#medic - shut up

[greg-katana]

If you're between the ages of 21-35, how many prescription medications do you take in a day?

#poll #mental health #mental illness #physical health #chronic illness #medicine #medication #shut up elizabeth

[inkskinned]

no, but really, we need to talk about the casual objectification that has become the fallback discourse of the internet: if you're pretty and dressed nicely, you're a slut. and if you're even vaguely outside of their body standard, you're fucking disgusting.

too-frequently, people position sex workers as being "the problem". they sneer you're addicted to pornography, you don't know what a real woman looks like. but real women are in pornography. the real bodies on display are not the issue here: the issue is that other people feel extremely confident when commenting on someone's physique.

2000's super-thin is slowly worming its way back into the public ideal. recently i saw someone get told to "go for a run", despite the fact she was on the thinner side of average. not that it would ever be appropriate to say that: but it's kind of like sticker shock when you see it. people think that is fat? holy shit. do they just have no idea about things?

but what are you going to do about it? that's the problem, right. because chances are - you're a normal person. we can say normalize carrying fat on your body, but we are not the billion-dollar diet industry. we are not the billion-dollar fashion industry. we are just, like. people. who are trying to make content on the internet, without being treated shittily.

as someone who has been on both sides of things: you are treated better when you are thin and pretty. this is statistically correct. i am not saying that you cannot be bullied for being thin; i'm saying there are objective institutional biases against certain bodytypes. there are videos of men and women who lost weight all saying: i now know for a fact exactly how much worse you're treated. in the comments, some asshole inevitably says something akin to you deserved to be dehumanized when you were fat.

which means that ... the easiest thing to do is be pretty and thin. it is the path of least resistance, because of course it is, because any time you post a picture of yourself without a thigh gap, someone immediately comments something like you need to try a diet.

the other half is also dehumanizing though, huh, just in a different way. when i put on makeup and nice clothes, i am told i slept my way to the top as a professional. do you know how many women in STEM have told me they purposefully dress to "unimpress" because they already struggle to be taken seriously and if they're ever considered pretty - it for some reason takes away from their authority.

so they make it seem like it's your fault. you, existing in a body - it's your fault! if you didn't want shitty comments, don't have a body. they position us against each other like chess pieces; vying for male attention we don't even need.

and i can be an authority on this unless you think i'm fat and unattractive. when i am pretty and thin, i'm an activist. when i am just a normal person who makes a good point: i am immediately dismissed. nobody fucking believes you if you're not seen as attractive. you literally lose value. you cease to exist.

but the whole time, it feels like - is anyone actually grounded the fuck in reality? the line of "pretty and thin" keeps shifting. nobody seems to understand what "a normal weight" even looks like, because it's not something that exists - you cannot tell a person's health by looking at their body. even if you think you could tell that, even if you're sure a person is dangerously overweight - people are not your dolls. they do not need to be dressed up or displayed properly to soothe your aesthetics. you aren't concerned for them, you're stealing their agency. you don't get to say if they're "allowed" to take pictures and post them on the internet - you don't get to tell them how to exist.

people hide behind "the obesity epidemic" without any actual qualifications. they crow things about "normalizing unhealthiness".

but it's bullshit. i have visible abs. there is a pair of parallel lines on my body, even when i'm relaxed; where my obliques meet my abdominal wall. i am proud of this because it means i'm strong, because i overcame an eating disorder only to be ripped as fuck. it is genetic and physical luck that i even get any definition, i'm pleased as punch.

but it does mean that my abdominal wall sticks out a little bit. the other day i posted a video of myself dancing, and, for a moment, my shirt slipped. you could see a little bit of my stomach. i was cartwheeling to the floor. moments before this, i'd had my foot over my head.

a guy slid into my DMs. a row of vomiting emojis prefaced: you should really lose some weight before you think about dancing.

i stared at it for a long time. there was a time when i would have been triggered by this, where it would have encouraged me to starve myself. i would have ignored the fact i'm flexible, agile, good at jumping: i would have lost the weight for a stranger's passing comment. i would have found myself and my body fucking disgusting.

and for what? to please what? because why? so that he can exist in this world without an unchallenged eyeball? what would my self-hatred even accomplish? usually i write paragraphs. obviously. on this particular occasion, in this body i've been at war with for ages: i just felt exhausted.

it shouldn't be even worth saying. it shouldn't be hard to explain. all of this emotional turmoil when he cannot even comprehend the most basic truth: i am not an object on display for him.

#spilled ink #writeblr #warm up #like if im getting fatshamed. babe......... wake up #is there fat on my body? yes :) #btw this behavior wouldn't be okay even if I WAS overweight!!! that is my point!!! #it is both that people have no idea what weight is supposed to look like #and even if they DID... they do not seem to understand that PEOPLE ARE NOT DOLLS #YOU DO NOT GET TO TELL THEM HOW TO EXIST #if you respond anything akin to ''but raquel there IS an obesity epidemic'' #you're blocked and reported. #go fucking DONATE TO A FOOD BANK THEN. volunteer in a food desert. start a free fitness program #GO GET A DEGREE AS A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL AND PRACTICE IN NUTRITION IN UNDERPRIVILEDGED LOCATIONS #FIGURE OUT HOW TO LOWER FOOD COSTS. FIGURE OUT HOW TO NORMALIZE AND STANDARDIZE #ACCESS TO FARM-FRESH FOOD. PROVIDE ACTUAL FREE ACCESS TO OUTSIDE ACTIVITIES #FIGURE OUT HOW TO TEACH PEOPLE HEALTHY CHOICE MAKING WHILE ALSO LOWERING THE COST OF MEALS. #THE AVERAGE GROCERY BILL OF THE AMERICAN CITIZEN HAS QUADRUPILED IN THE LAST YEAR. #SHUT. THE FUCK. UP!!!!!!!!! #you don't want to help these people!!!!! #you want to bully them but still feel like a good person! #you want to be justified in your hatred of an entire CLASS of people!!! #you don't give a fuck about how it makes them feel!!!! #you care ONLY about whether or not YOU get to VIRTUE SIGNAL that YOURE so thin and pretty!!!! #it is BECAUSE of people like you #and the fact you tolerate fatphobia - BECAUSE of that normalization. that men like the one who called me fat #feel like they can get away with it. #bc there's a line for you where you WOULD be okay with it. where if i WASNT thin you'd be okay with it. #which means the line can always be pushed in a certain direction. and it's always going to appeal to male aesthetics. #''well you didn't deserve it'' maybe fucking NOBODY does babe. maybe we should just all agree not to comment on ppls bodies!!

[iaminsideyourwalls]

medicscout. idk. is this anything?

Give your heart and soul to charity Cause the rest of you The best of you Honey, belongs to me

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames? Ain't it the life of you, your lighting of the blaze? Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade? Ain't you my baby? Ain't you my babe?

Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

#yeah it's a weird pairing but they're all weird #a man and his purse puppy. his emotional support twink. #they both have not shut up disease #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #tf2 fanart #tf2 #tf2 art #team fortess 2 #team fortress 2 fanart #medicscout #mediscout #blunt trauma #quick fix #blood #digital art #“okay... it's good but it's disturbing” -my dad watching me draw this over my shoulder

[localdorkincombatboots]

Please Help My Family

Between handling my mils affairs after her death, rent going up another $200, my mother losing her job, and my bf's medical problems continuing to get worse and his job taking days away from him, we desperately need help.

Where our rent has gotten so high + my mother losing her job which also provided her housing, we're hoping to be able to use her vacation payout to buy the cheapest possible mobile home we've been able to find. It's in such bad shape that it'll probably take a month to fix everything but this appears to be the only way for us to set things up in a way that we won't have to worry as bad about money later on, esp considering lot rent there is 1/4 of the price of our current rent.

We're still behind on all of our current bills due to everthing that has been happening plus more recent events including my bf having another heart attack and his tumors growing to the point of a couple of them metastizing.

Please we desperately need help to catch back up on our current bills and to afford the materials needed to fix the floor in the trailer so that we can move there and not have nearly as many bills to worry about.

PayPal: [email protected]

Venmo: jayep7

Cashapp: jayep7

If you can't send anything, please rebog this so hopefully someone who can help might see this.

#urgent #signal boost #help #cancer #mutual aid #death #job loss #medical #heart attack #medications #jaye shut up

[t4t-scout]

Ok since I got permission from @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense to make this

#hmmm ig ill just tag this as a text post #shut up scout #at first i was gonna specifically direct this to transmasc/enby people #but also fuck that #anyone can join in #tf2 #team fortress 2 #polls #fandom polls #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy

[apostaterevolutionary]

Okay so. There has been a huge resurgence of House MD recently here and I find this both fascinating and a bit whiplash-y because I have a very particular relationship with that show and there’s no way to explain it without outing myself for doing a very weird thing lmao but here we go

So I watched the show when it was airing and I liked it. I was never in a fandom for it cause I was a teenager for most of it, I was still figuring out my own sexuality and had no idea why I kept being drawn to shows where there’s really messy homoerotic relationship bait, and I just liked the show (and was extremely attached to Thirteen lmao). I knew some people who liked it too but in a more typical ‘this is a show I like’ way. I had no idea it had such a fandom following at all

And the second piece to this is I have struggled with insomnia my entire life (I probably have a circadian rhythm disorder), and the important part for this explanation is I can’t sleep in complete darkness or silence. So I watch something. But it has to be the right something - too interesting and I watch it and stay awake too long, too boring and I end up not being able to relax

So to fix this problem: I used a show I liked, but have seen a lot. I picked House MD and I’ve been doing it ever since because it works and has continued to work and I don’t want to lose sleep by messing with my system

The thing is, I started doing this in high school. My late teens. I’m now in my early 30s. I have been falling asleep to House for over a decade lmfao. I still like the show, but I’ve seen it so much that I know the plot and sometimes diagnosis in most episodes (there are a few I don’t watch, the emotional ones that are too much, and the ones last on the discs [yes I am still using the same dvds I bought over a decade ago, they still work great] I don’t see as often simply cause I’m usually asleep before then)

So to suddenly discover my nightly sleepy time show that I only ever knew a few people who liked and mostly watched with my mother back in the day actually has a massive fandom following (which I should have known lmfao like come on it’s absolutely ripe for it, I just never made the connection) that is suddenly active again feels a lot like a bunch of people just showed up in my bedroom and it’s so weird skskdjsk

#I think at this point I might require the soothing sounds of medical malpractice and personal drama in order to actually sleep so #lmao idk this is just such an odd experience to me #my relationship with this show is so weirdly specific it’s jarring to see so many people suddenly into it skdkdk #anyway idk why I’m sharing this honestly I just think it’s funny #text #misc #shut up nerd #house md

[kurapikas-fucking-pissed]

sorry to be desperate it's just bc im poor lmao my dog needs to see the vet tomorrow to get his meds adjusted and the bloodwork, examination fee, etc is probably gonna cost us about $300....if someone would like a sketchy commission like this for $20 or maybe wanna buy something from our shop it would literally help so much ;_;) you can also look on my art blog @sheep-sorbet for more examples im open to any work rn to help pay for this. thank you

#i would feel scummy tagging this in fandom tags but yeah #we just have too much other stuff to pay for right now and my roomate is already having money troubles and my partner just got #off of medical leave #like. please help us actually #it's not the most urgent thing but aaaahhhh #sorry mutuals i will probably not shut up about this until it's paid for

[rock-a-noodle]

Can everyone PLEASE leave Illymation tf alone?

"She used clickbait in her video" UM in some states they stupidly classify removing tumors from your uterus as an abortion because they're "living and growing" EVEN IF THEY ARE DANGEROUS.

Somebody made a video tearing apart her Being the Fat Kid video and even stooped low to the point of making fun of her posture, clothes, skin, and glasses. Idfc if you are doing it in the name of being "health conscientious," you don't insult people's appearance, especially if it's not related to the topic at hand. And yes she takes selfies of herself with fast food, but that's not the ONLY food she eats and her drawing herself with Frosted Flakes and the end title with various food that's not 100 percent healthy. It's a cartoon she's not actually eating that.

Also, her videos aren't aimed at kids that's just her artstyle, moreso 13+. You're assuming all cartoons are for kids based on her style.

And your reaction to her responding how one would normally reply to this is to call her a crybully.

Do you research and grow tf up people.

#im done #venting a tad #okay more than a tad #shut up kelly #illymation #but seriously #also saw in her tag someone saying someone else was better than her and calling her boring? ummm...dont put that in her tag please? #bullying #harassment #food mention #abortion #medical #disrespectful comments or tags will be blocked #this situation has gotten so out of hand wtf

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.

in short, my writing comfort zone <3

~

The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.

“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”

“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”

“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”

Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.

“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”

“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”

Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”

It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe. 

The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach. 

“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”

“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad. 

Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”

“Especially you.”

Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”

“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”

“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.” 

Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed. 

That’s not. 

That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”

Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what. 

Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good. 

Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening. 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”

Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”

“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”

“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”

“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”

“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”

“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.

Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?

He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting. 

Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation? 

Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind. 

Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”

“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”

Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes. 

The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.

For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left. 

He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.

Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense. 

Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-

His phone is ringing. 

Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-

“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.

“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”

Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler. 

“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”

All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.

“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”

Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”

“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.

“B. Beagle, yeah.”

The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.

“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it. 

“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”

Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.” 

Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.

“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs. 

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”

It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot. 

The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.

“Are you sure-”

“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.

Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on. 

Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway. 

“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan. 

Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands. 

It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”

Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.

“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “

Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-

When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer. 

“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”

Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”

“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.

Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”

Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”

He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”

Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.

Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.

Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal. 

Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.

Wally flatlining on a metal table. 

Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-

“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway. 

Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier. 

Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors. 

Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare. 

That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.

Looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 

Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”

“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”

They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones. 

Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness. 

“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road. 

A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting. 

The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace. 

Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.

[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]

It’s bad.

The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman. 

Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.

“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”

Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own. 

When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him. 

If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it. 

For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things. 

At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?

Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning. 

Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…

What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors? 

That he didn’t make it?

The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.

“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”

The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without. 

“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”

Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”

“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties. 

“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”

“He’ll make it?”

Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”

Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand. 

“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks. 

“I’m not sure-”

“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.” 

Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”

Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.

“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.

Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”

Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time. 

“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”

“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”

“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”

Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?

In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves. 

“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”

What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet. 

Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive. 

One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. 

Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.

Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.

We’re doing our best.

“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”

Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on. 

The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time. 

“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”

Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.

“How can I help?” he asks instead.

“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes. 

“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was… what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”

It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.

“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”

He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-

“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts. 

Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”

It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing. 

Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.

“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”

It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there. 

“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”

Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again. 

A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.

Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained. 

They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-

Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.

#IM SORRY FOR ANY HOSPITAL/PROCEDURAL INACCURACIES IM NOT TRYING TO BE ACCURATE AT THE MOMENT #except for the injuries. those are realistic and i did my due diligence. read a lot of first hand accounts! medical pages! #ohhhh this was so cozy to write #i mean. not as familiar as actual on-screen injuries but yk #its been too fluffy in here. #this is a mild example of my usual tastes and habits when it comes to fic & fiction #WHUMP CENTRAL BABEYYYYYY #i like it messy and painful!!! Lets Fuckin Go!!!! #this is a prime example of me not being able to shut the fuck up when writing #my scenes & convos just go on and on and on and on.... #but yes! enjoy! the Crash arc is very thoroughly planned out in my head and lately its one of my favorite things to imagine before bed <3 #bedtime stories can be fictional characters going through horrible injuries & emotionally hurting each other #snippets from the bog #i will repeat what i have said multiple times before #i take the comic relief character. i hurt the comic relief character #i could have posted the little carnival half-scene. i could have #but ive been feeling stressed and caged and i need to let out some steam #and this is how i do that. controlled fictional violence <3

[phleb0tomist]

hey, it’s severe myalgic encephalomyelitis awareness day. i’m hopeful that things will change. i’m hopeful that people will learn about us.

infographic credit; see more here

please hold us in your heart. ME itself is not rare (it’s over 5x more common than MS), but it’s really rare to find someone who actually knows what severe ME is! ME has been misrepresented as a vague fatigue syndrome. it is not. it’s a complex multisystem illness with a predictable pattern of neuroimmune crashes that come 24-72 hrs after physical or sensory exertion. it can become progressive and fatal. millions of people with severe ME are isolated and neglected by doctors whose knowledge of ME is based on outdated research.

long covid can progress into ME, so cases are increasing, but many of us have had it for decades already. it crushed my life when i was a kid. but i’m still hopeful.

#i will never shut up about M.E. #myalgic encephalomyelitis #severe myalgic encephalomyelitis #chronic illness #txt #undescribed #medical neglect #medical abuse #< trigger tagging

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Crying over nail polish

Happy pride month y'all!

#tf2 #team fortress two #my art #tf2 medic #medic tf2 #tf2 pyro #pyro tf2 #pride month #gay #medic voice: we used to not be allowed to do that... #WELL BUCKLE UP BITCH- PYRO BOUTTA PAINT YOUR NAILS THE MOST ABHORRENT BRIGHTEST PINK THEY CAN FIND #me: it's pride month!! lets draw something sweet and fluffy #also me: angst :( #i tried to make the color scheme a rainbow but straight up forgot green smh #pride #lgbtq #''why is there red nail polish coming out of a blue bottle'' SHUT UP YOU SAW NOTHING

[inkskinned]

it takes a really long time to unlearn but there's no such thing as "cheating" or "half-assing" being a person. if you need to leave the cabinet doors open, leave them open. microwave your tea. sit down in the shower. buy the eggmaker. use your phone to calculate tip.

it's mostly fake posterity rules. who cares if you microwave your dinners. who cares if you use instant coffee. who cares if you stop watching the show that got boring. we all have a different set of skills and a different life and taking care of yourself is fucking hard.

at the end of your life there will be no final scoreboard. nobody is going to judge you because you brushed your teeth in the shower. there will be no final count of the number of times you had the same meal five nights in a row. there will be no fanfare or party because you won at being a person - and no one will be disappointed that you never understood the point of using paper towels to dry your hands off after washing them.

yeah, in this world, people will put up a fuss. i've noticed some of the biggest fusses are over what you'll put in/on your body. the fact that i will regularly eat deli meat straight out of the bag makes a lot of people genuinely concerned for me. but here's the thing: sometimes that's the only way i'm getting any protein. my doctor says i am doing fine. i'm sticking to my weird snacks and calling it deconstructed charcuterie.

they'll say they're horrified because you take a shortcut. that's fine. it's just that it looks like a shortcut to them because they're on a different life path. these kinds of things stand out to them as important. that's fine too. but for you? you've got other things that already make you pretty hard working. and these tiny things - well, they're just clutter on your journey.

#before any motherfucker is like <3 #''i know more about this and it IS WRONG to do this THING'' #shhhhh #unless ur a doctor and a patient has specifically asked... shut the FUCK up dude #one of the ways my life has changed in the last few years is like #taking coffee for granted #isn't something i can do #can you stand up for the entirety of making a meal? i can't always #and having some pompousass person be like #MICROWAVE THE WATER? FOR TEA? like . yeah actually i've been in prison for it ever since #''it tastes different!!!'' cool. it's not going into yOUR body. #i personally don't ever make hot chocolate with water. only ever oat/soy milk #but i wouldn't be like ... SIR. I WILL NOW JUDGE THEE #it's just like ableism all the way down innit #ableism and classism and #the expectation of the mental load as a form of being ''good'' #also. besides the like. pots and [redacted medical information] #im doing GREAT actually #>:) i have visible abs even when not flexing #it's bc god prefers me as a lesbian n has rewarded me lately for presenting more openly

[bea-l-zebul]

Wanna know what really grinds my gears?

When I, a physically disabled woman, talk about the intersections of being both disabled and a woman, and other, able bodied women decide that it’s perfectly fucking fine to shut me down.

I have MS if you didn’t know. Recently studies have come out about scientists wanting to explore certain hormones in pregnancy and why they cause (some) women with MS to go into remission.

All of these people were talking about a potential “breakthrough”, and while that is a possibility, I live in a country that just took away reproductive rights from women.

So forgive me if I’m not ecstatic about scientists yet-a-fucking-gain talking about using pregnancy to treat a condition that’s more common in woman.

Forgive me for pointing out the downsides.

Like seriously, someone in Australia had the fucking gall to tell me to “stop freaking out about it because you don’t live in Nazi Germany, yet”

Really Becky, cause from what I can tell the USA is one fascist dictator getting into office away from turning into the reincarnation of it. And since you used “yet” you seem to recognize that, but don’t want to acknowledge that a positive for you is a negative for other fucking women in the same situation.

I don’t want my insurance company to turn around and refuse to cover my Ocrevus because they decided that me getting knocked up is the cheaper option than covering the meds that cost approx. 69k dollars out of pocket.

I don’t want to be forced to become a handmaiden to replenish ACB’s “domestic supply of infants”

I want to be child free, and I want it to become unacceptable for any scientist or doctor to recommend fucking pregnancy as a treatment,

…but, ya know, I’m just crazy for pointing out the potential negatives should the recommendations from further studies be “get knocked up, it’s the only way” when a lot of women don’t even have a right to bodily autonomy anymore.

#tw ableism #medical sexism #MS #multiple sclerosis #intersectional feminism #feminist #feminism #disability #disabled #cripple punk #cpunk #pregnancy is not an acceptable treatment #feminists start listening to disabled women instead of telling them to shut up challenge

[localdorkincombatboots]

Please help/Life update

So we have had one extremely lucky thing happen and it's that my uncle gave us his old 01 Nissan Pathfinder. It's got well over 200k miles and it needs the whole brake system replaced. We're looking at around $200 for brakes and we are hoping that the calipers haven't been damaged cause those are around $70 each. After all of that we also still have to get the funds together to get insurance and switch the title and such. Then hopefully we'll have a car that would open us up to be able to get better jobs and more easily provide and care for our family and get to drs appointmens.

On top of dealing with all of that though, my man recently found out that he was never informed of nor prescribed the two new medications and new extremely restrictive diet that he apparently has supposed to have been on since his surgery a couple months ago.

Now he has the medication and after him taking the first dose we are now aware he is very allergic to that medication and we are still left screwed and desperately trying to find some way to keep him from dying.

With how bad his health had been declining, we are still having to miss work here and there due to him having episodes of getting violently sick and dizzy taking him out for at least a whole day at a time.

Please, if you can, we desperately need any and all help you can send us. We need both help with money for the parts and our bills and we also desperately need help finding foods that he can now eat with his diet that restricts most everything like grease, dairy, citric acid, salt, capsaicin, and more.

P*ypal: crackerjaxx7@gmail

V*nmo: jayep7

C*$happ: jayep7

Please help if you can or at least reblog this so hopefully someone who can help sees this.

#signal boost #cancer #diet #help #medical #mutual aid #jaye shut up

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

Poor willow and amity lmao like no one told them anything all episode. No one tells each other plot relevant info in general in that friend group except luz and hunter and thats just those two amplifying each others Mentally Ill Dude Behavior but like. Luz and hunter know all the information about belos and gus knows about the grimwalker thing at least bc he speedran hollow mind but willow and amity? They had no idea what was going on the whole time they were in gravesfield. Do they even know what a grimwalker is? Hexsquad share your belos notes with each other challenge

#the owl house #toh #shut up pandora #hunter toh #thanks to them #luz noceda #hunter noceda #amity blight #gus porter #willow park #like yeah you can say the grimwalker thing was hunters business and no one elses #(until he almost dies and they dont know what kind of medical care to get him) #but luz and hunter know a little more about the collector than everyone else #actually did luz ever tell hunter about the collector worshipping cult in edge of the world #probably not how would that have even come up #but yeah gus willow and amity have no idea who the collector is #luz hunter you dont even have to say how belos found them just tell them about belos working with them and their magic #oh actually didnt luz overhear the latter half of the collectors tantrum in kings tide #bc she was in thay bubble #but also everyone knew belos used to be phillip wittebane so i assume hunter told them after labyrinth runners #so he told them about belos's edgy backstory but not the creepy shadow god huh

[creepyscritches]

Everytime I have to discern what the fuck the doctor meant by an abbreviation, I briefly think abt the twitter users I saw at each other's throats for using BPD to mean borderline personality disorder OR bipolar disorder like the acronym would run out of uses and wonder what they'd think if they saw even one page of the Stedman's Medical Abbreviation dictionary

#Creepy chatter #We used to be civilized. We used to have Medilexicon. WE USED TO HAVE MEDILEXICON. #Now we just have like rigid print resources for the most part #Medilexicon was a web-based medical thesaurus/dictionary/acronym database #That would show how common each reported use of a certain abbreviation was #It was so nice when trying to figure out if a doctor was just. Making up their own shit. 🤦 #PAF I hate you so much #Anyway the owners couldn't support the cost of servers anymore and shut it down god like 6 or so years ago? #Guaranteed to have a bonding moment w any other professional when you mourn Medilexicon. We ALL miss her. #Library of Alexandria moment :'(