A/N: This is for @roxy-davenport’s SPN Birthday Celebration. I hope you enjoy hun and happy belated birthday.
“Dean! Dean! Are you even listening to me?“
Dean turned to you looking annoyed. “I was listening.”
“Ok then tell me what I said.” Silence fell in the room. “Exactly you didn’t hear a word I just said.” You snapped in anger. “Look Dean, I don’t have to be here. I have a case to take care of, and spending time with you puts everything I have at risk. If people knew I was spending time with a demon, well they’d hunt me down.”
When my alcoholic uncle died - and how it impacted my life as a nurse
A recent post from another nurse was so beautifully honest and vulnerable that it made me lose my snark and just get human for a minute. So I will share an experience and I have permission from all involved.
I had an uncle who was a terrible alcoholic. It ravaged every aspect of his life, his work as a union tradesman, his ability to be a father or husband and his relationships with his brothers and sisters. My mom and I often visited him when he’d get admitted to the floor. I could never bear to see him in the ER. Dirty, belligerent, withdrawing in the DTs. I was embarrassed because I knew he was a frequent flier. I was embarrassed that I was embarrassed. We tried to drop him groceries and buy his Dilantin every month, but he moved around a lot, mostly renting rooms above taverns. He wanted nothing to do with sobriety. He used drugs when he could, but whiskey was his poison. In the end he only tolerated a few beers a day to keep away the shakes. To any nurse or medic or doc who new him he was a local drunk, but to me he was my uncle. I knew him as a kind loving man as well. I remember family BBQs and him tossing me up in the air as a kid. I remember him showing up drunk to thanksgiving and not making it out out of the car before passing out. I remember the disappointment in my family’s faces. I remember the shame in his eyes. I remember driving around his neighborhood looking at the entrances of taverns to see if he was passed out. I wondered if anyone would know to call us if he died. I wondered if he even had any I.D.
But they did call. And I knew when I saw him at age 55 in the ICU Weighing 90 lbs dying of Hep C and esophageal CA that he didn’t have a lot of time left. I was a nursing student and an ER tech but I knew in my heart this time was different. I saw people fear him. I saw nurses treat him as if he was a leper. One yelled at him to be still while she gave him a shot of heparin and he grimaced in pain. Nurses came in one by one to start a heplock and he grimaced in pain. Despite knowing better after the 4th nurse was unsuccessful I begged them to stop and give him a break. My hospital I worked accepted him into impatient hospice. I was relieved. When he arrived I saw the 2 EMTs toss him on the hospice bed and walk out without saying a word while he grimaced in pain. They probably got held over and he probably didn’t seem like an urgent transport. They didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t say anything. I was scared to touch him too. He was emaciated with a huge head and a gaunt appearance. I wondered if he had AIDS. I felt bad for thinking that. I still kissed his forehead and told him he was going to be okay. Because I loved him. He was my family.
And then I saw nurses treat him with kindness. I saw the beauty of a non judgemental hospice team make his last 96 hours on Earth a time where he could make peace with his demons. I saw Roxy drops for the first time and I saw him get some relief from the pain of untreated cancer, from the pain of dying. I saw them allow me break the rules and lift his frail body into a wheelchair, fashion an old fashioned posey to hold him up and take him down stairs for his last cigarette on Route 30. I was able to spend my breaks with him. I got to suction him and help give him a bed bath. I got off my 3-11 shift and spend a few hours with him watching a baseball game on replay. I sat with him in silence and I held his hand. I finally knew what people meant when they said the dying watch their life play out in their minds. I swear I could see it happening. I asked him if he was thinking about things he said “yep”. I asked him if he wanted me to stay or go and he said “stay”. So I stayed.
I heard the death rattle for the first time. I cried to a veteran hospice nurse and she explained how the Scopolamine patch would help. I finally felt what it was like to be helpless to a family member in need and her words of comfort and years of experience meant everything to me. She said he probably had 48 hours at the most. I read “Gone from my sight” the blue book of hospice by Barbara Karnes. The whole family trickled in. His kids, all his brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. His children told him they loved him and they forgave him. We kissed his forehead and washed his hair. My mother shaved his face. His daughter said words of kindness that relieved him of any guilt or regret. I saw this beautiful cousin of mine watch me suction him and she asked how I could be so calm and so strong. I didn’t feel strong or knowledgeable but when you are the “medical person” in the family they see things in you that you didn’t know you had.
We surrounded him with love and light and he died surrounded by everyone who ever meant anything to him. The nurses even cried. I got to see the dying process for what it was. It was beautiful and at the same time so humbling it brought me to my knees. I have never forgotten that feeling and I pray I never do.
Is alcoholism a disease? We debate it as health care providers and wonder about the others whose lives have been impacted by the actions of an alcoholic. The amends that never got made. I guess I don’t care if it’s a disease, a condition, or a lifetime of conscious choices and poor judgement.
In the end it’s a human being, usually a dirty foul smelling human being with missing teeth who may or may not be soiled in urine and vomit. Sometimes kicking, hurling obscenities, racial slurs, or spitting. Often doing all of the above at once. It’s hard to empathize with a human being who arrives packaged up that way. It’s hard to care or to want to go above and beyond. And I don’t think you should ever feel guilty if you don’t have those feelings. That is okay. It’s natural to wonder about the damage these people may have done to others. Wonder how many lives they might have ravaged. Please don’t take their pain as your own. At least try not to. It is not your pain to carry. And we all know that is easier said than done.
Treat them with dignity. They feel. They hear you. Give them the care you know you are capable of giving. I can tell you I hold a special place in my heart for every nurse who touched my uncle with a gentle hand. Who cleaned him for the fifth time when he was vomiting stool. Who asked him to smile. Who smiled back at him. Who stroked his forehead and put a cool washcloth on it. I am eternally grateful for anyone that saw beyond his alcoholism and saw a person. A human. A child of God (if you believe in God). A father. A son. An uncle. And I believe in my heart he felt the same way, even if he didn’t or couldn’t say it.
If you have that patient. That difficult, hard to like, dreadful patient. Don’t think you have to love them or even like them. You don’t. But if you can preserve their dignity and show them the kind of nursing care that anyone would deserve, than you are good. You are the reason we are the world’s most trusted profession. And even though you don’t know it, someone saw and felt it, and it meant the world to them. Go to bed and sleep soundly because you deserve that. - J.R. RN
If you would like to see your fics on Fanfic Friday, please feel free to tag me! I try to like and reply/give feedback to each and every fic! If I don’t like it within 48 hours it means I didn’t see it. I do ask that you place warnings on your fic whether its at the beginning or in the tags at the bottom.
Warnings: Smut, fingering, blood kink, very slight dub!con, sex with strangers, unprotected sex, slight angst but not really.
Summary: You’re on your way to a new school and new life when a freak storm and some bad timing lead you into the arms of a dark stranger.
A/N: This is for @roxy-davenport SPN Birthday Celebration, it was a few days late but I think I like how it turned out. My prompt was the movie Susperia(1977), blood!kink, demon!dean x reader, and the quote “Was that supposed to scare me?”
Covering your head with the back of your jacket, watching as the rain poured down around you, you rushed towards the door. It was late, and part of you doubted that anyone would be here to let you in. Still, it was going to be hard to find a hotel in a strange city in the middle of the night, while trying to navigate through the horrible weather. Knocking as loud as possible, your fist banging against the wood and pounding out a dull thud you could hear echoing inside. Closing your eyes, letting out a silent prayer that it was going to be noisy enough to rouse someone.
Pressing your face against the seam you tried to hear any signs of life coming from inside, but it was silent.
First of all, I want to thank each and every one of ya’ll for
taking a chance on me and reading my fics. This blog used to be my personal,
and I understand that some of my old followers may have stuck around, but I literally
cannot believe how quickly my little squad has grown!!!
Thank you for being patient with me, thank you for reading
the things I post, thank you for being supportive and lovely and making my days
about me, here’s my two cents on this challenge.
I wanted to do something that wasn’t exhausted already (ie song, drabble,
head canon etc), and considering the wild amount of challenges that have
been going on since December, I didn’t want to overbear anyone. (Don’t worry,
next milestone I’ll be doing something for everyone!) So I’m combining a list
of my favourite things to make things a bit easier on ya’ll. Please read
carefully all of the rules below. Just send me an ASK if you’re unsure of anything. And of course, there will be a
huge celebratory masterlist
permanently posted on my blog afterwards!
Soo… I just posted an angst, so here, a little smutty smutty fic! This is for @roxy-davenport ‘s Halloween Writing Challenge and for those people who wanted a part two of I Miss The Misery!
Its been a few weeks, a few weeks after the blood curling transformation you had gone through, the pain, the torture, the emotions. That night back at the motel, that night you saw the softest of green eyes you could ever expect from a demon, your life changed. You weren’t sure if it were for the better or the worse. But ever since that night– nothing changed. You remained invincible and immortal, powerful. You remained a demon. The only change that cure did to you was your completely functioning heart, with the happiness, the hurt, the love.
So my life is now centered around three comics in this order
2. The Property of Hate
3. Ava’s Demon
And you should all check out these because they’re beautiful. Take it from the girl who finished the property of hate and Ava’s demon in two days -_- homestuck took three months for me to get up to the front lines
*pro tip: if you like one of these comics, you’ll like the other two