#illness
[Image Description 1: Comic, digital art cartoon style. To the left is a blue character and to the right is a red character. “People are sick!” Blue yells with a concerned expression and a sweat drop forming. “People are hypochondriacs!” Red yells back while rolling their eyes with an annoyed vein next to their eye. Below a tiny purple arrow points to two dots.]
[Image Description 2: “PEOPLE! ARE! SICK!!!” Blue yells, their brow furrowed. “PEOPLE! ARE! HYPOCHONDRIACS!!!!!” Red yells back in their face. The purple arrow pointing to to dots is slightly larger, unnoticed by Blue and Red.]
[Image Description 3: The words “PEOPLE ARE SICK)(HYPOCHONDRIACS” are extremely large, in a motion blur as they swirl around the yelling heads of Blue and Red. Their heads against each other like a yin-yang symbol, eyes budging, saliva dripping. Below the purple arrow is bigger and we can see the dots are silhouettes.]
[Image Description 4: Below the purple arrow are two characters. On the left, a short character, tan skin, wearing blue pants, an oversized sweat-shirt with a heart mirrored by an upside down heart. Their head is half shaved and half short, curly, pale indigo color. They look shocked and annoyed, bags under their eyes.“Has a degenerative condition that took 5 years to get diagnosed” is written above their head.
To the right, a girl nervous hold her hands in front of her chest, tears in her eyes, sad and frightened expression. She has on light green pains and a dark green tang-top dress shirt that ends above her navel. She has deep purple hair, long that fans out behind her head, and micro-bangs. Above her head “Has hypochondria, now called Somatic Symptom Disorder or Illness Anxiety Disorder.]
[Image Description 5:"Hey-” The short character says to the girl, their face still looking annoyed. “Yes?” Our hypochondriac responds startled, pupils tiny, forehead blue, and sweat forming on her arms. Afraid she’s about to be ridiculed for her anxiety disorder.]
[Image Description 6: The short character holds out a hand towards our hypochondriac, looking more relaxed. “Ya wanna get away from this noise and learn how to support each other in healthy ways?” They say. Turns out they have resting annoyed face, making them difficult to read. Hypo is more relaxed, but still has her hands to her chest nervously, her body closed off, more sweat, tears still in her eyes, looking at the short person.]
[Image Description 7: A close up of our hypochondriac. Covered in sweat, her pupils shrinking again as she processes what the short character proposed. She did not expect a person with a physical illness to see her as someone who wasn’t an enemy- to see her as more than just a person who made it more difficult for those with rare disorders to receive diagnosis or be taken seriously, or to be treated with respect and even love. She’s not smiling, but she is blushing as a sense of trust takes hold.]
[Image Description 8: *sniff* “I would love that.” Our hypochondriac says, now smiling and taking the hand of the also blushing short character.]
[Image Description 9: They fly into the sky holding hands, a rainbow trailing behind them. *Ghibli type music starts to play* *laughter of relief* They are pretty far away from us now. “I think I’m getting altitude sickness” our hypochondriac says, the short person responding “That might actually be happening, we’ll go lower.”]
[Image Description 10: Downward at the bottom of the rainbow in script font are the words “Have fun with your word wars, ya Butts!”. Blue and Red have their backs to us as their looking at it. “What do you think those people were talking about?” says Blue, to which Red says “No idea. Wasn’t listening.”]
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Roughly one in five American adults suffer from mental illnesses. Athletes might be more at risk. Here, eight of them tell their authentic stories.
What’s My Stage Again: Guilt Gone Wild
http://amysmartgirls.com/whats-my-stage-again-guilt-gone-wild/
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‘you weigh yourself out in pieces—
tiny morsels, bites of nothing
that regardless make you bleed.
just when you’ve rationed enough to make the scales even
they change the recipe.’
'day to day,’ - Megan’s Poetry #1265
I guess I’m just a little tired of being in pain
Illustration done for Milwaukee Magazine, on a terminally ill woman choosing to die in her own home, with her family by her side.
©Lily Padula, 2018
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Watching everyone’s end of the year re-caps, I’m realizing how little time I spent this year enjoying myself.
I’m in too much pain to really, authentically enjoy the experiences around me.
It’s like someone taking a hammer to your toe every three seconds and you’re expected to act as if nothing is going on and the event you’re at is more interesting than the throbbing pain in your toe.
It doesn’t work that way.
Pain keeps us from doing things and enjoying ourselves.
Every year I have this great hope that the holidays will be amazing and that events I’m looking forward too will be fun, but I’m always let down, through no fault of myself or loved ones, but simply because my body doesn’t allow me to enjoy myself.
But maybe this year, this year will be the one in my 21 years of living that will be different.
May this year be better. For me, and for you
Corona seriesbyAriee
Imagine your FC is sick and you’ve been taking care of them all day, until they mention that they’re desperate for a piss but of course they’re too ill to go to the bathroom. They warn you that they really can’t hold it any longer, so seeing no other option, you quickly rush to the kitchen to find a bottle or glass or anything for them to go in. After finding an empty bottle, you return to your FC to find them squirming in desperation. Acting quickly, you run to them, pull down their pants, whip out their cock, and aim it into the bottle, hoping that it’ll be enough to contain what’s coming. Almost instantly a stream gushes out into the bottle and your FC sighs in almost orgasmic relief. After a minute of pissing the stream eventually stops and the bottle is pretty much filled to the brim, but there’s no time to worry about that now, you think as you notice that your FC is rock hard. You put the bottle aside and get ready to deal with the… otherproblem.
A touching story this time . Editorial illustrations for the Reader’s Digest based on an article titled “I Survived a stroke” about a man who overcame a serious illness and has written an inspiring memoir about his journey #medical #illness #conceptual #magazine #editorial #illustration
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Virtue’s Household Physician Vol 1. Antique, 1928, Medical Book.
Printed in Great Britain at The Darien Press, Edinburgh, 1928.
Illustrated with manikin, coloured and half-tone plates. Set of Five.
A popular trend of the time, these books were great sets to have in the late 1800s up until around the 1950s or so. Covering a range of topics such as Anatomy, Hygiene, Skin Diseases, Venereal and Sexual Diseases and Homeopathic Treatments.
This hardback book is in brilliant condition with minimal discolouring to the pages and the spine is still intact.
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imagine usually quiet, polite, patient, calm and composed whumpees undergoing drastic (temporary) personality changes when they’re sick
A notices B’s been irritated and annoyed the whole day, only giving them sparing, snappy answers. finally, they can’t stand it. ‘hey, B, what’s bothering you?’
‘nothing,’ B says frustratedly. ‘what’s wrong with you? you’ve been asking me questions nonstop. i’m just tired, okay?’
that’s when A notices it - the faint flush on B’s face, the way they fold their arms around themselves, the little tinge of hoarseness in their voice, a small sneeze here and there
A reaches out and gently touches B’s forehead, causing B to flinch a little, and maybe bat away the hand in annoyance. ‘what?’
‘you have a fever.’
‘oh,’ B says, in a very small voice.
‘come on, let’s get you home.’
later at home, with A reading in bed and B snuggling up to them, drowsy from both the sickness and the medicine: ‘hey… A…’
‘what is it? is your headache still bothering you?’
‘just a little, but… i’m sorry for being so rude to you just now.’
‘it’s okay, don’t worry, okay? just focus on resting.’
‘i- i’m sorry for causing all this and ruining your day…’ small apologies won’t stop slipping out of B’s mouth and A keeps reassuring them constantly - it’s okay, you’re fine, don’t worry.
eventually, B drifts off to sleep, and A can’t help but wonder how they fell in love with this dork who acts so differently when they’re sick. they’re glad that they’re here though, so that B doesn’t have to be alone.
An exaughsted sickie being examined by the doctor for the chest cold that’s absolutely killing them lately. The doctor listens to their symptoms, nodding at their complaints before conducting an exam. They start by holding the stethoscope to the sickies chest and ask them to draw in the deep breath slowly. The sickie inhales, the congestion crackling through their sinus down to their chest, and then exhales with a wheeze. Again, the doctor asks. The poor sickies lungs wheeze again with the force of trying to draw in air through the gunk that’s clogging the passages. Again, the doctor says. They inhale shakily, the congestion apparent in the thickness of it and the wet, damp sound to their breathing. At the doctors command they attempt to exhale but their breath catches and they break into a fit of raspy coughs. They wheeze through the fit as the doctor sits back, breathing in wet pants that do nothing to move the congestion settling into their lungs. The doctor leaves them with a diagnosis of a nasty chest cold and warns them that without rest it will likely turn into something more serious.
Team Leader has just found out that they have a terminal illness. Soon they’ll deteriorate and have to choose one of the others to take their place and lead – but first they have to break the news to them.
So like, those characters who are so afraid of annoying people with their symptoms, or being too demanding, or - heaven forbid - passing their germs along to someone else. They do their best to hide and downplay everything. They isolate themselves as soon as they think they might be contagious. They apologize for everything to the point where that’s the potentially more irritating part.
But their caretakers are patient and understanding. They get it. Maybe the sickie didn’t have people who took care of them when they were young. Maybe they’ve had a bad experience with this sort of thing. Maybe they’ve got abandonment issues or just general anxiety.
Their caregivers tell them they don’t need to apologize. Drag them out of isolation, or just join them in their room, expressing nothing but quiet concern when a symptom crops up. Assuring them they don’t care when the sickie objects - self-consciously - that ‘I’m gross’ or ‘this has to be so boring for you’ or ‘I’m gonna get you sick’. They gently order the sickie to rest, let me do it for you, I’ve got it.
And they do this every time, again and again. Patient. Hoping by the end of this round the sickie will trust their promises, but understanding if that never really happens.
Gotta love a whumpee’s voice that is crackly, creaky and broken from coughing
“It’s been days and you’re just getting worse.” Caretaker’s voice is still calm and gentle, but the desperation bleeds through. They tap their foot against the floor anxiously until Whumpee asks them to stop; it’s making their headache worse.
“If you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m finding an ER to take you to.” They both know their chances of success at that are unlikely, but Whumpee is too weak to even tell them “good luck.”
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Ten x Rose
Summary: A post-GITF sick-fic UA. What if Rose had come away with more than nightmares after her run-in with the clockwork droids? What if her trust in the Doctor had been so fractured that she’d been afraid to tell him? And what if that broken trust might just lead to a dangerous situation for Rose? Will the Doctor be able fix it in time? Note: Trigger warning for non-explicit DV, self-loathing, PTSD, medical emergency.
Notes: Helloooooo shiny people! I can’t believe we’re finally here- THE EPILOGUE! The very final chapter of this fic, which was written for the @doctor-rose-events classic tropes event. Thank you all for coming on this crazy ride with me- I couldn’t have done it without you and you’re all fabulous.<3
I hope this brief look at a very different future with Rose and the Doctor (I couldn’t help kicking Doomsday in the bum, repeatedly) will leave us all in a good place, and with hope going forward. There’s ALWAYS hope, and no one is broken beyond repair. To that end, I’ll be posting a non-fic chapter in the next day or two with a list of trauma, counselling and DV resources that my wonderful people around the world have sent me. Keep an eye out for that in the next few days.I hope that you’ve all enjoyed this story, and I have to give a big shoutout to everyone who has encouraged me and left comments, the ladies on Fangirlia who have listened to me whine and complain incessantly, Aintafraidanoghosts for listening to me whine on chat EVERY SINGLE DAY, and finally, @rose–nebula, without whom I could not have done this. She’s beta’d every chapter, every week, no matter what crazy time of day or night I’ve sent them, and supported me emotionally and mentally when I was ready to fling a chapter into the abyss or set it on fire. I could not have done this without you, my dear. Thank you more than I can say <3 <3 <3 All mistakes are mine, and of course all recognisable dialogue from the episode belongs to one Mr RTD. I hope you enjoy!Tumblr: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3|Chapter 4 |Chapter 5|Chapter 6|Chapter 7 |Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10|Chapter 11|Chapter 12 |Chapter 13
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“Hello?”
“Jack! Thank God. Are you in Cardiff?” Rose clutched the mobile to her ear, watching in disbelief as the Doctor smacked the TARDIS console with a mallet.
“Rosie! Yeah, Mickey and I are at headquarters. Why? Is everything OK?”
The TARDIS jolted.
“Behave!” the Doctor snapped, scowling at the console.
“Oh my…hold on Jack- Doctor, stop smacking her!” Rose snapped. “Have you lost your mind?”
“She won’t do it, Rose! She’s resisting!”
“Rose?” Jack’s tone was suddenly sharp, all semblance of relaxed chit-chat gone. “What’s going on?”
“We’re flying down the highway, chasing a taxi driven by a robot santa, that’s what’s goin’ on!”
“What? What highway? Where are you?”
“London.” Rose took over holding down various knobs from the Doctor as he inched closer to the door. “Specifically, chasin’ a woman in a weddin’ dress to Chiswick, or wherever this robot is takin’ her.” She closed her eyes and ignored Donna’s screeched “Oh, you are kidding me!” as the TARDIS scraped the road beside the taxi, the bump almost knocking Rose off her feet.
“Rose? What the hell is happening?”
“You’ve got to jump!” the Doctor shouted, almost hanging out of the doorway.
“Who’s jumping?” Jack demanded.
“It’ll take too long to explain! Look, I need you to do somethin’ for me Jack- quickly!”
“What do you need?”
“I need you to find out everything you can about a woman who’s booked to get married at St Mary’s Church in Chiswick today. Her name’s Donna.”
“Last name?”
“Dunno. Once you’ve got it from the church, I need you to run it on every system you have- find out everythin’ about her.”
“Why?”
“Because she showed up on the TARDIS while she was in mid-flight, Jack! Just appeared in the middle of the vortex!”
There was a gasp. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not kiddin’! I don’t have time to kid! I need you to do it now, Jack, please!”
“On it.” She heard Jack barking orders to someone beside him to call the church, followed by the clack of a keyboard moments later. “I’ll dig up everything I can, Rosie.”
“Thanks,” she exhaled, staring in disbelief as Donna hesitated to jump out of the taxi. “Quick as you can, Jack! There’s somethin’ weird going on here.”
“Whatever that thing is, it needs you,” the Doctor pleaded with Donna, stretching out his arm. “And whatever it needs you for, it’s not good! Now, come on!”
Earrings, acrylic on canvas, 2019
“Among chronic diseases, Syphilis is the one of greatest frequency and highest importance. Few physicians are incompetent to treat the disease successfully when its nature is apparent, but there are many who are unfamiliar with its most characteristic forms. The surest diagnosis is that which is based solely unpon observation; and it can be safely asserted that of the numerous and varied symptoms of Syphilis, there are none which point so unerringly to a specific origin as do its cutaneous lesions.” - George Henry Fox, Photographic Illustrations of Cutaneous Syphilis.1881.
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Posed, acrylic on linen, 2019 (bottom right image is of the painting’s first layer, bottom left and top right are finished)
Source image (top left) from Leprosy in New Orleans by Henry W. Blanc, 1889:
“Case 27. Lepra Macula.— Aged 14 years. Presented herself in my clinic at the Charity Hospital, February 28th, 1888, with the following history: Born in the Fifth District of this city (Algiers) and has always lived there, attending one of the public schools.”
I lost my vision because of an illness, and it depressed me greatly, since I live alone. I’m infinitely grateful to Saint Lucy, with this humble retablo, for having a seeing-eye dog Spike. Apart from being my eyes when I go out, he’s also my best friend.
Roberto Hernandez \ Mexico City
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For the cure of any illness
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“Ayesha (R.A.) stated that when Prophet Mohammad (SAW.) was ill, he used to recite the four Quls, blow on his hands and pass them over on the back and front. He also recited these surahs, blew on his hands and passed them over his body during his fatal illness”. ~(Bukhari, Muslim)
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#islam #hadith #dua #prophetmuhammad #illness #surah #quran #Allah #mybeautyishijab #islamicquotes #bukhari #muslim
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Why God permits crosses: He permits mental crosses, like worries, fear, anxieties, to make us feel His absence. If our love of goodness does not draw us to Him, at least our weariness will throw us back to Him. He permits physical crosses like sufferings to make us feel His Presence. Sickness forcibly draws us away from the world and its pleasures, and makes us realize that His scarred Hands cannot touch us without leaving wounds.
– Archbishop Fulton Sheen
Passing of Saint John of God – Juan Zapaca Inga (1684-1685)
Saint John of God,
heavenly Patron of the Sick,
I come to you in prayer to seek your help in my present sickness.
Through the love which Jesus had for you
in choosing you for the sublime vocation of serving the sick,
and through the tender affection
with which the Blessed Virgin Mary placed upon your head
a crown of thorns as a symbol of the sufferings
you would undergo in the service of the sick
to attain to your crown of glory,
I beg you to intercede for me to Jesus and Mary
that They may grant me a cure,
if this should be according to the Will of God.
Saint John of God,
I honour you as the Patron of the Sick,
especially of those who are afflicted by heart disease.
I choose you to be my patron and protector in my present illness.
To you I entrust my soul, my body, all my spiritual and temporal interests, as well as those of the sick throughout the world.
To you I consecrate my mind, that in all things it may be enlightened by faith above all in accepting my Cross as a blessing from God; my heart, that you keep it pure and fill it with the love for Jesus and Mary that burned in your heart; my will, like yours, it may always be one with the Will of God.
Amen.
Submitted by anon - thanks!
“One more thing - you look pale. I think you should get some rest.” [A] said.
“Of course m'lady” [B] lowered themself into a polite bow and promptly collapsed.
