Dinosaur Yells "Aesthetic"

me in December

No matter how injured. If a parent doesn't deem it necessary to see a doctor, it doesn't happen. Teachers can suggest a doctor visit, but unless it's a very acute injury (and even then), it's ultimately up to the parents.

You can be 13. Twisted, maybe broken ankle. You teacher lets you sit out in PE. She's concerned, and tells you to rest when you go home, and see a doctor. You get home, ur parents fill a bath and add some Epsom salts, and then laugh at you for using it moms old colorguard stick as a cane. Take some ibuprofen they say. It's just a little sprain, ur a kid.

You go to school the next day, go to ur office assistant time. Office calls ur mom to come get you, because you're clearly in too much pain for school. Your mom laughs when she gets you, says you just were so determined not to miss school. Scolds you for making the office ladies worry.

You never see a doctor for the injury.

Your parents come into the exam room at every visit. This does not stop with age, except for gynecologist. But your parents are on the medical release forms. They fill them out for you, with you. You do not get to take them off.

You never get to tell s doctor about the ankle. Even though it never quote healed right, and it hurts every day.

Then your 18. In college. Still on your parents insurance, and have no car. The on campus clinic only does std testing. You fall down some stairs. Same injury. You call your parents, crying from the pain. You are using a mop as a cane. They console you and say to have a bath, take some meds, and let them know how it feels in a few days. You end up borrowing your roommates rolling chair to get around for the weekend.

By Monday, you can walk again. You walk miles to class every day. You ask to see a doctor, but your parents won't drive the hour to come take you, and you don't have the insurance card. You are still at their mercy for medical care. The ankle tries to heal again. This time worse than before. The tendons click with every step.

Now you're in your twenties. Finally have your own healthcare. You see a doctor. You get to mention the ankle! They say it's been too long to really even know what was damaged. That you have arthritis now. It healed wrong but it can no longer be fixed.

One day in my junior year of college, like 8 years later, I woke up in excruciating pain in both of my legs, like a 7/10 resting and 10/10 of I moved them. I was bedbound for a couple days until it subsided enough that I could finally get to the campus clinic. They looked at me like I was trying to get opiates and unenthusiastically gave me a referral to an orthopedic in the next county over with a waitlist of almost a month.

I bought a cane and hobbled around campus for a few weeks because I couldn't miss any more classes or work.

When I finally saw the orthopedic, he took a look at my X-ray and the first words out of his mouth were "do you have a history of knee trauma, by any chance?"

There was nothing he could do - no surgery, no physical therapy. The pain went away eventually. I got off the cane after two years of relying on it. I still keep it around because I still need it sometimes, 8 years after seeing the orthopedic and 16 fucking years after the initial injury that my parents, despite watching the snowmobile crash, decided I was faking.

This kind of shit happened over and over again with my parents, but this was by far the worst. (They also didn't believe me when I told them that milk made me sick even though they'd be pounding on the bathroom door and yelling at me for taking so long on the toilet every single time they forced me to eat milk or cheese. That was fun.)

Well, I guess if he's got you this upset he must be on to something, right? Isn't that what they say? Regardless, I'm curious: would you be holding this same energy if Charlie were a woman? Even one you disagree with? Or is there a permissibility to (often brutal) violence against men that you simultaneously refuse to acknowledge while also cheekily playing into?

Just some food for though, "pal".

I'm afraid they'll become engineers and sign off on bridge designs that collapse - and people will die.

I'm afraid they'll become medical professionals who don't know what they're doing - and people will die.