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causeitsagame · 9 months

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Some good old-fashioned h/c

For @hajihiko, since there was nothing to read <3

"No, we cannot tell Makoto," Sonia insisted, and coughed up a wad of phlegm. "He puts himself at great risk with every visit."

"I know that," Hajime said, and traded the phlegm-y handful of palm fronds she'd grabbed along the way in favor of an actual tissue. After some time spent on the real islands, Makoto had asked them what else was needed for their recovery. The list was fortunately brief, but did have some small but critical items, like a pressure control valve for surgical anesthesia. Somehow, he'd managed to find the whole requested collection in the broken world out there.

"And so we cannot appear to be ungrateful," Sonia continued. She snorted, drawing a drooping bit of snot back up into her reddened nose. "Accepting necessary trade-offs without complaint is a part of negotiations and aid."

"It's Makoto," Hajime patiently countered as he led her back into her room. Other nearby doors were also closed, but she'd decided that she felt well enough to help prepare some broth for the others. It hadn't gone well; he'd found her slumped over in the kitchen. "He's not going to get mad if I clarify exactly what he brought to the island with him."

"No, we mustn't blame him," Sonia said weakly as Hajime steered her toward her bed.

"It's not blame. I just want to know."

"You mustn't," she insisted again as she let herself be maneuvered under a light blanket. Though the day was typically warm outside, she shook.

"…Fine," Hajime lied. "I won't call Makoto."

Sonia smiled gratefully up at him through reddened, watery features.

"Feel better. I'll check on you soon, all right?"

She nodded, coughed again, and curled up on her side.

With a reassuring smile, Hajime walked off to call Makoto.

"Sorry, I didn't realize," Makoto said on the video screen, and wiped roughly at his nose. Now into recovery, he had the pale, desaturated color scheme of a heavy illness draped over his otherwise sunny demeanor. "I didn't feel bad until I was already leaving. How are people doing? Do you need more medicine?"

"No, we're good." Hajime gestured over his shoulder, and coughed. "There's plenty of medicine in the clinics around the islands."

Makoto hesitated at Hajime's deep, rough cough. "Is it expired, though?"

"On the packages? Sure. In reality? Slightly reduced efficacy, easily adjusted for with a larger dose." Hajime coughed again against the back of his hand. "We're good."

"Okay," Makoto said uncertainly. "Call me again if you need to, all right?"

"We're fine." Hajime waved him off. "I should be able to toss this off pretty easily, and I can look after everyone else."

"Well. Okay. But seriously, you can call me."

"And we always appreciate it," Hajime assured him, and with a grateful nod, cut the call. Okay. Time to check on everyone else.

Akane complained, which was a good sign; she'd been the first to succumb, and her laying so still and quiet in bed had unpleasantly reminded everyone of the Despair Disease. "I've gotta have something more than just water," she griped as Hajime handed her a bowl, filled from the pot Sonia had left simmering.

"Broth," Hajime corrected. "And do your eyes feel all weird and prickly?"

"Yeah."

"Right. We need to get more fluids into you, first thing. That'll help you recover as quickly as possible. And if you need fluids, this is better than just water, right?"

"Yeah," she admitted, and drank some. "I guess."

"Okay. Drink some more of that until you feel better, and then real food is on the way." That encouraged her enough to treat the broth as an actual meal, and after a quick temperature check, Hajime moved on.

"I feel gross," Kazuichi whined.

Hajime turned to cough into his shoulder, heavy and deeper in his chest than when he'd talked to Makoto. It felt like it echoed inside him like a timpani, and Kazuichi had an eyebrow raised when he turned back to the man.

"You sound gross," Kazuichi added.

"I'm fine," Hajime insisted, and held up a stethoscope. "I want to listen to your chest."

Breathing was hindered by the sputum that this illness had brought to their respiratory tracts, but fortunately, it didn't sound any worse than yesterday. Kazuichi must be currently going through the worst of it, which meant that recovery was right ahead. "Cough for me into this," Hajime instructed, handing over a tissue.

Kazuichi did, and made a face as Hajime inspected what he'd coughed up. "And that is gross."

"The infection is on the mend," Hajime dryly confirmed as he tossed the tissue in a nearby bin. "And you're welcome. I'll bring soup."

"…Did you make the soup, or…"

"Sonia."

Kazuichi's grimace deepened as much as his illness-exhausted muscles would allow.

"She knows how to make a decent vegetable broth, by now. It tastes fine. Really. Be back in a sec."

Outside Kazuichi's cottage, Hajime felt a deep, insistent pressure build up in his chest. He hurried away from the open window, far enough that the noises he was about to make would blend into the rush of waves on the shore.

The cough ripped out of him painfully hard. He could feel it dislodge substances inside him that shouldn't be there; the illness everyone else was dealing with had also settled into his own respiratory tract. With another few deep coughs, Hajime cleared his throat and stood. His immune system was part of his generally improved body. That, along with his medical knowledge, meant that he was the best-suited person on this island to look after everyone else. And so he'd do exactly that.

"Hey," Hajime quietly called out as he entered the last cottage. He'd stopped by the kitchen for Kazuichi's broth, and another bowl of it was still in hand. "How are you doing?"

While Hajime was the best-suited to throw off an illness, Fuyuhiko was expectedly having the roughest time of it. He'd succumbed soon after Akane, but while she'd rebounded enough to complain and regain her appetite, Fuyuhiko remained a quiet, pliant lump under his blankets.

Silence in return to his question twisted an anxious knife in Hajime's chest. Suddenly fearful, he leaned over Fuyuhiko's still form.

And then he coughed on him, deep and loud.

Grimacing, Fuyuhiko stirred and looked up at Hajime with an accusing eye. "What?" The question was deep, raspy. Between damage from days of coughing and the illness his body still fought, his voice had dropped half an octave and most of its volume.

"Just checking on you," Hajime said. "I brought this. Can you sit up?"

Fuyuhiko flicked his gaze to the bowl Hajime held, then away. It was a silent but clear 'no thanks.'

"You need to eat," Hajime insisted.

Illness weakened people, and Fuyuhiko apparently dealt with illness about as well as he did with anything that made him feel weak: it pissed him off.

He'd been even more uncooperative than Akane. Although she'd fortunately rebounded quite a bit after the pods, giving her some physical reserves, Fuyuhiko had been an easy target for the disease clawing through everyone's system. He'd been left nearly motionless, only able to manage the short trip to the bathroom without exhausting himself. He relied on Hajime for food, medical attention, and anything else, and it infuriated him.

"The faster you recover, the faster you can get out of this room," Hajime pointed out. "And you're not going to recover if you starve yourself."

Fuyuhiko didn't want to agree with that, clearly. Fortunately for his pride, he could simply stay silent.

Hajime sighed. "Would you just—"

He barely set the bowl down in time before another cough ripped through him, doubling him over. He felt his abdominal muscles clench hard, almost like he was vomiting, as his airway was forcefully cleared. He gasped when he regained control of his breathing, felt his throat catch again on some of the mucus coating it, and fell into a second helpless round of coughing.

"One second," Hajime wheezed, and wiped his teary, bloodshot eyes.

In Fuyuhiko's bathroom, Hajime wiped down his face with one tissue and coughed hard into a second. The sputum had tinges of color just like what he'd inspected on Kazuichi: the infection was finally settling into Hajime's lungs, too. But it was mild, only there in small streaks, and so there wasn't any need to worry. Certainly, he was in much better shape than any of the rest of them, especially Fuyuhiko.

When Hajime exited back into the main room, Fuyuhiko was making an awkward attempt at the soup left next to him.

"Oh," Hajime said in pleased surprise, and cleared his throat again. "Need any help?"

Fuyuhiko eyed him speculatively. "No. Hey. Is there any medicine I should be taking?"

Hajime's eyebrows further rose. Fuyuhiko had rejected most of his suggestions before this, saying he didn't need it. "Yeah, there are a few different things I'd like to put you on."

"Go get 'em."

Not about to argue with a patient suddenly cooperating, Hajime did so. On the way, he stopped twice more to double over, hacking and coughing until tears squeezed out of his eyes.

Two days later, he tried to get out of bed to monitor everyone's recovery, and… couldn't. Hajime's muscles were tired like he couldn't remember, and every breath was thin and labored. He could feel the heat and humidity of the islands laying across his skin like a slimy, stifling weight, and yet the core of his body felt chilled and vulnerable. Hajime pulled a blanket over his shoulders and curled inward on himself.

Ten minutes passed, and his door opened under Sonia's mostly-steady hand. "We knew it," she sighed. "Yesterday, you were clearly on a steep decline."

"How's everyone doing?" Hajime asked. Or tried to, anyway; the words came out all mumbled.

"Good enough to check in on you!" Kazuichi promised, walking in with a bowl of soup. Behind him, Akane carried three thermoses, presumably full of the same.

"No," Hajime protested, seeing them all up and walking around. "You need to." His medical assessments weren't coming together like they had, and so he struggled with finding the instructions to issue. "Cough. Tissue."

"We're all clear," Kazuichi promised with a big thumbs-up. "Just normal snot, no infections."

Sonia smiled awkwardly. It was a curious mixture between celebration of their improved health and not wanting to have physical matters mentioned. Princesses weren't raised to acknowledge bodily issues, presumably.

"Oh." Well, that was good. Hajime let out a few rough, hacking coughs again, then found the next words he'd been struggling for. "Where's Fuyuhiko?"

As if cued, the man brushed past Kazuichi. Unlike everyone else, who appeared well on the path to recovery by now, Fuyuhiko was clearly still in the grips of the illness. He at least looked better than he had, though, even as he had a light blanket clutched around him and would probably go straight back to bed. "You probably know which one of these to take, yeah?"

Hajime managed a faint smile as more than a dozen different medications were deposited on his nightstand. The pile included every medicine he'd pulled for Fuyuhiko, along with what must be every other medicine that Fuyuhiko had decided looked even remotely related when he made his own visit to the nearest clinic. "Yeah. I see what I need."

"Good." Fuyuhiko found a small smile of his own, though it was an odd-looking expression after their collective illness had torn so deeply into him. "When I saw you acting like a dumbass, I figured I'd better heal up fast."

"M'not a dumbass," Hajime protested.

"You will stay in bed for the next three days," Sonia proclaimed, bringing the full weight of her lifelong training to bear. "We will not permit you to further exert yourself, Hajime, and will look after you as you have looked after us."

Hajime opened his mouth, took in everyone's visibly improved states, and closed it. That… that didn't sound too bad. "Okay," he relented. "But Fuyuhiko'd better do the same." Fuyuhiko had improved, yes, but 'can stand and walk, only with great effort' wasn't exactly reassuring.

Instinctive stubbornness slammed into Fuyuhiko's expression, and he opened his mouth to argue.

"Get back into bed," Hajime said, mostly into his pillow, "or I'll get up to check on you."

"…One more day," Fuyuhiko accepted, clearly with great reluctance.

"Fine." Hajime coughed. "Someone get me three pills from the. Bottle with the uh. Uh. Green cap." Sonia stepped forward toward the bottles, and Hajime admitted to her, "I called Makoto."

"I assumed as much," she sighed, though it came with a smile. "Will you need help with these pills?"

"Yeah, I'll need help sitting up," Hajime said, and saw Akane head his way to do so as Sonia disappeared into the bathroom for a glass of water. At the doorway, Fuyuhiko actually let himself be led off by Kazuichi.

As he felt Akane carefully tilt him up from the bed, Hajime sighed and let his eyes fall closed. Her grip was steady and sure, and Sonia sounded confident as she rattled off the (expected) name on the requested bottle, wanting confirmation before she administered it.

Obediently, Hajime opened his mouth for the first pill, and swallowed it down with the mouthful of water she then offered. And then again, and again. Sonia's voice next promised that she'd check on Fuyuhiko as the day went on, too, and so there was no need for him to worry.

Reassured, Hajime nodded as Akane arranged him back under his blanket. "Thanks."

His instincts began to rattle off all of the checklist items he should tackle, but for once, Hajime ignored them.

For now, he'd let someone else be in charge.

#my fic #why yes this IS the trope distilled bc sometimes you want that

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1bringthesun · 2 months

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so when dazai was in the hospital with that nurse, who’s the right one to blame?

(discussions of s/a, medical unprofessionally, and other bsd-typical things)

asking this question is wrong to begin with. there’s no, “ oh no, but who will we blame for the situation?” are you really still looking for someone to blame in bungou stray dogs, the series of grey morality?

well, i don’t blame you. so im making a post about it!

for convenience, i’m just going to assume they slept together because it makes the most sense, and is also generally what the fandom assumes when they try to point fingers at either two.

to better understand why people think a certain way, let’s break it down and approach this problem from two perspectives!

the nurse was in the wrong:

dazai had just gotten out of surgery for having a bullet wound and is still under the influence of anesthesia. she sees him using his phone and takes it from him. he’s handsome and willing to do things with her, so she sleeps with him, and when they’re done, she’s willing to give it back. not only that, but she has the audacity to ask again if they can do it “just once more.” it’s obvious she has zero care for him as a patient if she’s willing to sleep with someone fresh out of surgery, and also being under the influence, he’s not able to properly consent. regardless, she takes her chance to be with a handsome man, completely neglecting her job to care for his health as a nurse and breaking probably every single aspect of professionalism.

dazai was in the wrong:

an annoying woman is disregarding the gravity of his work and holding him, someone who’s important to the fate of the city, by normal hospital standards, when he’s been shot by a bullet before and knows his own body inhumanly well; another doctor even gave him permission, so who’s she to act like the boss of him? obviously, this bothers him, and he needs his phone, so he decides to take the quickest path to getting it back, and, spoiler alert: it isn’t recovery. he seduces her and puts her job at risk just so he’ll get his phone back, and when she becomes attached to him, he says yeah, sure, they can fool around again… if he feels like it.

they’re both in the wrong:

people blame her of sexually assaulting him, and also blame him of sexually assaulting her. they say he couldn’t have consented, she overly wasn’t interested in the beginning, she was meant to care for her patient, he’s a scumbag and a womanizer, etc.

but don’t you see? the fact that both of them have done awful things in these two panels…

…is the point.

dazai is an asshole for sleeping with a woman he doesn’t give a damn about just so she’ll do what he tells her to, and she’s totally insane for letting a patient who was just in surgery share physical intimacy with her.

she’s an awful nurse, and he’s a bitch! they both suck!!!! why only blame one of them for sucking?

from an outsider’s perspective, the nurse does seem to be more in the wrong. she was meant to be his caretaker for a while and completely neglected that, even going so far as to have relations with a patient still under the effects of drugs.

but… was he? he was speaking completely lucidly, and none of his thoughts or words or actions resembled someone under the influence in the slightest. he made a sour face at her when he realized he couldn’t just do whatever he wanted to do, and her attitude in the beginning was clearly appropriate for the situation. calling dazai a victim in this situation is wrong. he clearly took the initiative to change her position. is that not consent?

he manipulated her for access to a phone, and she used him as means of gratification, and both of that is wrong.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai #dazai osamu #nurse scene #dazai and the nurse #bsd analysis #morally grey characters #there’s no point in playing the blame game when they both did something inappropriate #also how come so many people headcanon him with tolerance to drugs and then say that he’s drugged when he’s convenient to victimize him?#people keep borderline infantilizing dazai. why? how? what?#did we read the same series?????#dazai is only a bad person when it’s convenient for their tastes #he was tooootally manipulated into doing that and taken advantage of.. yup #do you guys hear yourselves

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solomons-poison · 5 months

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Commissions

I have decided to open commissions!

My roommate and I received some bummer news that our 7 month old kitten Beau has a grade 2 or 3 heart murmur. It was discovered when we took him to a clinic to get neutered, and thus had to put anything involving anesthesia on hold until he could be further evaluated by the vet. On 11/30, our vet agreed with the news stating they wouldn't recommend him going under anesthesia without heart monitors, and recommended him for a full workup with a cardiologist. Depending on his condition, testing could be costly.

We ended up opting to have him neutered at the vet so they could monitor while he's under anesthesia, which was more expensive than we had originally planned for. Beau has been neutered by the time I post this, but he will still need follow up to monitor his health and risks, and it has now put my account in the negative. I've also lost a source of income midway through October, and my roommate has lost her medical assistance meaning she'll need to look into more expensive medical coverage.

With the rising costs at my house and the loss of a source of income, I've decided to open writing commissions. I'm starting with just a few slots for now, with tentative prices that can be up for negotiation, because any help would be really appreciated. If you don't want to commission but still want to help, you can also buy me a coffee as well! This is my first time opening commissions so please be patient with me :)

I can write:

Fluff

Smut

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Headcanons or brief blurb

Suitor letters

Canon x OC/reader, canon x canon (poly is accepted!)

I will not do:

Explicit gore/violence/death

Explicit religious themes

Smut involving minors/pedophilia

Zoophilia

Noncon

General hate

PRICES:

[Fics]

$10 - 1000 words

$15 - 2000 words

$20 - 3000 words

[Suitor letters]

$10 each character

**I may unintentionally go over the word count you paid for, but you would not be charged for that.

My rules:

No more than three main characters total requested for a fic

Only fem reader or GN reader (I have nothing against male reader, I simply don't think I could write well in that perspective unless it's a pre-established character)

For smut requests, you are confirming that you are 18 years or older and will not be distributing or requesting this content on behalf of any minors.

Please see this post for more info on the fandoms I write for, and characters that I can or can't write.

I can post the completed commission as personal safety to prevent plagiarism and theft. I will also tag you in the completed commission post unless otherwise requested.

Please send me a DM with your request or interest or if you have any questions!

All payment will be through Paypal in order for me to create an invoice.

Availability: 2/4 slots filled

#commissions #writing commissions #signal boost #emergency commissions

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she-likesorchids · 6 months

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Convalescent: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Summary: You're nervous about an upcoming medical procedure, but Michael is there for you.

Warnings: Hospitals, surgery, anesthesia, and absolute tooth rotting fluff.

Word Count: Just over 1k.

Author's Note: SUPER SELF INDULGENCE HOURS! I have a consultation with a surgeon coming up for a surgical procedure, and I wish I had a Mikey to cuddle me through it, so HERE YA GO.

“What’s on yer mind, love?” Michael asked softly as he sidled up next to you in bed.

He knew the answer to the question before he even asked, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“M’just nervous about the operation tomorrow. The surgeon explained everything to me, and I know they’re good, but there’s still a risk involved,” you replied as you set your book down on the nightstand.

Michael furrowed his brows in concern and inched closer to you on the bed.

“C’mere, love,” Michael whispered as he opened his arms for you.

You scooted closer to him so you could rest your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you then dipped his head down to kiss the top of your head. He gently rocked you side to side as you started to softly cry, then he cupped your cheek with his hand so he could wipe away the stray tears with his thumb. His gaze softened as he looked at you with pure adoration, wishing he could somehow take the anxiety from you and shoulder it himself.

“S’gonna be alright, pet. I’m gonna be there with ya before they wheel ya back, I’ll be there when ya wake up, and I’ll be here to help ya recover. Whatever ya need, I’m at yer beck and call. I’ll even give ya a little bell to ring if ya need me.”

You laughed as you buried your face further into his chest, and a sweet smile crept across Michael’s face. He hugged you closer, and peppered your face with soft kisses, causing you to squeal, which made him smile even wider.

“Yer whiskers are ticklin’ me, Mikey!” you laughed. That only made him rub his stubble against your face and kiss you even more, making your peals of laughter echo off the bedroom walls.

He rolled you over on your back and gently pinned you down to the bed, continuing to attack your face with soft kisses. You laughed and squirmed underneath him, and Michael was just content to see you smiling. Eventually, he stopped and pulled you back into his arms so he could hold you, and you gently kissed him on the lips to show him some appreciation.

“What did I do to deserve ya, Mikey? Yer so good to me.”

“Aw, love. Ya deserve the world. I just hope I can give it to ya. Now, how about we try and get some sleep? Birdy’s gonna be here early tomorrow to drive us.”

“Sounds good, Mikey. Can you hold me for a while longer, though?”

“Anythin’ for ya, pet.”

—----------------------------------------------------

You hated hospitals, but having Mikey and Birdy by your side eased your anxiety a bit. Since Michael still couldn’t drive, and you were being put under anesthesia, Birdy was kind enough to give you a lift to and from the procedure. Once you and Michael got out at the main entrance, he let Birdy know that he would text her once you were out of surgery, and she would make her way back then.

“Yer in good hands, love. You’ll be just fine, and I’ll see ya in a few hours, alright?” Birdy said as she gave you a big hug.

“Thanks again, Birdy. See ya in a bit, yeah?”

“Of course, love. Look after her Mikey, will ya?”

“I will Birdy, see ya in a bit,” he said as he hugged her goodbye.

He held your hand as the two of you walked through the automatic doors and into the lobby. The strong smell of disinfectant stung your nose, and you gripped Michael’s hand for dear life as you both walked towards the admissions desk to get checked in.

Once you were checked in and given a wristband, it didn’t take long for them to call you back to get prepped for your procedure. Michael wasn’t allowed in the room while you undressed and they got your IV started, but as soon as you were in the gown and back in the bed, you demanded they let him in. He stayed dutifully by your side until the anesthesiologist gave you a dose of Versed, then they wheeled you back for your procedure. They let him walk with you and hold your hand until you arrived at the operating theater, then he kissed your forehead and told you he’d see you soon.

—------------------------------------------------

You vaguely remembered them telling you to count backwards from 100, but next thing you knew, you awoke to the sound of beeping machines and excruciating pain. As soon as you opened your mouth to groan from the discomfort, Michael shot up out of the chair next to you and hit the call button on your bed. He knelt down by your bed and took your hand in his as he caressed your hand and softly talked you through it.

“Hey, s’alright love. You did great. I just called the nurse and they’re gonna give ya somethin’ for the pain, yeah?”

“Oh, Mikey. What a beautiful sight to wake up to,” you slurred as you cupped his cheek with your other hand.

“Birdy’s on her way. As soon as they’ll let ya, we’re gonna take ya home.”

You smiled weakly, then a rather chipper nurse pulled back the curtain to come check on you.

“Well, hello Sleepin’ Beauty! How’s yer pain, dearie?”

“Uh, ‘bout an 8. Definitely need somethin’ for it. And some water, I’m parched,” you replied.

“Comin’ right up, luv. The doctor will be in shortly, and ya should be good ta go after that.”

The nurse disappeared, and Michael kept a hold of your hand as you slowly re-joined the land of the living. That same look of love he gave you last night was on his face again, and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked.

“Looks good on ya,” you told him.

“What looks good on me, pet?”

“Love. Love looks good on ya, Mikey.”

“Ah, there’s the drugs talkin’,” he laughed.

“I mean it! Yer so beautiful, Mikey.”

“So are you, pet.”

“Really?! Right now?! I look an absolute mess, Mikey!”

“Not ta me. Yer the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered before kissing your hand.

“Hope I’m not interruptin’, but I got some water and a pain pill for ya, dearie!” the nurse chirped as she came behind the curtain again.

You gladly accepted both, and then the doctor finally came in to go over your discharge instructions and send you on your way home. Michael helped you get dressed, and helped you into the wheelchair so an orderly could wheel you out to Birdy’s car where they both helped you get comfortable in the back seat. As much as you tried to assure him you were fine, Michael insisted he ride with you to keep an eye on you. Birdy thought it was adorable how protective he was over you, and she didn’t even care if she looked like a chauffeur driving you home.

“We’ll be home soon, love,” Michael told you as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Hmmmm, sounds good,” you said as you promptly fell asleep on him.

#mandy writes #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fanfic #kin rte #kin amc

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kingdomhate · 6 months

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Happiness and Tears (Part Three)

In the lobby, it seemed as though time was killing you. You promised yourself you wouldn't worry, that since Clay trusted Jack, you could too. You were trying. Really trying. But something brought you an uneasy feeling about this transplant, but, in the end you knew, it had to be done. Clay was going to be fine.

As you sat there, side-by-side with his mother, she let out small sighs or quiet sobs at times. It was difficult for her as well. You imagined as much and leaned in to give her a reassuring hug, after all, you needed one as well. "I remember when Clay was a boy," Lilith spoke, her voice shaky, a reminder of her constant worry. "He would talk about how much he wanted to be loved, accepted. His father.... well, he didn't love him. Like he should've. He never knew or cared about how Clay was this amazing child.. with so much potential, with such great intelligence." You listened, remembering how Clay spoke of his father as an abusive and alcoholic man with no care toward his family, just his liquor.

Doctor's\ Clay's POV

"Hey, Puttnam, hand me a scalpel." Jack says, holding out his hand, Dr. Puttnam quickly hands Jack a scalpel at his side. "Have you put him under, yet?" Penny asks, her hands moving to squeeze on her gloves. Dr. Lupin looks at her and shakes his head, "Nope, not yet." He prepares the breathing tube, tape and anesthesia. Carefully, he injects the anesthesia into Clay. "Count back from ten for me okay, bud?" Dr. Lupin goes to put down the medicine and get changed to help with the operation.

Clay's eyes close, as he begins counting back, but he slowly realizes closer and closer to zero that it is not taking effect. Especially when he can hear Jack instructing the others to hand him tools and equipment to properly cut into Clay's body. Clay, startled, quickly starts thinking about you, his happy place. Thinking about what you both can do when he is finished with this transplant, this pain. The marriage, growing old together, getting you anniversary gifts....

he was shot out of his fantasizing by the feeling of sharp, cold metal cutting into his skin. Followed by joking by the doctors. Clay hastily thinks back to you, when he first met you, your first date, everything, trying to calm himself down, cope with the excruciating pain. "Okay, hand me the heart." Jack instructs to however is closest. "Here you go." Puttnam says.

"Hey, guys, I have to take this call." Dr. Lupin's voice rings out, as he sweeps closer to the exit. "Okay." Jack calls. "Sure you will be fine without me?" Dr. Lupin laughs before Penny replies. "Yeah. What do you think we are, fresh med-school graduates?" She smirks, followed by a slight chuckle from Puttnam. "Be back soon." Lupin promises before sweeping out. "Alright. Let's do it." Penny's voice grows series and grim. Jack immediately sweats. "Grab the syringe, Jack." Puttnam says, his voice hardened as well. "We need that debt paid." Penny reminds Jack, as he hesitates. "Is it really worth taking the risk of going to jail?" Jack tries to reason with them. "What the hell is going on?" Clay thinks to himself, his eyes flickering back from Penny, Puttnam to Jack.

"Jack! Get your head out of your ass." Puttnam urges him, his eyes annoyed. "He's right. We've discussed this already." Penny lets out a soft scoff, her expression borderline angry. Jack hesitates again, before picking up a silver syringe, injected with an odd colored serum that Clay does not recognize. Penny's expression becomes intense, as she watches Jack inject the heart. "Good, now, let's get this over with before that anesthesiologist comes back."

Thank you, @haydenpookiebear for the encouraging ask! Part four out sometime tomorrow!

Tags:

@darthgloris

@sweetcheesecakesblog

#awake 2007 #a very late part three #part four out tomorrow #cliffhanger!#hayden christensen #clayton beresford jr #happiness and tears #series #hope you enjoy #clayton beresford x you

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doulayogimama · 7 months

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for my newer mutuals,

i was told i had an allergy to lidocaine when i was 18 after i reacted poorly during a dental procedure. i have told every single medical professional that i had a lidocaine allergy since then.

it was not until i was in labor with my daughter, begging for an epidural after 24 hours of unmedicated (induced) labor that my anesthesiologist walks in and breaks the news: "you are not eligible for an epidural because of your allergy"

my doctor never mentioned that to me!

i was only 1.5cm dilated after nearly an entire day of being in labor and she was in mild distress. her heart rate dropped too much every so often. i had had a close call and was admitted at 35 weeks because of an abnormal fetal heart rate (post csection i would find out that her cord was around her neck and probably had been for weeks). my options were: keep laboring with zero pain meds and risk her stress getting worse or go under general anesthesia for a csection (if i couldnt have an epidural, that meant i had to be put under).

in the span of a few minutes, my entire birth plan changed. i was having a csection, i would be by myself with my husband waiting outside the OR, and i would be asleep for the entire thing. i didn't meet my daughter until i woke up 30 minutes post birth. i was so fucked up by the drugs, i wasn't lucid at all. i remember waking up and feeling this rush of emotion when i saw her in my husbands arms, but even that felt groggy. i don't feel like i experienced my feelings because i was simply too drugged up.

I received an intradermal allergy test when she was about 1 years old because Universe, Spirit, and G-d help me, I will do everything I can to not have a repeat birth like the one I had. If it's my fate, fine, but I can't do that again without exhausting all options. That test is much more accurate than a skin prick test and it came back negative for an allergy to lidocaine, so that is great.

But now that I'm back in NY (and before we ttc again) I need to know what my status is on that allergy 10000% before I get pregnant. I'm going to ask an allergist if I should do a repeat test or a more in depth test before being able to claim that I do not* have an allergy to lidocaine.

#just having a normal csection would be a dream #to hear the first cry and to be lucid #i really hope i get to experience that

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fruitcoops · 2 years

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Hi!! I was reading that fix you wrote where Remuz was having a panic attack in the hospital. There was a part when he was remembering when his parents would calm him down when he was in the hospital with his shoulder, and I was wondering if maybe you could write a full version of that - when Remus was in the hospital and afraid, and sad, and in pain and his parents helping him through it.

Just a thought, love your work! ❤❤

Fic O'Ween Day 6: Nightmare. Honestly this is a big ol' cathartic whumpfest, ft. my endless love for Hope Lupin. Characters belong to @lumosinlove <3

TW for description of injury, trauma, hospitals, crying

The faint sound of plastic wheels on linoleum rattled through the door. There was the squeaky, bubbling laugh that only a five-year-old could muster; the wheels rattled again, returning from the end of their path to the timbre of a gentle voice. The lights inside were dim and Hope was grateful.

Julian rolled his toy across the hall floor again and Lyall chuckled, making some comment that was lost to the thick door. Voices hummed like the wings of bees in a hive, interrupted now and then by the ping of a PA system or the tchack-tchuck of crisp cart wheels going past. Remus was doing an awfully good job of pretending to sleep.

Today was hard. They had arrived early—so early, if there was a God up there she prayed she would never have to coerce a toddler into the car before sunrise again—and waited for long enough that she began to resent the asscrack-of-dawn appointment. Jules passed the time dozing in Remus’ lap; small miracles. When the doctor finally arrived, she read an Eye Spy book with him while Lyall and Remus went in for the debrief, both too tense around the shoulders. They had all been too tense lately. It made her sick to think about shoulders for too long.

Two weeks of silence had begun clotting between them and sticking to the corners of the house. Hope didn’t like hospitals much, never had, but she was just glad to be able to breathe. Dislocation and multiple muscle tears, they had said. Get to the doctor within the month, or you’ll run the risk of severe infection. Festering. Shredded. Damaged. All those words, and none of the truth.

Hope looked down at the hand laying limp in her own. Freckled. Strong. Determined. That was her son. That was the truth. The doctors always seemed to overlook his kindness, his gentle heart, his unending courage—they never wanted to just listen for two seconds. Maybe Remus would have told them what happened, then. Maybe he would finally speak up because Hope might not be a doctor but she knew for damn sure that an injury like that didn’t come from a stray hit, and not a single person cared to look further.

She would have done it herself, if she had the time. But she didn’t. She just didn’t. There wasn’t enough Hope Howell to go around.

“Remus.” Her voice stuck in her throat and she coughed lightly, giving his hand a squeeze. “Re, baby.”

He remained quiet and motionless, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest under the blankets. They only let him have pudding in the hospital, some fakey vanilla nonsense that smelled like plastic, and the antibiotics had brutalized his appetite—he was too skinny, now. Tears welled in her eyes and she bit the inside of her lip, looking to the ceiling until she was sure they wouldn’t fall.

“Come on, trooper, let’s get some water in you.” She squeezed his hand again, tighter. “You don’t have to sit up or anything. Dad and Jules are in the hallway. Just—just have a drink and then you can go back to sleep, okay?”

No response. Something warm slid down her cheek and she wiped it away on her sleeve. It wouldn’t do any good to cry right now. She had done enough of that earlier, when Remus couldn’t regulate his breathing by himself and the nurse asked her to hold his hand while they put the anesthesia mask over him. Hope didn’t plan on dying anytime soon, but she knew she would never forget the look on his face as long as she lived. Clammy and shaky, wide-eyed until the medicine kicked in and his lids slipped down into something almost restful if his brow hadn’t been creased so deep. It was the stuff of unimaginable nightmares. They told her he slept through the whole thing, all three grueling hours.

Two pins and an immeasurable number of stitches later, he still thought he could fool her.

There was no sense in wasting her energy to push down her emotions anymore. Remus had to know it was alright to feel them, and to let them go. Hope sniffled and watched one drip onto her jeans. “I know you’re awake,” she said quietly. “I know you’re probably feeling sick and awful but I am so proud of you, sweet pea.”

The blanket hitched.

“I’m so proud of you,” she repeated, voice wobbling. “You did so good. And I promise I’m not going to grill you about anything, I just want you to drink some water, if you want me to tell Dad you’re still asleep that’s fine—”

A low, broken sound cracked her somewhere deep, beyond her heart and lungs. When she leaned over in an awkward hug, Remus didn’t try to pull away like he had since that night, didn’t do anything but grip her cardigan with his good hand while half-breathless sobs wracked his body.

“I know.” She pressed a kiss to his sweaty hair. “I know, I know, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t.” Remus sucked in air like a fish on land; she could hear it catching somewhere too shallow for it to do any good and held him closer. “Momma you don’t ‘n’ I’m sorry but I can’t.”

“Why not?” She closed her eyes tight enough to ache. “Re, baby, you’ve gotta tell me or I can’t help you.”

“The hit—the hit—”

“Please don’t bullshit me.” She sounded frail to her own ears. “Don’t tell me it was the hit, Remus, your dad and I both know that’s not true—”

The next sob was louder and she winced in sympathy at the seizing of his chest. “It was, it was—”

“No.” She sat up just enough to see him, though Remus’ hold on her didn’t loosen by a bit. His face was blotchy and streaked with salt tracks, lips white at the edges from trying to keep it all in. He was Remus, age five, with a red mark on his forehead from a doorknob. He was Remus, age eight, split-lipped and bruised after going head over heels over his bike handlebars. He was Remus, age 14, roughed-up from his first hockey fight once the adrenaline faded and he was just scared and in pain.

Hope gently pried him off her sweater and held his hand in both of her own. A deep breath eased her headache by a degree, but nothing could stop the heartache watching Remus choke down his tears again, and again, and again. There was something darker in his eyes. Something more than fear and hurt. It was where his sobs kept catching and his breath couldn’t get through. Part of Remus had died that night, she knew that much, but this cesspool of abject terror was something he hadn’t let them see yet.

“I won’t ask for details.” Please, please tell me or I’m never going to sleep again. Remus watched her like a wary deer and somehow that hurt even more. “I won’t. I promise. You can tell Dad and ask him not to share with me if you want. But I need to ask you one thing, Remus, and I need you to be honest.”

His throat bobbed. He sniffed, though it didn’t do much. His left arm was bound tight to his body and it took a second for him to shift up on the pillows. He nodded.

“Did this happen during the hit?”

Remus’ lower lip wobbled and he shook his head, lashes clumping with fresh tears that spilled over and down toward his ears. Hope let out an unsteady exhale and bent to hug him again.

Sitting there in the plastic chair, back aching, holding her son who had done nothing to deserve anything but the best in life, Hope found that she couldn’t wish death on whoever did this. Death was too good for them. Too light of a punishment. She wanted their life razed and salted and burned until nothing could grow there again and when their time was finally up, she wanted them to pass on with nobody at their side.

In a sense, it was a good thing Lyall was still keeping Jules entertained for the millionth hour, bless his sweet soul. If he had been there for Remus’ confession, the person who did this to their son would be six feet underground before the day was up.

Remus had quieted, resigned to sniffling and the occasional tremor. Hope brushed his hair off his feverish forehead and wiped his tears with the corner of the blanket. “Thank you,” she said at last.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Remus rasped.

“Yes, you can.” She met his gaze, holding strong under the shattered thing staring back at her. “And you will. It’s alright if it takes time. You and me and your dad and Jules are going to get through this, Remus. Step by step. This is not the end of the world.”

Later, when she looked through the window while Jules finished his snack in her lap and saw Lyall holding Remus like his lanky body could shield them both from the world, it almost felt like a beginning.

#hope lupin #remus lupin #julian lupin #lyall lupin #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #injury #hospitals #hurt/ comfort #angst #hugs #remus go to therapy challenge #noot fest #fic o'ween 2022

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princess-of-the-corner · 5 months

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So, read something interesting - apparently nitroglycerin (or a major component of it) lowers blood pressure, and is even still used to today as a form of heart medication. I'm wondering if that would affect Katsuki? Like, I don’t know anywhere NEAR enough about that kind of thing to know for sure, but would Katsuki have natural low/high blood pressure, because he’s constantly sweating nitroglycerin? Apparently sedatives w/ low blood pressure can be dangerous, is that on his med record?

Honestly I love it and while I haven't mentioned it in CC I did mention it a bit before when discusing how the biology of Quirks effects the personality.

Mostly in that Katsuki's whole thing was always going to result in her being 'all the time all the time', but whether that resulted in the angry gremlin we have, or an anxiety-fueled bundle of nerves panicking 24/7, or some chipper adhd-esque party girl, that was more Katsuki's own nature and nurture coming into play than the Quirk itself.

But yeah like. Just like most Quirks, Katsuki's body is designed to be Like That and can regulate itself fine. Except when an outside force like medication comes into play.

That's gonna be a Fun Time when they find out that things to lower her blood pressure go fucky, but thankfully it's going to be in a controlled environment. Doctors are already vigilant when it comes to giving people new medications so they can look for side effects/allergic reactions. And in a world of fuckery Quirks, they're extra vigilant because while they can predict an allergic reaction, they can't always predict how someone's Quirk will react to medications.

Now because the times when she's under those kind of major sedatives or something would already be heavily monitored(for example, being put under anesthesia for surgery), this isn't going to be as much of a problem.

What /will/ be a problem is finding medication for the more day-to-day. Any kind of pain medication, antidepressants/anti-anxiety meds, or even if she does hrt for the trans stuff? All of that is going to have to be checked for anything that would throw off her blood pressure and see if her body can adapt to it and regulate itself again, or if she needs to try a different medication.

While this is a natural process for any medication, it does come with more direct risk to her in the immediate.

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killed-by-choice · 1 year

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Angela “Angie” Hall, 29 (USA 1991)

Angela Hall was 29 years old and pregnant with her 6th child. She already trying to take care of so many kids and didn’t think she could feed another one. She was desperate and overwhelmed and she didn’t know where to turn to.

Angela needed real help and support. Instead, she was lured into a dangerous second-trimester abortion by an advertisement showing a happy couple arm-in-arm with each other. Ashamed to admit what she was about to do, Angela gave her mother an excuse about going somewhere else and had her friend Annette Wilson drive her to Birmingham for an abortion.

The abortion facility advertised in the picture was owned by abortionist Thomas Tucker, who regularly traveled between Alabama and Mississippi to perform abortions and claimed to be doing over 60% of the abortions in Mississippi. Joy Davis (one of his employees) screened Angela and found out that she was anemic and she had a fever. Because of Angela’s poor condition, Joy called Tucker and told him that Angela should be referred to a hospital.

Tucker didn’t care about Angela’s safety. He told Joy, “You know we need the money. Just do it. Just put the patient through.”

The first time Tucker so much as laid eyes on Angela, she was already under anesthesia. Tucker frequently had staff with no medical credentials administer anesthesia and laminaria dilators to his clients. Even Joy Davis, who had been tasked with examining Angela before the abortion, had no formal medical training. Yet even she could tell that Angela was unhealthy and at risk.

Just as the abortion was finished, Angela took a turn for the worse. She started gasping for air and an alarm on her blood pressure monitor was going off. Tucker told his staff to turn off the alarm because other clients would be able to hear it.

After screaming at his employees and temporarily stabilizing Angela’s blood pressure, Tucker sent Angela to a so-called recovery room. Packing was put in place in an attempt to stop her from bleeding, but Angela was so severely injured that she bled profusely through the packing material.

The bleeding was extremely dangerous. According to Joy, “Blood was running down the table. It was pooling in the floor and running down behind her back.” Joy wanted to call an ambulance, but Tucker didn’t want anyone to know about his second severely injured client that same day. (Before performing an abortion on Angela, he sent another client to the hospital.) He told his scared employee that he was the doctor and if anybody was going to make a decision to call the ambulance, it was going to be him. Angela was left in the sheets and hospital gown that were soaking in her own blood.

Unsurprisingly, Angela kept getting worse. Joy knew that Angela was still bleeding, so she went to Tucker and told him. His callous response was, “What do you want me to do?” Finally, Joy stood up to her boss and told him, “I don't know, but I want you to do something. She's going to lay here and die.” Tucker told her, “Fine. Call the fucking ambulance.” He then left the building and Joy (who had no formal medical training) was left trying to keep Angela alive until the ambulance could get there.

The ambulance took Angela to the hospital, where she was placed in the ICU. She suffered from respiratory failure, clotting, blood loss and sepsis. Hours later, Angela’s friend Annette finally called Angela’s mother (Mrs. Kidd) and told her that Angela was in the ICU. Mrs. Kids arrived to find her daughter covered in tubes and barely even breathing.

Angela died on June 14 just before midnight. Her autopsy found numerous tears and lesions in the pelvic area, which had leaked amniotic fluid into her bloodstream. She had congestive necrosis in her liver and spleen. The doctors concluded that the amniotic fluid embolism caused clotting problems that resulted in the necrosis, septic shock and cardiac arrest.

Alabama authorities subpoenaed Angela's records. To cover up what he had done, Tucker told the traumatized Joy to destroy some records and falsify others. On his orders, she tore up the records, which Tucker then tried to burn in an ashtray, setting off the facility’s smoke alarm. Tucker put out the fire, bagged up the damaged papers and ordered Joy to take the papers to the basement and burn them. Instead, she taped the pieces back together and eventually turned them over to the medical board.

The investigation found seemingly endless malpractice. Tucker had failed to report multiple malpractice lawsuits, most of which involved his abortion clients. He perforated the uteruses of at least 3 other clients, allowed untrained staff to administer anesthesia, insert laminaria and perform abortions, had been known to disregard the state’s waiting period for abortions, falsified records, destroyed incriminating evidence and wrote fake prescriptions in order to sell addictive drugs. He was also responsible for the death of 21-year-old Michelle Jordan, who came to one of Tucker’s facilities to have the birth control implant in her arm removed. (The implant could easily be removed with only local anesthetic, but Tucker unnecessarily had general anesthesia used instead. He may have also had one of his unqualified employees administer anesthesia to Michelle, who died from complications of anesthesia.)

In 1994, Tucker was stripped of his license to practice medicine in Alabama. The attorney general and the state medical board declared him an “immediate danger to his patients.”

Joy Davis was done working for Tucker. She became a very active Pro-Lifer and started working to help vulnerable women avoid sharing Angela’s fate.

As for Angela’s 5 surviving kids, they were adopted by their grandmother, who did the best she could to raise them all in a 2-bedroom house. The youngest can recognize a picture of his mother, but all he remembers of her is bringing flowers to her grave.

#tw murder #tw abortion #tw ab*rtion #tw blo0d #tw death #pro life #pro choice #abortion #abortion debate #unsafe yet legal #black lives matter #unsafe but legal

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marieshyperf1xations · 2 days

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PSA because we had a situation at work again yesterday:

Please be honest with emergency services and doctors. We're not going to tell anything to the police, we won't tell you off, you're not getting yourself into any trouble.

When we ask if you've consumed any alcohol or drugs, it's in case we need to give you any medication or because it can possibly explain some symptoms. Same goes for medications etc

When we ask if you last ate and drank, it's because depending on the answer there's different precautions and risks in case you need to be put under anesthesia or some medication needs different doses.

When we ask how bad your pain is, we won't judge you on how tough you are or aren't. It's because it gives us a way to put into perspective how much your pain has gotten better or worsened.

When we ask if there's any chance you're pregnant, again, we're not judging, it's important to know for certain medications as well as possibly symptoms.

We need to know your biological sex because it can make a difference in the dosage of medications and because certain emergencies can manifest differently, e.g. biological women are less likely to show the symptoms typically associated with a heart attack, but for example rather pain in the stomach area and nausea. 99,9% of my colleagues will comply no questions asked if you for example tell them you're biologically male but identify as a woman and use she/her pronouns.

So yeah, long story short, please be honest with emergency services, that way we can best help you :)

#psa #emergency services #feel free to reblog #or don't #just felt like getting this off my chest after work yesterday/today #non f1 related

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normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke · 19 days

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colonoscopy and endscopy went well. Putting the description under the cut for people with medical/needle phobias, it's nothing graphic though.

They went along with my requests to have the IV put in shortly before the procedure started in my hand. I waited in a room for like 2 hours pre-procedure so I'm really glad I didn't cave to the nurse who said the IV would have to go in pretty much as soon as I arrived. They couldn't take it out before I woke up in case I had heart issues coming out of anesthesia but I was sedated enough when I woke up that it was ok. The anesthesiologist was really nice about it but he basically said he couldn't do the procedure if I couldn't keep the IV in because of the (albeit very small) risk of death, if something happened with my heart I could die or have long-term health complications in the time it took them to place the IV back. The meds made my arm hurt a lot going in but that's the last thing I remember before going under, I was also on xanax so I was asleep almost as soon as I laid down anyway. It also helped that they were doing a bunch of other stuff to prep me like putting ECG leads on and stuff so I wasn't super focused on the IV. I also closed my eyes and I don't remember anything from during the procedure, I'm pretty sure I slept the whole time. Post-procedure they took me to a room with a bunch of other people recovering and closed the curtains around me most of the way so I had privacy but could still call for help if needed. They let me sleep until I woke up naturally which was nice. I was super cold so I got an extra blanket. They brought me ginger ale which made me hiccup but apparently it's normal for endoscopies to cause hiccups because they brush against the mechanism in your throat that triggers them. Once I had some graham crackers I stopped hiccuping. My mom unfortunately forgot her phone at home and had to run home so she wasn't there when I woke up like she said she was going to be, but I knew she was leaving to go get it so I wasn't freaked out at all. She was there when they took my IV out which is the only part where I had significant anxiety. My legs were really unstable because of the anesthesia and having not eaten for two days so I asked for a wheelchair. We decided against taking my powerchair in and just used one of the provided manual ones to make it easier for my mom and the medical staff. Overall it went as smoothly as it could have and I got to go to Arby's afterwards so I was happy. I came home and slept the rest of the day because I had to get up at like 7:30am for the procedure and I was on two sedatives, trying to stay awake would have been miserable.

Results were nothing weird visibly but they did take a biopsy to test me for h. pylori because my stomach seemed inflamed, although that can also happen because of NSAID use. Next step is probably a gastric emptying test and if that shows nothing it's probably just IBS.

#cripplepunk

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news4dzhozhar · 3 months

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Miscarriages in Gaza Have Increased 300% Under Israeli Bombing

**And these deaths aren't included in the running count of Palestinians killed**

At Al-Emirati Hospital in Rafah, a woman identified by Doctors Without Borders as Maha sought a delivery room as she began going into labor, but was denied: “All the delivery rooms were full,” an emergency coordinator working with the humanitarian group recounted in a news release published Wednesday. Maha “knew something wasn’t right,” and that she needed care. But without other options, she returned to her tent. Her newborn son died as she gave birth to him in the bathroom near her tent. “Without this war, she would not have lost her son,” the emergency coordinator wrote.

Shortly after Israel’s bombardment of the Gaza Strip began in October, global health groups raised alarms that there was no longer anywhere safe for pregnant women to give birth. More than three months into the siege, conditions have only worsened, and pregnant and menstruating people are especially at risk. Health care workers report a 300% increase in the miscarriage rate among pregnant people in Gaza since Israel’s attacks began three months ago, Nour Beydoun, CARE’s regional advisor on protection and gender in emergencies, told Jezebel.

The lack of supplies due to Israel’s ongoing blockade has resulted in pregnant women struggling to carry healthy pregnancies; higher risk of infection and death after giving birth or having c-sections; increased infant mortality; and a range of other deadly sexual and reproductive health outcomes. Beydoun told Jezebel that CARE has heard about “significant weight loss” among pregnant women “due to the limited access to food, to proper nutrition,” resulting in “poor personal health and also in poor fetal and newborn health.”

Ammal Awadallah, executive director of the Palestinian Family Planning & Protection Association, told Jezebel that “all pregnant women are now at severe risk of delivering in unsafe conditions, being put in situations where they are giving birth in cars, tents, and shelters.” At health centers, pregnant women are only admitted “when fully dilated and are dismissed within a few hours after giving birth, due to the overcrowded facilities and extremely limited resources.” On top of all this, Beydoun said that many women must make the journey to hospitals or health centers—where they could still be turned away due to lack of capacity—on foot.

Due to limited resources, Awadallah says many c-sections and births “are being performed without basic medical supplies, or anesthesia and without any postnatal care.” Few are able to get or attend appointments with their doctors after giving birth, and many “have no option other than to stay in the overcrowded shelters.” As a result, a lot of “women are being dangerously exposed to infections,” the the risk of maternal mortality is high: “There’s now so much risk of hemorrhaging and infections without the right tools and medicines,” Beydoun said. And the many women forced to undergo emergency c-sections also face cesarean wound infections due to lack of clean medical tools for the procedure.

These conditions are similarly dangerous for newborns, who are “dying from a lack of sterile environment and specialized staff,” Beydoun said.

Of course, this is all assuming that pregnant women are able to be admitted into hospitals at all, where “priority is often not for women going into labor” and beds are rarely available for them, Awadallah said. The conditions at the Al-Emirati field hospital in Rafah demonstrate how overworked hospitals in Gaza have become: Beydoun said the hospital was “initially designed to receive 30 to 40 outpatient consultations from pregnant women on a daily basis—now they handle 300 to 400 cases daily.” The hospital has just one operating room and is “designed to have two to three c-section deliveries per day—now they’re delivering 20 daily.”

In October, it was estimated that at least 50,000 women in Gaza were pregnant. The International Planned Parenthood Federation reported at the time that more women were miscarrying or going into early labor from shock and stress under bombardment. And it’s not yet clear how many of those thousands of pregnant women in Gaza are among the estimated 24,000 Palestinians who have been killed in Israel’s attacks, or among the thousands who remain missing. In its charge of genocide against Israel at the International Court of Justice, South Africa alleges that “two mothers are estimated to be killed every hour in Gaza.” (The Israeli death toll from Hamas attacks on October 7 stands at 1,139. Hamas continues to hold roughly 200 people hostage.)

After months of Israeli bombardment, the health care system in Gaza is “completely collapsing,” Doctors Without Borders warned last month. A CNN investigation published on January 12 found at least 20 of 22 hospitals in northern Gaza had been damaged or destroyed in the first two months of Israel’s war on Gaza, and 14 were directly attacked by Israeli forces. The World Health Organization reported in December that no “functional” hospitals remained in northern Gaza, and only nine out of 36 hospitals in the south were even partially functioning to serve Gaza’s population of 2 million. On Tuesday evening, journalists in Gaza reported that Israeli forces had closed in on and were attacking Nasser Hospital.

Birth complications are just one threat people who menstruate are facing: As the independent Gaza-based journalist Bisan Owda highlighted earlier this month, period supplies are nearly impossible to find. According to Awadallah, few people “can find a pharmacy nearby,” let alone one that still stocks sanitary products. Many are forced to use strips of cloth that they can’t wash due to lack of water, plastic bags in lieu of pads, or, “if they’re lucky enough,” cut-up baby diapers. One hospital worker told Owda that “each day” she encounters “numerous instances of fever directly linked to vaginal yeast infections, arising from inadequate hygiene and the absence of feminine products.” Another told her that the “scarcity of basic products results in more hospital visits, longer hospital stays, and worsened conditions” from infection and disease. Severe water shortages and overcrowded public bathrooms further contribute to “the high number of reproductive and urinary tract infections,” Awadallah said.

On top of that, due to “the suffering, anxiety, and deteriorating psychological status of the women in the [Gaza] Strip,” Awadallah said a large proportion are now “getting their period a number of times during the month” instead of once.

This lack of water and malnutrition as a result of Israel’s blockade have been especially detrimental for nursing mothers: Women are struggling to breastfeed their babies as they aren’t able to produce milk “without having water to drink nor sufficient food to eat,” Awadallah said. In a letter provided by CARE, Alaa, a mother in Gaza, wrote that “no one is eating enough,” and “it is usually the mothers who eat last” in order to feed their children first. “I slept on an empty stomach every night so my children wouldn’t go hungry,” Alaa wrote. Back in October, Al-Aqsa Hospital told the Associated Press that many mothers in Gaza were forced to mix baby formula with contaminated water, “[contributing] to the rise in critical cases” in the hospital’s neonatal ward.

Barriers to basic health care and resources aren’t new for the women and girls of Gaza, Awadallah told Jezebel: “Palestinian women and girls were already living in a severely vulnerable environment, in an area which has been blockaded from essential basic health services and products for more than a decade.” But the crisis has become more dire than ever, and “without a full and immediate ceasefire, and the unimpeded delivery of humanitarian aid across all parts of Gaza, maternal and neonatal deaths will continue to rise.”

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djuvlipen · 29 days

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Miscarriages in Gaza Have Increased 300% Under Israeli Bombing

The lack of supplies due to Israel’s ongoing blockade has resulted in pregnant women struggling to carry healthy pregnancies; higher risk of infection and death after giving birth or having c-sections; increased infant mortality; and a range of other deadly sexual and reproductive health outcomes. Beydoun told Jezebel that CARE has heard about ��significant weight loss” among pregnant women “due to the limited access to food, to proper nutrition,” resulting in “poor personal health and also in poor fetal and newborn health.”

#Palestine #Gaza #miscarriage #reproductive rights #Palestinian genocide

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factorialsotherfandoms · 4 months

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QSMP in XCOM2 once again! Cellbit's orientation day, after he gets the Fed job to go undercover with but a week or so before he starts work! What delights await us, I wonder? (Anyone following my thoughts recently knows) (cat-hybrid!Cellbit, circa 9 years before Felps is rescued and 4-ish before first meeting Roier). Frankly while this one is specifically the au, it could also very easily fit into a slightly more fucked up version of canon.

TW: graphic torture sequence, blood, broken bone, unwanted and unnecessary surgery, declawing

A young woman in a Federation Uniform shows Cellbit through the office. She is the next newest hire, with scarring across her nose and the gills either side of her throat looking irritated from the air conditioning. Cellbit hasn't been given her name, only her rank of Junior, just like he has only been given the names of everyone else here.

He has been given his own desk, however, and allowed a few moments to arrange it - there's no place for sentimentality in the Federation, and even if there were he would not risk his mission. Still, he lays out his pens and his calculator, and lets himself be talked through setting up a login for the computer.

Just as he finishes that, she jolts; he looks, sees her eyes blown wide with fear, and follows them to the approaching Cucurucho.

"I will take over this investigation," the creature says, robotic and blank.

Junior bows and scampers.

Cellbit thinks of other fish-hybrids he has met, of the scars on her face where scales should be, and his ears twitch at the idea of what comes next.

"Follow me."

No matter what he suspects, Cellbit follows.

He's here for a reason, one greater than himself, and what price is his flesh to pay for access to the Federation computers?

---

Cucurucho leads Cellbit to an office, and has him sit. There's a metal tray on the table, and a pair of metal cuffs screwed into the desk. He's not ordered to put his hands in them, however - not yet.

There is also a man there, with a surgical mask on. He does not say anything, just gestures for Cellbit's hands.

Cellbit cannot afford to show doubt or hesitation, not this late in the game - he gives his hands, and barely flinches as each one is stabbed by a needle.

The tingling cold of anesthesia begins creeping from them, much like when his wisdom teeth were pulled. Local anesthetic - and, fuck.

At least he'll be awake for whatever torment the Federation has dreamed up.

(Perhaps, a weak, filthy part of himself thinks, he'd rather be asleep though.)

While the anesthetic spreads, the surgeon pulls out a set of hairpins and a mirror. Cellbit is gestured at and made to watch as his ears - his most obvious hybrid feature - are folded over and pinned into place.

The Federation demands perfection in all its workers, and clearly hybrids are not considered such - Junior, the fish lady, proved that well enough.

Cellbit's ears twitch under the rough touch, just grateful to be left intact; under his shirt his tail twitches too and - fuck, his hands.

His hands, where his claws lie under the skin.

His claws, his claws, an alteration in his very bone structure - local anesthetic in his hands, wrist cuffs, the tray - if they take his claws, will he ever be able to hold a pen again?

He starts to panic, and clamps it down.

Calm, calm, even breaths, do not let them see your fear.

It's worth it, anyway - he can pin his ears each morning and unpin them each night, and having his claws cut from his hands is not so very high a cost at all! To loose his claws - even his hands, if it comes to it...

It's worth it, it's worth it, if he can save Felps.

Not even everyone, everyone else is just an incidental factor beside saving his family - so long as he can save Felps without losing the rest of his people, /any/ cost is worth it.

And so Cellbit memorises how they want him to hide his ears, and lets his hands be clamped into place, and watches impassive as the sensitivity in his hands is tested and a scalpel unwrapped.

It sits there, staring, judgemental for a good five minutes as the anesthetic kicks properly in. The surgeon sits across the desk, waiting, and Cucurucho leers over him, blank smile ever affixed to the bear's terrible face.

And then, the surgeon is satisfied - content that Cellbit's hands will not be able to move, and ruin his work.

There is no more warning than the man picking up the scalpel, and digging it into the skin over Cellbit's leftmost knuckle.

Cellbit looks over the surgeon's head, to meet Cucurucho's eyes.

He feels nothing as the blade digs around his hand, blood dripping onto the table as the surgeon works.

The noise, though - oh God, the noise.

Scraping of metal on bone as it seeks out the joint, ruining the muscle tissue all around. Cellbit doesn't look, doesn't look, not until the surgeon flicks the blade, and there's a crack, and there in his hands rests one of Cellbit's bones.

Even that, however, Cellbit refuses to relent for.

He can feel nothing in his hands, nor his arms, but there's something hollow about it all the same.

The surgeon doesn't even stitch up the wound as he digs the scalpel into the next knuckle.

Cellbit looks back up.

If this be the price he will pay it willingly, pay it fourfold, and pay it thrice. He will watch as his bones are carved from his skin, he will stare Cucurucho in those soulless black eyes and swear his vengeance again and again.

Everything he is, he gives for Felps.

Everything taken, he will take back from them some day.

The scraping continues, and Cellbit dares himself not to look. He remains sat tall, remains sat proud, even as he hears the scratch-scratch-scratch.

Another crack, and another bloody bone is tossed to the side.

It's not until the fourth claw that Cellbit begins to flinch. The blood loss is getting to him, no matter how he tries to stay tall. The numbness creeps up his arms, and he knows it is bad, he knows it is wrong.

He knows that, even if he says something, they'll only be crueler.

For Felps, he reminds himself.

For Felps, who saw good in him when there was no good to see - for Felps, and for his family.

The scalpel is swapped out for another one around the seventh claw. Cellbit's right hand is no tougher than his left, but still a bigger blade is taken to it. The surgeon doesn't flinch, Cucurucho's face remains in its soulless smile, and so Cellbit refuses to be weak once again. He keeps his stance, keeps his posture, keeps his face perfectly schooled even as his hands are ripped apart.

The scalpel slips.

A shockwave of vibration shoots back through Cellbit's bones - his posture crumples as he gasps, the pain finally becoming apparent around his shoulder.

The surgeon glances up.

His lips are hidden, but his eyes are smiling.

And Cellbit... Cellbit cannot, will not let them win - he needs this, he needs this, this is his one chance and his one lead and whatever hell they put him through it /has/ to be worth the cost.

He cannot hiss, he cannot snarl, he can only breathe and bite his tongue and bring his eyes up once more.

Another crack, another claw, another chunk of flesh and another piece of himself ripped away.

They want perfection? Cellbit will give them perfection.

It won't be the perfection they want, but he'll give it to them all the same.

They can take his blood, they can take his bones, they can take his very soul, but he will not let them win.

What's a soul anyway?

He can answer the question in many ways, but his is black with sin, a sticky ichor infecting everything it touches. They want it? Let it destroy them - they've taken the cure, and no matter what he does, he will not let them also touch the balm.

Another claw gone - number eight caused them trouble, and it will be nothing compared to the hell Cellbit will unleash just as soon as Felps is safe.

His vision is blurring now, too much blood on the table, too much damage to his muscles and too much poison in his veins.

He hunches slightly, but keeps the eye contact. He can't stop the snarl, can't stop the venom, not now - but he can refuse to loose.

The ninth claw sheers into two as it is scraped from his hand, one piece pushing itself deeper even as the other is removed.

Cellbit turns his head down to fight the darkness, and watches as the surgeon cuts a line from his wrist to his second finger joint, peeling back skin and tortured muscle as he searches for the missing piece. At the knuckle the cut goes all the way to the bone, and yet Cellbit can barely see it for the blood.

Still he watches, still he stares, counting every crime as the blade digs through his skin in search of that fragment of bone.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually the surgeon finds it, pulling it out with a pair of plastic tweezers. This wound he bothers to stitch; Cellbit can still feel nothing, but his head is fuzzy and his breathing comes in uneven pants.

One more, just one more.

Cellbit cannot raise his head any more, cannot even twist his lips to a snarl. Still, he refuses to close his eyes - still he insists on winning, watching as his last knuckle is cut into, and the tenth claw is removed.

It comes with no fanfare and no announcement, just the wet plop of the bloody bone being dropped into a bottle of fluid - the other nine bones are gathered, various levels of intact, and join it.

Cellbit can barely breathe, can barely see. He hears his heart in his ears, uneven and struggling. He stares at the bloody mess of his hands - still bleeding, still bleeding - until the darkness is too much, until vengeance is not enough to keep him presence, until even the thought of Felps is out of reach.

"Welcome to the Census Bureau"

It's the last thing he hears before the darkness wins, and Cellbit finally, finally passes out.

---

Cellbit wakes up on a bunk, on top of the sheets. There's a ladder down to the ground, leading to the tiny floor space. He has a small sink, a mirror, a chest of drawers. Under the bed is a desk, a bookshelf, and a tiny cupboard.

His hands are wrapped in bandages, already bleeding through.

He moves his hands and finally, finally he gives in and screams.

#qsmp x xcom #qsmp fanfic #qsmp cellbit #qsmp cucurucho #whump #angst #horror #check the tws hard on this one please #my brain tells me its not that graphic and i'm there going 'um yes?'#anyway enjoy!!!#qsmp au

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the-brainrot-central · 3 months

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Feeling writerblocked as fuck and too tired to answer my asks so fuck it, old man mpreg thought dump. And by “old man” I mean this bitch 🤦‍♂️🤦🤦‍♀️

Why the fuck did I have to fixate on this mf I swear to GOD I HATE MY FUCKING BRAIN 😭

(TW: mpreg, mentions of hate crime, mentions of miscarriage)

Anyways THOUGHTS:

Him getting pregnant obviously wasn’t the intended outcome, but him and his wife decide to keep it because they’ve been trying for a kid for quite a while, and this might be their only chance. They’re both getting older and that fertility window is closing.

He is violently ill for a long time and they have no clue why until they see a doctor. His morning sickness gets so bad he can hardly eat some days. His wife gets mad at him because of how damn picky he’s being with food—even plain foods bother him, sometimes even just the texture is enough to make him throw up—but tried her best to accommodate and make different foods that are easier on his stomach.

This happening in the mid-sixties, people aren’t too kind about pregnant men, so they both agree not to tell their families until after the baby’s born, and then they’ll tell them it was just a normal pregnancy

His pregnancy is higher risk, in several ways, being both geriatric and male. Because of this he has to see doctors more often, has a visit every other week throughout the duration of his pregnancy.

But yeah he has to keep it pretty much under wraps, once he gets big enough to be noticed he just stops leaving the house altogether for fear of being seen. His wife gets a job as a secretary while he’s homebound. He feels really guilty about staying at home and making her go to work but they both agreed its what’s safest for him and the baby, they’re especially wary after a particular “incident” that happened in his second trimester (a stranger assaults him and they almost lose the baby)

Birth is a planned c-section, though it turns into somewhat of an emergency when his water breaks three weeks earlier than his due date and the contractions start coming on quickly after.

Despite his nerves and the pain, he’s pretty calm while they prep him for surgery, meanwhile his wife is an absolute neurotic mess, starts crying while they’re giving him anesthesia and putting in his epidural because it’s finally setting in that oh shit, this is really happening, their entire lives are about to change. Not to mention her husband is about to go through major surgery and something could easily go wrong

Fortunately, it’s a pretty smooth delivery, baby Kira comes out easy peasy and they’re both sobbing messes when they get to hold him for the first time 🥺

Losing my goddamn marbles tbh

#I’m very normal about this I swear #fucking kill me #I have a lot more thoughts but I’ll spare y’all for now #especially because it gets pretty dark at certain parts oops #yoshikage kira #yoshihiro kira #jjba #mpreg au #mpreg #mpreg thoughts #old man mpreg #jojo #kira yoshikage #jojos bizarre adventure

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