Illness - Tumblr Posts

yukamitsu for the girlies happy femslash feb

Her arrows look like hearts in the official art its cute

misc misericorde and eterneas

I drew a humanized Thomas sketches in two papers for three months ago.

Painting and sketch of Bob the Builder

I've made a painted picture and a sketch of Bob the Builder in his white shirt with blue collar and sleeve lines.

There were five of them on this sketch:

Bob in his construction outfit

Bob in his pyjamas due to one of his illnesses

Bob with a nasal cannula, which helps him with his breathing

Bob in a hospital gown while he's in his unconsciousness

Bob's difficult breathing in an incident while fixing the robotic picker arms at Roland's warehouse

Left: Sad faced Bob in his hospital gown - 3rd March 2022

Right: Sketch of Bob the Builder fanfic - 3rd March 2022

Another Sketch of Where's Wally?

I'm finally done finishing up my other drawing sketch of Wally. He wore a red and white pyjamas when he's falling ill.

Sketch of Wally in his red and white pajamas - 19th August 2022

Feeling Unwell

I do not believe I am well. Although, I don't believe I'm quite entirely unwell. Then again, it is said that the insane are unaware of their own insanity and that their frail grip on what they deem as sanity is, in fact, a self imposed lie. My reasoning behind my assumption is that simply, I am not feeling as up-to-standard as I once had. I lay on my bed or couch, nearly unable to move or even get up to feed myself. Not because I deem it unnecessary but simply because I find myself incapable of taking those steps to sit up, lay my feet on the floor, stand, and complete the desired task. I find myself indulging in a strange behavior. I crawl into the space underneath my bed, curl into the darkness, and weep. I do it because I have deemed that space, a place I cannot see my own flaws and the outside world can neither hear or be heard by me, as something akin to safety. Or perhaps it is just a hiding place; similar to how as children, we used to hide under the covers searching for that familiar darkness. I have also found myself weeping in my car, bathrooms, and anywhere I seem to be alone. I've even almost began to weep mid-conversation, and not for any easily discernible reason. It just feels like I have a deep, growing sadness, similar to a sickness. I fear the day I move on from hiding under my bed like a child frightened of the world above, and go wearily into death's unwelcoming embrace.

I do not know what help I should ask for or even if the help I am receiving is nothing but a bandaid designed to shield the wound rather than heal it. Although, I notice now, I am still taking the effort that feels nearly impossible at some moments. I sat up, put my feet on the floor, stood, and went to work. Then, after a disappointing shower, I laid on the couch watching a show with my father, trying not to weep as I did earlier today. After being inspired by the pangs of hunger, and being shortly dismayed by my seemingly newfound and temporary inability to rise, I stood and made a disappointing microwavable dinner. I write this while neglecting that half eaten dinner, but I timidly congratulate myself for even bothering to get up, go to work, take a shower, and make myself a low effort meal. Despite my feeling unwell, I do know that I have at least a few more moments before I give up completely. I do not know the cause of my sadness, I just know it is there once more, and I wish to remove it like the tumour it is making itself out to be.

5am, afraid and without sleep.

At last, I have received my steroids

@tenebriism // sophie & howl!

her nature, to care, to wait, had lived in her long before she stepped foot into this castle. But it was the stubborn, sincere will that guides her now, true-minded, developed like a skill. darning needle, embroidery thread in so unreasonable fabric, task turned over again and again until she knows the motions even when she doesn't : the roots of them, the little sparkling parts that really matter : which is to say — she'd know this bit by heart now.

at least, some broad and smooth part of her heart, now. written on it in shining ink. she's sure of it. she'd be proud to say how she wasn't gifted it, like her sisters had been in all the other ways she still underestimates and underwhelms herself over, but instead to say it was practiced, and learned, and sincere beyond sincere in those interwoven laces. What it takes to progress, what it takes to experience

She couldn't say she'd find herself caring about such things as beauty as she once had, no, not in a long time now. Unlike...

" Are you really still on about that? " the chime, not unkind but rather a sort of flat-footed tone she takes when she's unbothered or perhaps only feigning it to tease him, hails from close to his bedside, as she reaches up, up to some bottles hiding in the back of a shelf almost covered in his knickknacks and all those shining things; careful despite, the way she is undeterred even as her back protests, eyes glancing down to him only briefly ( a moments study, but she hears more in his voice alone. ) and her fingers find the neck of a vial as she speaks, " You know, I still think black is a nice look for you. Being blonde isn't as nice as you'd think it is! Though, if it's different with magic than naturally, I'm afraid... "

she sees the tremor in his throat, the hard rattle of his body tensing, the tendons of the neck & the shiver of his shoulders & his sharp breath pushed out, that moment just before his coughing fit, and she's down from her stool in one step backwards unto solid ground between the clutter and the plates resting 'pon the hardwood with nowhere else to put them, tea resting on his end-table — she's got a hand on him then, first pulling at his shoulder to shift him unto his flank, then sliding down, gingerly, to the side of his neck. her fingers covered by wefts of dark hair, rubbing soft soothing circles into the tender skin, gracing the nape of his neck...

she can't help but note the ash that sputters from him, tangled in saliva or out on the air in thin wisps, and something in her churns, nervous... a budding worry, to see an omen but not it's cause. no, no, not yet... but, the ash she'd seen, the marketplace... Come on Sophie, focus now, gentle...

" Shh... Easy, Howl... you know that's not true... " her answer is ever so softer than the one prior, aged fingertips still messaging as she speaks, his soft hair resting over her knuckles as she does. in her other hand, the vial, which she examines carefully... she could never truly hope to know everything in this place, what it did and could do, much less what was in it, but she'd gotten better of feeling out which to be which after the bath incident; something in the consistency, in the shimmer, in the swirl, in the hold of it... her attention never strays from him for long, even if all she has to spare is her voice, as croaking as she knows it to be now. ( she's half-certain Howl loves the sound of a voice, even if he doesn't answer to it. the noise of people's speaking. she doesn't find her own all that pleasant, but a distraction might be kind to him, now... )

" If I had it my way, I'd already have gotten Markl to try his hand at making something to at least soothe your chest! surely I doubt he'd be able to make that cough any worse. or, better yet, find something myself, but... " 'But I don't want to be apart from you. I don't want you to feel as alone as oftentimes, I think you do. I know it to be fleeting, even if you should know I'll come back. The worry, there. I don't want you to convince yourself that you are being proven right...'

— ... all she gives a vague little shrug, and her hand slides from the back & side of his neck to closer toward his shoulder, perhaps a means of holding him in place, as she sets the vial down, and one-handedly works at a gnarled bundle of old herbs ( ginger, mint, chamomile... ), plucking and pinching off the stubborn leaves and long-dried flowers in a hope, quietly, that they might help if she found the just right way to use them. More familiar than the vials and elixirs and concoctions surrounding her at every side... ( She's grateful they're not rotted, by how long they must have been here for... ) —— " Ah, well, maybe later. Can you be good and tell me what's wrong, then...? I hear the cough, but what about a fever? " she briefly considers the idea that she doesn't actually know if wizards can get fevers, at least as intensely as the unmagical, but she chooses to ignore such thoughts as she raises a hand and touches it to his forehead, seeking, attentive...

surely, were there any other injuries, she would find them... ( so rarely does the fire that cause such smog leave only it's ash as a keepsake to the injured... )

I need to take a moment to address something absolutely incredible in Tamora Pierce’s Briar’s Book/The Healing in the Vine from her Circle of Magic Quartet.

While Pierce, as a rule, doesn’t back away from some of the gross thoughts humans have, I think she was incredible during the scene where Flick’s fever is growing worse and worse and Briar - for the briefest of moments - just wishes she would die already.

We don’t see a lot of caretaking in fantasy - sure, there are healers and such, but nothing remotely long term. In this situation Briar is in a forced quarantine because his friend was patient zero in an epidemic, and he’s healthy enough to continue caring for her and the other individuals who were initially diagnosed. And he HATES it. He likes Flick, but being stuck there taking care of her grates on him. Even when the disease reaches full outbreak in the city, he’s still not allowed to go home because the blue pox hasn’t reached the temple city yet. So he’s stuck. And tired. And at one point he thinks that her dying is preferable because then he’d at least get to sleep.

And then he hates himself for it.

I just… I think this is so real, and I love that Pierce let’s him sit with this intrusive and uncharitable thought. And even when he chastises himself and knows it’s not totally true, he also knows that it partly is.

A sickly Yule plz

(Timothee’s character from Don’t look up)

Awful

The sound of a hacking cough pulled me from my slumber. I rolled over and blindly patted the empty space in bed beside me. "Where's Yule?" I wondered until I heard the cough again.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I walked to our apartment's living room, where I spotted Yule on the couch. He looked so small as he hugged his legs and rested his forehead on his knees. He didn't even hear you approach and startled as you sat beside him and rubbed his back.

"I'm sorry for [cough] waking you up."

I flashed him a pitying half-smile. "That's okay, baby. In sickness and in health, remember?"

"I feel awful," Yule whined miserably as he all but fell onto my chest when I opened my arms to beckon him over for cuddles. My fingers carded through his long hair in an effort to soothe him. I could feel the heat of his fever radiating off his body.

I grew concerned when I could both feel and hear his breath rattling in his lungs. "You're going to the doctor in the morning," I stated firmly, giving him little room to argue. Yule hates doctors and hospitals, so I was shocked when all I got in response was a weak nod. He must feel really bad.

He quickly fell asleep, and I didn't have the heart to move him. I slowly laid back to get comfortable and put him into a reclining position to breathe easier. I found myself jolting awake through the rest of the night to check on him.

When morning came, I eased myself out from behind him to get my phone and make an appointment with his doctor. It turned out that he had pneumonia, so I sent him straight to bed after we picked up his antibiotics from the pharmacy. It was hard to get lucid Yule to sit still, but I was able to bribe him with cuddles and potato soup - his favorite.

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Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess

@bluizh

@jindongdongie

@groovyqueer

Random whump things I’m absolutely soft for:

-Medical professional turned patient. Person who cares for the sick/wounded for a living being forced to accept care themselves? Delicious stuff

-Caregiver not knowing/having the right tools/medicine to help Whumpee, but trying desperately to save them anyway

-Whumpee waking up from nightmares/fever dreams, and Caregiver immediately rushing to their side and reassuring them that they’re safe

-Caregiver having to feed Whumpee when they’ve injured both hands

👏People walking away from you when you’ve hurt them is not ableist👏

👏People walking away from you when you’ve hurt them is not ableist👏

👏People walking away from you when you’ve hurt them is not ableist👏

Your diagnosis does not mean that everyone has to put up with your abusive/manipulative behaviour and let you hurt them in whichever way you please. Your illness is not an excuse, and you make other people with your illness look bad by using it to justify your mistreatment of others.

The good news is my Mom is getting better. The bad news is that the ER doc forgot to tell us the pneumonia was viral and not bacterial.

Guess who is now sick too.

Just in case you’re wondering why I’m not posting. I feel awful (and I feel awful) for not being consistent. Once my lungs function again I’ll get back on the horse.

The good news is my Mom is getting better. The bad news is that the ER doc forgot to tell us the pneumonia was viral and not bacterial.

Guess who is now sick too.

Six Times...

Hello hello, the word of the week is BEAM, and this six-sentence story abuses it and the word six throughout this little narrative. I will be honest, I don’t know where this one came from, and it’s a dark little medical story of our narrator, who has everything happen in sixes. If you want warnings/spoilers, jump to the end, below the main text after the wide line… Six days, it took her six days…

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WINNER!!!

Hello Hello and welcome to this week’s six sentence story based on the word REMOTE. Follow our unnamed narrator as she defies the odds and wishes she had not. It was a slim chance, one in a million if that, so remote that the chances of her being on of the unlucky ones had barely even crossed her mind, because when had she ever “won” anything. That was the thing about odds though, because while…

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Update: I got sick over the weekend, so I've decided not to wear the costume to the Expo.  Maybe next year.

Dusting off an old Costume for Anime Expo 2014.