Water like diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, no fever, chills

Hello everyone. I'm 37F and I'm worried my father, 65M, is dying.
My dad has had ill health for a long time. He was a hardworking miner so worked hard, long hours, drank a lot and smoked a lot and didn't have the best diet.
When I was in college he suffered some heart attacks, but it wasn't until about 10 years ago that my dad's health really took a turn for the worse. He had several strokes in the period of about two years and they completely changed him. Gone was the whip smart, silver tongued, charming, short tempered man who when I was a child was warm, funny and loving and abusive, cruel and frightening depending on his mood.
His strokes weakened him physically and mentally. Later on he was found to have a bad autoimmune kidney disease which was causing the strokes. He has diabetes and uses insulin. He has stopped smoking but has not changed his eating or exercise habits.
A month or two ago he has to be in hospital because he was having so much trouble breathing. He stayed for a week or so and they found out his kidneys were very weak and could not be managed by medication anymore. They gave him dialysis in hospital and now he is on permanent dialysis thrice weekly.
Dialysis has been a real struggle for him. It makes him sick and exhausted. The doctor gave him chemo drugs for the nausea but they didn't work. He's not feeling as nauseous now but he has a lot of diarrhea issues. His mobility has gone way down and he can only take a few steps with the help of a walker. He can no longer get in and out of the bath himself. He has trouble sleeping so his doctor gave him sleeping pills.
His verbal aphasia sounds so much worse and his face looks so unwell to me when I see him. His mental health is suffering and he cries every time I talk to him. He tells me things like "the mountains are getting too hard to climb." His doctor upped the amount of his antidepressant so I hope that helps.
I can't help but feel like he is dying. I try to think positively but it feels like the beginning of the end. I just have this gut feeling that he won't be long for this earth and it saddens me so much. I do have OCD so that could be it but this feels so real to me.
I keep reflecting on his life, on all the things that could have been if he hadn't gotten sick. In a way him getting sick changed him to the point where he was able to apologize for past abuse and become a nicer person, but he's so different now. I think about him and imagine him as a little baby and a young man and I think about him now and the state he is in and it's just so heavy and sad.
I don't want my dad to die, but that doesn't matter. I wish he didn't have to suffer so much emotional and physical pain.
What do I do?

Starting to think I'm crazy here...
I have multiststemic neurosarcoidosis and have had it for 13 years now.
I've been on infliximab infusions every 4 weeks for 10 years, and just today was switched to Stelara injections because the infliximab was less effective than before.
Now, every infusion has been awful but worth it, but I don't think they are meant to be as painful as they are.
Within an hour of my infusion I get exhausted, wreckless, paranoid and impulsive. My husband takes away my bank card and phone because I once tried to order a live beaver online, and another time I tried to order a canoe online, even though we lived in central London with no car.
Within 2 hours the pain starts. It's like the infliximab is flowing through me and breaking down granulomas like a biologic, angry and vengeful swat team. The pain of it in my bones and joints is awful- feels like parts are in a vice grip or like my bones are breaking, and then suddenly it's gone and moves to another area of my body. I typically spend the night rolling around in bed whimpering until its over and I can sleep. My eyes burn and my parotid gland flares up until the right side of my face falls like bells palsy.
Pathetic, I know. It's not pretty.
My consultants don't understand why this is so painful for me, but to be fair they don't often see patients with my kind of sarc.
I took my first stelara injection today and the immediate result is nearly the same, though somewhat less severe.
My question is, does anyone else experience this or react like this?
Everything I'm reading online about infliximab and stelara talks about the headache, fatigue and nausea, but I've not found anyone else reacting like this.
I'm not complaining, 12 hours of pain and crazy thoughts is absolutely worth it for the 3 or so weeks I get of being able to feel good.
I'm just... am I just crazy or is this normal but nobody talks about it?
Like, I won't drink water on infusion days so I don't have to get up to go to the bathroom because standing is just unbearable. But any other day I'll go for a walk or a hike or kayaking or absolutely anything.
I do sound crazy...

39F, 165lbs, US.
We experienced a missed miscarriage last week. We went in for our 12 week scan at 12w4d, and discovered the baby had stopped growing at 10w3d and there was no longer a heartbeat. This was my first pregnancy, and we had used donor egg IVF to achieve it due to my diagnosis of primary ovarian failure. Our donor was 25, husband is 38, and the embryo was untested, though we had done genetic testing on both the donor and my husband to ensure no genetic issues.
I am aware (and my OB emphasized) that this was most likely a chromosomal abnormality incompatible with life, and that I should not blame myself, blah blah. But because of the events of that week, I can't help but wonder. No testing was performed on the POC that I'm aware of, so I realize we will likely never know, but I wanted to ask some questions in hopes that IF it was somehow my fault, I can hopefully prevent this next time.
At just about 9 weeks, I started to taper off of Cymbalta 60mg, as it wasn't helping, so my OB prescribed me 30mg and I started a taper. Around the same time, my nausea started to let up. Toward the end of that week, my husband and I started a 4 day cycling trip of 120 miles, which was more than I had biked recently but not sufficiently so that it was very difficult for me, and we finished this the day I was 10w3d. At 10w2d we got massages, hot stone. I don't recall the massage going over my belly at all, but it was quite hard on my back (but felt amazing after all the biking).
The confluence of things that happened that week, and the timing of it, makes me wonder if something went wrong because of that. I was starting to feel brain zaps from the taper in week 10, and I've heard week 10 is important for brain development, could the Cymbalta taper have done something? Or the massage?
I realize it's likely that it was already happening since my nausea had already started to decline, but that was a week earlier, so wouldn't the baby have stopped growing then, instead? Our IVF clinic doctor also said that usually when the embryo is aneuploid, they see poor growth from the beginning. Our confirmation scan at 6w measured 5w5d (within the error, she said), but at our scan at 8w5d, they were right on track and HR was strong. That, combined with our donor's age, makes it hard for me to believe that it was just an abnormality, and I can't help but think it was the Cymbalta withdrawal or massage or something else from that week.
I had a d&c on Friday, and have been very slow to recover. My BP was very low (80/40) following the procedure and remains a bit on the low side. Not sure if that helps at all.
ETA: I also had a sinus infection around then, which I think started after vomit came out my nose from earlier morning sickness. I had yellow mucus, then green, and occasionally blood. My PCP gave me amoxicillin and assured me it was safe to take, though this was not until later in week 10. The sinus infection issues started a few days before we started the cycling trip.

So this was in November 2023 and due to my wack ass immune system, I (15M) had gotten myself extremely sick to the point where I was vomiting almost every time I'd eat. And my body has a way of cascading things like this, so I it was no surprise when I started sickling.
I'm laying in bed, nauseous and in pain, just praying for the oxy to kick in so I can fall asleep and not deal with this hell anymore when this sharp pain starts stabbing me in my chest and I feel like I'm literally DYING. This pain I was feeling in that moment was worse than any sickle cell crisis I've ever had and I just assumed the jig was up and organ failure was imminent.
I couldn't get up from where I was laying (my mom's bed) because of the severe pain so I'm just crying so loudly and my mom wakes up annoyed and tells me to lay on my back and go back to bed but as i shift over a wave of nausea crashes over me and i begin vomiting all over my mom and her bed (woops).
Fully awake and freaking out by this point my mom picks up her phone and dials 911 for an ambulance to get me and I'm just crying like a little baby now in a pile of my own bile (too scared to eat anything because I didn't wanna barf) praying for the ambulance to get here. And after what only felt like 5 minutes, my mom runs to the front door to open it for the paramedics who lay me onto the stretcher and give me this drug I'm in too much pain to notice.
And then it calms me down. A lot. So much so that it feels like whenever I breathe, I'm breathing out all the air in my lungs and taking my first breath again like I've just been born. I vaguely feel the pain in my chest but my mind is so empty I cant even bother to think about it. I take a few deep blinks and then wake up in the ER with my mom sleeping in the chair beside my bed.
After this, it becomes a cycle of them giving me medicine, the pain subsides somewhat, and then the medicine wears off and my chest feels like it's getting knifed by a million UK roadmen. They start me off with morphine, and that doesn't do the job like it usually does, so then they give me Dilaudid AND morphine, and still yet I feel like the end is near. So they decide to pull out the big guns that worked on me when I was in the ambulance. Fentanyl.
Initially I was very skeptic and lowkey refusing treatment because of the stigma around it and the doctors reassured me over and over that it was safe and I had been given it before and blah blah blah even though these were the same doctors that would ask me how long I've had sickle cell for. But I was in so much pain that I just gave up and gave in and gave them the a-ok because their nagging was just too much.
They set me up with this little green button thing attached to my IV, that would allow me to press it whenever I felt severe and constant pain but would not allow me to exceed the "maximum dosage" they had put in place for my body. And to be completely honest this little button scared me at first. The entirety of my night nurses shift I didn't press the button once and just writhed there in the cold hospital bed because I'd rather die than willingly administer my own fentanyl.
But I wouldn't even be typing this story if I simply just hadn't pressed the button for the entire duration of my stay. It was now day 3 in the hospital and I hadn't got a single wink of sleep in the past 32 hours so I decided to press the button. It didn't hit me like it had in the ambulance, but when i tell you i relaxed, i RELAXED. I was finally able to shut my eyes and go to bed and stop myself from shaking my leg (self soothing thing I do when in pain). I woke back up to my nurse doing my 8 hour check up and for some reason, she was still bringing me morphine and Dilaudid despite me having the fentanyl push button thingy, but I was so out of it I just took the medicine so I could go back to sleep. It became I cycle of me pushing the button, falling asleep, being woken up to take additional opiates i did NOT need, then going back to bed, until early on day 5 in the hospital, my friends from school came to visit me. So obviously I try to be a good host and not to fall asleep despite me having pushed my button already for more fent (clearly addicted but oblivious because of this phantom pain my body is forcing me to experience) and coincidentally as my friends are still here, my nurse comes in for the 8 hour check up and gives me the Dilaudid and morphine again. I take the medicine and I look down at my green button because I'm not sure i've been awake this long in days and I see its glowing again so I press it.
bad idea.
I'm talking to my friends but something seems off, their voices seem so far away and there is black dots clouding my vision, I of course am so out of it that I somehow don't see any issue with these two things until I realized I hadn't said a word in like 2 minutes. Matter of fact, I hadn't even spoken for 2 minutes. My eyes go wide because I can feel my vision fading, but for some odd reason it was all black except a tiny pinhole in the center of my vision. I hear this faraway annoying beeping that I realize is the pulse-ox thing going kookoo bananas because I haven't breathed in so long and I see shapes moving around and my friends running to the hallway to get me help and all I can focus on is "If I'm not breathing, why doesn't it hurt?"
The nurses rush in and can clearly tell I'm overdosing so they put an oxygen mask over my head and say "Can somebody give him some Narcan?" and I'm laying here spectating what's going on to my own body from inside of my head wondering "I wonder what narcan is"
WELL I SURE KNOW NOW
The nurses push the Narcan in through my oxygen mask and I can suddenly hear everything perfectly. I say "woah" and then my entire body gets a flash of heat all over so I jolt up and say "WOAH" again and I look to the left to see like 6 nurses with 3 of them doing something with my arm that I obviously just messed up. But then the heat is gone, replaced by this freezing cold feeling all over and INSIDE my body. I can feel every one of my organs touching each other and they all feel cold and I just feel nauseous. By this point i was just in agony. It wasn't like any pain I've ever felt before I felt like not only was I gonna die, but it was gonna be painful and I'd feel each individual organ dying from inside my body because of how hypersensitive I was to everything around me. I could feel the scratchy hospital blanket and the way the grip of the hospital sock felt against the bed and it was all just too much for me and my head cocked straight up and i began vomiting so much liquid it was scary to watch. Feeling each chunk of food run down my throat was a sensory nightmare and it caused me to KEEP VOMITING and every time I'd move one of my limbs, it would completely jerk itself all the way to a full extended position which would shake my body and all my senses would be on fire and I'd cock my head back and continue vomiting. This was a pediatric hospital so the nurses had never dealt with anything this severe before so they were all just freaking out because I was actually tweaking so hard and I had knocked over everything they had put on my bed to help me. In addition to all this mess, I'd torn out my IV and started bleeding all over the sheets and the smell of barf mixed with blood was just such a strong smell I had continued barfing onto myself. My entire being felt cold inside and out so I was trying profusely to wrap myself in a cocoon but the nurses were so fixated on my blanket being covered in vomit and me like "contaminating myself" but I did not give a single fuck bro I was in so much pain and was so cold the only thought on my mind was the fetal position, and a cocoon. two nurses jammed those tubes that they have at the dentists office to suck your saliva down my throat so I didn't continue choking on my vomit, while the other 4 removed the fitted sheet from the bed trying their best not to interfere with my tweakage.
After they removed the sheet I had laid down and then I felt my organs shift in my body so I began vomiting again because anytime I sensed a new sensation, the big kahuna of nausea would hit me. I threw up onto the plasticky cover that goes over the mattress of the hospital bed but at this point there was only like so much left to throw up so a nurse wiped it away with an alcohol wipe. And the SMELL of that wipe gave me such sensory overload that I began crying to the point of basically screaming. As I shut my eyes really hard praying I'd fall asleep and escape the pain and coldness of my insides.
And the weird thing about all this is, I was there the whole time, y'know? Like I felt perfectly conscious throughout the entire process of being Narc'ed. I had no control over my body and anything I did, it just felt instinctual and had no thought behind it, but I was still actively thinking throughout all of it. I felt shame, embarresement, surprise, all like I was watching a movie. Except it was one of those 4D movie theaters where you can feel whatever is happening on screen, but not control it.
Eventually sleep overcame me and I woke up in the ICU with like 40 million wires attached to me a heating pack over my belly, and these bags around my legs that would inflate and deflate over and over. And all I could think in my head, was thank GOD it was over.
I had ended up getting myself a bone eating staph infection because some of my vomit got into the IV hole I'd torn out (I see why there were trying to take the blanket off) and ended up having to stay in the hospital for 10 more days so they could give me heavy antibiotics,, and had to do an additional 5 days at home self administering the medicine through a PIC line that went all the way from my wrist into my heart (it was so gross because they kept me awake while they removed it and it felt so weird).
A few weeks later the hospital called us back and apologized but they were using so much avoidant language and deflecting blame off of themselves so hard that it was pathetic to watch. Like you gave a 15 year old kid fentanyl through a SELF REGULATED SYSTEM and didn't expect the worst? Especially since I was being given Dilaudid and morphine on top of the fent? Get out my face with that smh.

I never considered myself to be smart, but I never thought I was stupid. As Artemis and I left Athena's oasis, I couldn't help but ponder the enormity of what had just happened. My mind was beginning to clear up and reflection set in as I followed Artemis through solid objects, down rabbit holes, through fire, sleet, and bodies of water.
The fire didn't burn me.
The cold didn't freeze me.
The water didn't drown me.
To think that my stupid human brain caused me to err in judgement to such a degree that I would step into the domain of godhood where I didn't belong... all because I was horny. I cringed the thought away. Yes, it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to me, but the way Athena looked at me; it sent chills down my spine. There would surely be consequences for this, but Artemis had clammed up completely, and wasn't answering my questions.
"Artemis?" I whined. "Hey... I'm sorry. I didn't know this would happen."
She stopped in the middle of the woods. We stood surrounded by a captive audience of oak trees; it was eerily silent. She turned and cast me a long look before walking into one of the larger oaks. I sighed and followed her through it. On the other side, we were back in Thyra under a familiar violet menagerie of stars and planets. She had stopped, finally, sitting down and leaning back.
I stepped in front of her. "Artemis? What, umm... Whatcha doing?"
"Waiting," she said plainly.
I looked around at the desolate canyon.
"... Waiting for what?"
"Judgement," she sighed. "This will be the first place Father will look for me when he hears the news."
"Father?"
"You may know him as Zeus."
A little bit of sweat gathered around my temples. He was the main guy. Like the biggest name in Greek myth. Everyone knows Zeus. But judgement... what was about to happen?
"I thought we were going to go hunt some beast in the Underworld or something." I looked down at my rifle and ran my hand along the length of the barrel. "I was scared at first, but now I want to see what a weapon kissed by Hephaestus can do."
I scoffed. I didn't know where that kind of verbiage came from. Kissed by Hepheastus? What was I, a poet all of the sudden? When I looked up, she looked sick. Her face was sagging and her eyes were lifeless. She leaned back and laid flat on the ground, her arms and legs outstretched as though she were dead.
"I too was eager to hunt," she said in a forlorn tone. "But that was before, in my miserable judgement, I welcomed you into divinity."
That was the first time she'd confirmed it with her own lips and it struck me for the first time that this was truly happening. The weight of it fell on my shoulders and did my level best to suppress it down. I didn't want to think about the implications just yet.
"I thought it was just a blessing," I said, sitting down next to her. "I didn't know there was a limit..."
"Athena tried to pry you from my breast, but you were stuck to it like a stubborn babe. You refused to listen."
"I didn't even realize it!" I defended myself. "Why couldn't you have just blessed me in a different way? Why did it have to be so weird?"
"Each god and goddess may bestow blessings, but for each it is different, and tied to their domain," she answered. "I am the goddess of the hunt, but also of nature, childcare, and birth. My blessing is bestowed as such that reflects my divine purpose." She cast me an annoyed glance, "You are the one who has decided it is weird."
I set the rifle down in front of me and leaned forward, thinking carefully. I didn't want to dig my hole any deeper with Artemis. I didn't need her mad at me too. "I'm sorry," I said finally. "But on earth it's kind of a sexual thing."
"Your species is perverse," she said, closing her eyes. "Am I to blame for that too?"
"No!" I said quickly. "I'm not blaming you for a damn thing, but-"
"The blame lies with me entirely," she cut me off. "I brought you here. I took you to Athena's Oasis. I fed you the milk of the gods with my own breast. Who else is to blame but me? My father will certainly say as much when he finds us."
I swallowed. I didn't know what to do. I was in over my head; way out of my depth to such a degree that I wondered if maybe it was just a good idea to keep quiet and sit still. But I had one question that was burning behind my eyes.
"What's going to happen to you?" I asked.
She opened her eyes and stared at the sky as she contemplated. "... I suppose I'll be reduced to my base components and be remade a more capable daughter. They call it rebirthing."
"Artemis," I said softly. "That sounds like dying."
"There is no death," she refuted. "Only rebirth. I will be remade."
"Yeah, it still sounds like death to me," I pressed.
"It's the closest thing to death that goddess can experience," came a familiar voice from behind me. I turned to see Apollo walking slowly toward us. "Sister, sister," he chanted. "What have you done this time?"
I wasn't overwhelmed by his beauty this time, but I still felt my chest tighten. It was the same feeling as seeing an ex from a long time ago in a public space like the mall or the grocery store. A flutter of something that once was there, but nothing substantial.
"Word will spread," Artemis said, her voice cracking. "And when Father has discovered what I have done, he will do what is right, I am certain of it."
"Will he?" Apollo asked. "Because Father has never been one to overreact, yes?" His tone carried the faintest hint of sarcasm.
Artemis didn't respond.
"I can't help but feel responsible for all of this," I said, getting to my feet. "I'll accept full responsibility."
"That will not be up to you," Artemis said, sitting up and hugging her knees.
"You may assume all the responsibility you like," said Apollo, turning to face me. "But there is not a single god or goddess on Mount Olympus that will accept that. You were a simple-minded human when you erred. It is what your kind does. Would you curse an acorn for falling from a tree?"
"I get it, I get it," I rolled my eyes. "But it's not fair. Artemis didn't know I would fuck up the way I did. She doesn't deserve to die!"
"Make no mistake," Apollo said sternly. "It will not just be her, but Athena and Hephaestus for participating in this little charade." He turned his eyes toward the cracked canyon floor and sighed. "... And of course, I as well."
"No!" Artemis was on her feet.
"I will be punished for failing to alert Father to your wily machinations," he looked up at her. "I turned a blind eye. And I did it while Brian was still a human."
Artemis held his gaze for a second before turning and looking at me. "... The Fates," she whispered.
"The Fates?" I looked between the two of them. "What's going on?"
"Father will speak with the Fates," Artemis said as though in a panic, returning her attention to her brother. "They know all that is and all that will be."
"For humans," Apollo clarified, turning to me. "The Fates have no knowledge concerning the gods and goddesses. But everything that transpired around you while you were human will be a part of their knowledge."
"So Zeus will talk to them..." I began to put it together. "And you'll have no plausible deniability. They'll have seen you interacting with me here."
"Hephaestus and Athena as well," Apollo nodded. "None of us can deny what we've done here." He looked at his sister and scowled. "Because we trusted in her to know what she was doing."
This was a mess. A complete disaster of my own making. I was such an idiot. I should have known better than to trespass against the gods. For had I known that Artemis would pay such a price, I would have never chased such an audacious undertaking. I held one hand to my head and felt that same nausea that had overtaken me back at the oasis. My inner dialogue was changing. I was thinking in a voice that wasn't really my own. I could feel myself slowly changing somehow.
"Forgive me," Artemis said to her brother.
"He may," came another voice to her left. In the blink of an eye, a newcomer had manifested. "But I will not. I trusted you to know better, Artemis."
After only a moment, I recognized him. It was Hephaestus, but human-sized and not all glowy and scary. He also bore a nasty scar across the right side of his face. I hadn't noticed it in the shadowy forge, but it was distracting. He stared daggers at Artemis, his strong arms folded across his chest.
Artemis buried her face in her hands. "I did not mean to risk you all alongside me," she sobbed. "I am so ashamed."
"As well you should be," Apollo spoke furiously. "Father already detests Hephaestus. He will be rebirthed as well."
"He detests me," Hepheastus, turned to Apollo, "Because I dared to suggest he was wrong about something. Though, if you ask me, the old man has hated me from the moment he laid eyes on me."
"Stop, stop, stop," I lifted my hands. "Just... let's just think about this for a second. Why do we have to wait around for Zeus to find out?" I asked. "We could just, y'know, get out of here. Nobody has to be killed over this, we can just leave, can't we? He doesn't know anything yet!"
"You imbecile," Apollo seethed, putting his face inches from mine. "You know nothing about anything. Keep your moronic human notions to yourself for so long as they persist within you."
That broke my heart. I wrestled with the emotions that roiled within me. I took a step back and inhaled, holding the tears back. I wasn't going to cry. I was a grown-ass man. So why did I feel like a toddler in time-out?
"Actually," came a new voice from behind Artemis. We turned to see Athena caressing her chin thoughtfully. "While his primal human instincts compell him to flee... in this case, it might not be the worst idea."
"You've hit your head, yes?" Apollo asked. "You would take a human's side? So much for a goddess of wisdom. Take your council elswehere."
"Mind your manners, Brother," Artemis spoke up. "That is Athena you are addressing. You will hear her speak."
We all stood in a moment of tense silence. Athena began to pace around the gathered gods, patiently choosing her words before she spoke them.
"Father has had a hot temper as of the last few hundred years," she began. "Don't act like you all haven't been weary of him; that you haven't shared whispers of concern with your siblings."
Everyone turned their eyes away from her, as though unwilling to accept it. But I could tell from the expressions on their faces that she was telling the truth. Something was going on with Zeus, it seemed, but what? Why were his kids so afraid of him?
"He has been rebirthing gods and goddesses for small offenses as of late," Athena went on. "I, for one, have been living in fear of his ire for some time now. He is not the same as he once was."
"Do not speak ill of Father," Artemis came to Zeus's defense. "He is facing difficulties!"
"That is..." Apollo trailed off. "A hefty accusation," he said finally, staring the goddess down.
Athena stared back with equal ferocity. "Then why, Apollo, did you keep your sister's little venture to yourself?"
He remained quiet. I didn't know the gods bickered like this. I always assumed they were some big happy family just living in paradise, but it seemed like there was at least some degree of treachery afoot.
Afoot?
I winced.
"Your silence says it all," Athena smirked before turning serious. "What little empathy Father once possessed is gone. We can all wait around to be rebirthed to Father's liking," she passed her eyes over us. "Or we can flee. The worst thing that can happen to us is rebirth either way."
"I have yearned to leave his gaze for eons now," said Hephaestus. "I will join in an escape effort."
"There would be little effort required," Apollo announced. "There has never been an attempt to leave the pantheon. It would likely be as simple as walking through an open doorway. But this discussion is traitorous; blasphemers, each and every one of you."
"I will run with Athena," Artemis announced.
"Sister!" Apollo scolded.
"Athena is more than my sister, she is my best friend," Artemis balled her fists. "If it were anyone else who suggested it, I may not have listened. But Athena's wise words have guided me through great trials."
"I am with them," Hephaestus said to Apollo. "You can stay here with the accident," he eyed me angrily.
Artemis looked as though she wanted to come to my defense, but ultimately said nothing.
Another arrow through my heart.
"Hephaestus," I began my sentence without anywhere for it to go. "I... I might not be..." I flailed. Suddenly, I had a question. "Wait," I pointed at him. "Why can I understand you now?"
"Because, dear Brian," Athena answered for him, walking up to me and placing a hand against my forehead. "You are a god now. It doesn't matter whether Hephaestus likes it or not, you are divinity born of mankind."
"Well," I glanced around without moving my head. "What am I the god of?"
"She is checking," Apollo said. "Be quiet while she divinates your domains."
I felt a tingling sensation around my forehead. It tickled, and I couldn't help but giggle a little. It made Artemis smile and my heart soared.
"You are..." Athena spoke, closing her eyes, her concentration tightening. "The god of indulgence and isolation," she announced, opening her eyes and smiling at me. She removed her hand and stepped back, leaving me in a stunned silence.
"Did you just call me fat and lonely?" I blurted out.
Athena lifted her hand to her mouth and dimples manifested on her cheeks. Artemis did the same, but couldn't stifle her laughter. Apollo snickered and turned his head. I stood there with my mouth wide open as Hephaestus began to chuckle to himself. But he didn't look happy about it. He would smile and laugh before scowling it away, and then start laughing again as though he were being tickled while in a terrible mood. The others adopted an expression not dissimilar to mine and stared at the god of the forge.
"I can't stop," Hephaestus managed between breathy laughter.
"By the stars," Athena murmured. "I don't believe I've ever seen Hephaestus laugh."
"Nobody has," Apollo said in equal wonderment.
"That is your sense of humor?" Artemis asked, aghast. "It is so... childish! So unexpected!"
"I have no sense of humor!" Hephaestus barked, finally getting his laughter under control. "He did something to me!"
"I didn't do anything!" I threw my arms up.
"Perhaps," Athena smiled at me. "He also holds the domain of humor. I didn't search for it."
"Great," I said angrily. "I'm 'Hilarious', the fat and ugly Greek god of comedy, I love it."
Hephaestus exploded in a renewed fit of laughter, once more prompting the others to laugh again. I stood there in the center of it and frowned.
"Can we get out of here now?" I shouted.
They laughed harder.
This sucked.
Writing Prompt Submitted by u/blablador-2001

First day on 5 mg of Letrozole was uneventful. I felt a mild headache and some bloating in the pelvic area, similar to what I feel during ovulation.
Second day on Letrozole gave me headaches, dizziness, nausea and vomitting, diarrhea, and anxiety. It felt like the equivalent in sickness to having the worst flu of my life (but with different symptoms). I had to take sick leave from work cause I couldn’t function.
My REI told me to stop Letrozole, but report back in a few days for bloodwork and monitoring. Hopefully I can still proceed with the IUI as planned. I ovulate on my own, and don’t necessarily care for producing more than one mature egg at a time. I don’t expect the IUI to work, since I have unexplained infertility and according to my REI, IVF is the best option for unexplained infertility. I need to do two IUIs for insurance purposes before IVF is covered.
The only issue fertility testing found was a lower AMH/follicle count for my age (just turned 33). So I technically have DOR, but my AMH is still 1.1 and my last ultrasound showed 16 eggs.
Experiencing such bad symptoms on Letrozole makes me more than a little nervous for the side effects of the medication I’ll have to take for IVF. This whole experience has me thinking that maybe I’d be better off continuing to try without intervention. My husband and I weren’t super keen on having children to begin with, but my struggles with fertility for the last 8 months made me yearn for a child. Now I have my reservations again. I still do want a child, of that I’m certain, but I’m feeling more willing to just wait and let it “happen when it happens” if it does at all, instead of rushing to make it happen. My husband feels the same.
Is there anyone who had a bad experience with Letrozole/clomid and did ok with IVF meds?

My coworker (a man with 2 kids) came up to my desk today and asked how I’ve been feeling because I have taken off a lot of work lately due to morning sickness. I told him I’m feeling better today and asked him if his wife had morning sickness when she was pregnant with their kids. He responded by saying “no my wife is a strong woman”. It must be the hormones because I’m extra sensitive lately and a little depressed and normally I would brush off a comment like that but it really got to me today and made me want to cry. I’ve been going through hell with relentless nausea and vomitting all day every day for the past 3 months. I have horrendous headaches and dizziness and lower back pain. On top of it I also caught the flu. It’s been really hard. His comment made me feel humiliated. Ugh. I’ve been so focused on just surviving and getting through each day and his comment made me think for the first time, do people perceive me as weak? Is that what my boss thinks? What my husband thinks?

My mom had follicular lymphoma when she was 40 and was able to get it resolved, but has found that it has relapsed last year. She started treatment on Rituximab+Revlimid (R2) at the end of March and this is specifically for relapsed patients. I did not find out about her cancer (nor the previous one) until one week before her first Rituximab appointment - and only because she needed a ride, so it felt like I was playing catch up on all her medical records for a bit. I do not live in the same city with her, she lives with my brother and dad, who have both been doing as much as they can as well, but they do not have flexible jobs (brother in IT agency traveling to local clients, and dad a semi-long distance trucker so he's only home 3 nights of the week). I am a small business owner so I have a bit more flexibility, so I flew back to be her appointment person during her first round of treatment. She is physically capable so at this point my only job was to drive her to and from appointments and also help talk with doctors (she does not fully understand English).
During her first IV of Rituximab, she had a reaction where she had chills and they had to pause and IV Benadryll into her (this seems common in this sub?). After her chills went away, they finished the Rituximab IV over the course of the next 4 hours. She started her Revlimid the same day as well. From then, she had 2 more injections of Rituximab over the next 2 weeks but the following blood test, they found that her WBC had gone below the ideal level and decided she should pause her injection that week. The following week, her WBC was still the same, so they skipped that week as well.
After that, she somehow caught a fever of 101 and we brought her to the ER that day on April 23rd and she was in the hospital until May 10th. During this time in the hospital, they gave her a constant IV of electrolytes + antibiotic IV. They did a ton of tests (CT Scan, Ultrasound, MRI, Spinal Tap, etc.) and did not find any sort of infection, but new problems came up.
During her time in the hospital, she had some awareness but there were moments where it seemed like she might have been delusional or imagining things - just generally not herself and it felt very off. They said her MRI showed some abnormal amount of white matter (?). She became very weak and lost her ability to move as much (again, prior to the ER, she was taking walks daily by herself, carrying things around the house like rice bags, cooking and feeding herself, etc. so she was physically capable). She couldn't lift her left hand or left leg and they were both swollen (not a stroke though). She wasn't able to feed herself anymore and didn't even have the energy to suck water from a straw. She couldn't stand on her own when they gave her physical therapy either. One of the therapists made a comment about how she would now require 24/7 care. It was shocking how much her body declined during this time. She also had a fever almost every other day in the hospital.
Finally, when she hadn't had a fever for 48 hours, they decided she could be discharged but wanted to take a second CT scan and ultrasound to ensure there were no blood clots in her body from her lying in the hospital for 2 weeks. They also decided she should be on antibiotic IV at home, so they did a midline insertion to put a line into her arm. That same day when she was doing physical therapy for that day, they found that her O2 levels dropped to 85%, but she doesn't have a history of breathing problems. After finding this out, they decided to look back at the CT scan and found that there was "more liquid in her lungs than when she first came in" - they decided they could not discharge her that day and they wanted her to go home with an oxygen tank to use at home, so we would have to wait for that to arrive at the hospital before she could be discharged. The general doctor also wanted to do a procedure to extract the liquid from her lungs, but the pulmonary doctor said there is a possibility it's from lying down here for too long without movement and that it could go away without interference. I decided I didn't want to put her through another procedure because of the psychological stress she's had with being here for so long and her other procedures during her stay (bone marrow biopsy, spinal tap, midline insertion).
In addition, this process has been emotionally taxing. She's asked every day in the hospital if she could go home, started berating me about how I'm not aggressive enough with doctors to tell them to let her out, how I just want to leave her in the hospital to die, etc. While this was all painful to hear, I'm trying to remember that she's also not fully herself during this time, but everyday still felt like a battle to stay calm and do what's best for her.
Finally when she was discharged, she's been bedridden at home. We were optimistic about getting her to start standing and eventually walking again, but it seems she has even less energy here than at the hospital (not sure if this is due to the lack of electrolyte IVs at home?). We do try to get her to eat but she's losing energy to even chew or swallow pills so we have been trying to give more soups and liquids. She's talking less and moving less.
Because of the nature of my brother and dad's jobs, I've been the one present at the hospital most of the time, and after getting discharged, I'm the one who's at home making meals, feeding, changing her diapers, etc. They do take over when they are home. When she was discharged, my husband also flew down to help out, with lifting her up and down (lol I am not as strong as I'd like to be), feeding her, and taking care of general things around the apartment.
I had a call with her oncologist yesterday and he confirmed that Rituximab was not working for her and that this scenario only happens to <5% of patients. He said the only option now is to wait for her immune system to come back before starting a different chemo.
I guess I am just looking for shared experiences / support because it feels so defeating right now. It feels a little hopeless too because since coming home, she's been doing worse. If this continues to decline, I expect we would bring her back to the hospital. I don't want to be negative or give up hope, and I know that her immune system can't just get back to normal overnight. It feels sad that lymphoma is known to have "positive outcomes" (???) and that she's having such a rough time through it. As a caregiver, I also feel exhausted and guilty/selfish that I miss my life.
I recognize that this has only been 2 months and there are worse scenarios to be in as well, I'm trying to be grateful that her body is still fighting, that I have my dad, brother, and husband to also share the workload with. I am starting the process of applying for IHSS to possibly find a caregiver as well, though I am not sure how this will pan out because my parents absolutely hate the idea of strangers in their home especially while my mom is vulnerable, and they hate the idea of hiring caregivers (we are an Asian immigrant family and they believe in the idea of kids being the caregivers).
TLDR: Mom has follicular lymphoma and is going through rough treatment process with many setbacks. I feel hopeless.

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It started with my 4.5 year old daughter the week before mother’s day. Stomach cramps, vomiting, followed by a few days of diarrhea. She gets better the friday before mother’s day and my 1 year old son projectile vomits over me twice and my husband twice that same day . His has been a real kicker. he was lethargic all weekend and saturday night got a fever. Took him to urgent care on mother’s day and they said he has an ear infection. Because he just had amoxicillin for a different infection a few weeks back they prescribed cfedinir. This medication has its own issues - runny stools. He has been fussy and now has a runny nose andd cough and popping a tooth! I get the illness monday. Felt like I was on my death bed with vomiting and diarrhea. my in laws came to help. Next day i was better but trying to recover so my mom helped out. now my mom and mil are throwing up and my son is STILL fussy and his daycare provider required 100% symptom free. what is this virus from hell??? How long till the next one?? I’m worried about my son, the illnesses he gets from his sister kick his ass. I don’t think he’s been to a full week of daycare since february.

I started Zepbound at the beginning of the month and just took my third injection on Tuesday. So far I’ve had mild nausea but today I’ve had terrible diarrhea, sulfur burps and have just felt like garbage. Imodium isn’t doing anything, neither are Tums. I’m drinking as much water as I can stomach and eating a couple saltines here and there and it’s all going through me. This has been going on since 6 this morning. It’s now 3PM with no signs of stopping or slowing. What should I do?

I need help before I let myself feel stupid in front of my new coworkers lol.. I'm doing volunteer coding for a non profit that sees people in low resource communities.. so the documentation is not exactly proper. I'm already struggling with my first case LOL.
"6 months pregnant G3 P1 ab1. say is at 6 montyhs, nio vitamins- just throws them up. Having sharp cramping pain on the right, The pain is worse when she lays down. Good fetal movement. No bleeding.. Lots of diarrhea,6 times/ day has mucus, watery, sometimes a bit of blood. She looks well though. No fever. The diarrhea comes and goes. This far into pregnancy. Metronidazole is fine for the dysentery. Her first birth was in 2016, in Brazil. Had C section for failure to progress after 24 hours. Baby 4300gram. advised to return for eval in 4 weeks, and that she needs to be in a hospital for close managment due to risk of needing another c section-It was a large baby. Declines PN vits."
Any advice on how and in which order to code this? I might be over thinking it. The company says to code a Dx if even it says "suspected" or "possible" so idk if i'm coding dysentery or diarrhea.. SO i'm thinking either of one those, gestation, and the history of previous pregnancy? I finished my program like a month ago and feel like i suddenly forgot everything!!!

I’m 11 weeks and obv no expert but I don’t know anyone pregnant with multiples so wanted to share what’s worked for me in case it helps anyone (and also commiserate a little because wth)
Nausea was bad but not HG.

• Had a random craving around 7-8 weeks for Chipotle (extra rice, no beans, cautiously approaching the mildest meat carnitas) and felt full for the first time in a while, and that was a turning point. I’ve realized if I can be full my nausea is a LOT better. Tricky with so many food aversions and when you don’t want the same food the next day but just try anything.
• after much experimentation, ice water with a splash of light lemonade is what I drink all day. Plain water tastes bad, lemon juice or electrolyte mixes tastes poisonous.
• started feeling starving (and still nauseous) around week 10 and advice in this sub helped aka bulk on protein. Hard to do with meat & peanut butter & egg aversions and a lactose sensitivity but I’m managing. However today for instance I ate 1100 cal and 75g protein by 10am and still felt nauseous and starving. Had a random craving for soup and made a quick creamy potato soup and ate like 4 servings 😅 if your body lets you, just fill it to the brim with whatever food you can stomach. But also protein usually does help a lot.
• random protein things I consume with my limitations: chocolate soy milk, string cheese, Quest hero chocolate caramel bars, most cheese products. sometimes shrimp with cocktail sauce.
• I can’t stand the smell of eggs or meat or the thought of eating them at home, however I’m mostly fine eating fast food lol so do what works. Starbucks bacon sausage egg wrap and Chick-fil-a hash brown bowl with sausage worked for me.

I also had a question for experienced moms: did y’all really drink regular milkshakes and not develop GD? It sounded ridiculous at first but on extra starving days I see the appeal.

Hey yall, im a 16 year old kid that wrote this in class, a quick historical fiction journal from WW2. lmk if you guys like it and I should keep writing. -thanks

May 27, 1942—It's been about a month and a few days since I wrote in this journal, and currently, I'm in the Marines being trained for Germany. The First training day is in a few days, as we are still traveling to Paris Island, South Carolina. As I enter this journey, I'm unsure what to expect, but Uncle Frank said it wasn't easy.
June 3, 1942- The sound of war terrifies me; the sound of bullets piercing the air and striking inches from my feet makes me freeze. We have been on this battlefield for three days without food or water. I look to my left and right, and all I see is smoke. My ears are ringing, my eyes burning, and cries of pain from my comrades send a chill down my spine. My M1 Garand, Resting on a fallen tree branch, has a German soldier in sight; I look down my sights and bang, I fire. I can't help but feel guilty that the man I just killed is not much different than me, just an 18-year-old kid with no clue what's happening. The sizzling hot cartridge steaming on the ground is a memory of a once joyful time with my father and two brothers hunting in the woods of North Carolina, but in this case, instead of taking the life of a deer, I took the life of a man. I pick up the shell and stuff it in my pocket. I lie next to Harry, and suddenly, I hear a loud bang and yelling of Sergent James to get down. Suddenly, the world goes silent; after many hours, my sight and hearing return, and I look to my right. And Harry, who is unrecognizable, lies motionless with a missing arm. I yell for a medic, but no words come out, only a voice in my head telling me to give up. A soldier in my platoon comes running into our ditch with blood streaming down his face and side.
June 4, 1942- All life is meaningless at war; we liberated a prisoner of war camp, and the sights we saw were horrific. I will take a break from this journal and focus on making it come alive.
-Liam Jones 1942

Hello - I've recently received a PET scan for FUO. Since last July, I've been experiencing right sided abdominal pain which received no diagnosis. Last fall, I became severely ill with GI symptoms (primarily nausea) followed by chest/rib pain and neuro symptoms (shooting pain down right leg, headaches, etc.). My period had completely stopped during this time, which was likely due to the stress my body was under. They've since resumed, albeit painful ovulation and period cycles with frequent bloating all month long. Colonoscopy did not show any reasoning for my extreme bloating or abdominal pain. In January I began experiencing frequent fevers. I ended up with infectious disease and neurology referrals, and after extensive workups that did not provide any insight, we moved forward with a full-body PET Scan. Everything came back normal except the following:
ABDOMEN/PELVIS: In the posterior left adnexal region there is a 43 x 23 mm ovoid low density structure with moderately increased uptake in the peripheral posterior portion maximum SUV 7.7.
IMPRESSION: 1. Moderately increased uptake within the peripheral posterior portion of a 43 x 23 mm ovoid lesion posterior left adnexa. Findings may simply represent a physiologic ovarian cyst within an otherwise somewhat prominent ovary. In this particular patient chronic tubo-ovarian abscess or other fallopian tube or ovarian pathology could be considered. Recommend pelvic ultrasound with transabdominal and transvaginal imaging for further evaluation. 2. No other potential source of fever demonstrated.
________
The thing this I've had two ultrasounds (results below) in the past year, and my current OBGYN was quite dismissive of the results and is insistent that my symptoms are not GYN related. I'm currently waiting to see a new GYN next month, but wondering if this is urgent and should not wait that long. I'm really struggling to go back to my current OBGYN because of my experience there, and I'm not sure she'd do anything with these results. She largely double downed last time that my past US results were not a cause for worry or concern, and to manage with OTC pain relievers. No further action or testing needed.
Could the ultrasound and a CT (in relation to abdominal pain) I've had missed this?
Would love to know based on your experiences, how hard I should advocate for myself and if there's any specific testing I should explicitly ask for.
I have alot of medical fatigue and feel dismissed despite feeling so awful all the time. If you've read this far, thank you and sorry for the novel.
________
February 2024 Ultrasound:

• Myometrium: Single fibroid seen
• Right ovary: appears normal with a 21mm hemorrhagic corpus luteum containing retracting clot
• Endometrial thickness, total 4.9mm
• Endometrium: within normal limits
• Fibroids:
  • Uterine fibroid D1 11 mm
  • Uterine fibroid D2 8 mm
  • Uterine fibroid D3 9 mm
  • Uterine fibroid mean 9.3 mm
  • Uterine fibroids findings: Intramural. Anterior. Right lateral wall

November 2023 Ultrasound:

• Uterus
  • Endometrium: 4 mm cyst , no solid masses
  • Endometrial thickness, total 9.8 mm
  • Fibroids: Fibroids identified
    • Uterine fibroid D1 30 mm
    • Uterine fibroid D2 25 mm
    • Uterine fibroid D3 25 mm
    • Uterine fibroid mean 26.7 mm
    • Uterine fibroids findings: transmural FIGO 2-5 with 10 mm cyst
  • Right Ovary:Appears normal
    • Rt ovary D1 27 mm
    • Rt ovary D2 30 mm
    • Rt ovary D3 12 mm
    • Rt ovary Vol 5.1 cm³
  • Left Ovary: Appears normal
    • Lt ovary other findings: seen transabdominally only
  • Left Tube: Size 38.0 mm x 18.0 mm x 24.0 mm
  • Impression: 1. Heterogeneous mildly thickened endometrium with a 4 mm cyst. Clinical correlation recommended for potential hyperplasia or polyp. If clinically appropriate, repeat ultrasound could be performed in 4-6 months to evaluate for persistence. 2. Findings cost consistent with a degenerated fibroid. 3. Normal ovaries.

If anyone is interested - I wrote a trip report from a recent trip a buddy and I did earlier this week. I highly recommend this trip if you’re in the area, it was well worth the 4 hour drive for us.
A co-worker and I from an outfitter down in Southeast PA decided to plan a trip to Ansonia, PA to Paddle Pine Creek. We planned the trip mostly out of the Keystone Canoeing book by Edward Gertler and information on the PA DCNR website. We originally planned to do a 2 night, 3 day trip. Pine Creek runs through a beautiful section of PA’s Grand Canyon, and is known for its beautiful views, good water, and amazing trout fishing. We met at our local outfitter at 6am to pick up our boats and get in the same car. By 6:30 we had our boats strapped down and our gear loaded and we hit the road. We stopped at wawa for sizzlis, energy drinks, nerd gummy clusters, and jolly ranchers which would serve as our road trip sustenance (we decided to eat super healthy this trip ;)). We had a 4 hour drive ahead of us which actually took a little bit longer since we stopped about halfway through for gas and a shit break. Aphex twin was the soundtrack of this road trip. At about 11am we rolled into the parking lot of Pine Creek Outfitters (PCO). Inside we were met with very helpful and knowledgeable staff, we also purchased a map there which ended up being super helpful as the maps we had from Keystone Canoeing weren't quite as detailed. The employees at PCO said the creek is pretty self explanatory but there's only one section we should be worried about which was Owassee rapid, they told us to just keep left and hug the bank. PCO directed us to a public canoe access no more than a quarter mile down the road where we would start our trip. We were on the water by noon and the views were not great at this point, as there was a large overcast and we were not quite in the depths of the . We had a quick flat paddle for about a mile or two until the water got going, and at about 12:30 we stopped to check the map. At this point we knew Owassee was coming up and we wanted to make sure we weren't surprised by it. The map noted that Owassee was preceded by a cabin with notable arches which we passed probably around 12:45. We pulled off towards the right side of the island at Owassee as PCO noted that the left side is known to have some killer strainers. We scouted Owassee for the next 15 minutes or so and crapped our pants. We were super nervous, this was the biggest water that either of us had run in a canoe before, let alone with all of our camping gear in our boat. The most daunting section of Owassee was a set of massive boulders to the right side of the channel which all of the water pushes you towards. Immediately following Owassee is a massive set of wave trains that I would (totally unprofessionally) eyeball to be 3-4 foot standing waves. Immediately preceding Owassee are a couple of flat boulders which are hard to see from the water so we were happy to scout and get a good look at it. I’d guess that at this water level Owassee was easily a Class 2+ or 3. We decided to take a line which stayed left pretty much the entire way until the big wave trains following Owassee where we could cut over to the right. At this point we headed back up to our boats to run it. It was a little sketchy, but not as bad as we thought it would be, a couple back paddles and keeping your bow pointed toward the island and you will be okay. The wave trains following Owassee were a little hectic, and we ended up taking on some water, especially me in my Heavy Old Town Discovery 168. We pulled off to the right after the Wave Trains to bail our boats and have a celebratory Miller Lite and Croissant (godly combo). We were in front of this awesome cabin called “Tiadaghton Lodge”, the cabin had a sweet foot bridge that crossed the river to allow for access to the cabin from the rail trail. At this point the sun had come out and we were officially in the heart of the PA Grand Canyon, the views were spectacular and it was just an overall phenomenal day outside. Once we were back on the water, we were super pleased with the flow. It was consistent Class 1’s with sprinkled Class 2’s pretty much for the rest of the day, it was a super enjoyable paddle and a pleasant challenge from the barely Class 1 water we were used to. We were now in the heart of the canyon and the views were just breathtaking, the vast canyon extending on either side of the creek really makes you feel small, and it was insane to think that this wildly different terrain was still in PA. The canyon was lined with awesome waterfalls that were really pleasing to see and hear along the way. Around probably 2 or 3 we stopped for a bathroom break and lunch. Up to this point we had only seen about 4 other people and none of them were on the river, 2 were riding horses and the rest were just hikers along the rail trail. By around 4pm we took a smaller channell to the right side of an island which turned out to be a good choice as we found an awesome little campsite here. We finished up clocking about 10 miles that day. There were two fire rings and a weird but cool table made by balancing a rock on top of a cut down tree stump, pretty cool. We spent the next hour or so setting up camp and then we relaxed in our hammocks until around 6 when we decided to make a fire and get dinner started. We struggled with starting a fire because of the rain that morning and the day before, but we got it started just enough to cook our food. I made Bombay Potatoes with Rice and some canned chicken and Owen (My coworker) made turkey sausages and canned tamales. We also made some warm fresh bread with some dough I had made when we got to camp. After eating we went into a food coma for a little until we decided to really make the fire big. We got it going probably for about an hour when we finished off all the miller lites we had brought. At this point we went to bed. I slept super well and was definitely warm enough despite only having a 50 degree bag, which is something I was worried about. I’m used to hammock camping, so having a tent was a super nice luxury to have. We woke up at about 7 or 8 am and took our morning nice and easy. We had planned to do an easy 15 miles this day and camp out at a campground in Cedar Run where we would try and figure out a ride back to our car. We took it easy, and ate instant oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and bacon spam along with instant coffee. It was an awesome breakfast although I could almost feel the heart attack from the spam. I definitely recommend Starbucks Via instant blonde roast for anyone looking for a good camping coffee option. I've been loving it so far, especially given that it's instant coffee. After breakfast we chilled in our hammocks by the water for about 15 minutes before we packed up camp and were back on the water by 10am. It was another beautiful day, atleast to start and the views were still just as stellar in the heart of the gorge. We had another nice stretch of river to start. We passed an awesome waterfall which I can’t remember the name of almost right after we left camp. We pulled over at about 11am to pee, make coffee and filter some more water. We pulled off next to this awesome waterfall that I used to wash some of my dishes from earlier and collect water that I could filter later on. We paddled for another 30 minutes or so until we saw a bald eagle chilling in a tree overhanging the creek. We stopped paddling and took out our phones to get some awesome videos of it. The eagle took off and flew around us and then up river with the crows in tail. It was an awesome experience. At this point the water chilled out for the most part, besides one more notable rapid called thread the needle, it was a super fun little bend and reminded me of a rapid back home. About an hour after this, the overcast came back and the wind really started to pick up. At this point the grand views from the gorge really seem to chill out as we started to enter civilization again. We passed the town of Blackwell and a nice little campground on our left side, there was a nice little canoe access there with some people hanging out and fishing. This would have been a good spot to end the trip if you just wanted to see the gorge. After Blackwell we passed Rattlesnake Rock where we saw some Mennonites hanging out and we asked them for some of the lore on the rock. They said that it was named by loggers back in the day when they found a ton of Rattlesnakes on it. The rest of the way was pretty mediocre water and we really ended up fighting the wind. We also passed a kayaker here who said that slate run (where we planned to get out) was only about an hour away. He ended up being wrong as it was about two hours but we paddled on, deciding to end the trip a day early and drive home that night. There were two more notable rapids before getting to slate run, one which must've been a Class 3 was notable due to the MASSIVE wave trains and a huge boulder hidden behind a standing wave, it must’ve been 4 foot standing waves we paddled through. The second was right before slate run, right next to a campground. Massive wave trains which swept you towards these massive undercut rocks which were super sketchy. These rapids were fairly easy to navigate as you can kind of avoid them altogether and were most likely larger than usual due to the rain the days before. We pulled into Slate Run at about 2pm. A local informed us that Slate Run is one of the best spots for trout fishing in the entire country, there was even a hotel basically just for trout fishermen across the creek from the We had no plan for a ride back to our care so we talked to some people at the Slate Run access asking for a ride. We also went up to the general store to ask some employees there. We got ice cream which was fantastic and then called PCO for a ride back. They weren't too happy with us as they usually require a reservation for their shuttle service and were getting ready to head home for the day, but they nonetheless gave us a ride. We made some coffee and instant ramen while waiting for the shuttle to arrive. Our shuttle driver was super nice and helpful and even took us the long way back to show us this cute little town of Wellsboro. She even offered us jobs in exchange for cheap NRS gear after seeing how easily we threw our boats around. She also showed us the way to get to an awesome lookout over the whole canyon. Overall I highly recommend PCO for any trips and if we ever come back will definitely be using them again, awesome people. After getting the car and boats loaded up, we headed up the canyon to checkout the canyon from the top. It was breathtaking, and a super cool and different perspective from what we saw from the water. After leaving the overlook we headed home. Stopping at Mcdonalds for some food along the way, and we rolled into the parking lot at about 11pm. Overall this was an awesome trip and highly recommended for anyone looking for awesome water, amazing views, or great camping. We will definitely be coming back.

I have to share this. It’s not just a story; it’s a warning. If you value your sanity, stop reading now.
I spent my junior year of college studying art history in Rome. It was everything I’d hoped for: the architecture, the paintings, the endless history. But what happened during my last week there still haunts me. The Vatican City tour was supposed to be the highlight of my trip, but it became a nightmare I can’t escape.
Our guide, an older man named Marco, led us through the usual tourist spots, but he seemed distracted. His eyes kept darting to a small, unmarked door at the end of a corridor in the Vatican Museums. After the tour, I lingered, watching as Marco slipped away from the group and towards the door. Curiosity got the better of me. I followed.
I approached the door, and to my surprise, it was ajar. I peeked inside and saw a dimly lit staircase leading down. I hesitated, but then I heard voices – chanting, whispering. I descended, my heart pounding. The air grew colder with each step, the walls narrowing, until I emerged into a cavernous underground chamber.
At first, I thought it was some kind of ancient chapel, but the sight before me was far from holy. There were robed figures gathered around a long, stone table, chanting in Latin. On the table lay a human body. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I tried to convince myself it was some kind of bizarre reenactment or performance art, but the smell of decay and the horror etched on the lifeless face told me otherwise.
I hid behind a pillar, my heart racing, praying they wouldn’t see me. The chanting grew louder, more frenzied, and then they began…eating. The realization hit me like a freight train. These were no actors. This was a ritual, a feast – cannibalism. I could barely keep from vomiting as I watched them consume the flesh with a grotesque reverence.
They started with the organs, tearing into the liver and heart with their bare hands, the sound of ripping flesh and the sight of blood running down their chins making me dizzy with horror. They passed around pieces of flesh, some searing it over candles, others eating it raw. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the stench of death.
One of the robed figures held up a severed arm, chanting in a low, guttural voice before biting into it, tendons snapping under the pressure of his jaws. The others followed suit, tearing at the body with a hunger that was both primal and ritualistic. Their eyes rolled back in ecstasy, mouths stained red, as if they were partaking in some unholy communion.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned, expecting the worst, but it was Marco. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he whispered. “They’ll come for you now.”
He dragged me back up the stairs, but it was too late. The chanting had stopped. I could hear footsteps, quick and purposeful, coming up from behind. We ran through the labyrinthine corridors of the Vatican, the ancient stone walls seeming to close in on us. I could hear them – the robed figures, their whispers echoing in the halls.
We burst out into the daylight, but the Vatican guards were waiting. Marco was seized and I was dragged away, screaming, trying to explain what I’d seen. They locked me in a small, windowless room, and for hours I sat there in darkness, waiting for whatever fate awaited me.
Eventually, a cardinal entered. He was calm, composed, and utterly terrifying in his placidity. He sat across from me, his piercing eyes examining my soul. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he began to speak.
“What you witnessed,” he said, his voice smooth and unsettling, “is a sacred rite, a tradition older than Christianity itself. Long before the establishment of the Church, our ancestors discovered a way to commune with the divine, to gain knowledge and power beyond human comprehension.”
He leaned in closer, his breath cold against my face. “This rite, this consumption of the flesh, is a way to absorb the essence, the life force, of the departed. It grants us visions, strength, and longevity. It binds us to the ancient ones, those who walked the earth when it was young and untamed.”
I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I couldn’t look away. “But why?” I stammered. “Why would you do something so… monstrous?”
His smile was chilling. “Have you ever wondered why the Eucharist, the Communion, is such a central sacrament in Christianity? When Jesus said, ‘This is my body… this is my blood,’ it was not merely symbolic. It was a continuation of an older, more powerful tradition. By consuming the flesh and blood, we become one with the divine.”
The cardinal stood, his robes rustling like whispers of the damned. “But the bread and wine are just a shadow of the true rite. Here, in the depths of the Vatican, we keep the original covenant. The flesh we consume is sanctified, chosen. It is our way of maintaining the connection to the divine, of ensuring the Church’s power endures.”
I was horrified, but he continued, his voice a soothing monotone that belied the horrors he described. “The world is filled with darkness, with forces that seek to corrupt and destroy. We are the guardians, the keepers of balance. To fight such evil, we must embrace the forbidden, the unthinkable. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “You have seen too much. But fear not, for your silence will be assured. You will return to your life, but you will never speak of this. Not to anyone. For if you do, the consequences will be dire.”
I was released the next day, warned never to speak of what I’d seen. Marco was gone. I returned to the States, trying to forget, but the nightmares won’t let me. Every night, I see their faces, hear their chanting. I feel their hunger.
I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m sharing this because someone needs to know. If you ever visit the Vatican, stay with the group. Don’t stray. And if you see a small, unmarked door, turn around and run. Some secrets are worth dying for.

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

My sister has been in and out of undiagnosed illness for a few months, which symptoms were nausea, vomiting, and fever. The fever keeps her restless and insomniac most nights and the sweat from the chills gives her sensory issues of fabric clinging to her skin.
She's also very scared of throwing up and has been refusing both soft foods and fluids for the past 18 hours. She's already a nightmare to feed on her normal days due to AFRID but this takes it to another level I didn't think was possible. I know she's parched and showing dehydration symptoms but she is refusing water, pedialytes and the likes. All I'm holding her onto now are ice chips and pedialyte popsicles to keep it at bay. Any sort of food has been out of the question even her safest ones, and I know she's starving, but she keeps insisting she will throw up and she deathly hates doing so.
Just watching her sleep or lay down is hurting me. I'm waiting for my partner to get home so we can rush her to the A&E but I made the mistake of mentioning it to her beforehand and she absolutely freaked out. She hated hospitals and needles and all the likes but our only option left is to get her on IV. Now she's refusing to sleep out of fear and I don't want to wring her body out of whatever energy she has left by having a meltdown when the time comes to go to the hospital. Any advice on how to handle all this is greatly appreciated. Thank you.

Currently trying to change my world view and change for the better. I've been in a slump these days (after being laid off work and losing my cat) all the while— still continuing to read Dogblood stories.
I just recently finished a self-help book and realized that there is really a serious issue about me. I am pretty chill as a person and dense about my own emotion, I'm always thankful about this when I was young. I found myself majorly liking Cinderella 3 and My Litte Mermaid (extremely wrong by others) when I was young. And eventho I'm chill, I'm highly pessimistic and always think of tragedy after tragedy to whatever I think of.
We have limited internet access when I was young so I'm only into good things to what I heard to other people. Until, pandemic happens and we finally have stable internet that I finally end up to a quagmire of chinise dogblood stories (self-inflict).
It didn't happen drastically, I'm into BL and I start with japanese classics which everything are swept under the rugs and everything is not as big of deal.
I started with wattpad when I was young and the angst there are like child play but I really like those kinds of ploy. I bump into webnovel at pandemic and the first story I read is finding their fiance cheating on them the day before the marriage so I'm pretty thrill, it has 1000+ chapters and I read 800 on one fell swoop and I came into sudden realization that "Chinese stories it is and not Wattpad"
I read manga/wa/hua with heavy angst as well but I still find myself not quite into "Angst Fetish", and if you ask me my favorite stories are still the one that has the biggest fluffs. And I do read action/fantasy lightnovels as well with 0 romance.
—Until I have my very first taste of Dogblood Danmei that made me sick to my stomach. It has every element on it that makes my blood boil, abuse, cheating, betrayal, white moonlight, etc etc. I'm quite thrill and they still end up together, pretty bullshit ik. I have fun so I gave it 3 stars since it's my first angst. Then you know what's next, I look for every angst I could find.
I quite have low EQ so I sincerely admire novels that made me the feels. Even if dogblood is bad (in actuality) and sometimes boring, I made a very big move. I found 5 dogblood danmei and read it simultaneously together.
You know dogblood has resting period and has mundane chapters too? Yes. That's when I find a reason to switch to another and to another. All of them quite heavy. Until, I found my hands shaking and I have trouble breathing. I went to the bathroom and vomit. I think I'm having panic attack and I'm feeling overwhelmed.
Whenever I try to read a new dogblood, I'm back to that feeling again. But did that stop me? No. I'm still an addict seeker of dogblood but not that I still read them simultaneously tho.
Through that self-help book it says that "outrage is also a form of pleasure" and I feel like this is the pleasure that I always indulge my life of. Which is not good. How long 'till the "chill me" last? And I already broke myself beyond what I could salvage. Everyday, I always find myself seeking something to be outrage about, I quit social media, social interaction, news, comment section etc. but when I'm about to delete my bookmarks on NU (which is full of dogblood)—
I found myself reading them instead of deleting. Just this week alone I finish, Joyful Tidings at Nan Home, A Tooth For a Tooth, I’ve Liked Your Boyfriend for a Long Time, Break Up, Next, Old Man, How Can I get rid of Him, Flying Ash. I wrote this feeling sick if I would read- Their Long Night of Indulgence (I don't want to actually).
I want to really change as I no longer want to indulge myself with this negative, pessimist, full of of outrage life. I really admire very kind people and think that I'm far from being like them as I always have bad thoughts. The self help book made me realize that I could change and despite being severely depress, I can't stop myself from indulging myself to this endless dogblood stories. In truth, I want to be happy.
I feel like I'm not that unsalvageable and even the book says you will fail again and again, and it's really hard to change my habits of seeking outrage pleasure. I'm always proud of how much I can handle emotional pain that I forgot it's not just a matter of heart but also my mind. To change is to change how I view things and what I seek of.
I really want to hear your thoughts and thank you for reaching this far. And if you can as well recommend some fluff danmei, pref college/highschool, childhood friend trope I'll appreciate it a lot. Thank you so much

To start, my 4 year old cat has been to the vet MANY times for this issue. And I apologize for the long post. I hope someone reads it and can offer some advice if anyone has been in a similar spot.
He has had diarrhea ever since I got him a few months ago. At his first vet visit, his fecal sample tested positive for coccidia. That cleared up pretty quickly with treatment (ie, tested negative after the meds). But once the med course was over, his poop was more runny than ever and the bloody mucus was still there.
He has now been on powdered Tylan for a few months and that has eliminated the blood. He was also switched to hydrolyzed protein which has definitely made the diarrhea better - it is no longer straight up liquid but is still not solid by any means. He still poops a lot of clear mucus.
I’ll also add that he has been on gabopentin essentially since I got him for anxiety/stress. He just recently started on Prozac as well. This is another issue on its own- he no longer has bald patches from severe over grooming but is still quite jumpy when he’s off the gabo (aka when he tricks me into thinking he ate it) in a way that makes me wonder if it is pain that the gabo is masking. But if I were to bring him into the vet for this (again), I don’t know what I’d want them to look at specifically to get to the bottom of this - he has had blood work, fecal tests, skin tests, urine tests, an X- ray and plenty of physical exams in which they said he is physically fine (aside from the diarrhea issue) but likely stressed.
There is also another odd thing that the vet hasn’t been able to give me a clear answer for- he has always dropped little tiny “rabbit poops” (don’t know what else to call them) in places he was sitting or playing or kneading or what have you. On and off severity and size. He is not physically pooping these times, they just appear I guess?? Other than this, he has never had an “accident” outside of the litter box. I have noticed his anus seems to look a little longe oval shaped compared to other cats - he used to have bleeding there but not anymore.
He seems fine, always playful, curious and hungry, sometimes sleeps a lot but I figure it could be the gabo. So is it even an issue worth chasing again? Is it possible to be a normal healthy cat with long term diarrhea (/IBD, I’m assuming)? He drinks water all the time so I’m not worried ab dehydration from the diarrhea. I saw some comments on another Reddit post saying they fixed this on their own with different diets, I would be really nervous to take him off his strict HP diet.
Thank you to anyone who took the time to read, I really appreciate it. This is my first cat and I want him to have a long and happy life with me.