i just had the weirdest moment, i was feeling my front teeth with my tongue because they’re the tiniest bit crooked, and then i had the thought “i’ll check if they’re also crooked in my other mouth” and then i realized to my shock and confusion that i have only one mouth, leading me to believe that in a past life i was a terrible monster with two mouths
A few months ago, I thought to myself “Mmm I’m so tired… how much longer in this one again?” and I knew instinctively what I meant by ‘this one’ was this body and this life. I then spend a few wide-eyed moments having an identity/existential crisis like how many times have I been on this earth to have such an instinctive response to being bone-weary to my soul? No one can really answer, especially not me.
In July 2017, one night I woke up around 2 a.m and blurted out in a quasi professorial voice “the Equinox Bird has infinite beaks, all in the wrong direction, and infinite eyes” and I don’t know what the fuck I was dreaming about but it still haunts me. It seemed like a very important information for a few seconds.
i really appreciate the last commenter giving us an exact date and time like that information needs to be preserved
One time I passed out on the couch after going a few days without sleep, and when I woke up mom said I had been speaking in German in my sleep, and it sounded like I was ordering people to build something
When I was like 5 my mom took me to the grave of her friend that died of cancer and I asked what happened and my mom explained that she died and i fucking said “I died once” and my mom asked me to explain and I went into pretty detailed explanation about how I died in a war because “I got stabbed by a gun with a knife at the end” (my exact words) and I met god and she (she’s a woman obvs) asked if I wanted to stay or go back to earth and I said I wanted to go back so I chose my mom cause she was struggling to have a baby (she had me through IVF) and lemme tell you that changed her like nothing will make you second guess your religious beliefs like a five year old explaining heaven and god to you
this post is a fucking ride and it reminded me of something i forgot
one time i was playing on my wii (like 5-ish years ago) and i thought to myself “i haven’t checked on rowan in a week, has he died from the plague? :(“ and i didn’t think anything of it for a bit until later when i had a “what the fuck” moment
I love this kind of shit because it happens to me all the goddamn time. Like:
-The other night I rolled over in the middle of the night to shake my partner awake, proceeded to tell him how I was glad that ‘this time round we would truly have the freedom to love each other properly’ and how his hands belonged to his last self, but his eyes had never changed in all the lives I’d known him. And he just laid there in the dark like wtf because I was asleep. Like I’d woken him to tell him that all in my sleep and then left him to have a crisis.
- Watching the history channel with my Pop on the couch, tender age of 7, and they’re talking about crucifixion. And my pop, ever the funny man, is like “that looks like it aughta hurt”. And I just turn to look at him and without hesitation reply “only at first”. And he’s like “what do you mean” and tiny me just shrugged and said “well there’s a place beyond the hurt where everything just stops” and he turned the telly off and left the room.
- night before Christmas 2012, dreamt I’d been stabbed in the lungs by an angel with the face of a falcon. He looked at me and told me he had to do it, so that ‘my next breath would come as a rebirth’. When he started to glow so brightly that it burned my eyes, I woke up to all the lights in my house on and a dark bruise beneath my rib cage. Will admit, that one freaked me out.
- walked past a graveyard with a friend back in middle school on the way to her house, and mid conversation I stopped talking and stood stock still, looked over at the walls,and quietly said “I have a friend in there”. Then picked up the conversation and continued strolling like nothing had happened. To be fair, I didn’t realise what I’d said. She still tells me I’m the reason she can’t walk past that graveyard anymore.
- a couple of years ago when I was in Wales I walked past an old stone house just outside of Aberystwyth, and just started to weep. I had the overwhelming thought that I needed to be in there to get dinner ready for the children, but in a different life so long ago and so impossible to reach, that thefeeling of loss was instant and overwhelming.
- was about to use a pedestrian crossing, when my whole body just sort of went hey don’t do that, and so I stopped and put my arm out to stop the woman who was crossing behind me, and 2 seconds later a car came skidding around the corner and crashed into the tree on the other side of the crossing, and I just whispered “ha, not this time” and didn’t really think about it until later when I realised I’d nearly died again. (Btw i waited for th ambulance to show up and the dude driving the car was fine, just hit his head and was drunk af at 10:30am on a Thursday).
- another dream I had just this week, I was sitting in an otherwise empty cinema with a tall, thin man. I can’t really recall what he looked like, except he was well dressed, impossibly pale, and he kind of blurred when you looked directly at him, so I mainly watched him out the corner of my eye and looked ahead at the blank movie screen. He was holding my hand, and he asked me if i enjoyed my life. I said yes and explained why. He then said, almost verbatim, “And how does this one weigh against the last? Can it tip the scales, or is it, at last, to be found lacking?” And I replied, almost verbatim “I weigh my lives against my joy, and each life I find there is more joy to be discovered.” He replied with a laugh, lifted my hand to a kiss and said “till next time then” and disappeared. I woke up in the dark with both my cats sitting on me, alert, and staring out my bedroom door.
So many more, but these are the first that come to mind.
When I was little, my mother, my sister and I would dream in unison so often that one time when my mother was having a rather dull dream about golf my tiny 3 year old self shook her awake and told her to stop because it was boring. She dreaded having nightmares because both of us would wake up shrieking.
My sister and I have also been known to argue in our sleep. Witnesses assure us that whatever made the shouting start, we both knew what it was and were mad about it. We don’t need to be in the same room for this.
We also stayed in a haunted house for a while. An old lady had fallen in the chilly hallway just outside the warm kitchen, broken her hip, and couldn’t reach high enough to open the door, so she died of hypothermia a foot away from a telephone and warmth. Without fail, every person who stood in that spot and tried to open that door - the single most used door in the house, being between the kitchen and the bathroom and front door - felt cold and found themselves scrabbling frantically at the door handle, which was always strangely hard to open from that side. You got used to it to an extent, but it always hit strangers hard.
Ok I just have to add my own experiences on here so I’m chronological order…
I’ve always had déjà-vu, it’s always super real and I always try to do something weird to “snap out of it”, but sometimes it “predicts” the weird thing too.
When I was 8-9 ish, I had the really vivid dream. I was tired and groggy, my mom and I were at a stake n shake (a very sentimental place to me), we were sitting in a booth and in a booth across from us there were like 10 people all crammed into one. They were having a good time and not harming anyone so I didn’t care. We were waiting for the food to arrive when my moms phone rang, when she picked it up she said “hey…. oh my gosh” (or something along those lines). She kept talking and hung up the phone, she then looked at me and said “papa died”. It was a weird dream and I kinda brushed it off as one of my “acid trip dreams” (where everything’s really weird but makes complete sense at the same time). A year or so later, there we were, at that state n shake, and my mom got the call. But this time I knew what was happening so I was already crying by the time she hung up the phone and she looked at me and I just asked “papa?” And she nodded. I was crying obviously, I was a kid who just lost a grandfather, and the group looked at us and just became very sad all of the sudden.
Next, in 5th grade, it was really late (or early) and I was trying to go to sleep, but I had this feeling that something was WRONG. So I stayed up pacing my room until I heard my dad slamming open the door to his room and going into the living room (he went out sometimes to watch news in there but he was always trying not to wake my mom). And I had the feeling like “ok it’s over now” and went to sleep. The next morning I found out that my grandpa had fallen, hit his head, and fell into a coma where he died a week later.
In 8th grade I was sitting awake one night, reading my book (Simon vs the homosapiens agenda, 10/10 would reccomend) and I got this string feeling that I was gonna die the next day. Like I was freaking out, writing a makeshift will, whatever when I texted one of my friends and told her. She responded “oh yeah, this dude threatened to shoot yo the school tomorrow”. I had not heard of this before then but I said to myself that I was gonna finish the book before I die no matter what… so I did. There was not a shooting the next day but a bunch of people left early and my only thought was “I have to stay to protect my friend”.
These are more recent and a lot less weird. So at the beginning of the pandemic (February ish, there weren’t any cases in my state), I was going to this church event/concert. While I was there waiting, the crowd began to gather so I just kinda noped out and went to the bathroom and started having a panic attack. The next day I felt sick, like REALLY sick. And I was sick for ~2 weeks, coughing, not being able to breathe, runny nose and congestion like you wouldn’t belive. Later my doctors said i most likely had COVID and my mom said God was trying to keep me from infecting more people. Lastly, I was at another church event (again, what is it with me and church events?) and I was hit in the head really hard during a game. I felt woozy and my head hurt a lot so I sat down for a bit and went home early. The next day we had a lake retreat for a day and all the boa ta we were gonna use for tubing either fell through or broke the day of. They said it was the first time in 20 years anything like this happened. So I didn’t go tubing, which is a shame cause I love it but when I do I go HARD, like I have a death wish levels. (I actually got a concussion from it one time and a girl that went to the lake a few days before us had also gotten a concussion from tubing…) the next day I started feeling foggy and my head hurt with light and stuff so I realized I had a concussion but my only thought was “God made it so the boat wouldn’t work so I wouldn’t be dumb and get hurt worse”.
Talk of concussions in the NFL has been all the rage in last couple of years, and rightfully so. There is a lot that science is learning about the long term effects of repetitive head injuries on someones long term health, both physical and mental, but there is still a lot we don’t know or understand. However, that lack of scientific insight hasn’t stopped people from taking strong stances on the issue. The most common “knee-jerk” reaction are comments like “Come on, man! What is there to study? All that banging heads together, of course it’s not good for you! Of course it’s gonna mess guys up in the head.”
The most recent link between Mild Traumatic Brain Injury (mTBI) and off the field mental health has been the issue of suicide amongst former NFL athletes. In just over the past year-and-a-half, four former NFL players (Ray Easterling,Dave Duerson,Junior SeauandO.J. Murdock) have committed suicide, adding more fuel to the already heated debate over the long term effects of brain injuries and the game of football. One recent headline even read “Junior Seau and the disturbing NFL suicide trend”. Scary stuff, but “trend”? Is there even any hard evidence to back up these sorts of claims?
The NFL has taken a lot flack for what many consider their “nonchalant” response to the concerns surrounding mTBI and their game, so much so that the United States Congress got involved and have grilled NFL officials and doctors on the matter. Specifically, Dr. Ira Casson the former NFL doctor, told Congress that there was no proven link between football head injuries and brain disorders. Evidence since that statement has all suggested otherwise. But, the idea of “brain disorders” is a pretty broad one. In there are included everything from Alzheimer’s disease to dementia and Parkinson’s and even depression. Teasing these out and searching for an indisputable link between each disease and mTBI will take some time, mainly because the only way to truly see, on a microscopic level, what is going on in the brains of the men in question is to examine their brain tissuesafterthey have passed away.
Here’s Where It Gets Interesting: A recent study done by a group of researchers at the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health (NIOSH) looked at the mortality (a measure of the number of deaths) among 3,439 retired football players who had played at least five years in the NFL between 1959 and 1988. Their report appeared in Volume 109, Issue 6 of the American Journal of Cardiology and what they found, well, may surprise you.
“Overall,” the study concluded, “retired NFL players from the 1959 through the 1988 seasons showed decreased all-cause and (cardiovascular disease) mortalities compared to a referent United States population of men.”
In other words NFL players, in general, live longer. Wrap your head around that for a second. If you’re anything like most people, you’re probably asking yourself “How is that possible? You mean to tell me these guys lived longer lives than guys in the general population?” Yes. That is exactly what this study found.
Researchers point out that these players for the most part lived “healthier” lives. For example, they are less likely to smoke and were in good overall health- all of which would contribute to their lower than expected likelihood of dying compared to the general United States population.
Even more interesting were the results when it came to deaths due to suicide. Researchers found that 9 former players died through suicide. Based on the numbers seen in the general population in men of the same race, age etc., the number was expected to be closer to 22. In short, the actual percentage of deaths due to suicide was 59% less than what they expected to find.
Now, although the NIOSH study indicated that NFL alumni are less likely to commit suicide than others, this shouldn’t be interpreted as “the NFL is off the hook”. This same study found that 12 of 3,439 players died of “diseases of the nervous system and sense organs”. Only 9.7 men in the general population would have died of these causes. So, there’s still work to be done and the NIOSH plans on a more complete study examining this small group of former NFL players.
This study likely raises more questions than answers, but it’s a step in the right direction. One thing is clear however, these issues aren’t going to be solved with a few changes in the rules on the field or a better built helmet. The best thing we, as both physicians and consumers of the game, can do is ask questions and demand answers. It’s going to take time, but slow motion is better than no motion.
“Bravo! Excellent!!” Ingo felt slow, heavy. Like the words he knew by heart were filtering out of him through honey. “I am glad that I fought so hard against a wonderful Trainer like you.” In truth he had barely been a challenge. He wondered if they were disappointed. “That’s right! You grow stronger by matching yourself against a strong opponent.” For a split second he forgot what was supposed to come next despite having recited these words hundreds if not thousands of times before. He ducked his head to shield aching eyes from the harsh lights of the battle subway. Think. Just. Think. Did they notice? How out of sorts he was? Perhaps Emmet was right and it was too soon to come back after the Team Plasma attack just a few short weeks ago. But he was languishing at home. Unable to sleep. Full of nerves and worried he wouldn’t be ready for the next time. Especially if he wasn’t even there.
Ah. The words had seen fit to return.
“Please do your best and run toward the destination, an even higher state.” The trainer thanked him and left.
And not a moment too soon. Haxorus caught him as he stumbled and he let himself hang there in her arms for a moment, willing his stomach to settle. Nauseated since setting foot in the cab, Ingo wondered if he’d in fact come down with something. The train slid into the station; Ingo fought the desire to slide to the floor, instead straightening with intent and righting his cap, taking comfort in the familiar actions.
“Let us get you taken care of.” He patted Haxorus on a sturdy armored plate before recalling her and stepping purposefully onto the platform.
“Bad run today, Boss?” Ingo nodded, regretting it when Gear Station swirled around him. “Better luck tomorrow!”
“Yes, I certainly hope so.” It wasn’t fun for anyone if he couldn’t even put up a fight. Squinting against the light emanating from the screen in front of him, Ingo debated putting off the paperwork for one more day. According to his timeline, he was late. Everyone else’s, he still had days. It rankled, leaving things unfinished but even though he had the time, he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal.
Failing the station, again.
A foolish thought considering Ingo was doing no such thing, especially by putting off paperwork, but no matter how frequently he reminded himself, it never seemed to change his mind.
“Bravo! Excellent!!” Ingo felt slow, heavy. Like the words he knew by heart were filtering out of him through honey. “I am glad that I fought so hard against a wonderful Trainer like you.” In truth he had barely been a challenge. He wondered if they were disappointed. “That’s right! You grow stronger by matching yourself against a strong opponent.” For a split second he forgot what was supposed to come next despite having recited these words hundreds if not thousands of times before. He ducked his head to shield aching eyes from the harsh lights of the battle subway. Think. Just. Think. Did they notice? How out of sorts he was? Perhaps Emmet was right and it was too soon to come back after the Team Plasma attack just a few short weeks ago. But he was languishing at home. Unable to sleep. Full of nerves and worried he wouldn’t be ready for the next time. Especially if he wasn’t even there.
Ah. The words had seen fit to return.
“Please do your best and run toward the destination, an even higher state.” The trainer thanked him and left.
And not a moment too soon. Haxorus caught him as he stumbled and he let himself hang there in her arms for a moment, willing his stomach to settle. Nauseated since setting foot in the cab, Ingo wondered if he’d in fact come down with something. The train slid into the station; Ingo fought the desire to slide to the floor, instead straightening with intent and righting his cap, taking comfort in the familiar actions.
“Let us get you taken care of.” He patted Haxorus on a sturdy armored plate before recalling her and stepping purposefully onto the platform.
“Bad run today, Boss?” Ingo nodded, regretting it when Gear Station swirled around him. “Better luck tomorrow!”
“Yes, I certainly hope so.” It wasn’t fun for anyone if he couldn’t even put up a fight. Squinting against the light emanating from the screen in front of him, Ingo debated putting off the paperwork for one more day. According to his timeline, he was late. Everyone else’s, he still had days. It rankled, leaving things unfinished but even though he had the time, he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal.
Failing the station, again.
A foolish thought considering Ingo was doing no such thing, especially by putting off paperwork, but no matter how frequently he reminded himself, it never seemed to change his mind.
Ingo slipped quietly into the apartment, not wanting to disturb Emmet if he was napping and indeed, saw him cascooned on the couch, head pillowed on Galvantula and broken leg elevated via Durant’s strong back. It was a far cry from the drugged oblivion he’d experienced when first arriving home, but while recovering from a concussion, his younger brother still needed his rest. Ingo toed off his shoes and hung up his coat, waving a silent hello when Durant threatened to move. Cap on its peg and tie pulled loose, Ingo touched the backs of his fingers to Emmet’s forehead, just below the fading bruise at his hairline. No fever. Good. Meant he was healing right on schedule. With such a complicated break the surgeon had been worried about post operative infection.
“I am Emmet.” Bleary-eyed, he came awake under Ingo’s hand, yawning. “How was work? Any strong challengers?”
“Always.” He paused before admitting, “some of them are too strong.” Ingo didn’t want to go into how distracted he’d become. How he’d been soundly defeated more often than was his wont. How he was ruining their reputation. “How are you feeling?”
“Hm. Leg hurts. But not too badly today.” A tiny squeak heralded the rustling and Ingo raised a brow when a small yellow furball full of static crept sheepishly out of the wide leg of his brother’s pajama bottoms.
“Emmet?”
“I am Emmet, yes.”
“Why is there a Joltik in your pants?”
“They are helping!”
“There are more?”
“Can I take a shower?” Ignoring that the response did not answer his questions, Ingo frowned. “I am gross.”
“Yes.”
“Mean!” Pulling Emmet up, Ingo helped him stand on his one good leg, acting as a human walking stick with an arm slung around his waist. A bevy of tiny creatures crawled back from whence they came. “Electric current helps.”
“Do not get your cast wet.” Especially if there were additional stowaways hidden. His little brother flapped a hand in his direction, already peeling off his sleep shirt. Emmet was bruised nearly all over, a patchwork of healing purples, greens, and yellows, and while Ingo’s own skin was nearly a mirror image, he couldn’t stand to see his younger brother so stiff and sore. The hot water would help. “Call out when you are finished. I will make something to eat.”
It was strange.
Gear Station should be bustling with patrons and yet.
The lights were off. The trains silent. The offices closed and locked. Ingo checked the time and couldn’t read his xtransceiver but even so, there should always be someone here, someone on duty even in the dead of night. It wasn’t. Ingo was certain he’d left the apartment at the correct hour.
“Hello?” Experimentally, he cried out, wincing at the booming sound of his voice echoing down the tunnels. It was too quiet in here and when he turned around to leave he found himself face to face with a pile of rubble. “Emmet!”
Not again.
Not again.
Not again!
Ingo threw himself at the mountain of rock and stone, clawing desperately with already dislocated and broken fingers. He hadn’t been able to wear his gloves since the first attack, still waiting to remove the splints and this would set him back further but Emmet was trapped in there. Ask him how he knew and he’d be unable to explain but as a big brother!!
“Emmet! Emmet, answer me right now!”
“I am Emmet.” Ingo whirled around, breathing harsh, dust like razors slashing up the inside of his throat until he tasted copper on his tongue. “I am fine.” Shaking, wide eyed in the dark, Ingo stepped forward on quaking legs.
“Brother, you–”
Something was horribly wrong.
Emmet was horribly wrong.
Twisted and malformed, crooked grin lined with far too many teeth stretching from ear to ear.
“Were you scared? Ingo?” Entirely too still. Unnaturally still. “I was. Yup!”
“I, no. We found–” His breath bubbled in a hollow, caved-in chest. Frothing down his chin as he laughed with a sound like drowning.
“Stop staring!” Reflexively, Ingo snapped his head to the side so fast it hurt but Emmet was there too, face pale and wet with crimson, tears carving a glittering path through the gore. Smile like a wound. “You did not even look for me.”
“No! No, I swear it, Emmet! I swear I looked!”
“You are looking now.”
“Emmet!”
“You left me.”
No.
“You left me.”
No no no.
“Have you always hated me?”
Nonononono!
“NO!”
Ingo jolted so badly he crashed out of bed and onto the floor, scrambling into the space between chest of drawers and corner, gripping his hair and pulling, pulling, pulling until the pain cleared the darkness from his mind. The image of his little brother–
“No.” Whispered, salt on his lips. He let his head fall to the side, pressing his forehead against the cool paint, an anchor point as everything reeled around him. Calm down. No good to anyone like this. Had to calm down. He could read the clock now. Barely an hour had passed since he’d fallen asleep and when he tried a slow breath, it came as a sob. Again. Again. Again. Until the pounding in his temples quieted and the air in his lungs became useful.
Emmet.
Dragging himself to his feet, Ingo made his way across the hall, covering his face with his palms as he sank into the desk chair. Eelektross tilted its head in confusion and Ingo couldn’t bring himself to answer the silent question, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d start screaming and never be able to stop.
Emmet.
Here and whole and healing.
Ingo hugged himself tightly, until he could feel an ache in his fingers, held himself there, stiff and silent until the sun rose, casting rosy light onto the opposite wall.
“Oh! Sweet Arceus!! Ingo!” Emmet sat up, swinging his broken leg carefully over the side of the bed with a wince and leaning forward, cupping Ingo’s cold face with both hands. “What are you doing? Are you okay??”
“Could not sleep.” No need to mention the nightmares. The fear that he’d kill him with his negligence. His weakness. Ingo couldn’t even meet his eyes. The thumb ghosting over his cheek blistered and burned and he could feel Emmet searching his expression in an attempt to glean information.
“Remain home today.” Ingo shook his head, pulling away in a daze. “Ingo?” Damn his leg, by the time he’d wrestled his way onto his crutches, his brother was gone.
Grateful there were very few challengers today, Ingo sat huddled on a battle subway bench shivering in his coat and trying to maintain control of himself. He’d been nearly sick on the train because of the wheels pounding along tracks and enclosed space echoing with attacks and commands. The light flashing past the windows was like a strobe and made him ill just looking at it.
He wanted to lay down. He wanted to go home.
And abandon them, just like you did Emmet.
More so than before, Ingo struggled to find his balance in the subway car. Where usually it was a comforting sway, now he was more akin to a small boat at sea, tossed relentlessly around by the waves. When the platform doors parted, he fell into the agent manning this station.
“Boss? You alright?” The depot agent frowned as he quickly righted himself, coming to their own conclusion easily enough. “No, no, you’re not. You haven’t been for a while. I’m calling Other Boss.”
“No!” He’d grabbed them by the shoulders before he even knew he was moving. “No.” Withdrew gently, tried to find equilibrium in fixing his cap. “Please. I. You are correct. I apologize for needing the remainder of my shift off.”
“It’s really no problem. We understand.” They offered him up a sad smile. “Just get some rest, okay? You’re exhausted, Boss. We, all of us, we’re worried for you.”
Because he couldn’t keep himself together.
Head spinning, hurting fit to fracture, Ingo couldn’t seem to remember how exactly he got home, not with the sidewalk dodging out from under his feet like it had, or what he was supposed to be doing at the moment. All he knew was the ache in his skull, his upset stomach and its threat to rebel as he closed his eyes against the rolling walls of his room. Chandelure chirped in worry, her cool arm pressed against the back of his neck which helped, but not enough, not nearly enough.
“Ingo? You in here?” The light streaming through the open door lit a fire behind his eyes and he bit back a whimper. “The Station called. Wanted to make sure you got home?” The noise and the light combined were too, too much and Ingo heaved over the wastebasket in his arms. “Ingo!”
His older brother was curled up around a bin with his back pressed against the wall. How had he missed this? Ingo groaned in misery, laying a cheek on the rim of the basket and closing his eyes.
“’Pologize for w'waking you, Emmet.” Ingo shook with delicate tremors, caught between someplace too cold and too hot and the effort of staying quiet. His voice betrayed him further, shaky and small, fading in and out. He hadn’t made a move to get up, fingers tightening on the plastic and breath quickening. “Need to… you n'need your rest.” His throat clicked with a heavy swallow.
“Brother?” Emmet crept further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “What about you?” Softly, softly, lest he spook him. Something was verrry wrong. “We should see a doctor.” While he longed to fold Ingo up and keep him safe, he had no other option but to sit on the bed. If even he made it to the floor, Ingo was in no state to just pick him up again. They needed help.
It was good that Elesa had a key.
“I knew it was too soon.” She kept her voice down, barely a whisper, shut the door quickly, and Ingo’s shoulders still hunched around his ears.
“He will not get up.” Emmet couldn’t keep the note of panic out of his voice. He’d been sitting. Watching. Useless while Ingo grew worse, grew pale and sick and weepy. “He will not agree to go to the hospital.”
“He won’t talk to you?”
“I do not think he can.”
“Ingo?” Elesa knelt beside him, resting a hand on the nape of his neck and giving a reassuring nod to a near frantic Chandelure. “Did you forget?” Meaningfully, she glanced at Emmet, mouthing an apology before turning back to his twin. “Your brother has an appointment today.” Ingo looked up at her, eyes bright, as though he might cry. “I’ve called a car. We can all go together. Here, let me help you up.” Tall and lanky, it took the assistance of his Pokemon to get him to his unsteady feet and he leaned heavy, shaky on Elesa.
The sunlight had him hissing through his teeth and Elesa got him into the vehicle as quickly as possible before bundling Emmet in with his crutches. She’d called ahead to the hospital that treated them after the attack and may have used a connection or two to get them into a room and out of sight of the public before their presence caused a scene.
If Ingo hadn’t already been in obvious pain, Emmet would have smacked him himself. He’d missed his last two appointments and thankfully, now that the doctor had him she wouldn’t let him leave but he wasn’t keen on cooperating. Likely, she explained, something to do with the concussion he’d sustained during the cave-in not healing correctly. Emmet didn’t understand completely, but he understood enough to know Ingo had neglected to care for himself in his efforts to care for him. Currently, the doctor was trying to cajole him into removing his button down for an exam.
“Why?” Missing a lot of words and it was never a good thing when Emmet’s words outnumbered his older brother’s.
“We are twins! Yep!” Emmet tried to keep his tone light, sincere. “The doctor needs to compare.”
“Bright in, i'nere…” It wasn’t. Ingo’s fingers fumbled on the buttons and before he could get frustrated, Emmet reached out.
“Let me.”
Emmet narrowed his eyes as he swept them over the bruises for the first time. Extensive and still dark, they spread down his back in mottled patterns like a Spinda’s spots and while Ingo was quiet under the doctor’s gentle hands, Emmet fought against demanding answers from him.
Why had he kept this pain a secret? Emmet could have, would have helped! Did Ingo think he wouldn’t have?
When she shined a penlight into Ingo’s eyes to check his pupils, he yelped, turning aside immediately to dry heave and finally she stopped in her examination of him. Tugging Emmet back into the small, private room where Elesa was waiting, she explained a nurse would help Ingo get settled.
“I want to observe Ingo overnight. He’s rundown and exhibiting a lot of post concussion symptoms.” She marked down some notes on her own xtransceiver and hummed thoughtfully. “Your brother has lost more than a few pounds since you were both here last. When did he return to work?”
“Too soon.” Elesa crossed her arms, worry evident in her expression despite the ire in her words.
“Alright. I’m going to prescribe him something for sleep. Sometimes, strange as it sounds, head injuries can cause insomnia.” Emmet should have known. Should have asked. Ingo was prone to insomnia even at the peak of health. “It doesn’t look as though he’s been sleeping well and with parts of his brain trying to overcompensate for jobs they’ve never done before, he’s likely exhausted.”
“What. What does that mean?”
“I’ll send you home with some information, but it means he’ll need to rest and let himself heal.” Emmet caught Elesa’s eyes. He didn’t want to leave Ingo here, alone. What if he woke up and he wasn’t here? Or he became confused? Or upset?
“Emmet?” Despite the gentle touch he nearly jumped out of his skin. “They’re going to take care of him, okay? We’re going to go home and get things ready for tomorrow so Ingo doesn’t have to worry about a thing!”
“Your friend is right.”
“I am Emmet. Want to see him.”
“Of course.” He didn’t wait, let Elesa take care of collecting Ingo’s prescription, shouldering his way back into Ingo’s dark room and not missing how he looked nearly as bad as the days following the attack. He’d slept a long time and now they were here again. “You can touch him.” The doctor had followed. “You won’t hurt him.”
“I know that!” He didn’t mean to snap at her, really. But the very idea– “I am Emmet. Ingo is my brother.” Carefully, he traced one of the ink-dark shadows beneath Ingo’s closed eyes before grabbing hold of his hand, mindful of the line taped to the back of it.
“For rehydration, some vitamins and other medications to help make him comfortable.”
“Ingo can come home tomorrow?” At her nod, Emmet leaned down, pressing their foreheads together for a brief moment and blinking away tears. “Okay.”
Elesa tucked Ingo in while Emmet continued his memorization of the pamphlets the doc had given him yesterday. Ingo didn’t want to sleep but the medication he’d taken was like boarding a non-stop train to oblivion.
“Emmet…needs…” Petulant, Ingo tried to knuckle the sleep out of his eyes, grateful that the pain had markedly decreased since. Yesterday? Memories were fuzzy and he had little desire to parse through them at the moment.
“Right now, you need to rest.” Elesa watched him fight it, miserable, torn between responsibility and total collapse. “You’re going to close your eyes. And if you’re lucky, I’ll get take out from that place you like tomorrow.” She smiled softly as his body went lax. He’d be lucky. He deserved it and when he shuffled out of his room more than fifteen hours later Elesa wasted no time placing their regular order.
“Ingo!” By virtue of Galvantula in his lap, Emmet couldn’t even attempt to leap to his feet. “How do you feel?” His older brother looked thoughtful and, honestly, much better than before.
“Somehow, still very tired. That does not seem right.” Ingo very nearly whined as he took his spot on the couch. Too weary to sit up, he leaned on Emmet to read over his shoulder and almost immediately passed out again. There’d be time to go over things later considering they were both on mandatory leave for the next two weeks at minimum. Ingo would need the doctor to sign off on his return to the station. He’d bristled at the restriction a split second before Emmet laid into him.
“I feel I must apologize to you both and to all our friends and coworkers at Gear Station.” The trio were gathered in the living room, shoveling noodles into their faces while some train documentary or another ran quietly in the background when Ingo paused. “As your older brother, I should have handled this whole situation better and I am so sorry for my negligence. I should have protected you, Emmet.”
“Ingo.”
“I had a responsibility to you and I failed. You were badly hurt and I. I.” He clenched his teeth. “I am supposed to take care of you. I am supposed to keep you safe.”
“You did. You do!” Emmet didn’t want Ingo to feel this way, especially when it wasn’t true! He wouldn’t hear this for a minute more!
“Did you forget you were injured too, Bidoofus?” Before Ingo could gear up to argue, Elesa continued. “Working yourself into the ground was very irresponsible!”
“Verry irresponsible!”
“And even if you’d walked out of the station without a scratch–Ingo. You still deserve rest.” She dashed the tears from her eyes. “Please stop punishing yourself for situations outside of your control.” He stiffened at the expectation of a bone-crushing hug, melting into her arms when it was instead gentle and warm. She had a point and now that he was thinking more clearly, he could nearly make it out. “I’m going to call Emmet everyday to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
“That’s a threat!”
“Emmet meant to say promise.”
“I am Emmet! It can be both!” There was a beat of silence before Ingo shook with laughter, relenting to their special brand of care. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop putting his little brother first, but for the both of them, he would try to let him return the favor.
Chronic illness and fatigue make for a winning combo, if by winning you mean it taking all your energy to roll into a more comfortable position so you decide to stay in an uncomfortable spot because you just don’t have enough energy to readjust.
See also: chronic fatigue is like if you turned a weighted blanket into a onesie and had to wear it all the time.
Fantasy Is A Metaphor For The Human Condition, a comic about magic, and art, and speculative fiction, and being sick, and how they all intersect. Originally laid out/pencilled November-December 2017, when I was in a very difficult place emotionally as I was relearning how to draw post-brain injury.
It may look like this model brain is made of Jell-O, but it’s the same consistency as a real brain.
As Dr. Christopher Giza from UCLA demonstrates, the brain is made of soft tissue and floats in fluid inside of the skull. When the skull moves quickly, the brain can jostle around a lot, which can lead to neurological symptoms.
“Most concussions are recoverable,” Giza said.
But concussions can be difficult to identify and some people suffer more serious symptoms, particularly after multiple concussions.
Lab studies have shown a “window of vulnerability” after a first concussion, Giza said. Concussed athletes are three to six times more likely to get another concussion. If they rush back to play, their reflexes, reaction time and thinking may be slower, putting them at risk of a second concussion and longer recovery period.
Healing process from a pretty gnarly car accident (55mph give or take) I got into in the beginning of may. I had a 12g septum ring get torn almost completely out - still actually healing too. Concussion to the prefrontal cortex from steering direct wheel impact, torn nostril ring, golfball sized hematoma on forearm also from direct steering wheel impact, my entire chest, face and arms covered in heavy tears/abrasions from airbag impact. I didn’t document all of it. I avoided rear ending someone by swerving off the side of a country road in an SUV due to my breaks locking up - I knew I wouldn’t stop in time so that’s the decision I made. I hit an incline, went through a pole and hit a ditch. Photos don’t do it justice.
bleeding through the bandages | pressure | blood-matted hair
It had been a rare evening Sheila and Fred had to themselves, making the most of it and heading out for drinks. Fao had been more than happy to babysit Finn, though Finn argued that at sixteen he didn’t need babysitting.
They were both rather drunk when they returned home, the taxi driver all too happy to drop them off.
While Sheila headed upstairs to get changed, Fred nipped outside for a smoke to settle his stomach. He was better than when he first met Sheila, but he’d never say no to a quick break.
Fao was on the phone to Alex when his parents got in, and he could tell Sheila was drunk from the way she laughed as she got in.
“Hang on a sec, ‘Lex.” He said, and stuck his head out of his bedroom. “Good time?” He called, amusedly.
“Oh, shush you.”
“I’m not holding your hair back when you puke your guts up later.”
“I’m not you.”
“Hey! I’m good!” He protested, but let her get on, returning to his girlfriend on the phone.
Sheila rolled her eyes (a bad decision considering how the room already span) and headed in to get changed. Fred wouldn’t be too long, she was sure, so she had to hurry to grab a shower before he decided to hog it all.
Now Fred and Sheila were home, Fao headed downstairs and outside for a smoke before bed, after saying goodnight to Alex. He was unsurprised to find Fred out there already, and grinned at him as he lit his cigarette.
“Enjoyed yourself?”
Fred hummed. “Was nice to have some time out.”
“I bet.”
“She got a bit tipsy.”
“So did you by the looks of it.”
“I’m completely fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Could walk in a straight line, all that bullshit.”
“Mmhmm. Sure, sure.”
“Wanna see?”
“Nah, I believe you. Probably best not to go wandering into the pitch black garden.”
“I’ve only fallen once while gardening.” Fred said confidently.
“Let’s keep it that way, not tempt fate.”
“Sure, sure.” He lit another cigarette. “Keep fate where it is.”
“She will kill you if she catches you chain-smoking.”
“I’ve had two. That’s not a chain.”
“Might as well be.”
“It’s not a chain.”
“Sure.”
Content he’d won his argument, Fred settled back into silence, enjoying his smoke. After a while, he stumped the end out, leaving it on the side.
“I’m getting a tea. Want one?”
“How about I make one, you just sit and chill.”
He hummed. He wasn’t going to pass up on Fao doing the hard work. “Sounds good.”
“Then the sober person is in control of the hot water.”
Fred huffed at him. “Yeah, whatever.”
Fao finished his cigarette and headed inside, filling the kettle and flicking it on. He didn’t exactly trust Fred.
Fred had just sat down to relax when there was an almighty thud from upstairs. He jumped to his feet, swaying as he tried to balance himself.
“Finn? Was that you?”
Fao frowned. “Didn’t sound like Finn… Finn?! Mum?!” After no response, he turned to Fred. “Stay put, I’ll go and see what’s going on.”
Finn met Fao at the top of the stairs, half asleep and very confused. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, it wasn’t you.” Fao said, glancing at Finn. “Heard a thud.”
“Yeah, me too.” Finn frowned, worry creeping in. “Mum?”
“She’s pissed as anything.” Fao told him, pushing the bedroom door open. “Mum? You okay?”
“No.” She admitted dramatically, sat on the ensuite bathroom’s floor, her head in her hands. “No.”
Fao rushed in. “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”
“I slipped.” She said with a sigh, before smirking. “I went splat.”
There was blood on the edge of the sink, and a significant amount on Sheila’s top, too. Sighing, Fao crouched in front of her. “Yeah, looks like you did. Here, let me have a look at you, hmm?”
“Oh I’m fine.” She brushed him off.
“Mum, you’re bleeding. Let me look.”
“I am. I slipped.” She raised her hands, covered in blood, to her face as she tried to wipe the blood dripping down it. “I’m bleeding.”
“Do we need an ambulance?” Finn asked, slightly panicked.
Fao glanced up. “We’ll need to go in regardless. Probably best to call one?”
“No, no. I’m fine.” Sheila insisted trying to stand up.
“Hey, hey. Wait. You’ve probably given yourself a pretty solid concussion. Don’t want you standing up too quickly and falling over again, eh?”
“I’m not Finn.” She said confidently. “I just slipped.”
“At the very least you’re going to need stitches and a scan.”
“Oh no.”
“Might as well go in an ambulance, rather than getting blood in my car, hmm?” Fao said, twisting to look at his brother. “Can you grab the first aid kit?”
Finn disappeared into the main bathroom to grab it. There were a few left around the house, and were always in reach.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” Fao said, taking it from him. “I just want to try and stop this bleeding a bit…”
“Ow!” Even drunk, she felt it as Fao pressed against her head. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I know it hurts. But I need to do it, yeah? Stop you bleeding so much.”
“No. It hurts. Please stop.”
“Sorry Mum, it needs doing.” Fao said gently. “Try some deep breaths.”
“No, get off.” She pulled away. “I’m fine.”
“I know, I know.”
“Fao, I’m fine. Get off.” The evening’s earlier merriment had quickly disintegrated.
“Mum, you’re fucking bleeding.”
“Iknow.”
“So let me help you?”
“Do you have to ?”
“Do you want to bleed everywhere?”
“No.”
“In that case, I’ve gotta help you.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s gonna need stitches.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Who’s the doctor here, eh?”
“Does it really need stitches?” The bandage done, she shuffled away from Fao, trying to get up.
“It does, yeah.”
“Fred can drive me.” She turned to face Fao, and finally stood. “I’m fine.”
“He’s drunk too, Mum.” Fao said gently. “Just wait for the ambulance.”
“You called an ambulance?” She sighed heavily, looking at Fred standing behind Finn. “And you let them?”
“Finn’s very persuasive.” He defended.
“Better they come and give us a hand, eh?”
Sheila made her way past Finn, scowling at the pair. “I didn’t need an ambulance.”
“Mum, sit down for me, yeah?”
“They can’t see me like this!”
“They’ve seen much worse.” Fao said drily. “They see Finn all the time.”
“Hey!”
“I don’t care. I need to get changed. Out.”
“I don’t want to leave you. Let me help you?”
Her expression twisted into disgust. “No.”
“I’m not that bad!”
“I don’t need your help!”
“It’ll be quicker if we help you.”
“No.” She crossed her arms, not unlike Finn. “No.”
“Come on, Mum.”
“Fao, I’ve said no.”
“What do you want to get changed into? What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”
“It’s covered in blood!”
“They won’t care, we’ll just bring you some fresh stuff for when you get to the hospital.”
Frustrated tears sprung to her eyes. “Just let me change!”
“Alright, alright. Let me get you some stuff out, then.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re not bleeding so much now, hmm? Looks like that dressing I’ve got on has sorted things for the time being.” Fao said, reaching into the drawers for some comfy clothes for Sheila.
“I feel like a pirate.”
Fao couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah?”
She nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”
“It’s not for long.” He placed the clothes next to her. “Are you sure I can’t help you?”
“I’m sure.”
“Can I stay in the room and turn my back. Just in case you need anything?”
“No.” She’d made her mind up, and was stubborn as anything.
Fao glanced at Finn somewhat desperately. He really didn’t want to leave her alone.
“Mum, you do the same for me. Please?”
“No.” She stood her ground. “Just let me change.”
“Come on, mum. Please?”
“Why do you hate me?”
“We don’t hate you.”
“Youdo.” She sighed dramatically.
“We just want to look after you.”
“Let me get changed then!” She sniffed, wiping the tears running down her cheeks.
Fao reached out to wipe her tears away. “Hey, hey. Come on, let’s not have tears.” He said softly. “It’s alright.”
She turned away. She didn’t want his pity.
“Come on, Mumaí.”
It had been forever since he’d called her that. She lowered her gaze with a soft sigh, the fight completely gone. “Okay.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair, where it wasn’t matted with drying blood. “I’ve got you.”
With Sheila no longer actively fighting Fao, things moved a lot smoother. Clothes were changed and she was gently helped downstairs, Finn and Fao on either side.
She was only growing more dizzy, something she wasn’t sure was just the alcohol. Despite Fao telling her off, she kept pressing her fingers to her bandage, but it hurt. Eventually, she listened, leaning heavily into Fao with a quiet sigh. This wasn’t how she’d expected the evening to go.
It was a little wait, but the ambulance arrived within the hour. As Finn disappeared to open the door, Sheila absentmindedly pressed her fingers against the bandages, frowning as she pulled her hand away again. Her fingers were wet with fresh blood, bleeding through the bandage Fao had wrapped around her. She turned worriedly to Fao, her palm stretched out.
“Fao?”
Fao turned to her with a frown, then noticed the blood on her fingers. “Oh, we’re bleeding through? Head wounds like to bleed a lot, hmm? It’s okay, the ambulance is here now. They’ll help us get it sorted.”
“But it’s bleeding again.”
“We’ll put something on top, don’t worry.”
The ambulance crew stepped into the room, somewhat amused by the fact Finn was up and opening the door for them. After a little light teasing, they got another dressing over the stubbornly bleeding wound, and then they headed into hospital.
So I’m got in a car accident today and it left me with a concussion and possibly some broken ribs. So I won’t be as active the next few days. I’m sorry guys :(
After a beating, Whumper instructs Whumpee to clean up the mess of blood made on the floor. Whumpee struggles to think and move as their head pounds from a concussion. Blood mixes with soapy water as they scrub away the droplets on the floor, renewed every they cough and splatter fresh blood over their work.
