#this fucker has tormented me for so long and Ive seen no one else talk abt it so Im still not 100% convinced it wasnt a glitch somehow

[arolesbianism]

Horrible realization that if I go through with recollecting all the oni logs then I'll have to actually find out how to get "a seed is planted" like for realsies this time. Maybe I should just cheat them all in actually. <3.

#rat rambles #oni posting #a seed is planted sucks so bad its like my second favorite log and its been such a pain in the fucking ass to find #appearing then dissapearing so thourougly that I thought I might have made it up somehow making me learn to look into the god damn code to #find out if Im crazy or not only to find it along side all the story trait logs despite it being in the research notes section and Then I #open oni again to chech smth completely different and it fucking reapears out of nowhere and then the game updates and all my logs explode #this fucker has tormented me for so long and Ive seen no one else talk abt it so Im still not 100% convinced it wasnt a glitch somehow #it probably is a real log thats in the game and it disappearing is the glitch but boy do I have no way of knowing #if that is the case I can only imagine it relates to it seemingly having been intended as a story trait log #I assume it was moved to research notes because of how long it is but idk #anyways nails you motherfucker why must you have recorded one of the more lore heavy logs in the game and then made it a bitch to find #like genuinely I think its one of like 3 max logs that directly mention duplicants by name #ok ok there might be 4 I dont remember exactly #but two of those would be by jackie and one by probably nikola so nails mentioning them by name is a pretty big deal #and thats if Im remembering those logs correctly which I am likely not lol #its like 3 am ok #a seed is planted also just gives us some juicy lore relating to the actual tech we see in game #along with. that whole unnamed human subject thing. that still haunts me. #who are you subject whatever your number was and are you olivia specifically to spite me #if it wasnt for the b111-1 thing I wouldn't consider her that strong a canidate but it is a thing so she is #not only is she a strong candidate but shes like. one of like 3 real candidates we have for that #it's a weird case because it could very easily be a complete rando especially given the subject number instead of a work id being given #but also given its relation to dupes itd be weird if it wasnt someone who either worked at gravitas or otherwise got duped #which thankfully does free olivia of some possibility since as far as we know there are no olivia dupes lol #jorge and dr.holland are the other two main options in my minds eye but thats based on very little #dr.holland in particular would kind of vaguely make sense given hes mentioned in that story trait's artifact reward #but ofc given that nails does not choose to elaborate on that whole thing all I can do is blindly speculate #they also mention a name which is fun because its one of our rare complete randos in oni lore #now. he could easily be revealed to be some dupe but Im pretty sure the name was like bruce or smth so I dont consider it likely #also I am deeply curious of what this bruce guy was to nails given nails calls him 'my darling bruce'

[lifeafterten]

RtN 02: Sept 02 -Sept 12; Get Me the FUCK Outta Here

I’ve been here for days. Who the fuck stays in the hospital for days?... Fucked up people. And I’m in Fucked-Upville-- Population (points to self) this mother fucker. 

Okay. Okay. I’m turning the drama down.  Honestly though... I’ve been here a fucking while. I have an I.V. tube in each arm, one for fluids, because I’m perpetually dehydrated, the other is for the antibiotics that don’t seem to be working, because I still feel like death. I have to often lay in awkward positions so I don’t tangle myself and make the machines go off. So. Much. Beeping. And I swear to Christ, if they come at you with a little blue bag and claim it’s potassium... RUN--Fucking run, because once they hook your ass up to that shit you’ll feel like they’re injecting fire into your veins and you can’t scream because let’s face it: you’re too damn tired, so you settle for some weird case of facial Tourettes in the form of wincing and hissing. And they turn the drip down enough for the fire to feel like a sting... and you feel that effervescent sting until it’s done. It’s “supposed” to take 30 minutes-- they say. But my pansy ass can’t take the heat so the slowed down version makes it last at least an hour and some change. I pray I’m not stubborn enough today to take the morphine.  Why won’t you take the morphine, Ashley? I’ll fucking tell you why-- I have control issues.  And the morphine feels too fucking good that I need the pain to remind me that I’m still alive and to gauge between dream and reality.

At this point I’m agitated (by pain and impatience). I’ve been stuck by damned needled so many times, because of all the bloodletting I’ve been doing.  These assholes have been taking my life source (no, not coffee, you freak) twice a day. Oh, I’m sorry, they’ve been taking my “blood cultures” twice a day.

Why? They don’t say. They tell me to ask my doctor. My doctor is a pussy.  Soft spoken; pussy footing fucking pussy, who can’t give me a straight answer.

I dismiss my doctor more than a person dismisses alcoholism. Day drinking is not a bad thing. Who cares if it’s barely noon and you’ve been drinking since 9. ... Not speaking from experience-- Anyway!

I dismissed my doctor a lot. I couldn’t help it. I’ve been laying up in this bitch for weeks and you can’t give me some indication of what’s going on; let alone a time frame of when I’ll be able to go home-- on top of a mother fucking reason why I’m being kept in here for so damn long? Yeah. Fuck that shit. Dismissed, mother fucker. I have no fucks to give for useless asshats. Come talk to me when you can tell me what the fuck’s up. 

I’ve been moved to three or four rooms. From the ER bed to Surgery... Then to another room in Surgery... to the Telemetry ward, because my heart rate was too high-- which honestly I’m not surprised... I’ve been on permanent pissed the hell off for quite some time now.  They take my vitals every 30 minutes.  I’ve been counting because I literally have nothing else to do, besides... I only feel that it’s fair that I monitor them while they monitor me. But mostly it’s because I’m bored and there’s nothing on TV.  By now I’ve refused visitors.  I’ve dodged death a couple times.

Homicide via Mio overdose: Backstory: I asked for Mio, because they kept saying I was dehydrated and I thought I needed electrolytes like a muh’fug, so when my friend Kris came by (note she had no idea what Mio was let alone how to use it) and had dumped an entire bottle of Mio (24 servings) into my water jug (16 - 24 oz tops). I take one sip of it and I thought I was gonna die. Chest was on fire. My machines were going crazy, because I was coughing my lungs out and poor Kris is panicked and distraught. Its hard to convey you’re okay if you’re croaking like you’ve been smoking for about 300 years and your vision is obscured by tears. Sidenote: The incident still brings her to tears to this day, she feels so bad. Personally, I think it’s adorable and funny... Now, at the time...? Owie.

Suicide via Mother doth Love too much: I love my mother. I do. I love my entire family. But they like to hover and it was stifling. They’re looking at me with worried eyes when they think I’m asleep and I get it.  It doesn’t look good, kid.  My sister? God love her, she tries to keep the worry and her tears in check because she knows I don’t know how to handle them.  My Dad? Shit, my dad knows what’s up. He knows I’m gonna handle my shit the only way I know how. On my own terms. This is why I’m a daddy’s girl. My brother and sister in law on the other hand? My bother spilled water down the front of my gown (had to change that shit. not fun) and his wife, in her efforts to break my fever, stuffed my fresh new gown with ice packs.. And when I say ice packs, I mean latex gloves filled with ice stuffed in my gown. Stuffed. In. My. Fucking. Gown. That’s it-- I’ve had it! Everyone’s banned.

And it’s also hard to put on a tough front when all I wanna do is cry, but I end up just being angry instead.

The only human interaction I had is when the nurses are taking my blood, or my vitals, or switching my IV bags, or helping me to the bathroom to do bathroom things, or giving me sponge baths because I’m too weak to get out of bed, or shooting morphine into my body to ease my torment; or shoving pills down my fucking throat because nothing is fucking working. I’m still getting fevers out of nowhere.  People are coming in and out every morning to lift my gown up (they do it so much they don’t even ask anymore. A brief thought of charging them crosses my mind, and I allow a small giggle. Because it’s silly, because I’m glad I still had somewhat of a sense of humor.) Still, I think my cooter deserves some ounce of respect. Women’s lib and all that crap. I’ve turned this part of the day into a game (I’m SO fucking bored). I like to spot the face tightening moment when they assess whatever the fuck is going on with my leg (I don’t know. I haven’t seen... I don’t want to see yet). 

It’s fun for me, because they’re medical professionals-- they’re supposed to be used to this kind of thing. But the face tightening? To me that’s a victory. That just means they have to school their expressions to indifference so as to not alarm me. Ah, bed side manner.  They’re so sweet. But I know just by their non-expressions that it looks fucked up. I have to look at the small details; read between the lines of what they’re not telling me.  I’d be in the dark otherwise. What are they not telling me? I know they’re testing for something... But I don’t know what they’re testing for. I stamp down fear, because I don’t have enough data to panic.

My dreams are getting scarier, because of the morphine. No more morphine, I promise myself. Vicodin only.  Yeah, that seems safer. The nurses, I’ve learned, just need someone to listen to them. Since I can’t get a decent night’s sleep because they’re fucking coming in every 15 to 30 minutes all day, every day, all the fucking time... Why the fuck not? I got nowhere else to be. I seem to have opened Pandora’s Box, because it’s 3am and I’m giving life advice to Agnes who has a very rebellious son, whom I point out is 16 years old and he’s going through a phase, it doesn’t mean she’s a bad mother.  Which I reminds me that I need to tell Doris who’s part of the Day crew that Agnes is off on Wednesdays too and that they should hangout together, because I think they would get along. I make a mental note to pass Agnes’ number to Doris later. I really should start charging... This pro bono shit aint working out. 

During my hospital stay I’ve managed the following:

Make only 4 nurse assistants cry

Befriend most if not all the Filipino nurses (they gave me all the apple sauce I wanted)

Make that one stern Indian Night Nurse smile (she gave me yogurt and bananas every time she was on shift)

Counsel only 5 to 6 nurses, mostly 5.. the 6th one kinda got weird. Didn’t take whatever she gave me.

Snob my doctor almost every day. 

Made my main nurse laugh because she thinks I’m a riot. 

Days later it was time for me to go home. I knew this for damned sure.  I saw so many specialists from an infectious disease doctor to a surgeon. I was so fucking bloated from all the fluids they were trying to fill me with that they could barely find veins to stab to get their precious blood cultures from. 

I also decided that with my body like this the Mitchelin tire man was my cousin.

Sidenote: To hell with the Infectious Disease doctor. That heifer made me lay on my side for two fucking days straight. Fat load that shit did for me. With all the extra fluids in my body, it just shifted to one side. All it gave me was a backache and lopsided boobs... and some fucking fluid in my lungs. Fucking devil woman. I got a fucked up leg, I’m the size of a float during the Macy’s Day Parade, and now I got lopsided tits. It’s funny... now. At the time? Not so much. It was September 12.  I had broken out in a rash due to an allergic reaction to one of the antibiotics. (Let’s just add that to the list of whatever the fuck else is wrong with my body, shall we?) My “doctor” (doesn’t deserve the title nor respect. Sorry not sorry) was trying to get me to stay a few more days. I’ve had quite enough. I told him to get the discharge papers ready. I’m leaving. My fevers were gone. My leg wasn’t draining so badly anymore (ew, gross. sorry) I felt fine. Despite me constantly checking my hands so they don’t try to scrape my skin off. Fucking hell I was so itchy. I didn’t need to be in here. That’s when the good doctor decided to divulge that I hurt his feelings and that I was his least favorite patient. (Boo freakity hoo.) But I was a good girl and let him talk, said all the appropriate things. ... He’s still a pussy.  He was glad to be rid of me and the feeling was more than fucking mutual. I did not tell him to get fucked. I did not tell him to suck my dick. I did not flick him off. I did not throw shit at him. I was rather proud of myself. I showed great restraint.  But I did point out that just because he had the “MD” attached to his name, does not mean automatic respect. Respect is earned Dr. Pussy foot.  I signed the paperwork with relish. Jessie came to pick me up and I was whisked off to spend my mandatory (couldn’t argue my way outta that one) bed rest at the Joseph’s.  I’m so tired of laying down. TBC...

#blog #lifeafterten #hospital #Road to Nepal part 2