Hi 👋
I recently found out that I have access to my imaging via an app and have been learning to read them, I'm finding it super fascinating. The technology is interesting itself, but also being able to get a new perspective on my own body is really cool and empowering. It's kinda become an ADHD hyperfixation lately and the thirst for knowledge is real 😅
I'm not looking for diagnosis but I am curious about a structure on my images that I would like to identify. I'm pretty sure it's normal physiology, my guess is a ligament or ligaments. You always see diagrams of the uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovaries but I am only now just learning about the ligaments and muscles in the pelvis and it's peaked my interest.
Are ligaments readily visualized on ultrasound? Would I be able to see, say, two ligaments with parametrium in between them on a typical image of the adnexa?
I can post the images (if allowed) if that's helpful. I will preface in saying that there is a cyst in my images that I am aware of and that is unrelated to my question about this structure. If images are not allowed, is there another subreddit that could be of assistance?
Thanks for your help!

I asked my pelvic floor physical therapist about it and when she felt it she said something along the lines of “oh gosh yeah that is not normal, let me speak with some fellow medical people and get back to you about that” but then we had a couple more sessions after that and she never brought it up again.
I did a google search for “pelvic floor diagram male” and it appears to be my “perineal body”. This area is the source of most of my discomfort/pain and I get what seems like nerve pain down there, pins and needles, burning sensations, and general discomfort constantly. Comparable to a “headache” in my pelvis.
Can anyone provide some answers as to what is going on down there?
Edit: For some context, I’ve been dealing with hard flaccid syndrome for over 3 years now.

I was using my Doppler today and I have finally been able to find my babies heartbeat. The only thing is it’s really low down by my pelvis. however, all the diagrams say the baby should be sitting higher at 16 weeks which is what I am.
Is this normal? I can’t really find much on this on Google.

Hello y'all. I'm a surgical resident 3rd year in an EU country and due to several things that happened more or less simultaneously I'm going to be leading practical exercises on Anatomy for 2nd tear med students. That means - topographical anatomy of back, thorax, abdomen and pelvis - theory and dissections. Obviously I'll need to revise everything and am in the middle of doing so. I'm also trying to structure my lessons. I'll have 90min 2x/week. I'm thinking of giving the students anatomical diagrams at the beginning, nothing overly hard, where they'll have to write down the names of different muscles, vessels etc - whatever I've thought the previous time. What do all the med students here think? Do you have any ideas and suggestions about how to make the classes more engaging and the material easier to understand?

Basic Criteria

I've seen a few comments and posts asking for the criteria they use for adenomyosis in imaging. Based on my understanding of what my doctor said during my appointment to review TVUS images, here is a list you can use.
Three categories of criteria are assessed:

1. Ectopic endometrial glands
2. Muscular hyperplasia +/- hypertrophy, which may be hypoechoic
3. Vascularity (blood flow on color Doppler)

If you have access to your images, you can try to assess the criteria yourself. Obviously, since you and I are not doctors, this does not qualify as a diagnosis. However, reviewing your own images can help you research theories to bring up to your doctor(s) when seeking a diagnosis.
Definitions
Endometrial cells/glands = the type of cells/glands that make up the endometrium
Endometrium = the lining of the uterus, which is shed during menses
Ectopic = present in locations other than where is belongs

Determining the Uterus Size

The uterus dimensions are determined by three measurements (in units of cm) which are described as follows, from Radiopaedia.

The uterine length is measured in the midsagittal plane from the outer serosal surface of the fundus to the external cervical os.
The uterine height (AP) is measured in the midsagittal plane anteroposteriorly from outer to outer serosal surfaces.
The uterine width is measured in the transverse plane.

The volume (in units of ml) is calculated using the following formula.

volume = length * height * width * 0.523

The "normal" volumes for the uterus are based on the patient's age.

According to this method, the normal mean uterine volume in the age of 0-1 month is 3.4 ml, in 3 months is 0.9 ml, in 1-5 years is 1 ml, in 7 years is 0.9 ml, in 9 years is 1.3 ml, in 11 years is 1.9 ml, in 13 years is 11 ml, and in 15 years is 21.2 ml

Additional measurements can be used to find the "body to cervix" ratio. (Here's a ratio calculator to make things easy!)

The uterine body length is measured in the midsagittal plane from the fundal outer serosal surface to the internal os.
The uterine cervix length is measured in the midsagittal plane from the internal os to the external os.

Stage	Uterus Body Length (cm)	Body to Cervix Ratio
Neonatal	3.5	1:2
Pediatric	1-3	1:1
Prepubertal	3-4.5	1-1.5:1
Pubertal	5-8	1.5-2:1
Reproductive	8-9	2:1
Postmenopausal	3.5-7.5	1-1.5:1

Anatomy

To read the scans, you'll need to understand how to recognize the anatomy and how it looks in each plane. Links are included for diagrams and MRI images for the sagittal and axial planes.
Sagittal Plane
http://radiologykey.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/978-3-13-205411-0_c012_f001ab.eps_epub1.jpg
https://mrimaster.com/anatomy-female-pelvis-sagittal-female-pelvis-mri-labelled/
Axial Plane
http://radiologykey.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/978-3-13-205411-0_c012_f001ab.eps_epub1.jpg
https://mrimaster.com/anatomy-female-pelvis-axial-2/

Examples

https://radiopaedia.org/articles/adenomyosis?lang=us

Summary from ChatGPT

https://chat.openai.com/share/29b198be-2b09-421c-853e-faccf3efd01b

BACKGROUND, DIAGNOSIS AND PART OF EVERYDAY LIFE
I'm 29 years old. I've been aware of having a varicocele since 2016. It first flared up after a combination of stress and deadlifts in the gym. I scared myself reading about fertility and testicular atrophy consequences, but ultimately the consultant urologist convinced me I should just leave it and wear tight underwear.
As the years go by, the varicocele becomes just a part of my reality. I sleep on my side (not my front, as I used to) with a pillow between my legs to avoid compressing my balls. I'm constantly re-adjusting my testicles when I'm sat for a long period. I say to someone about this, thinking it is normal for all guys to have to rummage around in their pants to re-arrange their scrotum, and the friend jokes, "Ok, Mr Big Balls!" I also get that dragging ache when I'm sat for hours at my office job or studying. I also get sore balls the next morning after having sex.
THE TRIGGER TO DO SOMETHING
I go back to university aged 27 to study medicine as a second degree, and one of the lecturers mentions varicoceles when teaching us about the circulatory system. He explains that they more often occur on the left side because the left testicular vein joins the renal vein at a weird, 90-degree angle, before going back to the inferior vena cava. The right testicular vein, on the other hand, goes straight back to the inferior vena cava without making this awkward junction.
​
A diagram for you all at varicocele, with all the limitations one would expect from a first-year medical student's attempts at explaining anatomy
He said about the backwards blood flow and the implications for fertility, and I felt a little triggered, like this was information I'd been repressing and didn't want to be reminded about. I'd told a couple of girlfriends tentatively about it in the past when they'd asked about my pillow-between-the-legs sleep position, but otherwise I just tried not to think about it all.
At Christmas 2023, I take a 16 hour plane journey back from Argentina (where I'm studying) to the UK (where I'm from). I then take another three-hour flight to Poland and back again for holiday. I have no idea if it was this (long time sitting and pressure changes) but the varicocele became all I could think about at the end of December. The pain changed from dull and in the background to sharp and I had to sit on the sofa with my legs up, and I also had to stop walking long distances (which had never been a trigger previously).
At the same time, as a medical student, I'd become 1) more trusting in the medical system and 2) slightly more obsessive about health-related issues. I went and got an ultrasound, and the doctor confirmed it had increased in size from "small" to "moderate" (grade 3 out of 6 on the Doppler ultrasound).
THE PROCEDURE: FINDING MY CONSULTANT
I decided not to get the procedure done in Argentina, as I have a higher level of trust in the UK system (no offence if there is anybody from there reading; they do have a great health system considering their country's income level).
I also know I can't get it done "free" on the National Health Service because that involves waiting months and months, and I'll be back in Argentina by the end of February, and class and exam schedules make me a slave to their timetables.
I find out that, where I am in the South West of England, it is hard to find a private interventional radiologist who does varicocele embolisations. My NHS GP clearly doesn't know much about it, as he tries to refer me to a private urologist, despite my having said I wanted to do the embolisation.
In the end, I find a specialist in Birmingham, which is a three hours' drive from where I live. The consultation involves another ultrasound (he wants to do one himself, despite the varicocele having already been confirmed twice before). I'm charged £330 for the scan and appointment, and I'm booked in for the embolisation on the 24th January.
The specialist's name is Dr Paul Crowe, and he says he has been doing these procedures for 20 years. I even find he wrote an article for the Daily Mail about them back in 2010, which weirdly reassures me that he's definitely been around the block as far as this procedure is concerned.
The procedure will cost £2800. This is a lot of money for me as a part-time worker and full-time medical student, but I decide it's a better investment than the S&P500 so I sell some stocks and cough up the cash.
NERDY/ANXIETY-DRIVEN ANATOMICAL QUESTIONS I ASKED THE CONSULTANT
The doctor was very happy to answer all the questions I asked, even doing this little diagram for me (which basically just shows the same as the image above).
​
The doctor's drawing of the left-sided varicocele, his entrance through the right thigh, up to the left renal vein and down to the left testicular vein, which is then occluded using coils made of platinum and another metal I've since forgotten (but MRI safe and not going to set off airport security)

1. I'd thought initially the coils go in the veins at the height of the scrotum, but in fact they are much higher, more at the pelvis level, blocking the entire left testicular vein (see diagram above).
2. What about the pampiniform plexus, which is connected to the testicular vein and is shut off too permanently with embolisation? The pampiniform plexus is a network of many small veins around the spermatic cord that, according to textbooks, touches the testicular artery and helps to cool down the blood as it heads on its way to nourish your testicles. Well, the doctor said "I think that idea of the plexus cooling down blood is a bit overstated, to be honest...but after all, in your case with a varicocele, that plexus is being dilated with blood refluxing through it, so it's not helping to cool down your testicle and it won't be a loss the fact we're shutting it down". (NOTE: I'm paraphrasing him based on my memory/understanding of the conversation.)
3. What about the risk of the coil migrating from the left testicular vein to my heart and/or lungs? He replied: "If that happens, it will be the first time I've seen that in one of my patients. In my opinion, the cases you read about online relating to coil migration are due to doctors who have not inserted the correct-sized coil for their patient."
4. What about the radiation from the X-Ray? He said: "It's minimal, as the X-Ray won't be focused on your testicles but instead the abdomen, and it won't be a continuous "film" but just a few snapshots and with very new equipment."
5. Is it possible my left testicle won't have sufficient venous drainage once you block off the left testicular vein? "That has happened only one time before in my 20-year experience. The testicle also gets drainage from a number of other veins, meaning blood can still get back to the heart even after the faulty left testicular vein is embolised. And there's not really risk of reflux from those veins happening, because they don't have the same anatomical peculiarity of joining the renal vein at a right angle.
6. Will this get better if I leave it? "I can't say with certainty how it will evolve, but it will not go away by itself."
7. Will I notice a change in testosterone/sexual function after this procedure? "I think what you read online about that is exaggerated. That is much more relevant if the varicocele is in an adolescent still going through puberty. There's no evidence of testicular atrophy in your ultrasound, so I don't think testicular function is an issue. It would purely be for your comfort."

THE ("MINIMALLY INVASIVE") PROCEDURE: THE BIG DAY ARRIVES
I arrived at the hospital and had my blood pressure and temperature taken. The consultant doctor came by to get my consent and ask if I had any final questions.
He said I'd only have local anaesthetic in my right thigh where they were making the incision and inserting the catheter. I asked if he'd recommend a tranquiliser (as I was worried my general nervousness might make me tense and somehow interfere with the catheter placement). The doctor said I could have it if I wanted, but that it was not the norm. Not wanting to look like a wuss, and also having the vague idea I wanted to get some work done later that day, I said I'd pass on the drugs.
Then, I walk with the nurse into the operating theatre. I'm introduced to the nursing team (three of them) and the junior radiologist and the senior one is there (who I've met a couple of times before by this point). I lie down and they position an X-Ray machine over me. The bed I'm on moves up and down and around so they can change the angle.
They're all trying to make me feel at ease with small talk and jokes, but I'm not really in the mood at all and just try and shut my eyes. They'd said I could bring my phone and earphones with me, but I decided against it because they also said they'd need to get me to change my breathing and exert abdominal pressure at points in the procedure to help them with the coil placements.
I'm given the general anaesthetic and they make the incision and insert the catheter. This is probably about a 4/10 on the pain scale, and then once they're into the vein, I'm no longer feeling anything at all. Still, I feel very fearful that I will get some sort of pain with them rummaging around inside my veins. In fact, I feel almost nothing. They keep up the small talk, but I don't want to laugh or talk in case it interferes with what they're doing down there, so I just stay very still and pray for it to all be over quickly. Clearly, for them it was as straightforward as giving someone a haircut.
The doctor comes out from the little plastic tent they've set up around my abdomen to tell me that they've got the catheter into the left testicular vein, and that this meant the most difficult part was now over. He'd warned me prior to the procedure that there was a small chance they'd not be able to do this due to anatomical differences. In which case, they would have had to have abandoned the procedure and referred me to a urologist who'd open me up and tie the veins.
He also tells me that, when they put in the agent that allows them to see the details of the vein under X-ray, he'd spotted that my left testicular vein was not as you'd see in the textbooks. Instead, it had little branches, and he said this peculiarity could have in part led to my suffering from the varicocele, as it meant even more inefficiency in the blood's flow back from the testicle to the renal vein.
Now the doctor disappears back into the tent around my abdomen and says to his team: "Pass me the *number number (can't remember the measurements he said) coil please". Then he asks for another and another. Once they put the coils in, I feel a throbbing, pulsating in my lower left abdomen, much like the usual varicocele pain only now higher up and not in the testicle. I imagine this is the blocked vein's reaction to the insertion of these coils, and the doctor assures me it is normal.
Then, they pull out the catheter and the doctors show me the X-Ray images they've taken of the procedure - a weird sort of holiday photo reel. I've told them I'm a medical student, so perhaps they only showed me for that reason, or maybe they do it for all of their patients. You could see in the X-Ray my pelvis, and the three coils were much, much longer than I'd imagined - spanning from the anterosuperior iliac spine to the sacrum (basically top to bottom), each one possibly 15cm or so.
I'm told to stay still and lie flat for the next two hours, to ensure the coils remain in their position while the blood clots around them (they have an agent on them which promotes the formation of thromboses). With a joke about how they've never yet dropped a patient, the whole team gathers around to shift me from the operating table onto a wheely bed, and they drive me through the corridors back to my recovery room.
I lie deathly still for the next two hours, feeling very fearful that the coils will otherwise dislodge and go to my heart and/or lungs. Again, the doctor did tell me this has never happened in his 20 years of doing the procedure, but I'm naturally an anxious person.
Two hours later, I'm sat up (reluctantly) and eating a big lunch of soup and a sandwich.
Then, an hour later the doctor tells me I'm free to go, and that I should take things easy for 48 hours and avoid the gym or heavy lifting for one to two weeks, as this type of exertion could lead the occluded left testicular vein to become distended, interfering with the coils.
I asked if there were any symptoms I should watch out for. He said "not really, that's the point of minimally invasive procedures - there really shouldn't be complications".
THE RECOVERY, FIRST THREE DAYS
My dad drives me 3 hours back home (I was told I'd need someone to pick me up) and I notice already that the dragging feeling in my left testicle is gone despite all that time sat in one place. On the other hand, I do feel a sharp pain in my left abdomen any time I strain at all (be it sitting up, even trying to scoop some self-pity ice cream a couple of days later).
The operation was Wednesday morning. It's now Saturday. I feel the varicocele dull ache is gone completely, like a massive weight has been taken off my left testicle. I still have some weird twinges in my right testicle, despite there never having been a varicocele on that side. I'm not sure if this is related to a "small hydrocele" they found on that side when ultrasounding me for the left varicocele, although I've read that those usually don't produce any sensation.
All in all, I'm cautiously pleased with the results. I'm still recovering three days on, avoiding any strenuous movements or walking more than around the house, and fortunately I can sit on my ass in the house as I'm on holiday from uni and I work from home.
I'll update you all again as the months go by! Any questions, let me know.
**TL;DR (written by ChatGPT, so you should probably just read the actual thing):**At 29, after years of living with a varicocele first noticed in 2016, a medical student decides to address it. Initially, he managed it with lifestyle adjustments and tight underwear, as advised by a urologist. However, increased discomfort and awareness of potential fertility issues led him to reconsider. A long flight exacerbated his symptoms, turning a dull ache into sharp pain. An ultrasound showed the varicocele had grown. Opting against treatment in Argentina, he sought a specialist in the UK. The procedure, varicocele embolisation, involved inserting coils to block the affected vein. Despite the cost and initial anxiety, the procedure was successful, significantly reducing discomfort and offering relief.

i’ve been watching tutorials where you can ragdoll a character, and he falls on the ground. And we want him to get back up. They seem to be running a trace from the pelvis in a way to determine whether the character is facing up or down and are using complicated things like right vector to determine that. I was wondering if anybody could explain to me in simple terms how this works to determine whether the character is facing up or down. diagram would also be appreciated. Thanks for your help!

Over the path couple months I have been fixing my spine. Growing up I (M20) sat alot; both in class and playing minecraft. I have also been a mouth breather my whole life. Im no orthopedic doctor but my pelvis seemed tilted back forcing me to sink into my hips and widen them out. Combined this with a ski injury to my knee and I became very crooked, sunken and subconsciously uncomfortable all of the time using weed to cope.
HOWEVER, over the past couple of months I have been learning and improving... Evolving!! Into a more confident taller and comfortable nose breathing person with a straighter spine which now allows me to align my chakras and have much more energy.
Because of sitting so much growing up I have seriously neglected my lower abdomen, glutes, and quads. Exercising these muscles, doing a little bit of yoga/ calisthenics as well as breathing exercises where I make a big breath at my lower diaphragm and work the air up my spine and untwisting/ straighten it in the process.
The key takeaways of what I have learned so far is as follows
It is very important to hang!! Search up "The Perfect Hang"
You need to utilize the lower back/ glutes and activate the abs while walking. I found these muscles by standing on my tip toes.
If you slightly suck your lips in and create a vacuum in your mouth its easier to remember to keep your lips closed
Its hard to diagram and nose breathe at first... but it does get easier with patience and practice.
Let me know if any of you have experienced a journey such as this and have any advice or tips to share. Thank you.
​

A little backstory: I was diagnosed with stage 1 endo and ovarian adhesions in August of 2022 during a lap and since then have had what they suspect is PCOS, as well as a viscous return of endo. I’m on a waitlist for yet another lap (hopefully soon). About a week ago I had a cyst rupture on my left ovary (confirmed by dr) and was in some pretty crazy pain.
Today at work I was carrying those heavy plastic school style chairs (3 at a time) and as soon as I lifted the first stack I felt a “stab and tear” of sorts on my left side. It felt almost like what I’d expect an adhesion tear to feel like, and it took my breath away for a solid 30 seconds before I could limp the rest of the way down the hall.
All day since I’ve had some pretty bad cramping and continuous stabbing pains in my left side on my ovary and right at my lower pelvis area (I drew the black lines in the diagram as a mirrored view). I’m not sure if this could be connected to the cyst rupture or if anyone’s torn adhesions and may have had a similar experience? Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated!❤️

PART EIGHT HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FOUR
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Friday
Mr Portsmith had been very right about the unpleasant nature of the afternoon as far as Thomas was concerned. Throughout his career, he’d endured hundreds … probably thousands of medical exams and procedures (if patching up knife wounds and bullet holes counted). Still, that afternoon had been a whole new experience. As soon as he’d walked into the building and identified himself, he was whisked away and changed into a typical medical gown that tied backwards down his spine. At least the bike shorts he was also issued kept everything where it needed to be.
It wasn’t until later that he would learn why he was wearing them.
While he sat for an eye exam, his left arm was held out and braced for so much blood work that he began to wonder if he had any left. His skin was scraped in a dozen different places. They took urine and hair follicle samples at the same damn time, and then other things were injected into his right shoulder and left thigh; all the while, the barrage of questions kept coming at him. Not even the MRI was peaceful. No, they stuck a screen in front of his face and ran through different images while the audio in his headset ran through even more questions.
They had him running on a treadmill with sensory pads attached everywhere, and then, after thirty-second sprints for almost an hour that had him almost ready to crash, they started the entire barrage of tests all over again.
By the end of the second set, he was so exhausted that he’d made the mistake of mentioning how looking at his chest and seeing the snake hallucination still terrified him. So, of course, they restarted the tests a third time, removing the medical gown and surrounding him with mirrors while they worked so they could get the new readings.
It was good that he didn’t have any self-esteem issues, though the third stint of treadmill sprints had nearly killed him, not just the exhaustion phase. Shifting gears in speed when the image on his chest had him wanting to hide under the bed and cry had him stumbling more than once, and when he finally misstepped and fell off the running machine, they stopped the running test. Heaving a lung, he threw a forearm over his eyes to block out any chance of seeing the hissing menace. Just … done.
He was immediately hooked up to an IV and pumped with what he assumed was an isotonic blend of dextrose and Lactated Ringer’s solutions to put him back on his feet. At least, that was what the military had used to get a downed soldier moving during extreme training.
A cold, wet hand towel was placed across his face, which he knew would act like a paper bag, slowing his breathing. Some other manner of fabric was stretched across his torso, and when he felt marginally normal, he pulled the handtowel away and saw another towel covering from the top of his pec to his pelvis. Someone close to his ear talked in a slow, soothing voice, though he didn’t hear a word of what they said.
“Okay,” he groaned once he’d had enough, dropping his feet off the gurney he hadn’t remembered being put on and counter-levering himself to sit up before anyone could grab him. He deliberately pinned the torso towel in place to keep his chest covered. “I’m good. What’s next?” That was a flat-out lie, but he would uphold it somehow.
Fortunately, the five people wearing lab coats and carrying electronic tablets all shook their heads at once, and it was done with such synchronised uniformity that Thomas was reminded of a shelf full of bobbleheads from back in the day when one end was bumped. He almost snickered.
“We have everything we need now, Mister Cole,” the one at the forefront stated. “As soon as that IV’s empty, Doctor Oran will lead you back to where you first changed. From there, you can grab a shower, get dressed and head out. You’re good to go.”
That was music to Thomas’ ears. Halle-fucking-lujah! He spread his hand across the centre of his chest to keep the hallucination brand covered and stared at the IV as the doctors all filed out except the young female doctor with short dark hair.
“Just a few more minutes, Mister Cole,” she promised after checking the bag.
But Thomas knew his body better than anyone else alive, and half that bag would’ve been enough for him to move. He hooked the towel under his chin and slid to his feet, raising both hands above his head.
"What are you...?"
“I’ll tell them you tried to stop me,” he said, deliberately keeping his hands higher than she could reach while he unscrewed the cannula. “But we both know I don’t need that last few minutes of treatment, and I’ve got a job to get back to.” He screwed the lid of the cannula shut and looped the tube over the top of the IV stand. “So how about you show me where my clothes are, and I won’t have to do my impersonation of the Hulk having a bad day.”
The doctor gave him an irritated look, then shook her head and chuckled. “Fine. Be a hero. But for the record, a stiff breeze would knock you on your butt right now, so don’t blame me if you pass out halfway back to your office, Mister Cole. Because I’ll be right there in your face when you wake up to say, ‘I told you so’.”
Thomas smirked at the spunky little thing. Ten years ago, he might have asked for her number, but now she looked young enough to be his daughter, and he didn’t exactly get much time off in his current profession.
It didn’t stop her from making small talk on their way back to the changing room.
“So, how long were you a soldier?”
“Sixteen years.”
“And now you do … private security?”
“Obviously.”
“What made you leave the army?”
Thomas thought about the list of things that led up to him and the US Army parting ways. Truthfully, he’d been done after a mission went horribly wrong in his fourteenth year, but he still had twenty-eight more months before his papers came up. It wasn’t the first time he wondered how different his life would be if he'd stayed in the service. He’d climbed to the rank of major and had been put up for promotion to colonel before he’d told his CO that he was thinking about getting out.
“Classified, ma’am.” It was. Like most Rangers’ operations, details were never leaked to the civilian population.
“I wasn’t asking for operation specifics,” she complained, showing a hint of military familiarity. “I was just wondering why someone like you would get out after so many years. Something must have happened. Did a family member back home die? Did you have to come home to look after your kids?”
She was fishing. Thomas wasn’t so out of touch with the game to not see it for what it was. “No wife, no kids and still no life.” That was the truth. Being on Portsmith’s lucrative payroll had him on call 24/7, and he wasn’t permitted to be further than twenty minutes away from active duty at any given time. That made his right hand the closest he went to that kind of action.
“So, a dustup with your CO or something.”
Thomas stopped and did a slow pan towards her. “A … dustup?” Did she really compare what special forces soldiers were capable of doing to each other with a regular bar brawl?
The doctor crossed her eyes and poked out her tongue for all of a second, driving home their vast age difference. “Don’t get all semantic on me,” she insisted. “You’re too good at what you do, and you love doing it. Something made you quit, and I was just curious.”
As they entered the room, the first thing Thomas put back on was his dog tags, complete with black silencers. Swinging between the tags was what looked like a great white shark tooth with a clear, protective rib sleeve around the two most extended edges, much like his dog tag silencers.
In actual fact, the decorative piece was an acrylic survival key with enough shapes and bevelled edges in the back half that sat flush against his skin that, when used correctly, had as many uses as a Swiss army knife. Add to that how the removal of the clear ‘silencers’ left him with a razor-sharp dagger (with one side serrated for sawing) that he could slip between his pointer and middle finger, and it was a very handy instrument indeed. It was something he’d picked up in Hawaii on a stopover from an op, and unofficially, he’d only ever needed to use it twice. Once was when he was in the Rangers, and after its second informal use, Donald had been so impressed by its versatility that he ordered one online for himself.
As difficult as it had been to be without his electronics this week after nine years of loyal service, he’d felt utterly naked this afternoon without his tags. Many soldiers wore them in case they ever found themselves in a situation where they’d need to be identified. Others did it because it was a familiar weight that had been with them through the most challenging times of their lives.
For him, the single link connected him to the young, idiotically naive private who thought he had the world by the balls since he’d been accepted into the US Army. All the steps between that young man and now were washed away under the big red stamp marked CLASSIFIED.
With his back to the doctor, he stripped out of the bike shorts and headed into the shower for a very quick soap down. He was out again less than two minutes later, surprised to see Dr. Oran still waiting for him.
“Was there something else you needed, Doc?” he asked, putting the shirt and overshirt on first to slide the shoulder holster straps across his back and tuck it against his side. Then he put on his underwear and pants, strapping a smaller gun to his right ankle and a sheathed knife to his left. Lastly, his socks, shoes, tie and jacket.
“The gun went on before underwear?” the doctor asked, giving himself the once over in the mirror before turning towards her.
It hadn’t bothered him that she stayed. The number of MOs he’d had to strip in front of over the years was up there with his wound count. He wasn’t shy. “Absolutely. My dick can be accused of accomplishing a lot of things, but putting an asshole into the ground over thirty yards away is something we’re still working on.”
He winked at her slack-jawed shock and slipped past her without bumping shoulders, already taking out his watch (which had a garrotte wire built into it, not something he’d needed to use since he left the military but kept it anyway, just in case), earbud, and communications bracelet from his jacket pockets and returning them to their appropriate places. By the time he reached the garage, he had his sunglasses on, his phone out and was calling the boss.
“I just cleared the medical, sir,” he said as soon as the boss picked up. “Did you want me to pick you up at the office?”
“Absolutely. I need to visit Ms. Webber at her condo before we go home.”
Thomas unlocked the silver Maybach and slid behind the wheel. “On my way, sir.”
[Next Chapter]
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((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

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When you're rich enough, you get perks you can only dream of. Literally. But somehow, my paradise turned into hell.
When you're rich enough, you get perks you can only dream of. Literally. But somehow, my paradise turned into hell.When you're rich enough, you get perks you can only dream of. Literally. But somehow, my paradise turned into hell. Have you ever had a dream so amazing, you wished you could relive it? Explore it? Relish it? Well, when you're rich enough, you don't have to wish. It's a reality thanks to dream banks. You may have heard of them and their pricy services, which include recording, saving, and projecting dreams. For example, if you'd like a dream recorded, you can book one of their luxurious suites for the night, where the dream techs will fit you with a special helmet, offer you a sleep-friendly snack, and leave you to rest. The next morning, they'll replay the recorded dream for you via the helmet and ask if you want to shell out the extra bucks to save it. If you don't, they'll delete it and you can pay to book for another time to try again. If you do decide to save it, you must select an item within the dream that will act as the exit key. (This will come in handy during projections.) While still wearing the helmet, you must touch the item, and the dream techs will label those electric signals as the key. Afterwards, everything is saved under your name, and you can now relive your dream at any time by booking a suite for three, five, or eight hours. Unlike recordings, during projections, you don't have to wait for sleep to come. After you enjoy a snack of your choice, the helmet is fitted and you're immediately transported to your dream, where you have free will and can enjoy it at your leisure. And if you ever need to leave early, this is when you touch the key, which will shut down the helmet right away. In my case, the key is the stegosaurus leather rug I have hanging on the wall of my throne room. I never have a reason to touch it otherwise, making it a perfect key. I've also never had to touch it. Experiencing life as an all-powerful, worshipped being who lives on my own planet and hunts dinosaurs in my spare time, I relished my dream to the last second. Yes, the fees are exorbitant, but at the time, I felt it was worth it. The techs were skilled, the system was sleek, and the dreams were private. Each could only be unlocked by the unique brainwaves of the dreamer. Or so I thought. My literal nightmare began when I booked a five-hour projection on a rainy Friday afternoon. After taking a sip of champagne to wash down the cranberry brie bites, I settled into the cool silk sheets with a smile. My usual dream tech smiled back as she fastened my helmet, and the last thing I heard was her wishing me pleasant dreams before I was plunged into darkness. I waited for the split-second adjustment from reality to the dream world, and my confusion grew when I didn't find myself on my throne surrounded by fawning gods and goddesses. Instead, I found myself in the middle of an endless street. Alone. There were no cars, no life, not even wind. Towering street lamps lined the sidewalk as far as I could see, arcing over the road and tinting everything an eerie red. Behind them, identical buildings stood side by side, silent, their dark, narrow windows hollow. My pulse spiking, I whipped around. The other direction was just as endless. Uneasy confusion prickled beneath my skin. This had to be someone else's dream. The techs must have made a mistake. I didn't know how it was possible, but there was no other explanation. My unease piqued as my situation sank in. I was in a stranger's dream and I didn't know the key. I was stuck here until my five hours ran out. Or until the techs realized their mistake. I was ready to rip them a new one once I was out, but until then, I had no choice but to wait. I studied my surroundings with a frown before I walked over to the curb and sat down, and that was when I noticed I couldn't feel anything. I also noticed I was naked. It didn't matter. There was no one here, and none of this was real anyway. Time passed, and I tried to distract myself from my nettled offense by humming, but no sound came out. Sitting up, I took a deep breath and screamed. Not even a squeak was heard. I slapped my hand against the ground. Nothing. This place was like a black hole of the senses. Sighing, I lay down on my back and stared at the red light above me, wondering if I could fall asleep in a dream. I tried, but the more I wished to escape this silent, crimson prison, the more it seemed to come into focus. Soon, the utter lack of noise and movement grew from slightly unnerving to completely intolerable. There was no way I could wait. I'd go insane. I had to get out of here. I had to find the key. Jumping up, I ran to the nearest building and wrenched open the door, and a pitch black void greeted me. I gasped, and gasped again as it felt like my very breath was being suctioned out of my lungs. Panicking, silent wheezes rattled in my chest as I struggled to yank myself out of the vacuum, jerking my limbs and bucking my body until I toppled over backwards on the sidewalk. Gulping in fitful breaths, I scrambled to my feet and ran down the road without looking back, my wide eyes scanning the horizon for salvation. I just wanted out of here, but the hellish path stretched on forever, making me feel like I was running in place as every identical building and street lamp mocked me. Even my silent stomping and mute panting served to draw insanity closer. And then, a person showed up. There, in the distance. With my hope spurred, I raced towards them, desperate. I didn't care who they were. I needed to break this monotony. As I got closer, hope morphed to confusion, and then to despair. The person was me. It was a mirror, propped up across the entire street. Sweat-soaked, I slowed down to a jog before I stopped right in front of my reflection. It was me alright, naked, exhausted, and frustrated. But the eyes, something was off about the eyes. With an anxious frown, I stepped closer, staring into them, and they stared back … … until they glanced behind me. I gasped and jumped away, and so did my reflection … before it glanced over my shoulder again. A chill trickled down my spine. My reflection had nothing behind it but the empty street, so I gulped and turned around, and my mouth fell open in a silent scream as a lovecraftian behemoth barrelled its way towards me. With its slick shell gleaming red beneath the lights, it slammed down one spiny tentacle after the other as its five mouths bared their dripping, concentric fangs. Drenched in undiluted horror, tremors gripped my body as I stumbled away until my back was against the mirror. I knew death was a foolproof key in a dream, but I didn't know if this creature would kill me right away or leave me to suffer in agony until my five hours were up. With it only inches away, I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed myself into the mirror, and my stomach flipped as I fell backwards. I opened my mouth to gasp, but there was nothing for me to draw in. Floating in an airless void, I flailed and thrashed, my wild eyes scanning the darkness for answers as I began to spin around. Although death would free me, one of my greatest fears was suffocating. On one of my weightless rotations, a red, glass cube passed me by, and I grabbed it, hoping it was a breathing device. I brought it close to my face, and I gawked at what it held within. Me. Surrounded by identical buildings and red street lamps while a lovecraftian behemoth tore me apart. Horrified, I threw the cube as far as I could and increased my efforts to escape this void. Yet all the flailing and thrashing was for naught as the darkness revealed no end. My eyesight began to go red as my lungs spasmed, and I clawed at my throat as my pulse stuttered in my chest. The red kept growing and growing until it engulfed my entire vision, and I gave up. There was nothing to do but face my fears and die. With my straining heart lumbering, I let myself go limp as I stared at the red and waited. And waited. And waited. I wasn't dying. In fact, I could breathe just fine. Frowning, I opened my eyes, and intense unease spread through my core. Above me, a red moon had taken up the entire sky, each one of its craters crystal clear, like eyes watching me. I turned my head away, and I realized I was in a park, laying down on the grass. Sitting up, I blinked in surprise at the pond right beside me, its opaque water reflecting the moon's red light. Ducks were swimming in a circle across its surface, their movements smooth with nary a splash. Trees surrounded us, so dense I couldn't tell when one began and the other ended. It was mind-numbingly quiet here as well, and I still couldn't feel anything or make any noise, but at least the ducks were moving. This place seemed more tolerable than the last, and I was willing to wait out my five hours here. I hoped at least an hour had passed already, but with dreams, one never knew. All I knew was that I was too exhausted to search for the key. And too scared. I didn't know whose dream this was, but they had to be masochistic if they saved this nightmare. Curling up beside the pond, I worked on calming myself down as I watched the ducks swim in their systematic circle over and over and over. I tried counting the rotations the way one would count sheep, but that still didn't lull me to sleep. I wished I'd chosen the three-hour projection, but at least I hadn't chosen the eight-hour one. Distorted circus music crackled around me and I jolted up, my heart ricocheting in my chest. There was finally sound, but the last thing I wanted to hear was a cliche horror movie soundtrack. Gulping, I looked around. The music was coming from the trees, and my stomach dropped when I spied a shadow behind one of them. Then another. And another. They emerged into the crimson moonlight, and my blood turned to ice. Clowns. I whipped around, trembling to the rhythm of my frantic pulse. They were surrounding me. Dozens of them. As classic as any clown could be. Colorful clothes, big shoes, silly hair, exaggerated makeup. I wasn't scared of clowns, as long as they were where they belonged. And they didn't belong here, staring at me with big, empty eyes and yellow, toothy grins. I tried to convince myself that they weren't dangerous since they didn't have weapons and didn't seem monstrous, but when they took a step closer in unison, I jumped back, nearly falling into the pond. The ducks remained oblivious, still swimming in their circle. The distorted circus music got louder, and my hair stood on end when I saw the grass ripple in front of each clown. They were sending something my way through the ground. Panicking, I jumped into the pond, and I screamed as I sank right in. There was no bottom. There was no water either. The pond was filled with red, translucent spheres, each the size of a tennis ball. Still able to breathe, I began swimming through the spheres with clumsy breast strokes, just hoping I could end up as far away from the clowns as possible. After swimming for what felt like enough time, I tried to swim up, until I realized I had no idea which direction I was facing. Remember a trick for those stuck in avalanches, I spat, but my glob of saliva just hovered in front of me. Before panic could set in, I noticed what looked like an office desk floating amidst the spheres in the distance. After blinking a few times to make sure it was really there, I swam towards it, desperate for any change in my situation. It *was* an office desk, a wooden one with carved borders and locked drawers. Tucked beneath it was a stool, and the moment I pulled it out and set it under my ass, an office replaced the red spheres. I grunted as gravity returned, and I looked around in bewilderment at the cluttered bookshelves and grimy floors. Dust was floating everywhere, highlighted by the red light filtering in through the blinds behind me. I jumped as a clock hanging on the wall chimed. Its glass was too dirty for me to tell the time, but I was glad I could hear. I coughed at the dust. And I could make noise. I dusted my hands. And I could feel. I could even smell, which I now wished I couldn't as I wrinkled my nose at the faint stench of rot. After failing to read the spines of some of the books on the shelves, I studied the shadowy corners of the room. A slack-jawed skeleton hung in the far end, and a faded poster with anatomical diagrams curled off a cupboard. This had to be a doctor's office. Was the creator of this dream a doctor? A silhouette slid in front of the frosted glass door, and I gulped as the knob began to turn. A hand reached in, gripping the edge one finger at a time, and my heart dropped as I knew this horror cliche was only going to be followed by another. Having no time to think, I slid off the stool and crouched beneath the desk, my hand over my mouth as cobwebs clung to me. Praying spiders wouldn't swarm me, I peeked through a small slit in the wood, and I froze when an emaciated nurse walked in the room. Layers upon layers of blood coated her scrubs, so much so that I couldn't even tell what color they originally were. She had no shoes. No feet either. Just ankle stubs, and my stomach turned as I heard bone clunk against the tiles. A surgical mask covered her face, as bloodstained as her scrubs, and grimy lab goggles obscured her eyes. I was grateful, because judging by the pus leaking out of her scabbed, balding scalp, I didn't want to know what her face looked like. The closer she got, the stronger the stench of rot became, and I struggled to keep myself from retching. She stopped halfway into the room, and I gawked at her hands. They were transforming. Her fingers elongating into razor-edged blades. She then began to hunch over, and I cringed as her spine cracked and popped until she was as bent as a candy cane, her face staring at her pelvis. As if that wasn't unsettling enough, her head creaked as it spun around 180 degrees, now facing the front, upside down. Right after, her arms shot to the ground, and I watched with increasing dread as she bent them at the elbows and wrists so they flanked her head like distorted T-Rex arms. She spread her fingers out and took a few more steps towards me, and I held my breath, hoping she couldn't hear my rabid heart or smell my fear. Her ankle bones clicked and clacked against the tiles as she made her way around the desk, and I cowered as my frantic eyes searched for a weapon. I found none, but I did spy a brass button beside my head. With her legs now an arms distance away, I had nothing to lose as I jammed my thumb into the button. The back of the desk flung open, and I scrambled to my feet and dashed out from my hiding place, screaming in response to the nurse screeching behind me. Bursting through the door, I held up my fists and began punching like a maniac in fearful anticipation of a horde of nurses swarming me. Except I was no longer in a hospital. I was in an outdoor parking lot. Alone. And judging by the roiling red clouds, a storm was brewing. After a second to collect my bearings, I dove into the closest car, thankful it was unlocked. The moment I slammed the door shut, lightning blinded me as thunder cracked and the downpour began. Sighing in relief, I tried to shake away my adrenaline, but the bloodshot eyes in my rearview mirror reignited my panic. Before I could react, a belt snapped over my neck, pinning my head back against the headrest. With a frightened wheeze, I clawed at the leather, and I flinched as hot, heavy breath wafted across my ear. Gagging at the putrid smell, I reached over, desperate to scratch my strangler's face or poke their eyes out. I felt their greasy hair and tried to pull it, but my fingers refused to hold on. I tried again and again, using my nails for purchase, but the strands just kept slipping out of my weak grip. Shifting focus, I tried to claw at their eyes, but it felt as though I was moving through molasses as my hand slid down their face. Once I felt a wet, bulbous eye, I tried to scratch it, but I didn't have enough strength to do anything damage. My frustration clashed with my terror and I tried to punch them, but my arm swung back in slow motion and merely prodded a stubbly cheek. Tears welled in my eyes as I writhed and gasped, my strangler's laugh adding insult to injury. Despite knowing death will set me free, fear and self-preservation rummaged through my mind, searching for a solution. And they found one. Hoping I had enough grip and energy, I reached down and found the reclining lever. Wrapping my fingers around it tight, I jerked it up and heaved my body back, and I gulped in a deep breath as I fell backwards, the belt now slack. Not at all prepared to face my attacker, I slipped out from beneath the belt, flung open the door, and zoomed out into the storm. Sheets of rain obscured my vision, but not enough for me to see that the keys were left inside a red convertible. After making sure no one was hiding in the back, I jumped in, started the engine, and took off, the wheels squealing through the puddles. A sole street curled down a hill, and I took it, adrenaline pumping in waves through my quivering body. This rush was a confusing mixture of exhilaration and apprehension. I wanted out, but I wasn't giving up. I made it this far, and I was going to survive every cliche this masochist dreamed up. Sharks? Snakes? Zombies? Bring it on. And afterwards, I was going to detail every single trial and tribulation I went through as I sued the dream bank for all the trauma they caused me. Up ahead, the road curved, and I gasped as it ended in a cliff. I slammed the breaks, but they didn't do anything. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I slammed them again and again as I yanked the hand break as far as it would go. The car refused to slow down, and I cursed myself for not anticipating this cliche. In a move of desperation, I swerved, but it wasn't enough as the car careened over the edge and took me with it. My heart hung in my throat as I hung on to the steering wheel, my knuckles white, my screams frozen in my lungs, the raindrops like needles. An endless body of water spread below me, and I knew sharks were my next challenge. I screwed my eyes shut as I awaited the inevitable plunge … … and I gasped as the car crashed against the surface. I lurched forward, and I cried out as I bashed my forehead against the wheel. Groaning, I leaned back, my ears ringing as I looked around, disoriented. I was still in the convertible, but we were right side up, having crashed into the concrete wall of an indoor garage. Blood trickled down my face and I reached up, only to feel around my head in shock. I was wearing the helmet. Why was it in the dream? Or had I made it out? I looked down. I wasn't naked. My pyjamas were plastered to my sweat-soaked skin. I *was* out. I looked around at the broken glass and mangled metal in confusion. But if I was finally out, why was I in a car and not between silk sheets? I removed the helmet, and a yell from behind made me jump. I turned to see one of the dream techs running towards me. Was she always that skinny? And why were her scrubs red instead of the usual blue? She made it to me, panting as she took the helmet out of my hands, and I wrinkled my nose at her unpleasant breath. She said I'd had a nightmare and began sleepwalking, and I'd left the dream bank and stole a car from their underground parking before she triggered a wake-up signal in the helmet which made me crash. I stared at her, not believing what I was hearing. I told her I'd booked a projection, not a recording, and she gave me a concerned frown and claimed the opposite. Anger replaced my confusion, and I called her a liar and accused them of misconduct as I tried to get out of the car. She was quick to tell me not to move in case I made my injuries worse as she pulled out her phone and said she was going to call an ambulance. While I sat there and waited, fuming, I glimpsed my reflection in the dangling rearview mirror. Unease rippled beneath my skin and I sat up, grabbing the mirror and angling it to show my neck. There was an angry red mark across it. As though I was recently strangled. Trembling, I tilted the mirror up. Cobwebs. Stuck in my hair. Dumbstruck in utter stupefaction, I scanned the rest of my body. My pyjamas were dirty and there was black under my fingernails, but the rest of my examination was cut short by tinny circus music. A chill jolted down my spine and I whipped my head to face the dream tech. That was her ringtone. She smiled as she answered the call, and I drew back at her yellow, toothy grin. What was going on? I was out of the dream, I knew I was. Had everything been real? What had the dream bank done with me? Done *to* me? Ambulance sirens wailed as they entered the underground parking, and the flashing red lights reflecting off the walls triggered my recent traumas. With terror-fueled adrenaline flooding my veins, I jerked my legs free of the wreck, jumped out of the car, and booked it, the dream tech's yells merging with the screeching sirens behind me.
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I had a hip injury back in high school that has my hip dislocating and rotating at the smallest movement. Most of the time it is a slow process of it slipping throughout the day to where I don't usually notice the pain until the end of the day. Sometimes though if I lunge it will fully rotate forward. When I look at diagrams of the body it looks like it is connected "on top" of the pelvis. If my hip rotates forward and the testies are in there will it be....bad? Also sorry if I'm misunderstanding where the canals medical diagrams break my brain and I can hardly tell where things are in relation to other body parts.