Robby finally asking Dennis out for a drink when their shift is over after being badgered by Abbot to act on his feelings already. They both have a great time, drinking and getting to know each other outside of work. Its Robby's first time trying a relationship with a man, usually just hooking up, he tries to hint to Dennis about kissing, looking at his lips, getting closer, everything he can think of. Instead he orders the boy an Uber and sends him home, realising Dennis was probably brought up religious and takes it slower.
When he sees him at work, he cant help but smiler brighter, being congratulated by Jack and Dana doesnt help, but he feels good. Dennis seems happier too, so he lets his hand linger a little longer, grips his shoulder a little more, seeks him out in every room. Robby is in the honeymoon phase and everyone is starting to tell, he was never good at hiding these things.
They've been on three dates by the time the week has finished, Robby likes spending time with him, and maybe he wants to get to the kissing stage a bit quicker. The most physical contact thats new to them is he held Dennis's hand, well wrist when they were walking to the restaurant. He felt smitten ok? He couldn't help that he was a hopeless romantic.
Dennis wasnt hanging out with Robby after his shift tonight, he was in the car with Trinity back to their apartment. He didnt know that Santos was ready to pounce when they got in about not telling her he was dating their chief attending.
Dennis was having a good week, he had made a new friend with Doctor Robby, he couldnt believe Robby wanted to be friends with him...
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I always think of the description I saw years ago: Self-imposed deadlines don't help me, because I know the person who set them, and they're full of shit.
Give yourself the treat before you start. I'm serious. And ideally during the task and afterwards too.
Executive dysfunction comes from a lack of available dopamine. Common advice is wrong. You need to provide your own dopamine before you can start. Otherwise you're trying to run your car on empty.
"But what if I still don't do it" well you already weren't getting it done anyway. Now you have a little treat. Try again later.
You deserve kindness and care even when you aren't being productive.
(Also read How to Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis)
I give my students a LOT of techniques for starting writing when it feels overwhelming or daunting, but one of them is exactly this: dopamine load BEFOREHAND. It may sound weird to people on tumblr dot com, but a lot of people seriously struggle with executive dysfunction when it comes to writing literally anything, to the extent that it can cause such symptoms as panic, depression, and AI chatbot use.
I usually suggest this technique as a "Reverse Pomodoro." In the original Pomodoro, you work for 25 minutes and then take a break for 5 minutes (the times vary, but that's the essential ratio). People with executive dysfunction often find this insurmountable, and they get even more frustrated, and then the task seems even more difficult. So instead, flip those times.
FIRST, spend 25 minutes doing something energizing and engaging that you like to do. Not scrolling social media passively, not watching tv, not napping. Try something like colouring, doing yoga, running/walking around the block, talking about your favourite tv show with someone in real time, playing with the dog or cat, making and eating a lovely sandwich, hula hooping, something active. Having a little treat absolutely falls in this category!
(on the subject of little treats: refusing yourself food until you do work is for fucking Puritans and you can be kinder to yourself)
Then, after 25 minutes (or however long it takes to eat the sandwich or finish the yoga routine, it doesn't have to be exact), spend 5 minutes writing (or doing whatever you're struggling to start). Most people can coax themselves into doing something they find difficult for five minutes, if they have already filled up the joy/energy/engagement bucket. You can put a timer on for the 5 minutes if you want, or if you find that annoying, just work for as long as you like.
The other key is: don't push yourself to keep going when you're frustrated or tired—that will just reinforce the negative belief that you already have, which tells you that this task is painful to do, and needs to be avoided. If you've commonly had to force yourself to do this kind of task, that's likely part of why you think of it as painful and have trouble starting it now. Also, you should just, at a basic level, try not to put yourself in pain for the sake of productivity. So just do it till the good feelings run out. Then start hula hooping or colouring again for another 25 minutes. When the tank's refilled, try another 5 minutes of work, if you can. Adjust times to taste.
Not every technique works for everyone, but I've seen this one work for many students who are genuinely and seriously disabled by executive dysfunction. And many people find themselves getting more and more excited and engaged in the "difficult" task—because the good feelings from the hula hooping carry over, and because they're suddenly able to do the task without feeling pain, and feel accomplishment without feeling pain.
I always think of the description I saw years ago: Self-imposed deadlines don't help me, because I know the person who set them, and they're full of shit.
Give yourself the treat before you start. I'm serious. And ideally during the task and afterwards too.
Executive dysfunction comes from a lack of available dopamine. Common advice is wrong. You need to provide your own dopamine before you can start. Otherwise you're trying to run your car on empty.
"But what if I still don't do it" well you already weren't getting it done anyway. Now you have a little treat. Try again later.
You deserve kindness and care even when you aren't being productive.
(Also read How to Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis)
I give my students a LOT of techniques for starting writing when it feels overwhelming or daunting, but one of them is exactly this: dopamine load BEFOREHAND. It may sound weird to people on tumblr dot com, but a lot of people seriously struggle with executive dysfunction when it comes to writing literally anything, to the extent that it can cause such symptoms as panic, depression, and AI chatbot use.
I usually suggest this technique as a "Reverse Pomodoro." In the original Pomodoro, you work for 25 minutes and then take a break for 5 minutes (the times vary, but that's the essential ratio). People with executive dysfunction often find this insurmountable, and they get even more frustrated, and then the task seems even more difficult. So instead, flip those times.
FIRST, spend 25 minutes doing something energizing and engaging that you like to do. Not scrolling social media passively, not watching tv, not napping. Try something like colouring, doing yoga, running/walking around the block, talking about your favourite tv show with someone in real time, playing with the dog or cat, making and eating a lovely sandwich, hula hooping, something active. Having a little treat absolutely falls in this category!
(on the subject of little treats: refusing yourself food until you do work is for fucking Puritans and you can be kinder to yourself)
Then, after 25 minutes (or however long it takes to eat the sandwich or finish the yoga routine, it doesn't have to be exact), spend 5 minutes writing (or doing whatever you're struggling to start). Most people can coax themselves into doing something they find difficult for five minutes, if they have already filled up the joy/energy/engagement bucket. You can put a timer on for the 5 minutes if you want, or if you find that annoying, just work for as long as you like.
The other key is: don't push yourself to keep going when you're frustrated or tired—that will just reinforce the negative belief that you already have, which tells you that this task is painful to do, and needs to be avoided. If you've commonly had to force yourself to do this kind of task, that's likely part of why you think of it as painful and have trouble starting it now. Also, you should just, at a basic level, try not to put yourself in pain for the sake of productivity. So just do it till the good feelings run out. Then start hula hooping or colouring again for another 25 minutes. When the tank's refilled, try another 5 minutes of work, if you can. Adjust times to taste.
Not every technique works for everyone, but I've seen this one work for many students who are genuinely and seriously disabled by executive dysfunction. And many people find themselves getting more and more excited and engaged in the "difficult" task—because the good feelings from the hula hooping carry over, and because they're suddenly able to do the task without feeling pain, and feel accomplishment without feeling pain.
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realizing that the online sphere and especially tumblr is NOT a good sample for ‘what everyone thinks’ is so, so, so good for your mental health and moral OCD. i swear to god. realizing that you don’t have to live your actual life like you’re being hunted for sport because the average tumblr user will hunt you for sport for wording something slightly weird or engaging in the wrong stuff or whatever is so incredible. like no you’re actually not fucked up and evil for not donating or for watching that one indie cartoon or questioning a post that everybody is agreeing with. that’s just tumblrs georg making you feel that way
Dennis Whitaker disappears after his first shift at PTMC, and a few nights later, Robby tells Jack that the kid has been involved in an accident, and his left leg has been amputated.
---
Jack only met Dennis Whitaker once, and he only feels a little bad in saying that with everything happening in the aftermath of Pittfest, he didn't really remember the kid that well. He had a vague memory of big, fearful eyes, a competence fitting of an MS3, and nothing particularly loud or remarkable about the kid.
He didn't think too much of it, beyond a vague and academic concern, when Robby greeted him with a frown a couple of nights later at handoff.
"Are you gonna tell me or do I need to guess?"
"Whitaker hasn't shown up for his shifts the last few days."
Jack blinks, taking a moment.
"The med student? Brother, maybe the MCI got to him. That shit was trial by fire, and the reality of what we do isn't for everyone. Maybe he's just taking some time, thinking about his options."
Robby nods, but Jack can tell he's not convinced.
Turns out, he's right not to be.
Jack has never seen Robby's face look as fucking haggard as it does when he takes Jack aside a few nights later, and breaks the news with as much gentleness as he's still got left in him.
Major traffic accident, car vs pedestrians. Multiple crushing injuries. They'd taken Whitaker to Presby because it was closer to the scene.
Amputation of Whitaker's left leg. Below the knee, Jack hears Robby say, and he knows realistically that it's a good thing. Lucky.
He can't bring himself to say it out loud, and neither can Robby.
---
The decision to take Whitaker under his wing is made without much conscious effort from Jack. It happens like a simple math problem, the outcome consistent and expected.
He goes to visit the kid at Presby, doesn't get offended when he has to introduce himself and then jog the kid's memory about where they've met before.
He lets the kid be numb, then sad, then angry, then sad again. He drives him to the support groups, and lets the kid be bitterly jealous over Jack's control of a vehicle.
"You'll have this again. But in the meantime you get to be pissed about it."
He gets his care transferred over to PTMC, and promises the kid that the ortho and rehab teams won't go spreading rumours or talking about him to his colleagues.
"They're not even my colleagues anymore."
"Hate to break it to you kid, but those pricks are persistent, and most of them have made a real nice ass groove for themselves in that department. Like it or not, those fuckers will be waiting for you when you get back. Robby's practically salivating."
Jack snorts, and tries to hold back another one at the kid's angry, puffed-up kitten scowl.
Jack knows this whole process well enough to know that the uptick of the corner of Dennis' mouth is a win.
He takes the kid to hydrotherapy, and he pulls some strings so that their first session is just the two of them, gently splashing around in the pool. Jack's not a physiotherapist, but he does understand the tightness around Dennis' eyes at the thought of exposing his new body to yet another perfect stranger.
He stands in the water and holds his arms out, waiting patiently for Dennis to be ready. Lets the kid cling to his arms, huffs a quiet laugh at the small sound he makes the instant he's submerged in the warm water.
"Yeah? Takes away some of that aching, huh?"
Dennis nods, quiet in the way that someone is when they're surprised that a promise has been kept. Jack slowly inches backwards in the water, only a couple of inches, stops when Dennis makes a gutteral, unsteady sound.
"I got you, I got you." The kid's fingers are leaving livid white marks on his biceps, but that's not important. "I'm not gonna let you fall. You remember what we talked about before? About what to do if you start to overbalance?"
"I know how to swim. I lost a leg, not my memory."
"Oh yeah?" Jack grins, gently bobs them both a little in the water. "Well if you remember how to swim, and you remember your piss-poor attitude, why don't you stop doing your best bubble impression and take some baby steps for me?"
Dennis scowls, and the indignation and curiosity almost cancels out his hesitation and fear.
"Shut up. What the hell does that even mean?"
Jack is so very glad he asked.
"Your bubble impression?" He shrugs, deliberately looking away from Denns' legs making their first hesitant shuffles. "Floating there looking pretty, but not doing much else."
"Oh, fuck you."
He's there when Dennis gets his first prosthesis, ready to catch him when the inevitable frustration and disappointment set in at the realisation that the freedom of mobility doesn't come without adjustments.
"Dennis. Look at me." The kid's face is blotchy and red, and he's been studiously avoiding Jack's eyes ever since they got back.
"It's okay to be frustrated. I know it hurts. It's a completely new piece of equipment being attached to a part of your body that never expected to have this attached. There's new pressure, new sensations, and it's all happening to new, sensitive skin, and muscle and bone that are still adjusting. Give yourself some grace, kid."
"I'm - I'm lucky to have this." Dennis spits out. That word again, the tricky sticking point that even Jack never quite got to grips with. "I shouldn't be complaining. There are people far worse off than me."
Jack hums, handing Dennis the antibac wipes and offering no further guidance on cleaning.
"Sure. There are definitely people who are worse off." He sees Dennis' head jerk upwards, finally gets that eye contact he'd been chasing.
"But I'm not talking to them, I'm talking to you. Other people have it worse, and you've still been dealt a shitty hand right now. Both things can be true. You're lucky to have access to the prosthesis and the rehab teams. This -" he gently pats the prosthetic limb like it has its own nerves "-is going to be the thing that gives you your freedom and mobility back. But right now, it's new and it hurts, and it'll take adjustment. Both things can be true."
He shows Dennis his own prosthesis, his own stump, and how the two work together. He was surprised at how intimate and vulnerable it felt, letting Dennis see him remove his leg and care for his stump at the end of a long shift. He was interested by his own tenderness at the process, as he'd long thought he was over any feelings of particular vulnerability where observation was concerned.
But he shared all the small things he'd learned over the years with Dennis. All the little things that nobody without a prosthesis could possibly be expected to know, despite their qualifications, because they were the kind of things you only learnt by living it. He softened when he saw Dennis' face set in such concentration as he told him about tips for dealing with hot weather, felt something in him ache a little tenderly at the expression on the kid's face when Jack talked openly about the need for hygiene and the reality of 12-hour shifts and sweat and residual limb care.
He was there the first time he saw it in Dennis' face; the realisation that different did not negate okay. He was there when the kid met with Robby (and really, it was supposed to be a meeting with administration first, but Jack wasn't stupid) to discuss returning for the rest of his rotation.
He was definitely there when the kid started to look at him with something dangerously close to admiration and worship and - if Robby was to be believed - little tiny hearts in his eyes.
"He's too fucking young for me."
"He's twenty six."
"Too. Fucking. Young. He's all caught up with looking at me as his saviour right now."
"Pretty sure he's seen you at your least glamourous. I don't know if you think you've been some kind of perfect, Florence Nightingale figure with endless pools of patience and grace, but let me tell you that you've been cranky, difficult, downright fucking belligerent, and I've heard you tell the worst fucking jokes in your reportoire. The kid still laughs at them and gives you cow eyes."
free use is kind of a funny kink bc it relies on the idea that everybody wants to touch you and have sex with you but what if they don't. what if you tell everybody at the party you're free use but they all ignore you and mind their own business
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before my egg cracked, i had noticed that trans people were often pro-accessibility and up-to-date on the needs of disabled people, but i hadn’t seen any inherent connection between the two (other than the obvious minority-looking-out-for-other-minority thing). but now that i’m trans and medically transitioning, and i have to constantly repeat myself while talking to doctors and nurses, and explain things about my own anatomy to medical staff who should already know this, and having every single problem i might have blamed on my “condition” so nothing i say is taken seriously, all of the sudden i have a little sneak peak into the life of someone who has to deal with this all the time. like shit bro, being disabled probably sucks ass, someone should do something about this
[IDs: Photo of a dog wearing a neon yellow vest with "not friendly do not touch" in caps on the side. The caption reads "I need a vest like this."
Reblog contains digital art of Murderbot, a humanoid construct with short dark hair and grey clothes, wearing the same vest on its torso. It looks to the side and is blushing slightly, as if embarrassed. In the background Mensah, a woman with white curly hair, gives two cheerful thumbs up and Ratthi, a man with scruff and dark curly hair, presents Murderbot with mischievous joy. /end ID]
Obviously I love the bf to pieces but sleeping can truly be some trials and tribulations sometimes because he's the type of person who moves in his sleep + is difficult to wake up and this manifests in various random dangers to my person
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Listen. I grew up with these dogs. Im a cat person, no shame, but Great Pyrenees are hands down my most trusted domestic animal and are hardcore as fuck.
When I was a kid, between six and fifteen, one of our Pyrenees would escort me, off-leash, between my grandmother's house and mine. I'd just have to call him, and he'd show up and walk me there, placing himself between me and anything he considered threatening- Cranky farm animals, holes in the ground, bodies of water, etc.
That same dog found a (unfortunately deceased) lamb my grandfather had buried a few hours earlier, dug it up, realized it was cold and not breathing, and carefully carried it to our barn, where he covered it neck-deep in straw and tried to cuddle it warm again to bring it back to life.
One of our older dogs, at about sixteen years old (keep in mind, this breed tends to average out at about 12 years max) had arthritis in his hips, a bad back, and a respiratory issue, was fucking ancient and essentially palliative, but would still go stock-still out of nowhere, let out one subtle "boof", and then set out at an awkward-yet-speedy bunny-hop sprint at the slightest whiff of a cougar, bear, or wolf. Like, grampa would jump fences. Gentle geriatric giant would kick up to 7k to protect the family, never mind the three other, much younger fogs already on the case.
When I was a baby, like a literal in-diapers infant, he would lay on the ground and let me dress him up as a wizard and crawl all over him with zero complaint.
His nephew was 100lbs and often alarmed visitors who mistook him for a bear, yet never so much as bumped into a person in his life and feared only string and kittens.
A Great Pyrenees is not only the best dog, but I would argue that it is also the MOST dog
