could become so much more.

Which would you like to try first, Brendan?” you asked, leaning towards him in interest. Kemp chose to start with the steak. He was a sucker for a perfect medium. You offered sauce if preferred, but Kemp declined. You cut the steak in half, scooping the sautéed onions on top, and adding a portion of garlic red roasted potatoes. You watched him intently, trying to memorize each facial expression as he chewed. Your business proposal depended on this moment, this reaction.

Kemp closed his eyes, a sinful moan leaving his lips and making you clench your thighs just a little bit.

“Oh my fuck, this has to be the most amazing steak I have ever tasted. What is this cut?” he asked, scooping a few potatoes into his mouth, chewing slowly as if to savor each bite. Kemp wasn’t accustomed to the finer things, and with years of student loans in front of him, who knew when he would get to experience this again.

“It’s a rarity, needing to be butchered and prepared in a very specific way, and if done correctly, it is the most fucking exquisite meal in the world,” you replied, taking another bite of your steak with a few potatoes. “So, what would you like to try next?” you asked, wiping your mouth on your napkin.

“Let’s do the burger next,” he replied, pulling the plate in front of the two of you. You cut the small burger in half, placing a small portion in front of Kemp, the other in front of you. You waited for him to take the first bite, again watching his reaction closely. His face immediately showed his pleasure, a sight you were starting to really appreciate. This went on with the pasta and meatballs, and finally the stew. As Kemp leaned back in satisfaction, you were finally ready to start the conversation.

“So Brendan, now that you’ve tried the meat, let’s get down to business. What did you think of the meals?” you inquired, refilling the wine glasses in front of you and him. You leaned back in your chair, your finger tracing the rim of your glass, a nice buzz from the meal and alcohol burning through you. You took a sip of your wine, crossing your legs.

“This has to be the best food I have ever had the pleasure of eating,” he replied, a sleepy grin on his face as he took another sip. That look, oh that fucking grin. You were in trouble, no going back now.

“Our product is fresh, cut right before packaging with little details included about the source. We are looking for a new surgeon to take the place of our former employee. We will pay off your student loans, we will provide you a six figure income to start, with quarterly raises, you will be provided a home, a car, a company black card to cover any and all expenses you have for the entirety of your time with us,” you started, getting right down to business and the benefits. You watched his eyes grow in amazement, and you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. “As of this moment, we have already paid your student loans, and secured the attention of Dr. Avery for the next few months as a private instructor for the remainder of your residency. You will be required to spend your day hours, morning to evening, with Dr. Avery, and then be expected to put your training into practice for a few hours each night. Once Avery gives his approval, you will be free to work your own hours with us, so long as you keep up with your workload.” You took another sip, ready for the eventual questions Kemp would have.

“How am I going to help your fresh food business as a suregeon? Kemp asked, hesitation in his voice, skepticism in his eyes. You knew this would need to be answered, however you felt showing him instead of telling him would work the best.

“Please follow me, I’d like to answer your questions by showing you the product. I find it makes more sense that way for beginners,” you replied, standing and offering your hand to the very confused, very handsome doctor.

He grabbed your hand, following behind you as you led him to a door leading down to your basement. You added a little sway to your hips knowing he was watching. You turned to give him a reassuring smile only to see him flush in embarrassment as you caught him staring at your ass.

“It’s okay to like my ass, Brendan. We will explore that part of our future after we finish with business,” you stated, smiling and blushing yourself, as if this was a schoolgirl crush. The smile he gave you in return was so happy and a little cocky. You couldn’t wait to try this ride out. As you led him down the stairs, you found yourself growing apprehensive thinking of what his reaction would be. This would be a lot for any person, but you worried about his reaction solely. It had been a while since you had felt this way towards anyone, and you didn’t want this to end, scared it would stop before it had even started.

“Here we are, the source of our product. Feel free to walk around, take a look at the information, ask any questions you have,” you advised, moving to the side to let Kemp through.

“Sure smells clean for having farm animals,” Kemp joked, looking at the first chart hanging outside of the door. He thumbed through the pages, looking at the vitals, going over the surgical procedures performed thus far. “Huh, these vitals are so similar to humans; I thought for sure bovine would be at least a little different,” he commented, more to himself than you. The chart he was looking at was for the subject named Penelope. You moved in front of him, removing the chart from the wall, and unlocking the door with the bracelet you had on.

“That’s because we don’t use bovine, or any other farm animal. Our meat is for a selective group of people, a group who pays top dollar for a rare and taboo experience,” you explained as the door slid open. On the floor in front of you was a small woman, left arm and right leg missing, bandages around her abdomen signaling recent trauma or surgery there also.

“Oh…what the fuck?! Are you telling me you fed me a fucking human?!” Kemp yelled, more bewildered than outraged. Shock ran its course through his face, eyes widening, jaw open and slack. Shock quickly turned to understanding, but there was no outburst of anger, no tears, no vomiting. Just comprehension.

“Yes, Brendan. The meals you are tonight were comprised of meat from Penelope’s abdomen and thigh, the most tender and flavorful choices, in my opinion,” you replied, maintaining eye contact. Moods and energy can shift in a heartbeat, and you had to protect yourself just in case.

“So my job would be,” he swallowed, working the situation through. “I would be removing meat, while the patient is still alive?” he asked.

“Yes. Maintaining life and oxygen to the meat for as long as possible is absolutely necessary to obtain our freshest product,” you explained. “We keep them for as long as possible, only terminating then once all usable product has been obtained.” You walked over to Penelope, running a hand through her hair and down over her cheek. Kemp watched as she shuddered and pulled away from your touch, completely enthralled by the scene in front of him. He knew he should be repulsed, should be running as fast and as far as he could, but he wasn’t and he wouldn’t. This was an entirely new existence for him, a brand new world to finally have everything he had ever dreamed of.

“So, Brendan. What do you think? Is this something you would be interested in as your new career?” you inquired, running your hand up and down his back, stopping to trace small patterns here and there.

“Do you also come with the job?” he asked, smiling at you, pupils blown so only a tiny sliver of color was showing. He moved closer to you, lifting your face with a finger under your chin.

“Normally, I wouldn’t mix business with pleasure, however you have made me rethink that choice. I am absolutely included in this package, just for you,” you responded, rubbing your front along his, your nipples hardening at the sensation, your cunt rubbing against his cock bulging prominently in his suit pants.

He grabbed you by your neck, pulling your lips to his, kissing you like a man starved. You opened your mouth to him, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth, battling for dominance. He pulled away, leaving you both breathless. He started kissing his way down the column of your neck, leaving a trail of heat that you swear was tangible.

He stopped at the top of your breasts, reaching around your neck to unfasten the halter at the nape of your neck. The top of the dress dropped down, revealing the lace black bra you wore. He stared at your chest, his breath catching as he removed the offensive cloth blocking his path.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he said, dropping his head to suck on your right breast, kneading the left roughly with his hand. He released your nipple with a pop, switching sides and position to pay attention to your other breast. He bit and sucked leaving marks running down your skin and around your nipples which seemed to be his favorite place to be.

“Should we head to my room and continue this?” you asked, feeling how ruined your lace panties were with just the little amount of attention. You both were so caught up in the moment, you forgot you had an audience. You looked down at Penelope who sat twirling her hair around her index finger.

“No. I can’t wait. And this is an extreme turn on for me,” he replied, and you suddenly realized he was on his knees in front of you. He kissed your covered cunt through your dress, only bothering to remove it after you warned him not to ruin it, it was your favorite.

He held your hand as you stepped out of the dress and gently placed it to the side. When he returned his attention back to you, he started kissing your right calf, leading up to the inner thigh, completely skipping over where you wanted him as he repeated the actions on your left. He smirked as you whined when he again skipped over your pussy, loving how absolutely wrecked and needy you were for him. He had never been this turned on by anyone before you, and he knew he would never be again.

He finally started kissing your clothed cunt, the smell of you trapped in his nose, his very existence. He pushed the lace parties down and you kicked them off with your right leg. He grabbed that leg before you could put it back down, and rested it on his shoulder, opening your wet cunt up to him. He dove in, eating you like a man starved, his tongue running up and down your slit, plunging in and out of your cunt, teasing and lightly touching your throbbing clit, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You suddenly felt one finger, then two in your pussy, stretching and opening you, preparing you to receive all he had to offer. He pumped his fingers in and out, the squelch from your wet cunt filling the room. He attacked your clit, flicking his tongue over and over, feeling you reach closer and closer to the edge as your pussy started gripping his fingers.

“That’s it, gorgeous. I need you to cum for me, cum all over my hand, then I need you to cum all over my cock,” he encouraged, grinding his thumb in a figure eight over and over your clit, the pressure building. You tipped over the edge, cumming harder than you ever had before. No one had ever pleased you to this extent, and you were so wrapped up in your orgasm, your vision blacked out.

As you slowly returned to your body, you felt Kemp kissing his way up your legs, moving slowly, only disconnecting to remove his own clothes. You opened your eyes, hooded in lust, staring into his eyes, slowly drinking him in as your eyes roved his body. When they landed on his cock, you couldn’t help the moan that left your mouth. His cock stood proudly against his perfectly chiseled abs, something hidden beneath the scrubs. You reached out to grab his cock, starting to drop to your knees, fully needed to taste this man.

“I need to feel you, gorgeous. As much as I want your lips around my cock, I need to cum in that amazing cunt first,” he said as he pulled you to your feet. He lifted you under your ass, you instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he walked you backwards until your back pressed against the cold wall. He thrust into you in one long motion, stilling inside of you to let you adjust to his cock. You couldn’t remember a time you had been this full, so satisfied even before being fucked.

“Brendan, please move,” you whined while moving your hips to cause some friction. Before you could even think, he was pounding into you, drawing all the way out, thrusting right back in until his balls slapped you on your ass, over and over. You felt tears forming, never had you felt this good. You felt his hand move between the two of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing ferociously while he continued to fuck you.

“Cum for me, gorgeous, I need to feel you cum on my cock,” he groaned into your neck as he continued fucking you. You felt the coil snap, releasing a gush of cum all over his dick, feeling it splash down your legs onto the floor. You felt him tense, his thrusts starting to stutter, his pounding becoming erratic and harder. With a grunt, primal in sound, you felt him cum inside you, his hot release coating your cunt and triggering another orgasm. He rested his forehead on yours as you both rode out your orgasms, panting and moanong together, trading kisses and soft words of content. You whined when he pulled out of you, until he dropped to his knees, and began to clean the mess and mix of both your releases. As you came again, you knew you were absolutely ruined for anyone else, ever.

—————————

You two spent the rest of the weekend wrapped up in each other. You were addicted to his taste, his touch, his dominance. You were a woman in power in a man’s world, you had a hard facade and tough heart. The men around you bowed to your every command, never daring to step out of line. Kemp made you feel weightless, made you feel at peace with the little loss of power as he commanded your body, whispered words of adoration and commandments in your ear, as he pulled you apart over and over again, only putting you back together once he had his fill.

Your chef prepared meals, leaving them outside your bedroom door with wine or water, depending on the time of day or the meal. You two fed each other’s appetites in all ways, carnal, emotional, mental, physical. There was no end and no beginning.

The first year went on like this. You and Kemp would find each other at the end of any long days, losing yourselves again and again. In the morning, he would leave to work with Avery, you would leave to start your meetings. In the evenings, you would take Kemp out to study and learn about finding the right product to bring home and farm. You didn’t let Kemp start this until he had passed the first year. Partly because you needed to make sure he was ready, mostly because you couldn’t tame the jealous monster in you at the thought of him with another woman.

The first time, Kemp was a little nervous, fumbling over his words, a flush rising up his face as he stuttered and stumbled his way through the pick up. Luckily, Anne, his target, was very attracted to a goofy grin and shy line. She gave him her number right away, walking off with a huge smile and a new pep in her step.

You tried to remind yourself that he was yours, but you couldn’t deny his confidence and charm had definitely grown in the last year with you. You couldn’t help the nagging suspicion in the back of your mind that Kemp had grown tired of you. He chose to spend more time with the cabal, drinking and gambling, enjoying being with the guys.

You spent more nights alone, dinner growing cold as you waited for him to join you, receiving a text hours later stating he wouldn’t be able to make it. He barely fucked you anymore, mostly just going through the motions, no real passion behind his thrusts, no words of encouragement or ecstasy, merely grunts until he came, not worried about whether he got you off. He would then roll over and head straight to the shower as if to wash your essence off of him as quickly as possible.

He would tell you he was tired, work was busy, or he had over extended himself in trying to woo Anne into his lair. You believed him, at first. Then the excuses stopped and he would spend entire nights away from home. No texts, no calls, no explanations, just a cold spot on his side of your shared bed. You got used to being alone, only seeing Kemp when he would return to shower and change.

One day, he started going by Steve, getting unreasonably angry when you addressed him as Brendan. After screaming at you for what felt like hours, he slammed his fist into the table and said he was going to finally bring Anne home. Home, not in for product, home. That word was not missed by you.

True to his word, Steve brought Anne in, sharing a drink with her laced with enough Ketmine and Fentanyl to drop a 500 pound horse. You heard him laughing, then the thud when she fell, and him putting his drink down to move her body.

He didn’t come to bed until hours later, smelling of her, not even having the decency to wash the stink of her off. I’m that moment, you made a decision, one that would alter the course of events forever. You had been planning to remove Steve, rid yourself of the monster you had created, but first, you wanted him to suffer. You had prepared a cocktail of Diazepam, Ketamine, and Butorphanol the night before, and once you felt his breaths even out signaling he was asleep, you injected it directly into his neck, a small grunt the only indication he had felt the pinch. You grabbed the other syringe prepared with this same drug combination and made your way out of the bedroom, down the stairs, into the basement and right to Anne’s door.

You opened the door, and she looked up, fearful at first, expecting to see Steve in front of her. When she saw you instead, fear changed to hope, and she begged and pleaded for you to release her.

Anne was the exact opposite of you, tall and lithe where you were petite and curvy, blond and supermodel looking where you were darker and most definitely not a model. Anne screamed Heroin Chic, while you screamed class and style. You were disgusted and disappointed with Steve for making you compare yourself to this woman who didn’t hold a candle to you.

You used her hope and moved closer as if you were going to release her, however you injected her full of the sleepy mix of drugs instead. When she succumbed to the drugs, you dragged her up the stairs into Steve’s sterile operating room. You placed her on the table, draping the surgical towels over her body, grabbing your instruments and opened the newly sterilized pack while waiting for her to wake up. You didn’t numb her or give her the epidural that was standard before these harvestings took place. You wanted her to feel every moment, to scream in pain, to feed the ache caused by Steve’s preference of her and replacement of you.

You didn’t worry about Steve hearing. Not only was he knocked the fuck out, this operating room was also soundproof. You gave no preamble or explanation to Anne. She didn’t deserve one and most definitely wasn’t owed one. You simply started the amputation, her cries and screams music to your ears. Something Steve didn’t know, well that no one knew really, was that you were actually the illustrious and mysterious Dr. Gray, stepping down only when you had found the perfect replacement.

Your music choice of Love Bites by Def Leppard seemed fitting for this occasion. You had a hard time deciding which part would be the best from Steve’s pet, finally deciding on her leg. You marked her where you intended to make your initial cut, slowly cutting through the skin and fat layers, cauterizing as you went to stop her from bleeding out. She screamed and sobbed with those initial cuts, but when you brought out the bone saw, she passed out from the pain. You cut through the femur, clamping and cauterizing as you proceeded. You were finished stiching up the site just a few hours later, so impressed with your perfect suturing. You hadn’t lost your touch, and she would heal nicely even if she didn’t deserve to.

You brought her back down to her prison, giving her some IV antibiotics and pain medication. You weren’t a monster after all.

You brought the meat down to the kitchen and began the process of removing the cuts from the bone, removing the fat, and keeping the meatiest parts. Your chef came in just as you were finishing, and you handed him the perfect cut asking him to prepare it for breakfast. Steve would be waking soon, and you didn’t want to miss his reaction.

You heard him descend the stairs, yawning loudly. You had already showered and changed and were sitting at the table drinking your coffee while waiting for breakfast to be finished. Steve walked over to the coffee pot, then made his way to the table, grabbing the newspaper to look at while actively ignoring you.

Chef walked in at that moment, serving a breakfast burrito complete with eggs, potatoes, onions and peppers, Anne, and green Chile salsa.

You watched Steve take his first bite, moaning at the taste, as if he had never eaten something so amazing before. You stared at him, starting to maniacally laugh as you watched his expression. When Steve asked you what was so fucking funny, you simply continued laughing while handing him the chart on the meat source for this meal. You continued laughing while watching his face closely. He went pale first, then burned bright red in anger at you damaging his play thing.

“Bad girl,” he screamed, grabbing the back of your head and bashing it into the table. He did this a few times, before he finally knocked you out. This was how you came to find yourself as one of Steve’s first victims, Anne being rescued and you effectively taking her place. You didn’t stop laughing, even after waking up to find your right arm had been removed. You had taught him all he knew, and now the teacher became the meal. You laughed all the way up and until your death, Steve telling you along the way how much he hated you for ruining his love. When you took your last breath, your last thought was all about Steve not being able to enjoy Anne, and that brought you more peace than any other thought in this life could.

#dark story #darker than i intended #dark reader #steve kemp #dark Steve kemp #dark reader x steve kemp #sorry if this sucks #fresh movie #fresh steve #sebastian stan

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themixologistisin · 4 years

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I copied and pasted this story from someone else but wanted to share so everyone can see how successful this drug is.

I want to tell my COVID-19 story. It has taken me awhile to get my head around all that transpired during my parents' and my journey with Covid and to know what words to say in the hopes I won't be censored. But I feel it's important to tell our story in the hopes that others may understand the truth and hopefully save another loved one's life.

While visiting my parents in Florida, I was extremely diligent about making sure to protect them from Covid-19 because of my Dad's diabetes and my mother's AFIB and their ages. I did not allow them to go to restaurants - always cooking at home - I did all the shopping and stayed six feet from everyone and wore my mask when we were in public places. I believe my one mistake was lunch with the my lifelong friends. Masks were not required while sitting at a table.

A couple of days later after our lunch, my one friend became sick and was tested for COVID. Five days later from her testing, I had lost my taste and smell. One day later, my mom had chest pains and was taken to the hospital because of her Afib and held over night for observation. While at the hospital, she was tested POSITIVE for Covid. The hospital called my dad at 6:00 the following morning and we were asked to come to the hospital for a rapid test where we both were positive. We all 3 were given chest x-rays, blood work and because everything looked normal - we were sent home to quarantine. I asked the ER doctor if my parents could take HYDROXYCHLOROQUINE to prevent further complications with their underlying health conditions and his words to me were exactly this,

"Even if I wanted to prescribe it, I am not allowed to dispense it."

We were sent home with NOTHING but worry as to what was to come.

My dad and I never had symptoms other than loss of taste for 3 days, but my mom developed a fever and cough and generally did not feel well. Here is where my story becomes important to tell. Four days after my mom was released from the hospital, I called her primary physician and told him of my concerns about her declining health and that I wanted her to be placed on Hydroxychloroquine. This was a Thursday morning. Her physician set up a video call with my mom and agreed to "dispense" not only Hydroxychloroquine, but an antibiotic and Zinc (which I was already giving them.) He sent the Rx immediately to CVS to be filled that day. I had watched videos of Hydroxy's success, I had just learned of a huge Ford Center study that had proven its success - cutting the death rate by 50%, and I had done my research enough to be very excited that her doctor agreed to prescribing it to her.

And here's where the story gets complicated. When I called the pharmacist at CVS to ensure he received her Rx - the pharmacist REFUSED to fill the Rx, stating its complications with the heart and that there is no proof it works. I was furious - had some very strong words for him and because of that, he did agree to fill the Rx but still begged me not to give it to my mother. I picked it up without hesitation. BUT - because I did share the pharmacist's argument with my parents, my mom was too afraid to take the drug. It wasn't until Saturday early afternoon that I could convince my mom to start the regimen because she was worsening, had a fever of 100.1 and her oxygen level was at 93%. This was Saturday afternoon that she began taking Hydroxy and she was able to get 2 pills in before bedtime. ON SUNDAY MORNING, she awoke with no fever and her oxygen was at 96%. HOWEVER, because her best friend had suffered terribly with COVID and had to be intubated at the same local hospital, we decided to take Mom to the ER for a chest x-ray just to be safe.

Because I knew that my mom MIGHT be admitted to the hospital or have an extended wait/stay in the ER, I put in her purse the Hydroxy and her antibiotic and Zinc that her physician had legally prescribed. I instructed her to make sure to take her doses as her doctor has prescribed. We truly feared the hospital would take it from her but thankfully they did not. This story continues to get even better.

After a chest x-ray in the ER, they determined my mom had Covid Pneumonia. We were devastated and frightened beyond words, and my Mother was admitted Sunday evening to Winter Haven Hospital (even though her oxygen remained at 97% and no fever). My dad and I would Facetime her often and I continued to remind her to take the Hydroxy and antibiotic. She took it exactly as her Doctor had prescribed. The hospital was giving her NOTHING and rarely checked in on her. BY MONDAY AFTERNOON - JUST ONE DAY AFTER BEING ADMITTED FOR PNEUMONIA, the doctors told her that she no longer had pneumonia and would be going home Tuesday morning afer one more night of observation! They were SHOCKED how quickly she recovered. It was "unheard" of! We never told the hospital she was secretly taking the Hydroxy and she was released to come home on Tuesday just 2 days after being admitted for pneumonia.

It wasn't until 14 days after my friend was tested, that we learned she was positive and most likely where we had gotten it.

The lessons I have learned during this journey:

!. HYDROXYCHLOROQUIN works! It saves lives but because it has become a political issue and is a cheap drug (Big Pharma doesn't like that) doctors are not using it to save lives. It's a travesty against the People. Videos from doctors that are touting the drug are being censored and the information is kept from patients. Pharmacists are scaring patients from taking it and people are dying.

2. Restaurants that have mask requirements while standing or walking through but not while seated at a table are a joke. And restaurants that have only 8 to a table are a joke as well. I got it from one person out of 4 at the table while not having to wear a mask while seated. This is completely misleading to the public and a facade to make people feel safer.

3. Taking 14 - 21 days to receive a test result is ludicrous and dangerous and definitely a public hazard. We are supposed to control the spread by testing more people and quarantining the sick. How are we to do that when results are taking so long to return. Had my mom not been taken to the hospital for her heart and been tested, my family could have been walking around in public - SICK. My parents and I had the 2 hour test because were in the hospital, otherwise we would have never known until my mom would have become much worse with pneumonia.

4. Many people have COVID and have no symptoms like my Dad and I and do very well with the disease - just like 99% of the others who survive it.

I know this was a long story - but I just want people to know that my mom is one of the lucky ones that was given Hydroxychloroquin and had amazing results. Thank God for my Mom's doctor who knew the drug worked, prescribed it without hesitation and who saved my mom's life. Her physician stated that had the pharmacist NOT scared her from taking it that Thursday, she might not have ever gotten the pneumonia or might not have had to have been hospitalized. Hopefully this information can save another life. My family is doing wonderfully and we are now able to give blood to save others (which my dad has already done). This is the part I love best.

God Bless.

You are welcome to share.

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blackwolftacticalsolutions · 4 years

Text

I copied and pasted this story from someone else but wanted to share so everyone can see how successful this drug is.

"Even if I wanted to prescribe it, I am not allowed to dispense it."

We were sent home with NOTHING but worry as to what was to come.

It wasn't until 14 days after my friend was tested, that we learned she was positive and most likely where we had gotten it.

The lessons I have learned during this journey:

4. Many people have COVID and have no symptoms like my Dad and I and do very well with the disease - just like 99% of the others who survive it.

God Bless.

You are welcome to share.

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patriciahaefeli · 4 years

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A Cautionary Tale? A Love Story? You Decide

It's been one of those rollercoaster weeks, one that began with a great deal of pain, which I tried to ignore at first, so as not to ruin my 17- year old’s already Corona-compromised birthday party. At some point during our 5 p.m. family Zoom celebration, I quietly left the room and went upstairs to lie down, writhe in pain, get back up, bend over, moan, repeat. This continued through the night Monday – and at one point, I remember thinking that labor wasn’t this bad and that I should probably go to the emergency room. In this new world we’re in, that thought was quickly dismissed by one word: COVID. I paced the floor at 3 a.m., alternately moaning and then bopping my head and sort of softly singing what kept running through my head, which was the chorus of The Knack’s 1979 hit song, “My Sharona.” Only my version went “My Corona.” Yes, even while suffering, I’m clever that way.

By Tuesday morning the pain had subsided. I was exhausted however, and slept throughout the day. “Tricia! Drink this! Jesus, she’s burning up.” It was the alarm in my husband’s voice that I responded to more than the command. I sat up, drank the water he was holding out to me, and when I caught my reflection in the mirror over the dresser I had the brief, feverously detached impression of someone who’d sat under a sun lamp for too long. Sun lamp, the words made me almost giggle out loud. Sun-lamp, sun-lamp, sun-lamp…Does anyone even know what that is anymore? A few hours later I had a virtual appointment with my regular GP, during which the decision was made for me to go to the office first thing Wednesday for a full exam. My instructions (my fever-addled brain again added the words “should I choose to accept them” - hehehe), for entering the building would come in the form a text.

My office exam was efficient and thorough. Upon arrival, I called the office and someone met me at a side door. As we were both masked and gloved, we nodded and murmured muffled greetings. Two PAs and an MD palpated my tender abdomen while I stifled screams. They decided that I should have a C-T scan that day, with the expectation that the offending culprit was a kidney stone. As many radiology facilities are currently closed, it took a few hours for them to locate one that would take me. My scan took place at 4:30. I was the last patient of their day.

Fast forward to 6:30 p.m. Wednesday evening. I picked up the call, which was remarkable in itself because anyone who knows me knows how irritating it is that, a) my phone is always on silent mode, and, b) I rarely answer numbers I don’t recognize. It was another doctor from Vanguard, calling to let me know that my C-T scan showed no evidence of kidney stones – “Yay!” BUT, he cut in, it did show acute appendicitis. What I needed to do, he said, was to go directly to the nearest ER.

So here’s where this story really begins, because I was about to get a reality check regarding the difference between the inconveniences of “social distancing” and quite literally, matters of life and death. For those of us who are shuffling around at home in our sweatpants, eating too much, complaining about the buffoonery of our President, laughing at all the funny memes, and who are, to one degree or another, COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS to the fact that health care workers do not have the luxury of ANY of that, here’s the newsflash: The Corona virus has virtually SHUT down normal operations for hospitals and surgical facilities, so if you’re also laughing in the face of social-distancing guidelines, and just can’t wrap your head around the possibility of contracting this deadly disease, know this too: If you break your arm, or your spouse has a heart attack, or your child’s strange rash won’t go away and you’re just really concerned, good luck. We are NOT in Kansas anymore, peeps.

I considered doing a bit of a negative a rant on the first hospital that I went to here, but perhaps that wouldn’t be fair. “The nearest ER” for me would have been another hospital, but due to their somewhat dubious reputation, we opted to go just a bit farther away. The best thing I can say about that experience was that the safety protocols to enter the ER were impressive. Picture the scene in E.T. where the Hazmat-suited guys from the space program find out about him and “invade” the house in a tunnel of white - then picture the people standing six feet apart outside of say, ShopRite, only these people don’t look so great. They’re kind of bent over, or swaying, or leaning on someone else. Then count your blessings that your gut hurts and you’re not bleeding out…or struggling to breathe.

Three hours later, after they’d reviewed my scans and completed all of the necessary pre-op tests (blood work, EKG, urine analysis), I got the word that most of the ORs were being used as ICUs for COVID patients, and they were only doing “emergent” surgeries. They sent me home with massive doses of antibiotics, and a referral to see their staff general surgeon - outpatient.

I figured they were right, too. Must not be very serious. I was doing well with that notion until the following morning, when I heard the barely concealed shock in the voice of my regular MD.

“Did they see your scans?” his tone serving only to increase my anxiety.

“Yeah. But my appendix hasn’t exploded yet.” I said.

“Ah,” he sighed, “I know things are being handled differently in the ‘current environment,’ but last time I checked, acute appendicitis was emergent.”

Okay, pay attention now, because here’s where it gets really interesting: See if you can answer his parting questions:

“Do you have a general surgeon? Preferably one with their own facility?”

So, do you? And if you do, are you sure they’re even open right now? I sure as hell didn’t (and the name they gave me at the hospital turned out to be for a doctor whose answering machine told me he was not seeing new patients). And the idea that it was now pretty much my problem to solve was a little intimidating – especially for someone who generally needs to be told that they’re sick (enough) or in (enough) pain to seek help—but that’s another story. Now that doctor, who I respect and like a lot, said he’d be trying to find me one, but that I should do my research as well.

My husband and I made a fairly long list of people/places to call, and split it. Those we were able to reach at all offered possible solutions to my dilemma, but each dead-ended pretty quickly. I focused on the task now, trying to ignore what it might mean that the ache in my belly seemed to be spreading down my right leg.

As of this writing, I have yet to hear back from my regular GP and yet, here I sit, post-op, able to get this down mostly because of a Facebook message I sent to one of the nurses in the Belleville Public School district. The only real help I got came from her, a nurse, who responded immediately to an “in-boxed” message, and kept responding for the next hour, sending me the names and phone numbers of doctors (sometimes with their credentials!), links to possible facilities, and words of encouragement. She gave me her personal cell phone number and encouraged me to call it if I had questions and/or to let her know how it was going. I felt like she meant it, too. I also think she was responsible for the first in a series of serendipitous events that just may have saved my life. One of the names she gave me turned out to be the dad of one of my kid’s friends.

At that point, things happened pretty quickly. I called him (at home) and told him my situation. In a matter of 20 minutes, he had my scans and had booked a time slot for me for same-day surgery at Clara Maass. He’s a high-energy, outgoing kind of guy, and although I’d stood on sidelines with him and his lovely wife at many a sports event, I don’t know him well enough, nor did I think it was appropriate to laugh out loud when he laid out the plan: “With everything going on, I just really want to do you – and get you the hell out of there!”

So here I am, more grateful to him than I can possibly express and having some time to consider just how random and crazy and dangerous that whole situation was (turns out, my appendix had begun to perforate after all, and the real fun was just beginning) and how fortunate I am.

But the real heroes here - Oh, and God, aren’t we all a little sick of the “hero” thing? – well get over it, and listen up! From the minute I walked through the door of Clara Maass yesterday, my experience was the best it could possibly have been. The nurses! OMG the nurses - I was in pre-op for hours. Lucky as I was to have been squeezed in to an already crowded surgical schedule, the truth of the matter was that my presence had required a quick shifting of resources—stretchers and space and - nurses. My sudden appearance in the queue was inconvenient, possibly even annoying. And yet all of them, including the nurse who ran the OR, came by to check on me, to give me extra blankets, to chat with me, and laugh with me. A friend’s daughter-in-law, who is a nurse there, got a text from him and even she came from three floors below just to say hello and charm me with her Australian accent and tired-but-twinkling blue eyes. I swear, for me? The whole experience was a cross between a weirdly sterile spa stay, and – as mine all happened to be women - a girls’ sleepover with your best girlfriends—only these were women I'd just met (but they’d also pretty much seen me naked, so, there’s that…).

Most of them were nearing the end of a 12-hour shift. As I lay there, relaxed and warm, reading and texting, they race-walked back and forth among those of us who waited, or were recovering. I lost count of how many times one of them asked me if I was okay, or if I needed something. They ate their dinners on the move, taking bites and then sprinting off, tearing off one set of gloves, putting on another. These people Do. Not. Sit. The sink was right near my bed, so I saw a lot of hand-washing traffic too, and a lot of red, chapped, over-sanitized hands. They spoke in soothing voices to those who were waiting, and possibly scared, and loud-enough voices for those emerging from the cloud of anesthesia to understand. Sometimes they shouted good-natured complaints to one another, or teased one another – and me, as when one started repacking those bags they give you for your clothes, amusement in her voice as she yelled, “What the hell did you do here, shove it all in like a little kid? Your purse is open – Maria, come over here and see this – she’s a mess!” Hahahaha! One came by and pointed to the cover of the book I was reading entitled “The Silent Patient”, and joked “That’s the kind we like!”

I even began to wonder if what I was getting was “special treatment” reserved for those whose surgeries were personally called-in by the surgeon. Once he arrived, however, it was clear that not only did they not know he was the one who got me in, but they chided him in the same affectionate way. At a point, I said to one of them, “Doctors think they’re all that, but nurses really run the show don’t they?” She winked at me and elbowed me a little, “Like husbands, honey – they just think they’re in charge!”

I lounged, for over four hours while they stood on what had to be tired feet, hands on hips as they talked to me, telling me which part of the hospital they’d spent the morning in, or where they were headed next in this crazy, all-hands-on-deck environment. We chatted about jobs and kids, and only when the topic of this deadly disease came up did the lack of words become conspicuous. Then it was all a mime of sad shakes of the head and downward glances.

It occurs to me today that after all of this, I'm not sure I would recognize any of them tomorrow if I saw them on street – nor they me. Of course, we were all masked. But maybe I would – if I could see their eyes again. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that most of all, those eyes conveyed a profound kindness. And laughter, and concern, and compassion, and dedication—and a toughness that allows them to do it all.

I'll tell you a secret: I am a person who often has a weird response to unexpected kindness - it makes me cry. I welled up more than once yesterday afternoon. I may have been just one of many for them – this is just what they do - but for me, a bond was made. I will always remember them.

Make no mistake: it’s no hardship to be home in your sweatpants with your gel manicure looking a little ratchet, and your spouse and kids seeming more like houseguests who have overstayed their welcome. Today, I want you to feel really, really blessed and grateful, and if you’re like me, a generally healthy person who never really gave too much thought to the job that these people do, I hope I was able to convey just a little of it.

That school nurse who rescued me put it this way: “I took an oath when I graduated just as physicians do. I have followed it for 28 years and it has never let me or my patients down.” That whole oath thing is good and important and all, but the heart behind it gives it grace.

So, if you get an invitation to do one of those car processions where you beep your horn and cheer for the local health care workers as they go in to, or leave, work– get in your car and go. Or, just mail them each a check for a million dollars. Either way.

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dcnativegal · 4 years

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Day 55 of Pandemic, & I’m sick

Monday, May 4, 2020. Day 55 of the global pandemic (declared by World Health Organization on March 11th.) We as a planet hit 3,500,000 cases today, and 250,000 deaths. There are many more than that, but the planet doesn’t have enough tests. But then, there was this announcement:

So obviously we’re in good hands. [Sarcasm alert.]

The entire planet has slowed down, such that seismologists can detect the quieting of the earth: less shuddering of industry, cars, construction. Check out the drop in electricity usage:

Here’s a bit of perspective from Instagram:

The Lesbians of Paisley have been fertile ground for viruses. Valerie is nearly recovered from the viral pneumonia she was diagnosed with on March 26 at the emergency room at Lake District Hospital. She’d begun to feel feverish and achy, with violent coughing on March 15th, 2 days after what turned into my last day in my office at the hospital’s primary care clinic, and a day and a half after we’d dined with our friends Toni, Al, Bonnie and Bruce in person, sans masks. We began 100% isolation from the outside world the minute she felt sick. She recounted the ER adventure to a friend thusly: We drove in and they have organized a system that resembles getting on a [military] base after 9-11. We sat in the pickup at the checkpoint until a somebody in protective attire had taken my temp and saturation levels and asked a bunch of questions. Then they slapped a red sticker on the dash, told us to park in the ER lot and "don't get out of the pickup." Five hours later I had donated blood and been CAT scanned. I had two pneumonia shots that were current and two flu shots, also current. They checked the blood against 14 different virus strains and came up blank. The chest showed white lungs and my saturation levels were iffy. So they used one of the tests they had been sent, gave me antibiotics (just in case) and sent me home. Took me three days to sleep off all that fun.”

Me and Griffey the poodle waited in the pickup for her. At every sound, he got up from the passenger’s seat and looked at the ER entrance where she’d disappeared. No Valerie? Back to sleep. I walked him 3 times. Hope, her RN daughter, told us that her flow through the ER was great practice in maintaining distance and perfect hygienic process through the CT scan, taking blood, even pushing her food on a tray to her. Lake Health District Hospital is prepared, and still, technically speaking, zero cases in the county.

I was so anxious about her health, her ability to breathe, that I gave up all thought of working from home. I listened to her breathing and coughing, brought her tea, and finally, asked her to write out her last will and testament. She did, and put it away. I figured, her kids are wonderful and won’t fight about stuff but, better for her to express her wishes, even if the paper wouldn’t be legally binding.

Apparently, I get the FrankenDodge (the pickup which has hit one too many deer and who’s grill is sewn together by wire). I’ll take it but I’d much rather have her.

We waited 10 days for the nasal swab results. While we waited, she got better. Never had that cytokine storm, nor that respiratory crash. Storms and crashes; pretty apt words for the medical horror of end stage COVID-19. Once her test came back negative, despite the warning of her PCP who says that nasal swabs miss between 30 and 47% of positive cases, I was able to go to town on the 10th of April, get some software downloaded onto the computer so I could work from home, and hit Safeway while wearing a mask. I also dropped off one of Valerie’s homemade masks to a friend, along with some toilet paper illustrated with Trump’s kissy face. The moment of levity was greatly appreciated.

I started feeling lousy six days after my jaunt to Lakeview (April 16th). Cough and release of gook high up in my chest. Headache. No fever. Who knows if I have COVID-19. We listen to a British gentleman, Dr. Campbell, daily, as he reviews what’s going on globally, and he interviewed a woman who had exactly my illness course, before she moved on to fever and gastrointestinal symptoms. She never got tested. Too much hassle. Which is so ridiculous, criminal really, and in the USA, a direct result of American hubris and incompetence. Fine. Anyone with any symptoms of any illness is isolated until we have a vaccine and treatment, is my prediction. I’m still feeling shitty, though better. Started taking antibiotics just in case and in the hopes of recovering SOMEDAY.

My son Jonah and his girlfriend June escaped just in time the terrible plight of New York’s COVID19 deluge of infections and hospitalizations. They’ve been in Baltimore at June’s mother’s beautiful home. He spent his 26th birthday in the basement because they were still in quarantine. See adorable picture, below. Now they’re allowed upstairs, enjoying the quiet. Apparently, writing and directing music videos is not an essential service during a pandemic, but he’s writing pitches and living off the most recent lucrative gig with Kesha, thank goodness.

One of the most moving things that is happening in the USA during this time is the 7pm clapping ritual for medical workers and first responders in New York City, in all the boroughs:

There’s a firefighter in DC who’s going to hospitals and nursing homes to play the bagpipe.

That’s where my daughter Clara lives, in DC, but right now she’s staying with a friend in Laurel, MD, since her group house dynamics are stressful and had a symptomatic guest at last report. She’s working from home to make sure the Latinx school children are getting the tutoring they need now more than ever. We worry about her husband Jose and his country, Guatemala, since there are COVID-19 cases down there, and refugees seeking asylum are being dumped there, with and without the virus. Over 700 cases in Guatemala as of today. We hope he will get to the USA this year. However, Trump referred to it as a shithole country, which doesn’t bode well.

My sister and her husband are well, thankfully. They work fulltime from home in the company of Pepper the cat and Darcy the chocolate lab. Yuuki, 25, stays there, too, mostly in their room; they are out of work and applying for unemployment. Kohji, age 28, works from home in DC and makes more money as a web designer than I ever will after 34 years as a social worker, but who’s counting. (I remember well the admonition of a field instructor back in 1987: don’t go into social work for Power, Pay or Prestige.) His girlfriend is probably out of work; she works for a nonprofit that plants trees in DC. Probably not essential work right this very minute. Makoto, 23, is out of quarantine and looking for something to do; he’ll be a senior at the University of Delaware this fall. As far as I hear on Facebook and email, the rest of the folks with whom I share DNA are well. So that’s good. I worry about my Aunt Mary Lee who is 87. But she says not to: she’s fine and her ritzy retirement community in McLean, VA is on “lockdown.”

Psychologically, in the experience of quarantine and ‘social distancing’, there’s me, and then there are my clients.

My moods go up and down, but a little further down than usual. The terror that Valerie might die of COVID-19 has passed, but I figure I will always need therapy. I have “Facebook messenger” video chats with my therapist, Darcy of Bend, every other week now, which helps. Having ‘Generalized Anxiety Disorder’ and a tendency toward major depression, I find therapy to be a corrective. A bimonthly tune up. Without it, I naturally veer toward negativity and neurosis, and a hypervigilance that served me well when I was a child, but is exhausting, overwrought and over-thought as an adult.

Psychologically, Valerie is always fine. Seriously. She was once told as a young woman by a therapist who’d tested her with the MMPI (the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory) that she was outrageously and puzzlingly normal. Now that she’s feeling mostly well again from the pneumonia, she’s been tearing up the joint, fixing the sump pump that apparently keeps this little house from drifting down main street on the wetlands it’s built on. Digging out the leaves from our irrigation ditch, chopping and clearing the wood from our front yard.

The BEFORE picture:

The AFTER Picture.

And this happened one morning in March. Just a cattle drive past our front door.

Valerie’s planning a garden at her daughter’s place, which has a deer-proof fence and lots of sun up on the hill above us. A delivery of horse manure is scheduled, and the garden bed has been rototilled. Val’s granddaughter Jessica and her husband Alan are living up there now, working from home for their Portland-based gigs. They’re almost finished the 14-day quarantine since they moved down here. The new normal: anytime anyone leaves one locale for another, they disappear into strictest quarantine, not to leave their abode. Groceries are delivered to the doorstep. A recent day turned out to be Jess’ 25th birthday: I’d bought a canvas bag with a picture of a pug on it, like her dog Archie, and Valerie found something gluten free flour mix with fresh jam to give her. Birthday gatherings are suspect at the moment.

Here’s a lovely idea for quarantined birthday celebrations:

What a kind and generous offer.

Even in isolation, Val and I do socialize, on zoom. The one pictured below is church.

We ‘visit’ with our fellow parishioners from St. Luke’s on Sunday evenings. Then we say Compline together, from the Book of Common Prayer. My favorite prayer of all time is this one from that service.

Yes, shield the joyous. Because joy is fleeting.

Our writers’ group, Easy Writers, ‘meets’ on zoom every Monday now. I wrote this bit about my yarn for the prompt, ‘write something in your home that means a lot to you.’

I am doing a great deal of crochet and a little knitting.

Yarn is my comfort and my joy. It is the raw material I create blankets and scarves and hats with. My tools are hooks and needles made from wood and plastic and metal. My fingers are also my tools.

Some of the yarn is like cotton candy: spun mohair from a goat is said to have a ‘halo’ or ‘aura’ because of the gentle cloud of color you can see an inch or two away from the spun thread. Some yarn is like twine: you can see every string of ply. My favorite is merino wool and single ply. A unity of color that will not split. All for one and one for all, the fuzzy stuff is twisted and bound into a single string of strength…

My clients are stressed out. The pandemic adds a layer to the stress they were already experiencing. I listen and knit, from within the cocoon of the yarn room which my folks can see behind me. One of my clients wanders about with her phone in her hand while I get slightly dizzy. I like this kind of counseling since I get a glimpse of my clients’ homes. Reminds me a little bit of being a geriatric care manager. You can tell a lot about a person from their home. From my home you can tell that I have a lot of yarn, and I work multiple projects at a time because there are piles of them alongside my recliner.

One of the sad weights of being present for my clients is their level of estrangement for most if not all social connections, especially people with whom they share DNA. And every single one has what is called in the mental health world “complex PTSD” from multiple traumatic experiences. I sit with them, on the phone or via video. I hope to model for them what Carl Rogers called ‘unconditional positive regard.’ I breathe deeply to release my own distress at their sadness. We explore one tiny step toward reducing their isolation, the sense of trust. All during a pandemic where other people could be carrying a potentially deadly virus.

It’s no wonder I’m pawing mohair out of screen for my own comfort.

Sometimes I email clients links or articles on how to keep their spirits up, or about good things that are happening instead of the dire predictions they’re listening to or watching. There is much to share that is hopeful. I sent one to a client on creative ways to care for everyone and she shot back:

“I believe this is Liberal rhetoric.

Esp the paragraph below:

This current emergency provides the possibility for a new emergence—the birthing of a truly civil civilization dedicated to the well-being of all people and the living Earth. “

Oh well. We can’t have a truly civil civilization dedicated to the well-being of all people, now can we?

Sigh.

Brilliant writing is being penned right now, since the entire planet’s human inhabitants are barely one degree of separation away from this virus, which is apparently ‘barely alive’ and therefore hard to kill, as it spreads onward to make millions miserable and hundreds of thousands die.

I’m saving articles from The Atlantic, The NY Times, and the Washington Post, and following a historian named Heather Cox Richardson who writes a daily blog called Letters from an American. In a recent post she writes:

“The big news … has been the ‘protests’ of state governors’ stay-at-home orders and mandatory business closings to try to contain the novel coronavirus …These protests are a classic example of trying to control politics by controlling the national narrative. The protests are backed by the same conservative groups that are working for Trump’s reelection. …These are not spontaneous, grassroots protests. They are political operations designed to divert attention from the Trump administration’s poor response to the pandemic. Even more, though, they are designed to keep the American public divided so that we do not protest the extraordinary economic inequality the pandemic has highlighted.

These protests have diverted the national conversation by turning a national crisis into partisan division along the lines the Republican Party has developed since the 1980s... The change of subject protects not just Trump but also the ideology at the heart of his Republican Party. Since 1981, Republicans have argued that the economy depends on wealthy businessmen who know best how to arrange the economy—the makers-- and that it is vital to protect their interests. Under their policies, wealth in America has moved upward. The pandemic has highlighted how these policies have removed economic security for ordinary people. They cannot pay their bills, and they might well turn against an ideology that uses our tax dollars to bail out corporations while they must risk their lives to pay their rent.” [Emphasis mine]

I am so glad someone smarter than me can reveal the interconnections of what’s going on politically.

There is food for thought on Facebook and Instagram: in the guise of a rewrite of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese, this poem.

Mary Oliver for Corona Times (after Wild Geese)

by Adrie Kusserow

You do not have to become totally zen, You do not have to use this isolation to make your marriage better, your body slimmer, your children more creative. You do not have to “maximize its benefits” By using this time to work even more, write the bestselling Corona Diaries, Or preach the gospel of ZOOM. You only have to let the soft animal of your body unlearn everything capitalism has taught you, (That you are nothing if not productive, That consumption equals happiness, That the most important unit is the single self. That you are at your best when you resemble an efficient machine). Tell me about your fictions, the ones you’ve been sold, the ones you sheepishly sell others, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world as we know it is crumbling. Meanwhile the virus is moving over the hills, suburbs, cities, farms and trailer parks. Meanwhile The News barks at you, harsh and addicting, Until the push of the remote leaves a dead quiet behind, a loneliness that hums as the heart anchors. Meanwhile a new paradigm is composing itself in our minds, Could birth at any moment if we clear some space From the same tired hegemonies. Remember, you are allowed to be still as the white birch, Stunned by what you see, Uselessly shedding your coils of paper skins Because it gives you something to do. Meanwhile, on top of everything else you are facing, Do not let capitalism coopt this moment, laying its whistles and train tracks across your weary heart. Even if your life looks nothing like the Sabbath, Your stress boa-constricting your chest. Know that your antsy kids, your terror, your shifting moods, are no less sacred than a yoga class. Whoever you are, no matter how broken, the world still has a place for you, calls to you over and over announcing your place as legit, as forgiven, even if you fail and fail and fail again. remind yourself over and over, all the swells and storms that run through your long tired body all have their place here, now in this world. It is your birthright you be held deeply, warmly, in the family of things, not one cell left in the cold.

-Adrie Kusserow

Not one cell left out in the cold. Yes.

There is so much to be grateful for. I have a place to live, and even while paying off my bankruptcy debt, I have plenty. Enough that I can make small donations here and there. Here’s one cause I found: supporting foster children who were in college and now have no place to go. (Terrible visuals for the logo: it’s “Together We Rise.”)

Soon, the nights of below freezing temperatures will pass, and both Lesbians of Paisley will be healthy at the same time. Perhaps I’ll get my Tricycle-for-Grownups serviced and toodle around for exercise. Perhaps the Stitch & Bitch knitting/crochet gatherings will resume, maybe in a park for physical distance and social connection.

And maybe I’ve already had Covid-19, and so has Valerie. Looks like 50-70% of all the people on the planet, not quite 8 billion humans so maybe 4 to 6 billion people, need to catch this thing in order to give our species herd immunity. Or WILL catch it because we have no way to stop it, only to slow the infections so that health care is not overwhelmed. We live and Love in the Time of Coronavirus, to paraphrase Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I maybe a libtard, a snowflake, a lily-livered liberal, who’s heart bleeds. But I agree with this sentiment, found on Facebook, our American ‘commons’:

Love absurdly and abundantly, my people. And wash your hands.

#covidー19

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takadasaiko · 5 years

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Always Been You (An Endgame Fix-it Fic) Part Two

FFN II AO3

Summary: When Thanos follows the team through time, he inadvertently splinters off countless alternate timelines.

Part Two

The world flashed out of existence around him and Tony found himself standing in the open. Fractured, crumbling concrete was was replaced by grass under his boots and dust with clean, fresh air as the suit's helmet retracted automatically. He drew a shaky breath, deep as he dared without sending himself crashing to his knees in a coughing fit. He knew this place.

He breathed it in. He was home. Home as he'd remembered it, as he'd lived it, not the pile of rubble that had been left in the wake of Thanos' army. Good. That meant that he hadn't completely miscalculated. Thanos had fractured timelines when he'd entered theirs, leaving multiple offshoots closely resembling each other. Or at least one. If the way he was feeling was anything to go by, this was the only one that mattered. This was a one way trip and he'd known it. If he was lucky, he might find Pepper long enough to say his goodbyes. Cap had literally fought with himself and hadn't broken that timeline, so Pepper seeing two of him for five minutes shouldn't either. He'd just have to try to keep the number of people that saw him to a minimum. Subtle. He could do subtle.

Voices drifted down the hill to where he had landed and he looked up, squinting into the afternoon light. He knew that that cracking, quick voice.

"He was there and then he just…. he saved us, Happy. No way we would have…"

Exhaustion and pain was addling his brain. Had to be or he would have realized that he had moved into the kid's line of vision. It took a moment for him to clue into the fact that Peter was staring at him, jaw dropping open, and Tony wondered if he looked half as terrible as he felt. So much for being subtle.

"Mr Stark…. You're alive," the kid breathed and Tony blinked.

"Alive?" he managed, the question lost as Peter took off, covering the space between them and he slammed into Tony. The teen wrapped his arms around him, and it was the only thing keeping the older man on his feet. A wave of pain washed over him at the initial contact and he leaned forward, returning the embrace, and he let himself sink into the moment. The kid was alive. He was okay. Tony hadn't failed him. He was alright.

"Mr Stark?"

The kid's voice turned worried, but it wasn't until Tony heard Happy's "Boss?" that he realized he had gone from hugging to leaning. His body was finally giving out under the strain he had put it under and he could feel his focus struggling.

Somewhere in the background he heard them call his name just before his knees gave out on him and everything went dark.

It had been just over thirty-six hours since the world had fallen apart all over again. For most people it had been restored: families brought back together, loved ones pulled back from nothingness. For Pepper the nightmare had finally broken through to reality. Tony was gone. Dead. Not missing. She wasn't getting him back this time.

The funeral had been… beautiful was the wrong word. There was nothing beautiful about death. It had been bittersweet. Everyone he cared about had been there, including Peter Parker. Tony had spent five years mourning the kid, but the moment he got him back he had sacrificed himself. Not just for Peter, but for everyone. Pepper had seen the carnage with her own eyes, and she wasn't sure she would ever fully shake the nightmares.

She couldn't let it overwhelm her. She knew that. It had nothing to do with the guests that still milled around their home and everything to do with a little girl who hadn't let go of her daddy's helmet.

Morgan had disappeared from the living room some time before and Pepper found her out by her tent cradling the Iron Man helmet that Tony had left behind. "Hey you," she greeted softly. "What are you doing out here?"

Morgan shrugged, turning the helmet over without saying anything. Her dark eyes - just like Tony's - were rimmed red and she ran the back of her hand across her nose as she sniffed hard.

Pepper took a careful seat on the ground with her daughter and Morgan leaned in. "I miss Daddy," the little girl murmured and Pepper wrapped an arm around her, kissing dark hair. Morgan craned her head back, looking up. "Tons and tons."

"Me too, sweetie," Pepper managed, her voice trembling and threatening to break. She pulled her daughter into her lap, holding onto her as Morgan held onto the helmet. She didn't want to risk breaking down, not when Morgan needed her to be strong. She focused on the little girl in her arms. Not the overwhelming pain she had seen in Tony's eyes or the way she couldn't bring herself to beg him to hang on for them. We'll be okay. It was all she could do for him in that moment. He had given everything and she had made him a promise. She had to make good on it now.

Shouting pulled Pepper out of her thoughts and she thought she heard someone say they should call for a doctor, but she couldn't see from where she sat. She pressed another kiss to Morgan's head before shifting to stand.

Peter and Happy were carrying someone between them. The height difference made it more awkward than it might have been otherwise, but both of them looked determined to be apart of it. Pepper squinted, trying to get a clearer view of the limp figure between them as the drew closer, shock sweeping through her.

"Daddy!" Morgan squealed and took off, leaving her mother staring at an injured, but very much alive Tony Stark.

She was dreaming. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all. She had been right there with him and watched the life fade from her husband's eyes. They had buried him just a couple hours before, but there he was unconscious on the couch in their living room. Pepper knew she had to be dreaming, but why couldn't he have at least been healthy and smiling that goofy smile of his that he gave her when he knew he was in trouble.

Now she stood back, numbly staring as Peter Parker rattled on next to her and a man with magical powers checked Tony over. Apparently Dr Strange wasn't a name he'd chosen. Who knew?

"...just crazy. Happy and I were talking about how much we missed him and then BAM! There he was." He paused for half a beat. "Uh… Miss Potts? Er, Mrs Stark? I actually don't know what to call you anymore. I was kinda…. Nonexistent when you guys got married?"

"Pepper's fine," she managed, not able to tear her attention away from the limp figure on the couch.

"Oh," he said uncertainty. "Well… are you okay? I thought you'd be excited? We got him back."

She shook her head, finally forcing herself to look away. "I have to be dreaming," she said firmly and she thought voicing it might pull her out of it.

It didn't, and Peter just kept staring. "I mean, I guess, but if it's your dream I don't think I'd have memories or thoughts or…." He scrunched his nose up. "It's crazy. I mean…. We saw him die. Right there, but here he is."

"We've seen some pretty crazy things over the years."

Pepper turned back to see Steve Rogers moving closer, Bruce by his side. The Gamma expert tilted his head. "Yeah, but never a legitimate resurrection. Especially not someone that we saw in the casket just a couple of hours ago."

"That's not exactly what this appears to be," Strange said from his place, drawing all eyes over to him and he straightened. "He's traveled through time and space recently."

"We all did," Steve pointed out. "To get the Infinity Stones."

Strange shot him a look that bordered on exasperated, as if he'd said something obviously and blatantly stupid. "You traveled through time for the Infinity Stones. He's traveled through time and space."

Pepper drew in a careful breath. "What's the difference?"

"He hopped timelines," Bruce managed, the statement not holding any of his usual confidence.

Peter shifted in his place, looking more and more nervous. "So, what? He's not our Mr Stark?"

"The only thing safe to say is that he's not the Tony Stark that died," Strange murmured, turning back to look at the sleeping man.

Pepper was suddenly very glad she had listened to her gut and had sent Morgan with Peter's Aunt May. She had known it was too good to be true. "Then that means he's not our Tony."

"I wouldn't go that far."

She turned to look at Strange, but Bruce was the one that answered. "It'd depends where it split off… I mean, theoretically, there could only be about a thirty-six to forty-eight hour difference between his timeline and ours. We won't know until he wakes up."

"Is he alright?" Peter asked softly.

"It looks like he was run through with something. Rest, painkillers, and antibiotics will go a long way."

It took a moment for Pepper to realize all eyes were on her again as they waited for her instructions on where said treatment should take place. The bedroom made the most sense, but there was that lingering question of who he was…. Did experience make a person? Relationships formed? A soul? And if it was the latter, what happened when a new timeline just split off? They were questions she'd never needed to think about before, but the answers felt vital to what should be a very simple decision.

"Let's get him to the guest bedroom." She set her jaw at a couple of hesitant looks. "Listen, until someone can tell me if that's my husband or not, I don't plan on making any assumptions."

They nodded, a low rumble of acknowledgement coming from them, and Pepper stood back to give them room to move.

Tony came around slowly, dark eyes fluttering open and he felt hungover. Weird. It's been a long time since he had had enough to drink to be hungover, but as the room came slowly into focus he realized that had to have been what happened. It was the only reason he could think of why Pepper would have exiled him to the guest room that also would have left his mind as cloudy as it felt.

He shifted and pain cut through the fog. His hand went to the source to find bandages wrapped around his middle, the source of the pain somewhere below the dressings. Okay. Not hungover. Injured. But why…..?

Thanos. Thanos has come crashing through the sky from the past and had destroyed everything. His family had been killed, their home destroyed, but there he was. Something wasn't right.

"Hey, easy. Tony, take it easy."

He hadn't made it very far off the pillows when hands gently pushed him back down. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, and found Steve Rogers leaning over him. A short, pained sound escaped him when he tried to speak.

Steve leaned out of his line of site for just a moment, and when he returned it was with a glass of water, a straw poking up out of it. He helped ease Tony up just enough to take a couple of sips, the room temperature water helping with the rawness that had kept him from speaking. "Better?"

"Yeah," Tony croaked, wincing as he relaxed back in the bed.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Tony closed his eyes a moment. "Thanos," he managed, the name leaving his lips like a curse. "He killed…" His eyes snapped open. That was it. "How did I get here?"

"In the room or this timeline?" Cap asked carefully.

He knew. Of course he knew. One of the others would have pieced it together, maybe even Tony himself… or the other Tony. Shit. He hadn't meant to get in this deep. He'd just wanted to…. He didn't know, not really. Say goodbye, that had been the theory, but it'd been selfish. He'd been so selfish. He'd thrown out all reason for a chance.

"I figure you know how you got to this timeline," Steve prompted, drawing Tony's attention back around and the younger man drew in a careful breath.

He started the painful process of pushing himself up on his elbows. "I gotta go."

"Like hell you do."

Despite the situation, a smirk tilted Tony's lips. "Language, Cap," he huffed before he could stop himself.

A low, surprising chuckle drew his attention over and Steve motioned for him to lie back. "Never going to live that down… You're hurt. You're not going anywhere."

"May not break the timeline if I'm in the same place as myself, but it's not great for it."

The humour instantly drained from Cap's eyes. "That… won't be a problem."

"What do you mean?" He waited, but didn't get an answer, so he reached out for the man that had been both friend and something like an enemy over the years. "Hey. What'dya mean?"

"You died, Tony. Or… a version of you. Our version. I don't…" He shook his head, a mirthless chuckle much darker than the earlier amusement. "You saved us. All of us."

"I couldn't," Tony admitted softly. "In my…. It all went to hell."

"You lost?"

"Not technically. Thanos died, but so did nearly everybody else."

"That's why you came here?"

"I want to… I had to see them again." Tony blinked rapidly, desperately trying to shove the bubbling emotions down. He'd been doing it since the battle. Through finding the bodies of the people he loved most and not even being able to find that much when he'd tried to go home. It was too much. If there was a limit of what one person could handle, he thought he'd hit his. He could feel hot tears stream down the sides of his face as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Where's Pep? And Morgan?"

"In the living room."

"Can I see them?"

"That's…. I don't think that's a good idea right now, Tony."

"What do you mean it's not a good idea?" He shoved himself up on his elbows, the desperation clawing at him.

"I mean that it's a lot for Pepper to process right now. She was…" He cringed, like he was looking for the right way to phrase it. "She was with you when you died. She hasn't even had time to process that and then now this." His lips thinned out and it was clear he was struggling too. "Strange said you needed rest. Get some rest. Maybe by the time you wake up she'll be ready to come in here."

"But they're okay?"

"Yeah. They're okay."

Tony finally let himself fall back, the fight leaving him and exhaustion taking its place. Everything hurt and all he wanted was to see his wife and little girl. He wanted to see his family.

"It's going to be okay, Tony."

The younger man snorted. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Cap was making sense, but he couldn't find the energy to agree. Instead he let his eyes slip closed and he sleep pulled him under.

TBC

Notes: Poor Tony... all he wanted to do was see his family. Is that so much to ask?

I hope you're enjoying this! Making things worse before making them better is kind of my MO, but at least I can promise you a happy ending :D

#endgame fix it fic #Endgame spoilers #Tony Stark #Pepper Potts #Peter Parker #Morgan Stark #Happy Hogan #Steve Rogers #dr stephen strange #Bruce Banner

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halsteadpd · 5 years

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Fight Me

Woooo guess who wrote some of her essay?! Me!!!! I found this prompt as an old Tumblr post on Google :)

Appendicitis sucks.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she had listened to her partner and gone to the hospital when he said so. God she could just hear Antonio Dawson’s voice now. The pain wasn’t even that bad. It started in her belly button after lunch and by the time she had finished eating dinner, the pain was just a dull ache in the right, lower part of her abdomen. She woke up the next morning feeling fine, up until she realized she had to pee what felt like every five minutes.

In the back of her mind she knew. She knew what was wrong but instead of swallowing her pride and going to the emergency room like a normal person would have, she went about her day. It wasn’t until after she tackled one of the suspects they were chasing that she made that decision. The pain had been so bad that her world was spinning.

After waiting for two hours in the emergency waiting room, Erin was tempted to just get up and leave. The pain was honestly feeling a whole lot better—it was nothing compared to what it was when she came in. But she stuck around because she could see the unimpressed look Antonio would be giving her the second he saw her face again.

Erin made her way over to the nurse’s desk about an hour later—intending to tell the nurse that she was feeling better and wanted to leave—but she quickly felt her stomach churn. She didn’t make it to the trashcan fast enough before all the contents of her stomach spewed out of her.

“Get me a wheelchair!” The nurse called out as she ran to Erin’s side.

The rest was all a blur, she remembered having an ultrasound done and getting blood drawn as one of the ER nurses inserted an IV. One of the doctors was talking about a ruptured appendix or something and before she knew it, she was looking up into the bright lights of an operating room as a different nurse held a mask over her nose and mouth.

When she woke up, she was in a dimly lit room by herself. She felt groggy and her back was aching. Quickly, she noticed the feeling of a heavy weight on her abdomen but she didn’t have the energy to move it off.

Erin noticed her throat was dry and sore whenever she swallowed—she would kill for some fucking water. As if on command, a man in fitted black scrubs walked into her room, a cup of ice water in each of his hands.

“Oh, you’re awake.” His voice was soft and smooth like honey and it for some reason it brought her a sense of comfort. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Erin replied hoarsely. “Kinda achey.”

“That’s just the anesthesia wearing off.” He put the cups of water on a table and moved it closer to her bed. “I’m Jay, I’ll be your nurse. I’m just going to do a quick check of your vitals if that’s okay.”

Erin nodded her head and forced her eyes open. The medications in her system were lulling her to sleep again, but for some reason, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the attractive man. His biceps bulged in the black fabric of his scrubs and his ass was tight against the pants. His hair was combed neatly and the stubble on his face was trimmed professionally. God he was so hot.

Gently, he moved the sleeve of her scrubs up and placed a blood pressure cuff around her arm before pushing a button to start the machine. He took a thermometer and moved it across her forehead and recorded the number displayed. He looked at the monitors above her head, inputting all the data into the iPad before removing the cuff from her arm.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” He asked as he moved around the bed, grabbing a remote of some kind.

“It just feels really heavy around my abdomen.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“It’s a bit fuzzy. I think my appendix burst or something.”

“Mhmm. The doctor had to clean out your abdomen to minimize the chance of infection so you’re going to be a little sore. You’ve got a six-inch incision on the right side of your abdomen. We’ve got you on an antibiotic drip and you’re going to have to stay here for a few days. I can give you some morphine for the pain if you think you need it.”

“I’m okay for now.”

“Okay, well if you need me you can push this red plus sign and I’ll be here as fast as I can.” Jay handed Erin the remote before grabbing one of the cups of water. “You were intubated as a precaution during the surgery so your throat may be a bit sore. Sipping on this will help.” He removed the plastic covering on her straw and handed it to her before heading towards the door. “I’ll be back soon to check your vitals again but if you need me you know how to get into contact.” Jay turned off the light and closed the sliding door to the room.

Erin watched him as he left. If all her nurses looked like he did her hospital stay couldn’t be that bad, even if it was for a few days.

A small smile graced her lips as she fell into a drug induced slumber, her dreams filled with the freckles lining Jay’s cheeks.

********

“Erin… Erin, wake up.” As if her dreams materialized, Erin opened her eyes to see Jay’s concerned eyes looking down at her. “I need you to take some nice deep breaths for me.” She hadn’t heard it before but she realized one of the monitors behind her was beeping erratically. She followed Jay’s directions until the machine stopped beeping. Whatever had just happened she was sure it wasn’t good. “Your lungs are a bit stiff from the tube they put in earlier. If the machines start beeping again just take some deep breaths again until they calm down again.” He moved behind her bed again and she couldn’t see what he was doing until he came back into her line of sight. Erin frowned at him when she noticed what he was holding.

“I don’t need that.” She stated tiredly. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep but this insanely attractive man wouldn’t let her. “I’m fine.”

“I’m afraid not. Your body isn’t getting enough oxygen.” Jay stated almost sternly, wanting to leave no room for arguments. He fixed the clear tube around her nostrils and resting it around her ears.

“Fight me.”

“Maybe later.” Jay replied with a smile on his face. “I’ll be back to check your vitals again before I leave, how about you try and get some more sleep?” He checked that she had water left before leaving the room again, ready to see his next patient.

*********

The next time Erin woke up, she didn’t even realize he was in the room. She was in such a deep sleep from the drugs that she hadn’t heard him come in.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Jay asked when he noticed that her eyes were open.

“I’m in a little pain. It’s okay though.”

“Good. I just need to take a peek at your incision.” After inspecting her cut, he typed into the iPad before turning his attention back to her. “Okay so the night shift nurse will be in my spot until I’m back tomorrow morning. If you need anything just press the nurse button and she’ll be right with you.”

“You’re not staying?” Erin asked, almost pouting.

“Unfortunately not. I gotta get home and get some sleep. You’ll see me bright and early in the morning, I promise.” He moved the blankets up higher around her chest and she noticed he had brought her more ice water. “She’s probably going to wake you up for another vitals check in about four hours. Try and get some sleep until then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

*********

Jay was back at seven am sharp the next morning, finding Erin buried under a mountain of pillows and blankets. She had barely gotten any sleep. The blinds were paper thin so they let in a lot of the light from the street and moon. Any time she was close to falling asleep, Maggie—the night nurse—would wake her for a vitals check. At around four in the morning, Erin had had enough. She pushed the button for the nurse and asked for some extra pillows and blankets.

Maggie had watched her with an amused expression on her face as she watched Erin attempt to cocoon herself in all the sheets. But Erin had managed to fall asleep, although it was very light.

She heard Jay walk into her room and opened her eyes to see him peering down into her cave. He gently moved a pillow away from her face and smiled when he noticed she was awake.

“Good morning.” He sounded too cheery for the early hour but she knew he had probably been awake for a couple of hours. “How are you feeling?”

“Miserable.” Erin said, her voice dripping with exhaustion.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, concern in his voice as he furrowed his brows.

“I hate it here. I want my bed.” She sighed deeply when he began rearranging the pillows and blankets around her, needing access to her arm to take her blood pressure again. “Do you have to keep doing this so often.”

“Yes. We’re just trying to make sure you don’t die.” Jay picked up the oxygen tube that was thrown haphazardly over the side of the bed. “When did you take this off?” Erin shrugged her shoulders in response. “You need to keep this on, Erin.” He readjusted the tube back around her face after checking the oxygen flow rate.

“Fight me.” Erin said as she narrowed her eyes at her very handsome nurse.

“I would, but you’d win.” Jay said as he removed the blood pressure cuff from around her arm again. “Get some rest, Erin.”

*******

After another day in the hospital, Erin was finally given the green light to go home. She was sitting on her bed, ready to go but she had to wait for Jay to remove the IV from her arm.

He came into her room with a smile on his face and held a coffee cup in his one hand. He placed it down on her table, but Erin didn’t think much of it as she watched him grab a pair of gloves before slipping them on. He held some gauze against the IV line before skillfully pulling it out before applying firm pressure. He taped it into place and discarded the needle into the sharps basket before peeling off his gloves.

“Okay, you’re good to go. All of your at home instructions are on these sheets of paper and you’re going to have to follow up in about a month with your primary care physician.” He handed her a small stack of papers. “There’s also a prescription in there for some Tylenol 3 if you need it otherwise you can just take regular Tylenol.” “Thank you.” Erin replied with a smile on her face. As glad as she was that she was getting out of the hospital, she was going to miss seeing Jay’s handsome face everyday. He left the room with his own matching smile, giving her some privacy as she got dressed in her street clothes again.

As she finished getting ready, Erin noticed something written on the sleeve of the coffee cup Jay had brought in. She picked it up and smiled, her eyes reading over his phone number and the words “fight me” underneath.

Leave me some reviews? Yes? No? Did you like it? This was a random one that I found but I loved it. Also, my next post likely won’t be until Monday, I have work :/

#linstead #linstead au #chicago pd #chicago pd au #linstead fanfiction #linstead fanfic #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fanfic #jay halstead #erin lindsay #jesse lee soffer #sophia bush #jay x erin #erin x jay

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msgtporkins · 6 years

Text

Dealing With The Elephant’s Foot

I sit at my computer, writing this as sweat pours down brow and the back of my neck due to the medication that is helping me fight this bacterial demon of epic proportions. The scare first started on Saturday night after I had a late workout session. It was light duty stuff to help bring my corpulent frame in something more manageable then get back into the brawny young man I was in high school. The thought of once more being able to see my penis excited me as I walked 3 miles on the treadmill then proceeded with some light free weights then the bane of any fat guy's routine - the sit up. I cranked out 20 (the most I could do without pushing myself) and felt good about doing so. I'd been doing the same routine nightly for two weeks and dropped an impressive 3 pounds. That may not seem like much but to me, it was a clear goal.

As I head home for a much needed shower and sleep, I awoke the next morning to go to church to help out in the kitchen on the first of the month but my right calf had a slight burning sensation as if someone was pulling a frat house prank on a drunk guy by holding a match under bare skin. I stretched it out and thought nothing of it until I got home. While sitting down in my office chair to do some quality video recording, I felt a weird lump in the crease between my thigh and groin area. At first I thought it some sort of fatty mass because when you're as big as me, you tend to have areas like that but something was off. It was a hard mass and it was in the lymph node area, thinking that during the cold season it may have clogged up and sometimes they will do that. During the summer time, the ones in my throat will do so due to allergies so I shrugged it off...until a few hours later. The mass grew double its size and I began to worry. I showed my wife and we got onto Skype with her father, who has been a male ER nurse for 40 plus years. He has seen things that Indiana Jones would dare to discover and it was only proper to ask his advice. After some cross-chat and prognosis, we figured it to be DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) or lymph nodes swelling. CaffienatedTigress, my wife, went down to the store and picked up some low-dose aspirin to help thin the blood some to see if that would help. It did but not in the way we thought it would.

I woke up the next morning to a mass that had spread to my genital area, causing a slight painful swelling that was looking to overtake everything down south. I wasn't panicked or anything but I figured it was more lymph node thing until I moved. The burning sensation came back full force and it felt as if you had slept too close to a campfire and your sin was all painfully burning because you were slightly cooked. Over the next couple of days, the swelling had gotten worse and my right testicle was about the size of a grapefruit and had the appearance of Quasimodo and Sloth made a baby during some animalistic argument sex. Now it was time to go see a doctor. We made our way to a Primary Health Non-Emergency clinic a.k.a. Doc-In-A-Box and awaited to be seen. Apparently, the doc was let out of his cage that day and only a Physician's Assistant was available. They asked if that would be okay. I said of course but in turned out not to be. A young man who reminded me of Paul Reubens yet looked perfectly suited for a prison ward looked me over. He was oddly reluctant at the fact that I was not timid about becoming naked in the time it takes for Rosie O'Donnell to demolish a honey ham during the holidays. After a quick look over, he announced that I could have a hernia. Great. I spend all this time trying to be careful and taking it easy, only to be side-tracked by the one thing I didn't want. He referred us to an actual hospital where actual doctors could do actual examination with actual accuracy. Once again, we were off like my boxers.

We arrived at St. Luke's where we were wonderfully greeted by a mousy, young gal that reminded of Jennine Melnatz, the receptionist from the movie, "Ghostbusters". That's a good thing because we saw lots of her as she apologized profusely throughout of visit because Pee Wee forgot to send over the paperwork and when he finally did (I can assume we were waiting for Mailman Mike or Captain Carl to deliver it from Puppet Land), it was a jumbled mess of letters, sentences and paragraphs that was even worse than what you are reading right now. After a couple of hours of sorting through it all, we were brought back to the ultrasound room to see if the mass that was growing like The Blob was indeed a hernia. While Tigress watched from a mere six feet away, my groin region was fondled by a mid-30's blonde gal whose touch were like silk for over an hour and afterwards she even gave her coffee. My penis did nothing the entire time, not even poking out of its now flesh bunker like the gopher from Caddyshack. It was stoic and unwavering like a mighty oak...er...acorn. As she was sending over the result, apparently, the computer was having a hard time trying to send over the information of my newly-lubed genitals to the radiologist to view. She had to take a screen shot with her phone to send enough over to him and ended us sending me home because it wasn't an emergency from what they could find. They told me they would call the next day and I would hear the bad/good news.

17 hours later...

I get a call from Pee Wee because I can safety assume that he had gotten a new tin can for his phone after Cowboy Curtis shot the old one. He told me that there was 'dead and dying tissue so I needed to go to the ER'. Well shit... We loaded up into the Tigress-mobile and headed off to the place I should of went to first. This was another St. Luke's but the one I knew better. I was born in this one. Everyone in the Pork Platoon helped raised money for the Children's Hospital there. I should of used better judgement and went right to where I knew that I would of had this problem solved without the sketchy medical practices of Puppet Land and faulty ultrasound machines. (I would of missed out on a good fondling so it wasn't all bad) I was immediately brought in, stripped down and put into a room within five minutes of arrival. So far, so good then walks in the hero of the story. The male ER nurse that came to save the day had a battle-harden look about him. He had the physical attributes of Mr. Clean and the cut-straight-through-the-bullshit feel of Cable from the Marvel comic. In the next two minutes, he man-handled my junk as if he was engaged in hand-to-gland combat. He knew exactly where to strike and get the job done. He asked if there was an ultrasound and I told him, "Yes, sir.". Within a minute's time, he disappeared and came back, having gotten the results from the other hospital and told me that I had a bacterial infection most commonly found on gym equipment. He had saved the day in record time and ravished my body in a way I have never been loved before.

Rewind back to that Saturday night.

The on-site gym in the apartment complex I live it isn't exactly the best in the world but it does what you need it to do. There are free-weights, treadmills, stationary bikes and some sort of machine that even in all my years of workout, I've never seen before and probably equate it to some sort of Slavic torture device that was used by Spetsnaz for interrogating Western spies and now was bought on the cheap by this housing company because 'it looks like gym equipment'. There is only one bench in the entire place that has the ability to be able to use it for sit ups and free weights. The one I used quite often, every day in fact. I'm the kind of person that cleans up equipment afterwards because I wouldn't want anyone sliding around on my body sweat because Tigress does that and I even feel bad for her for doing that. That gal is the greatest wife in the world. Apparently, I was naive to think others would do the same but in this hustle-and-bustle world of staying glued to an iPhone and not giving a damn about where you sling your body fluids, I can only imagine the genital sweat left behind by all the men and women living there. One can only guess by what slimy smegma-covered hot dog or Sarlaac pit mixed with the bacterial contents of a Chipotle food service line have laid across this bench and not been wiped up once. I was the one who fell victim to such vile nastiness and my groin nearly paid the ultimate price.

The antibiotics are working great yet they are causing me to sweat because my body is warming itself up to fight off the foreign invaders. It's just natural and happens normally but since I'm a naturally warm-bodied person, the kind of heat I produce is liken to that of the 1986 Chernobyl disaster and I'm laying on top of the covers while my still swollen testicle sits their like the infamous Elephant's Foot, only can be viewed by someone for a few seconds because keeling over and dying. At least I'm feeling better.

I'll see you all on the next battlefield!

Deuces,

Wayde "MSgtPorkins" Andazola

#msgtporkins #vlog #vlogger #blog #blogger #medical vlog #medical blog #commentary #funny #funny moments #comedy

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