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amethystunarmed · 23 days

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What Do You Say?

Word Count: 1753 AO3 Part 1 Written for Hatchetfield Rarepair Week Day 3: Memories Duke and Ted work on the case to get Ted custody of Peter. Duke gets a very normal migraine and Ted has a very normal reaction.

“I got your abomination of a drink,” Ted tells him. He’s only twenty minutes late to their meeting, which is honestly a record for him. Duke has started scheduling everything at least a half hour before he actually intends on starting. “Why on earth you need to add four sugars to a fucking white chocolate mocha, I’ll never understand.” Ted continues, taking a swig from what Duke hopes is his own cup. “Fair warning, it’s from Beanie’s, so it probably sucks.”

He places the cup in front of Duke, and falls into the chair for his clients on the other side of the desk. Ted says “Nothing can replace Miss Retro’s,” just as Duke picks up the cup and says, “Thanks darlin’.”

And something in Duke’s brain snaps.

Static.

It almost makes you forget about all that.

It’s all static.

It feels nice to be the hero, for once.

Forget.

Miss Holloway had a good run.

Forget, Douglas Keane.

That’s not fair.

F O R G E T.

I couldn’t forget you, even if I tried.

He hasn’t forgotten anything.

I’m trying to say good-bye.

There is nothing to remember.

Can I?

So then why does it hurt so goddamn bad.

When he next becomes aware of something other than the splitting pain searing his skull, he realizes he is no longer sitting in his chair. There is a steady hum of noise in the room. He’s on the ground, on his hands and knees. They’re warm and distantly achy. He realizes he is sitting in a puddle of hot coffee, that he must have spilled it when the migraine hit. The bizarre flare of pain recedes as quickly as it struck, just like they always do. With the migraine gone, Duke is able to parse out that the stream of noise beside him is Ted cursing.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, what the fuck, come on, man-”

“I’m fine,” Duke interrupts, voice sore. He pushes back on his hands so he can sit against his desk. The pain may have already faded, but the migraine has left him disoriented and breathless. They don’t happen often, but they leave him off-kilter. Sometimes he feels out of it for days after a bad one.

And this, this was a bad one.

“No you fucking aren’t!” Ted yells, voice squeaky with panic, “You just had like, a seizure or something. Have you had one before? We need to call 911-”

Ted pulls his phone out of his pocket like a man on a mission and Duke can’t believe he seems to be trapped in some weird temporal flux that makes Ted Spankoffski give a shit about other people. And, despite how much he would love to encourage this odd change in behavior, he really doesn't want to go to the hospital. “Ted. It's really, really fine. It wasn't a seizure.” Ted glares at him, clearly doubtful. Duke bites his lip. “I get... Migraines.”

“Dude, that was not a migraine. You fell to your hands and knees and started screaming.”

“That happens sometimes.”

Ted gapes at him like he has absolutely lost his mind, and Duke supposes that, in a way, he has.

He swallows. He doesn't like talking about it. He doesn’t think it’s anyone’s business. Right now, only three people know about his episodes: his general physician, Miss Holiday, and Duke himself. But most people haven’t seen him collapse on the ground and go nonresponsive. Most people haven’t seen the worst episode he’s ever had in person.

Ted apparently takes Duke’s silence as a sign of something further being wrong, because he unlocks his phone. “Fuck this, I’m calling an ambulance.” Duke sees Ted dial “9” and the thought of seeing an ambulance makes the static swell in his brain.

He reaches out and places a hand over Ted’s phone. “Really, I’m fine. It’s already passed.”

Ted gives him a look of blatant disbelief.

“Look,” Duke says, “I...” He quickly thinks of a half-lie, something that will explain without going into the empty hole that Miss Holloway has left in his life, about the debilitating grief he can barely feel for a woman he hardly remembers. “I was... in an accident, a while ago. My doctor knows about these attacks, and I have been checked out for them, okay? I’m fine. That was just... a bad one.”

“Okay...” Ted says, sounding like he isn’t okay at all. “...Are you sure we shouldn’t call someone?” He flips his phone anxiously in his hand. He has that panicked look, the same one he got right before asking Duke for help all those weeks ago. And suddenly Duke realizes he is missing something. Something important.

“Ted...” Duke says slowly. He has a feeling that if he gets this wrong, whatever moment is developing will crumble like sand. “Is something else going on here?”

“Psh, no,” Ted scoffs, “You must have hit your head when you fell.” He flips his phone quicker. He reminds Duke of the cagey high schoolers he is called to help, the ones who think they are too cool to show actual emotions. It almost makes Duke grin.

“You know, it’s fine if it scared you,” Duke reassures him, “Especially if you haven’t witnessed a medical emergency like that before.”

Ted barks out a startled laugh. “It’s kind of the exact opposite.”

Duke frowns at him, any amusement he was feeling rapidly evaporating. “What does that mean?”

Ted sighs. He tucks his phone in his pocket and leans back on his hands. There is something intimate, the two of them sitting on the floor beside Duke’s desk. It makes Duke lean in, like he is privy to something special. But still, he is not prepared for the words that come out of Ted’s mouth.

“Peter had a seizure. Came over for dinner and we ended up spending the night in the ER. Apparently our parents didn't have time to pick up his insulin refill and he didn't want to 'worry me.’” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that didn't work. Fucking moron.” His voice is calm, but he brings his knees to his chest and hugs them, tightly. Duke can see the tension in his arms. “I thought he was dying.” The unspoken I thought you were dying, hangs in the air. “I thought my parents had finally killed him.” Ted chuckles, like that can disarm the absolute bomb he just dropped. “But at least he didn’t have to go to Abstinence Camp? So that’s something. We both missed out on the Honey Festival though, so, you win some, you lose some.”

It’s supposed to be a joke. An out Duke can take to make light of the situation. Duke doesn’t take it. He can’t imagine just continuing and making light of this situation, like it was something normal, a wild weekend that could be mocked.

Duke could have passed their room in St. Damien’s when he went looking for Miss Holloway’s body in the morgue.

So instead, Duke doesn’t say anything. It’s a helpful trick he has learned over the years, to just let a silence be. He reaches up and grabs some napkins from the drink tray. He begins mopping up the coffee he knocked over, and lets Ted sit.

(Besides, he doesn’t know what he would say anyways.)

“Our parents... They're not bad people. They're just distant.” Ted continues after a few minutes, almost defensively. It feels involuntary, as innate a response as shivering in the cold. Duke wonders how often he's told this lie, that he truly believes it. “So for an independent kid like me, it was fine, you know? I took care of myself when I needed to.”

And Duke has words to say about that, has heard plenty of hurt kids say the same thing, but Ted just plows through before he can get a word in. “But Peter... Peter isn't the kind of kid you can half-ass. He's too fucking good to die because my fucking parents can't bother to drive to the pharmacy. He needs someone who can actually take care of him.” Ted laughs bitterly and gives Duke a self-deprecating smile. “Guess he really inherited the Spankoffski luck if he's stuck with me.”

“I think he's plenty lucky,” Duke says without thinking. He means it though. Peter is lucky to have someone like Ted looking out for him.

Ted blinks at him, seeming utterly dumbstruck. He blushes, a bit, and isn’t that a wonder. Ted Spankoffski. Blushing. He clears his throat. “Well, you'd be about the only one.”

Duke smiles at him. “Let's get back to work so you can show the rest of Hatchetfield then, huh?” With the information Ted just gave him about Peter’s health, Duke figures they would have a pretty solid case for medical neglect. If Peter was taken to the children’s ward, Duke may be able to have Becky Barnes come in as a witness. She has always been a fantastic resource for him in past cases-

“Oh no,” Ted says, interrupting Duke's train of thought. He clambers to his feet, and holds out a hand to help Duke up. “You are going to take a fucking break, that’s what is about to happen!”

Duke blinks at him, even as he takes Ted’s hand. “Ted, I told, you, I’m fine-”

“Can it,” Ted interjects, and pokes his finger at Duke’s chest. “We’re not fucking up my little brother’s life because you were too out of it to file the proper paperwork. We’re stopping until I’m sure you’re not about to keel over.”

And just a few weeks ago, Duke would have been annoyed. But somewhere along the line, Duke has realized that Ted is physically incapable of being emotionally vulnerable, even about his brother who he so clearly cares for. Most of his worrying about Peter comes out in complaints and bitching. And Duke thinks that, maybe this is just Ted’s version of caring.

He finds himself oddly touched.

Duke feels a fond little smile creep onto his face. “Sure,” he says, “Seems like we need to pick up more coffee anyways.”

Ted looks down at the puddle of coffee-soaked napkins at Duke's feet.

“To be honest, this is probably for the best. I think both our drinks had spit in them. The baristas at Beanie's do not like me.”

And, for a brief, impossible moment, Duke finds himself wondering why.

“I mean, the crabby one is not NEARLY hot enough to be as mean as she is.”

Ah. Right.

#duke keane #ted spankoffski #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #killer track #nmt 2 #tgwdlm #nightmare time 2 #spankoffski bros #hfrarepairweek #hfrwapril #hfrwday3 #tw child abuse #tw medical neglect #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #my fanfic

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zebulontheplanet · 2 months

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Tw: talk about medical neglect, talk about bad hospital experience.

Remembering the time my stomach decided to stop working for a bit and I couldn’t hold down any food or water for days and my parents refused to take me to the hospital so my sister took me to the walk-in clinic because I could barley walk and my heart rate was in the 200s and they took my heart rate three times because they didn’t believe it and told me to go to the hospital immediately.

So I went to the hospital and they did a bunch of tests and found nothing besides some inflammation in my stomach and intestines so they just gave me IV fluids, some motren, and zofran, which helped but they still couldn’t find out what was wrong with me so they just sent me home and shrugged their shoulders and blamed me for it and basically kicked me out. Then I spent the next three days in bed in the same pain and nausea and still couldn’t keep food down. I eventually got better but still didn’t know what was wrong and still deal with this about three times a year with no explanation why.

Still dealing with chronic stomach issues, chronic nausea, and chronic constipation. Just love it. /sarcasm

#zebrambles #bad hospital experience #tw medical neglect

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underestimated-heroine · 1 year

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Hot take but doctors (and the vast majority of healthcare professionals) show their fatphobic asses virtually 100% of the time. You're supposedly so concerned about your patient's weight that you feel the need to do something about it regardless of the nature of the appointment and regardless of whether you're really their doctor. Thus, do you A) refer them out to/even just suggest a specialist, B) attempt to ascertain any real information about their diet which--when you get right down to it--you actually know fuck-all about because you are not them and you do not watch them eat, or C) give them a smug, condescending lecture about losing weight without attempting to ascertain any real information about their diet/exercise habits, including asking them to record those things and bring them up for a follow-up appointment?

(not saying doctors should do any of those things, btw)

This is all ignoring the eating disorders these unhelpful, unkind, unethical lectures may be exacerbating. The psychological problems. The issues with self-image.

I see this shit on YouTube now like "Dr. Wayne addresses accusations of FATPHOBIA!" and it's some shitty white plastic surgeon who was born with a six-pack bitching about what a health hazard being chubby is and how fat people need to "lIStEn To ThEir dOcTOrs" with no research to back himself up, no sincere attempt to see fat peoples' side, nothing. Just regurgitations of the tired, hateful rhetoric he was taught by the barbie-faced, sili-boned piece of shit he did his residency under. No critical thought. No personal research. Nothing.

Like you're a healthcare professional? Yes? Okay then yeah there's an incredibly high chance you're fatphobic. In healthcare, fatphobia is a torch passed from one jerk to another, and you're all too privileged and overworked to question that or do better, apparently. The least you could do is find enough honor to be honest about that fact, seeing as that's considerably less than the bare minimum.

#personal #tw medical abuse #tw medical neglect #fatphobia #tw eating disorder mention

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s1yeye · 6 months

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"read this post am give me brain damage" ha ha ha so funny!! kuru split head open on concrete as little child and was in coma untreated with TBI because of medical neglect. life has been changed ever since and deal with symptoms over a decade later. but yes, brain damage so funny! why aren't you laughing?

#kuru noises #is sarcasm joke #hate people who say this #tbi #traumatic brain injury #tw neglect #tw child neglect #tw medical neglect #tw injury #ask to tag #brain damage

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andromedaphoenix · 6 months

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Hey y'all

So, my living situation has grown progressively worse and I really need help. I've set up a gofundme here to get me to safety and to start taking care of my neglected medical needs.

I'm disabled, and my parents are abusive and neglectful. They do not believe my disability exists and scream at me to do things that cause me severe physical pain. They do not provide any of my medical necessities and demand I give them what little money I do have, so I can't even start to provide for my needs on my own. They have even demanded I start asking permission to eat the food in the house, when I already do not eat enough. I am in physical danger because of my condition that continues to get worse due to their neglect and abuse.

Please reblog, only donate what you can if you can. Thank you.

#mutual aid #gofundme #fundraiser #crowdfunding #trans crowdfund #disability crowdfund #disability community #tw abuse #tw neglect #tw emotional abuse #tw medical neglect #tw narcissistic parent

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cemitadepollo · 9 months

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By the way, can we not shame people for having a low tolerance to pain and for needing to take pills or needing more anesthesia to go through certain procedures??? I know folks with chronic pain that get constantly humiliated by their families for "being whimps that can't take a little pain."

Pain tolerance is something you're born with as far as I'm concerned, and even if that's something you build up, I don't see why you would need to make yourself endure unnecessary pain.

#tw ableism #ableism #disability positivity #disability #disabled #actually disabled #health #tw medical neglect #medical neglect #medical negligence

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queerpossums · 9 months

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I have a suspicion that Dr.’s just like telling patients to not do whatever the patient already knows helps.

Before I got a POTS diagnosis, my PCP (who later had to look up what POTS was) kept telling me to eat less salt and exercise more. A cardiologist told me the same thing after hearing my family history of high cholesterol and BP. The cardiologist misread my heart monitor results. All this time I was eating salt packets and drinking ungodly amounts of sports drink, which I was told not to do. Shocker, I’ve had POTS the whole time and salt and graduated activity is the recommended course of action for symptom management.

#pots #chronic illness #potsawareness #potsie #chronically ill #chronically fatigued #dysautonomia #dysautomnia #salt #tw medical #tw medical neglect #cw medical #american healthcare #doctors are fucking incompetent

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sickpunk-selfshipper · 10 months

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Your F/O accompanying you to doctor’s appointments and advocating on your behalf/ having your back about patient’s rights/ amplifying your voice so the medical professionals listen

Your F/O sitting down with you and showing you the heaps upon heaps of information they collected/ learned about patient advocacy

antis DNI! This post is not for anti-shippers

#tw medical neglect #tw patient advocacy #patient advocacy #f/o positivity #f/o comfort #sickpunk #f/o imagines #fictional other #fictoplatonic #fictooriented #fictofamilial #fictoalterous #fictoromantic #fictoromantism #fictonal other #proship self ship #proship safe #proship selfship #selfship

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foxglovefaun · 2 months

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anxious medical rambling/whining/whinging below

yet another small crowd of medical professionals have failed me and im starting to come unraveled about it. my spouse and I have done everything we can on our end during this diagnostic process, and we continue to do so with every appointment, form, phone call and task.

but im learning that doesn’t matter.

I won’t even be slightly surprised if my death is caused by preventable disease(s) caused by medical neglect, and my casual acceptance of that is a little alarming tbh

I just wish these possibilities weren’t staring me down less than two weeks after my life-changing realization that I do in fact want to keep living (for the first time in my life no less lol)

I’m just so tired, y’all. I want to keep going and writing my book and getting to work, but the fact that everything is out of my control and completely at the mercy of others who don’t really give a shit about me has made me feel very powerless and vulnerable and uh

unsafe

so im lying down for another week i guess lol

#Fox talks #tw medical #tw medical neglect

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talkethtothehandeth · 1 year

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“Doctor shopping.” Let’s talk about her.

If you’re disabled you’ve probably heard of this before— if you haven’t, or you’re just unfamiliar in general, or an ableist who says this shit, let’s talk about it <3 because the definition has been overtaken and pissed on by more ableist bitches than the ones who demonized addiction within the medical field and caused this term to exist.

So, “doctor shopping” is actually originated from the people who oversee healthcare, which includes any non medical professionals who are involved in the process as well, like big pharma. It’s been defined (in medical related research journals, not just on social media/ the internet), as “a patient consultation with multiple physicians in a short time frame with the explicit intent to deceive them in order to obtain controlled substances.”

However, you hear in the community, from ableist ableds or even ableist disabled people who are like fucking rabid and frothing at the mouth, gnashing their teeth while flipping over the tiniest of pebbles to find “fakers”, (which is usually an AFAB person with multiple conditions that are followed by a slew of symptoms ranging in prevalence and severity, or someone that doesn’t “seem disabled” who becomes a target). So they call it “doctor shopping” when they see chronically ill or disabled people continue to advocate for themselves by going to countless appointments to try to find out what is causing their health to decline. They (ableists) think that by changing providers or continuing to pursue a diagnosis between multiple providers constitutes doctor shopping. It isn’t our desire, and it’s absolutely exhausting and painful when you’re left with no answers.

If I had not gone to the ER multiple times within two months, I would have died. The fluids kept me alive, and the medicine helped. My mom was preparing my dad for my death, and my fiancée was petrified of losing me because my condition continued to declined. But the entire time I was there, I was terrified of asking for medicine because I didn’t want to be labeled a drug seeker, especially because I’ve been open (for my safety) about using marijuana products. I was crying from how bad it was, my blood pressure was in stage two hypertension from the stress on my body.

They said it was, “nothing to worry about” when I saw my nutrition levels were low. My doctor wants a comprehensive metabolic panel because it is something to worry about because my symptoms were severe. And I had to see another doctor, but that facility ignored me for two months while my pcp and I tried working it out with them. They fucked around with my health for two fucking months. So I had to find a different person, and when I went to her she ordered a procedure, which meant a different facility, which means, yet again a different provider. I even had to go to a different hospital at one point for more tests.

Believe me, we don’t want to go to all of these appointments or see all of these doctors because, half of the time, even though there is something wrong with us, they don’t listen. We don’t want to go back and forth and get more medical trauma just for fun or for a silly little made up diagnosis competition bullshit.

People don’t change their doctors because they want to collect diagnoses like Pokémon, people do it because they want to live comfortably, or at the very least suffer less by finding some sort of direction to move towards to better their own health. I was literally preparing to die from medical neglect, because I did my absolute best and still, to this day, don’t have answers. If I hadn’t sought out more providers, I probably wouldn’t have been able to write this post. I’d be dead already.

This desperate desire to cherry pick what someone shares on the internet about their health and literally fucking stalk people on their social media accounts while looking for any sign that someone could potentially be faking their symptoms is, unfortunately, accepted due to disabled people hating themselves, and ableds hating disabled people. It’s that simple, in my mind.

Other peoples’ bodies, disabilities or symptoms are none of your fucking business, and, yes, this includes the things we decide to share. Disabled people share what we want to, and we live in our bodies 24/7. And some of you really need to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up about how disabled people manage their health care.

I’m not saying there aren’t people who fake conditions, but I am saying that it’s far less than what you choose to believe. You say you want to protect “actually” disabled people by weeding out fakers, when all you’re doing is harming actually disabled people by playing Sick Olympics™️ and accusing them of faking when they’re just trying to seek out life saving treatment— which includes seeing multiple providers to dig deeper for a diagnosis, no matter how rare or outlandish you think it is. You don’t get a medal for harassing disabled people, you’re just a piece of shit.

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