the surgery question

The night starts with a big, spicy Philly cheese steak. It’s about 6pm. I’ve been wanting to try the cheese steak from this corny, 50’s retro place for a long time. I gobble down the big greasy bowl of meat, hot sauce, and cheese, then head to the coffee shop for my weekly draw group. A little after I get home, about 10pm, a stomach ache comes on. “Damn, guess spicy foods are out.” I’ve been getting stomach aches every time I have spicy Thai or hot wings. I google search about spice pain- possible stomach ulcer? “I guess I have been stressed lately, but no more than usual I don’t think…” File under “Will investigate further later.“ According to the comments on this health website, a glass of milk will help. Gulp one down, go to bed.

Wrestle to sleep for about an hour. Realize the ache is just over the required pain threshold to keep you from sleeping. Do some work on my comic, more tired, but stomach worse. Will play batman until I fall asleep. I feel like I’m just running in circles… How many times have I failed this mission? Batman, batman, stomach now hurts too bad to enjoy an active task like video games. Deliriously tired. Would be great to sleep through the rest of this abdominal temper tantrum. Try the old “hot shower will make you sleep” trick. Take some Pepto-Bismol, and some generic acetaminophen. Out of the shower, hurts to walk around now, and to lie down. Guess I’ll have to wait it out with my eyes open. Call and leave my Doc a message, maybe will get a spot in there tomorrow. Need to get that ulcer discovered… Time to enjoy a passive task like watching TV. Breaking Bad feels like the right mixture of funny and painful, just like me and my burning spice belly. Damn, I can’t even enjoy that part where during Hank’s interrogation of that meth head, Wendy, she accuses Hank of trying to buy sexual services from her on behalf of an underage “football player” (a misunderstanding involving Walter Jr. from a few episodes before). Oh hell. Time to look up what time emergency medical clinics open. Guess I’ll have to pay out of pocket since I can’t wait for my Doc tomorrow.  It’s about 4am now. Earliest clinic opens at 8. Now hungry again, but can’t eat what with all the pain. One hour down. Man, this is really starting to hurt. Can I really wait 3 more hours? Sitting is starting to hurt as much as lying and standing. And I’m still not enjoying TV. Okay, I’ve come to a decision…. 

“Hey, Kayla, my stomach still hurts, I’m thinking about driving to the ER, do you wanna come?” “Oh! Ya, sure. What time is it?” “It’s 5:30”. I  call the hospital “Hey, I’ve had a pretty bad stomach ache all night, I’m thinking of coming by.” Operator: *long pause* “Haha, well, okay! We’re open all night, so just come on in.” 

Driving with a stomach ache is not so bad, because you’re already hunched over. Wish Kayla could drive, but she doesn’t really know how, probably would have a panic attack and would definitely crash. Interesting that they have ER parking, I wonder how many ER patients drive themselves here… All bodily positions hurt my insides now, signing in to this place sucks. Give Kayla half the paperwork to fill out, glad she’s here, or this would be really boring. Man, they sure take a long time for someone trying to get into an empty emergency room… Signing in with a nurse, she ask me my height and I say “ ‘5’’8”, but I notice she puts down “ ‘5’’7”… They want to look at my pee, they always want to see my pee. I pee, no blood, so whatever that tells them means I’m getting an ultrasound first. Then a young nurse named Ken, a cool Asian dude with screws through both ears, squirts so much morphine into my IV that I lean back and audibly say “oh my god.” I feel it ripple like a shock wave from my arm down to the ends of my body. My belly is feeling alright now. 

The ultrasound technician tells me that babies are the least common thing she uses ultrasounds for. My joke has fallen flat. Back in the room, the doctor and his manila folder tell me “Good news! No gallstones, there are kidney stones inside your kidneys, but since they are inside, you shouldn’t be feeling the pain from those.” “Wait, does that mean I have to pee those stones out at some poin–” It is not discussed again. Seeing that neither organ has the appropriate stones, Doc would “rather not expose me to more radiation than necessary” and is working on discharging me. But, “I won’t leave here without a diagnosis.” 

In I go to the CT scan tube. That hot squish of contrast dye spreading through my veins. “Okay, we’re moving you into a room upstairs.” Says a hippy technician. Upstairs in my sweet and swanky single with couch, a person I’m pretty sure is just a businessman disguised in medical scrubs types on a computer. He takes down my answers to what seem like pre-surgery questions. “Do you have anybody specific on file in the event you are medically unable to yield consent  for yourself?” This, combined fact that they won’t feed me, makes me wonder what it is I’m going into surgery for. I saw this same thing about a year and a half ago with the whole brain debacle, but that’s a story for another time. Several medical people dip in, sprinkle breadcrumbs of information; it’s like a game show challenge that combines a scavenger hunt with a jigsaw puzzle. You have to gather the pieces of information from their hiding places, then assemble them in the correct order to reveal an answer. A tech comes in and spoils the game, “You seem to have a lot of questions, so I just want to make sure, you know you have appendicitis right? We’re about to take it out.” “Thank god,” I think. “It’s not the spicy foods. Spicy foods are still in.” Downstairs, in pre-op, I complain to my plain-clothes surgeon about how analog tests like pressing on my stomach are remarkably inaccurate, since a doctor’s subjective interpretation of my poor description of say, “the pain is slightly higher” can rule out appendicitis, the same appendicitis that a machine might spot an hour later. I tell him that I almost got sent home. My surgeon tells me he’s been doing analogue tests for 30 years, and not to worry about it. I start to tell him how “my deadpan reaction to pain also causes a lot of people to misdiagnose me, that a lot of people laugh when I describe how I’m in pai–”, but he walks away in the middle to get dressed for surgery. The operating room has big TVs and lights, it looks like a set, and I consider the possibility of fake hospitals as the anesthesia takes the wheel.

In the recovery area, the nurse tells me how big, inflamed appendixes can be agitated by spicy foods, foods high in fat, and dense foods like heavy cheese. I see an image of a spotlit cheese steak appear in a black void. Nurse feeds me ice chips and tells me she craves ice chips when she’s dehydrated. I suggest that she only craves ice chips because she works in a hospital, that ice chips are too unsatisfying a thing to crave at random, and that most people would just crave water. She agrees. Back upstairs in my room, it is now 8pm, and it has been 26 hours since I’ve eaten. I’ve been hydrated only through IV’s. The driest mouth and the clearest pee. Because the lingering anesthetic can cause nausea and vomiting, they will only give me jello. I go nuts on the jello. They continue to give me every jello I ask for, one at a time, like a test. Way past where I though the cutoff point would be, the nurse tells me “That’s it! There’s no more jello! You ate all the jello on this floor.” You’re damn right I did, you’re damn right….

On giving veterinary advice online

I know it’s tempting when you have a veterinary question “Hey! I know a vet online! I can just ask them,” because it’s so easy to type out a question, especially anonymously, and media like Tumblr makes everything feel casual. Phoning a clinic might seem scary, especially talking to staff or vets there that you’re not familiar with, and messaging a blog seems like a lower stress alternative.

But I often cannot and should not help you.

If you message me because your dog is lethargic, I have no way of knowing whether it’s merely tired, or whether it has a bleeding abdominal tumour and will be dead by the morning. I’d only be guessing, even with years of training and experience. And if I guess wrong…

There are regional differences in diseases. I’m not even going to be thinking about tick borne infections for a sick dog, because that’s not what I see. My diagnostic ability is very geography specific.

It’s not legal for me to dispense specific veterinary advice outside my state of registration. If I don’t know where you are my advice more likely to be bad. I can’t write you a prescription either.

I’m very reluctant to contradict a vet who has actually seen the patient. Aside from being poor form and potentially bringing my profession into disrepute, hearing second hand information is highly likely to be inaccurate. No offense intended, but pet owners commonly relay information about what their previous vet did or said wrongly, and I can’t reliably draw a conclusion from that.

And I do not want to encourage people to think that sending me a question is a viable alternative to asking their own vet. Whether this is about food, treatments or, especially, emergency and time sensitive advice. The treating vet is already a wealth of knowledge, you should be asking their clinic about ongoing care and follow up questions after surgery, not somebody who is, let’s be frank, a complete stranger on the internet.

There is huge potential for online veterinary advice to do harm, which is why professions like mine are regulated.

I don’t want to close my ask box. I also don’t want to just be ‘mean’ and delete questions that are not appropriate, but also don’t want to clog the blog with 'call your vet’. Sometimes I do provide a short, curt answer encouraging people to call their vet. Sometimes well meaning people will add commentary to that post, which defeats the purpose of encouraging that person to call their local clinic. I know it feels good to answer questions, but there are legal liability issues that I just don’t want to deal with. I have to watch my back, and budding vetlings out there will need to do the same.

It is often safer for both myself and the patient for me to say call your vet.

I’m not doing it to be mean. I’m going it to be safe.

If you take wrong advice from the internet over advice from a consulting vet, there is a huge potential for harm. I cannot, and should not, shoulder that moral responsibility, and you don’t get to absolve your responsibility by shrugging your shoulders and saying “Well, I asked Dr Ferox.”

Worth While (Tyler x FemReader) aghast fluff

Originally posted by smile-always-bitch

(( gif not mine ))

(A/n): real sad though

Request:  Can I please request a fic? I’m partially requesting this because I need some comfort :( I read that Tyler said in a stream that he “knows his clock is ticking”, and my heart immediately dropped into my stomach. Like, had my husband not been in the room, I would have started crying. I’d like it to be a fem reader (high school sweethearts maybe?), who heard Tyler say that, and struggles to hold it together during the stream, but when it’s over, has to leave the room. Much hurt and comfort ensues.

Warnings: Tears wtf


“I wouldn’t put that there.”

“Well why not, Ethan?”

“Because that’s not where it goes!” Ethan cried out a laugh.

Mark continued to shove his game controller into the depths of his plush couch. With a goof-ish grin stretching his cheeks, he allowed Ethan to pull away his arms.

“Well that’s usually where you lose things, and apparently I lost this match, because you claim to not have cheated.”

Slipping out a few laughs of her own, (Y/n) patted Mark on his shoulder.

“Not apparently, you did lose. Because you just suck.”

“(Y/n)!” the brunette squealed “Not the time for–”

“Facts.” Ethan finished.

The three of them erupted in giggles. In came Tyler, holding an open phone. Swiftly, he pecked (Y/n)’s hair and sat on her right.

“It’s time for the twitter Q&A, you idiots.” he said.

As a whole, Mark, Ethan and (Y/n) calmed themselves enough to stay seated, and stay silent. Placing herself over Tyler’s shoulder, the girl read aloud the first tweet on she could see.

“On a scale of one to ten, how difficult is dyed hair?”

“Very.” answered Tyler almost immediately.

Mark sputtered himself to a stop and turned over to view (Y/n)’s boyfriend.

“How would you know?” he asked.

Tyler defended himself “I have to hear the both of you whine about it all day.”

Laughing again, (Y/n) nodded enthusiastically, earning a smile from Tyler himself.

“Gimme’ that.” Ethan demanded, swiping the phone from Tyler. Both Mark and Tyler chuckled at Ethan’s reaction.

“Why is Mark so small?”

“Next question.”

Trying to focus on reading and not laughing Ethan said “It’s because he shoved so much of his dick in his personality, that by cause and effect, it actually made the rest of him physically smaller as well.”

“What do you mean ‘the rest’ and ‘as well’? The rest apart from what?” Mark asked in an touchy, offensive voice.

“Donate now to find out!” Tyler grinned at the camera, pointing at its lens “Links below!”

Bubbling with laughter, Ethan managed to state the next question.

“Did surgery scare you at all? Do you feel any different on your views?”

The question was for Tyler, therefore everyone in the group directed their eyes to the brunette; giving him their full attention.

“Well,” Tyler started. “I wouldn’t say that it scared me. It showed me a lot though.”

The air had been light up to that moment. (Y/n) wondered precariously as to why she felt as though it might change.

“You know; that life, as a whole, is a valuable gift.”

Mark and Ethan both offered him polite, understanding nods.

“It’s a privilege and not right. But, even now, I’m more aware that my own clock has began to tick.”

There it was. The sentence that hung sour within the air, almost palpable. Turning the atmosphere very quickly from joyous to real, especially for (Y/n). At the very least, he ended his answer with an honest smile.

“Well, I feel my surgery scared the shit out of me.” Mark soon cut in. It was very obvious he wanted to change the topic “Because it hurt so much, like holy shit. Flashbacks.”

A ridged laugh came from Ethan as he nodded and said

“I, myself, have never had surgery. And frankly, Mark’s horror story is good enough to scare me.”

Their jokes twisted with each other, once again pulling up a light ring around the group.

(Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to openly joke after something like that being said. Especially from someone like her high school sweetheart. Slowly, roughly, she felt her heart tumble to her stomach. Something wasn’t right with her, not at all.

“But anyway, that’s the only thing.” Tyler concluded, glancing quickly at (Y/n). The brunette noticed a blunt fatigue in her eyes.

Hours and hours passed through the stream. More questions were answered; some silly- some serious.

But as the hours passed, so did (Y/n)’s thoughts. She couldn’t focus on any charity games, couldn’t make any humourus jokes, couldn’t even get herself to spare Tyler a thoughtful look.

(Y/n) was grateful, though, for Mark and Ethan. The two of them took duty in carrying on the atmosphere; keeping her quaintly sane.

“Alright, it has been I don’t know how many hours, but it seems that we are wrapping up here.” Mark eventually said.

He took time to thank everyone that donated- to thank his three friends for joining him.

Mark did his outro, and then he was done. The stream went down and the camera was shut off.

(Y/n) immediately left the room.

It wasn’t her fault that she could not tear her mind away from Tyler’s statement. It wasn’t her fault that she wanted to suck it up for the sake of the stream. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t want Tyler to die…

Such a vague thought it was. Having someone so seemingly important to you just suddenly one day die. It seemed almost selfish. Why did it have to happen?

Quicker than she had anticipated, (Y/n) found herself in her shared bedroom. Lord, when she looked up she cursed for two reason. Her eyes, had become childishly watery. And her gaze, inevitably fell upon her bed. The side closest to the door, Tyler’s side.

If he dies soon, who will lay next to her?

Tears, and nothing but tear, stabbed her eyes. She spun furiously to slam a closed hand against the door. Instead, the sad girl ran into her boyfriend. He had followed her.

“(Y/n).” he mumbled.

(Y/n) did not look up. She did not move, nor did she say anything.

“(Y/n), I…” Tyler raised his hand, very gently, and brought it down upon her soft locks.

“I’m going to die… sooner or later.”

The male pulled his beautiful girlfriend in for a hurting embrace. The sunlight wandered politely on the floor, crawling in from under a drawn curtain. The room was visibly grey.

“Don’t say that to me.” (Y/n) demanded.

If he dies soon, who will hold her when she cries?

Tyler relished the soft tears that came from (Y/n) as they gathered on his shoulder. Tightly wrapped around her chest, his arms became her blanket of comfort.

“I’m happy now where I am.” he said.

“I was happy until now, as well.”

Tyler’s words brought upon the girl more sadness.

“And darling, I’ll be happy when I die, knowing you made my life worth living.”



anonymous asked:

Is it weird if when I get top surgery I have my nipples removed completely? I have HUGE areola and inverted nipples, so I'm worried that if I just get them resized they will look weird and misshapen..

Not at all. We all go into surgery with an idea of what we want our chests to look like/what we would be most comfortable with and for some people that includes not having nipples. I’ve seen at least 50 results from people who went that route and their reasons included wanting to limit potential complications after top surgery, having psoriasis on their nipples and not wanting to deal with it anymore, wanting to tattoo nipples on at a later point, wanting a ‘clean canvas’ for a large chest piece, having inverted nipples, and for many just not wanting them. If you have the chance to sit down with a surgeon it could be helpful to have them assess your chest and tell you what outcome you could expect by keeping your nipples since it sounds like you feel resigned to that decision. Regardless of what happens, at the end of the day this is about you and whatever is going to make your life more worth living.

anonymous asked:

Jungkook really had a small nose job before dope, right?

Let it be known that plastic surgery questions peeves me a lot. What is the obsession about picking on people’s features and thinking “there is no way this is real.” Also what is the basis of this question? First of all, there’s nothing wrong with plastic surgery just to be clear. For me, I don’t think it’s a big deal if a person wants it, then it’s ok. It’s their life and body and features and face.

To answer the question. No, I don’t think Jungkook had a nose job. I’ve been following Bangtan closely since October 2014 until now. Like really follow what they’re up to for this blog. The most we haven’t seen them is probably a total of 12 days straight. Even then they had their own schedules in between, they have photos being spotted out. Meaning they’re always in front of cameras filming or out and about. There is no way any type of cosmetic surgery would happen in this time without it being obvious. So unless someone can show to me and prove to me that nose jobs can completely heal in like a couple of days then I can rethink my life.

anonymous asked:

Do you think it would be a bad idea to try and start transitioning if you're not 100% sure on your gender yet? I've identified as agender for years and I want a hysto and double mastectomy, but more recently i've been wondering if i'm actually a trans man. I figure even whichever way I decide, I'll still want those two procedures so it couldn't hurt to try and start the process right? Or do you think a doctor might not believe me because I'm not entirely sure?

Kai says:

since you want them anyway, just go for it I’d say. If you think a doctor will gatekeep and prevent you from having it, lie and tell them you’re a binary trans guy so they let you. your gender isn’t really their business

emotionalmorphine  asked:

I was talking to my Mom about wanting top surgery and recounted a bit of your success at Pride. I think it really helped her understand a bit why it was important to me to have surgery, too. I'm so happy for you and you deserve all the happiness!

That’s wonderful!!
I really do hope it helped… you deserve just as much happiness, if not more. 💕

anonymous asked:

I'm a transdude and very knew to the idea of getting bottom surgeryso may I ask the rod that's inserted, does that mean it looks like you have an erection 24/7 ? I apologize in advance I'm just curious and don't know where else to ask?

Technically yes, having a semi-rigid implant means I’ll have an erection 24/7 in the sense that the rod isn’t going to change in length, girth, or rigidity. That said, the rod is malleable and you can bend it in different directions to achieve different looks/functionality. The rod can be bent upwards to be used for penetration and can be bent downwards for a more flaccid appearance. So while I’ll technically always have an erection I won’t necessarily always be erect if that makes sense. When bent down the phallus still maintains a good amount of flexibility and moves pretty naturally. My only personal frame of reference right now is having it in a more erect position since I need to keep it elevated (considering I’m less than 8 hours post-op) but I’ve seen a few videos and in-person demonstrations of how the phallus moves in a flaccid position and it’s fairly natural looking. In an erect position it tends to stay in place.

We’re Even

A/N: An anon request for a fic based of Angels and Demons from season 9. Instead of Spencer getting shot, it’s the reader, who’s his wifey. Switching perspectives between breaks. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn


It was a case like any other case. Right? 


It started as a case like any other case. A couple of prostitutes and a john had been found down south and a local officer had asked Section Chief Matt Cruz for a consult. After a short flight, the team had arrived to a very enthusiastic group of officers and an even more enthusiastic preacher. Preachers like that always put you on edge. That should’ve been your first clue. They were overly friendly - like robots - like they were covering up something. And boy were they.

You, Spencer and Morgan had gathered intel at the bar. Hiding something.

JJ and Hotch talked to the preacher. Hiding something.

Blake and Rossi went to the coroner’s office. Elected official - just plain dumb

The signature cuts left on the bodies were grouped to look almost like a spider’s web, the cuts getting deeper and deeper with each victim. For a while, you weren’t sure what the point of the cuts were, but eventually, you came upon the reason - a set-up. To frame the preacher, who of course, spoke of sinners bringing down God’s wrath when he had quite a few of his own. Despite being one hell of a bastard, the preacher it was not. He was just a lowlife pimp.

Your perpetrators? You didn’t know just yet. The preacher was involved, he just wasn’t the unsub. But you needed to speak to him and figure out what he knew. He was at a local diner, so that’s where you were all gathering now. “Keep trying him, babe,” you said to Spencer. “We have to let him know that we know he didn’t do this.”

The group of you got out of the car, with you, Spencer and Blake conferring with the chief. 


A shot had been fired, striking the chief of the department in the chest. He was alive, but struggling. “I’ve got you!” Spencer said, speeding out from the behind the squad car and pulling on the officer’s shoulders. It was too much. There were too many bullets flying.

“Spencer!” you screamed, as a gun was aimed right at him. All of a sudden, there was a sharp tear in your neck, warm liquid pouring down your shoulder.



He’d gone out to help the officer. And in doing so, he’d gotten his wife shot. “Y/N!” he screamed.

Morgan helped him pull her back, propping her up against the car as JJ and Blake attempted to help the officer. But someone took him out. “No! No! No! Baby stay with me,” he begged, his wife’s eyes fluttering open and closed with each breath.

A sleepy smile crossed her face. “It’s okay, honey. You know I love you, right?” It was between breaths, but he heard it - and he didn’t want it.

“No! You’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna be fine. Stay with me.” With every ounce of strength he had, the strength that was draining by the second, he pushed down on her neck. But there was so much blood. It was seeping through his fingers, seemingly with no signs of stopping. Another smile crept across her tired features.

“I…love…you…” she whispered.

“We need a medic!” He screamed and screamed until his vocal chords were sore. “Hurry! We’re losing her!”

After what seemed like ages, the medic arrived and loaded her onto the stretcher, with Spencer refusing to leave her side. “It sounded like a tea kettle. Did you hear it?” she asked, as the pitch of the monitor drowned out her voice.

“Baby! Stay with me! I’m right here.”

As they got the hospital, and he watched them take her away, he couldn’t help but follow. 


While Y/N was on the table, Spencer waited in an empty hospital room as his teammates filed in behind him. “How is she?”

“What happened?”

“Is she in surgery?”

A round of questions came from all different directions, but Spencer didn’t know how to handle them all. With everything coming at him, he felt overwhelmed, and buried his head in his hands as he cried. “It should’ve been me.”

“Or me,” JJ said. “Or any of us.”

“No!” Spencer snapped, the tears falling from his eyes as his head shot up. “I went to help Chief Coleman and she pushed me out of the way! It should have been me! My wife is gonna die because of-”

Blake sat down next to him, placing her hand on his knee. “She’s gonna make it. She’s strong. You both are. You’ll be okay.”

For a few moments, they let Reid cry, but they still had a killer out there, and whether Spencer was with them or not, they all had work to do. “The preacher’s car was clean, and the three victims inside were already dead when the shooting started.”

“So he was being framed,” Chief Cruz stated. He and Penelope had just flown in after hearing what had happened to Y/N. “But by who?”

“I don’t think he shot first,” Spencer said, lifting his head up. “Y/N kept saying in the ambulance that it sounded like a tea kettle. And did I hear it. Someone else shot officer Coleman to get things going. Our unsub was there.”

Pulling out pictures, the team scoured them for indications as to who their unsub could be, but all they could come up with so far was that Coleman had been shot by a fellow officer - and it wasn’t friendly fire. 


She was out of surgery. “Thank god,” he breathed. Everyone else had headed out to catch the bastard while he waited for his wife to wake up. “We have so much to do.” He whispered to her, praying she could hear. “Stay strong, baby.”

It seemed like hours, sitting in that small room with only the steady sound of her breathing and the beeping of the machines to comfort him. And then his phone rang. “Cover up?” he asked. 

“It’s not just one,” Hotch said. “It’s multiple. Keep your eyes out.”

“Okay, Hotch.” He hung up his phone and grabbed his wife’s hand as he pulled his gun from his pocket. If someone were to come after her again, he’d be there; they’d have to kill him first.


“Hey baby,” she breathed. 

Spencer shot up out of his seat and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thank god.” He paused a moment, not wanting to overwhelm her, but she had to know. “It’s a cover-up.”

She nodded her head just slightly. “I know. I saw someone looking at me when I was in and out.” A ping caught his attention and he picked up his phone, the picture of an Officer Owen McGregor staring back at him.

“Was this him?”


“Okay, I need you to sit in this chair,” he said, picking her up and placing her gently in the wheelchair. “We think they are trying to clean up loose ends and-”

“And I’m one of them,” his wife said. “I know.”

“I will not let anyone touch you.” He kissed her on the forehead just as a call from Morgan came in. “I got the picture.” As Morgan told him what was happening, he glanced out the window. “He’s here.”

“Get her outside,” Morgan commanded. 

“I’m on it.” For most, in these moments, they’d panic, lose their cool, but Spencer couldn’t, not when his wife’s life was on the line. Now, it was time for action.


Spencer had pulled the fire alarm in the hospital, providing a distraction as he wheeled his wife outside, but they couldn’t stay clear of him forever, and if it came down to it, he would without a doubt pull the trigger to protect the woman he loved. 

Just seconds after they got back in her hospital room, a nurse came in to her room. “She can’t have that,” Spencer said, looking at the name of the medication on the bottle. “She’s allergic.”

“Doesn’t say that on her chart,” the man said, as Y/N hurriedly tried to remove the IV from her arm. That’s when he saw it - the gun at his back.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled his gun from his holster. Aimed. And fired. 


“You okay, baby?” Y/N said, looking up at her husband as the tears streamed down both their faces. “I guess we’re even now.”

Spencer choked out a half-sob, half-laugh as Morgan came in and arrested the nurse while he was bleeding out on the floor. “I guess we are.”

“You didn’t really think I was going to die, did you? We still have too much to do. I still have to piss you off for the rest of my life. Like when I leave my socks lying around the house.”

“I’ll gladly deal with all your socks,” he laughed softly. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. All that matters is that we’re okay.”

anonymous asked:

Hello hello. I'm agender at the moment but debating if I'm ftm trans??? I hate my body when it looks feminine and I want to be more masculine but I don't necessarily want a ~peen~ but I want to get top surgery??? Oh my god I'm sorry. Does this count as trans or am I just being weird?? Sorry

Kai says:

it’s super common for binary trans guys to not want bottom surgery, so that’s not weird at all. you could be either, and we can’t tell you who you are, but agender people count as trans too because the definition of being trans is not being cis. agender folks could want top surgery and be masculine, so the choice of labels is up to you. I hope you figure it out!

anonymous asked:

Will I be able to ejaculate from my penis after phalloplasty?

As current medical science stands the answer is: rarely.
If the skenes gland is kept intact then there is a chance that you will be able to ejaculate after bottom surgery. It would be a clear fluid that dribbles out rather than forcefully ejaculating, but that’s about it.

Let’s work through this so that it’s clear why this isn’t possible right now. It’s helpful when you can logically understand it instead of getting a short “yes” or “no” answer. To ejaculate in the way that a cis male does you’d require functioning testicles and you’d require vas defrens. The testicles would produce semen, the stuff you’d be ejaculating during orgasm, and the vas defrens is the passage way for semen to go from the testicles to the urethra. Once the seminal fluid is in the urethra the body also needs a mechanism for the bladder neck to close off, preventing retrograde seminal movement which would allow the semen to go into the bladder. It’s amazing how complicated an orgasm is and how quickly all of this happens. After that contractions of the pelvic floor force the semen out and that’s where the ejaculation occurs. The prostate, bulbourethral gland, and a few others things are all involved in this but I narrowed it down to what would most likely be the bare minimum for ejaculation (I could be wrong).

So with this in mind let’s consider what is and isn’t possible right now in medical science. With phalloplasty we can create an aesthetically pleasing, fully sensate penis of average size that one can use to urinate from and can achieve orgasm with. It can’t get hard on it’s own and it you can’t ejaculate from it, but otherwise you’ve essentially got all of your bases covered. Creating the urethra itself is difficult enough as is and that’s where 95% of complications from phalloplasty happen, so forming vas defrens and connecting this to the urethra at this time isn’t possible. Neither is the mechanism to close off the bladder or the ability to create functioning testicles. That would require an incredible amount of microsurgery. However, that doesn’t mean it won’t ever be possible. Medical science is advancing by lightyears all the time and there is a team who was recently (last year, I believe) given grants necessary to conduct 5 years of research into medical procedures for veterans, including growing penises. At this time we have the technology to grow full urethras, functioning livers, functioning kidneys, etc. - It won’t be long before this is part of our future. If the research by the medical team I listed just a moment ago goes well it could be as little as 10-15 years (though current estimates are about 15-20+ years).

Connor McDavid #2

Requested by Anon: Could you write something where the reader is self conscious of his chest because he has scars from a recent surgery and he’s afraid of what his partner might say because of the scars? Possibly with Connor McDavid? Or anyone else really :’)

Warnings: self consciousness due to scars. talk of how scars make the reader ugly. anger (I’m not really good at warnings just know this one is a little deep so if you’re easily triggered please don’t read) 

Words: 816

Authors Note: so this turned out to be a lot shorter than what I normally write but I love it. Honestly it was such an easy write because it came to me like a gift. But because it is so short If the person who requested it was me to somehow continue it or write another one for them then just message me :) 

Originally posted by mcdraii

You stood there starring at your bare chest in the mirror. Your cold finger tips tracing the lines of fresh scars. The flesh just recently healing made them an odd color and stick out. The doctor told you’d eventually the swelling would go down and the coloration would start to become more like your skin tone. You were angry. People had constantly been telling you that, with today’s technology, scars from surgeries were almost unnoticeable but as you looked at yours, you knew they were wrong. You wanted to cry out anger. You wanted to yell at the world. You shoved away all the product you had just bought at the store that claimed to help with scars. It created a loud enough bang that your boyfriend, Connor McDavid, heard it. He knocked on your shared bathroom door. “Are you okay?” His concerned filled voice called out. You heart began to race. You can’t let him see your scars. He’ll be disgusted. He’ll take one look at them and see how imperfect you are. He can get anyone in the world, why would he stay with some scared freak? You quickly pulled on your shirt and opened the door. Your hockey playing man was standing there waiting for you to tell him what’s wrong. You kept silent, afraid the truth would come out. “What was that noise? Are you okay?” He asked. You looked at his face. You just wanted to take him all in. You wanted to grab him and never let him go. You let out a pain-hiding smile. “I just dropped some stuff,” you lied. He looked passed you to see the pile of bottles you recently shoved. “What are those?” He questioned. You quickly side stepped to cut off his view. “They’re nothing,” you mumbled. Connor gave you a weird look wondering why you were hiding things from him. He placed both of his hands at the side of your face, forcing you to looked at him. “You can trust me. You know that,” he said with so much ferocity and kindness that you could help but nod your head. He dropped his hands and gently squeezed passed you. He looked at every bottle and instantly put together the pattern in them. “Is this because of your surgery?” He questioned, his voice sounding strained. You nodded your head afraid that if you spoke then you’d break down. He looked back at you shaking his head in disbelief. He took one step to close the distance between the two of you. He placed his hands in the hem of your shirt. He began to lift it up when you slapped your hands around his wrists to stop him. “Don’t” you said harsher than you intended too. “Why?” He asked gazing into your eyes. The intensity that came with Connor was one of your favorite qualities about him, but right now you weren’t too keen on it. You looked away from him, “because they’re ugly,” you admitted. You didn’t want to looked at your boyfriend but you felt his intense stare commanding you to look at him so you did. His face was filled with anger and sadness. “I’m a hockey player. Scars aren’t ugly to me. They’re a symbol of a battle. A battle you won. They aren’t ugly. They’re hot,” he added with a sweet smile. You have him a weak smile in return. You removed your hands from his wrist and let him proceed with taking your shirt off. He did it slowly in case you decided to stop him again. Connor wasn’t one to push you into something you were completely uncomfortable with. As the shirt was thrown to the floor you closed your eyes afraid to see Connor’s reaction. You felt his warm hands on your hips and his lips on your chest. He kissed every inch of your scars, placing one kiss after another. Your heart fluttered every time his sweet lips were brought to your chest. Once he was done you opened your eyes to see him staring at your scars. “They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he finished by looking at you. Relief filled your body. You felt like putty in Connor’s hands. He leaned in to give you an actual kiss. It was a sweet and passionate one. Every movement your boyfriend made felt like he was telling you how wonderful you are. You sighed as he pulled away. Connor looked at you trying to evaluate what you were still feeling. Instead of making him guess you just told him, “I still hate them. They’re still ugly. But knowing you are okay with them helps.” He gave you a brilliant smile that you loved. “I’m more than okay with them. I told you they’re hot,” he admitted. He pulled you in closer for another kiss. You were lucky to have such a wonderful man in your life.

Jealous: Part Four

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