I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

Hi there!
I’m quite new to this subreddit so this question might have been asked before, however I’m looking for some advice.
So I have pretty severe Crohn’s disease, however most of it affected the lower part of my intestinal tract. Since getting a stoma bag, I can’t seem to stop putting on weight which is super weird for me.
I’m starting to become a bit unhappy with my body as of late and would like to make some changes.
Up until recently, I’ve been going to the gym 4x a week, doing almost only weightlifting. I’ve only stopped recently due to being overwhelmed with university finals, work commitments and needing further surgery for my Crohn’s disease.
I’ve been planning to take up kickboxing, and have a membership with a club but haven’t been able to fully commit yet as my work schedule is constantly changing.
I’m a 5ft 7 (F) and just weighed myself tonight, it’s the heaviest I’ve been in years, weighing 77kg.
I’m also wondering if my psychiatric medication is having a role in this as I was diagnosed with bipolar this year. While the quentiapine does help the symptoms, I’m concerned about the potential for it slowing down my metabolism.
Any advice would be appreciated!

Hey y'all,
Long time lurker here, but I wanted to make a post of my experience because I found a lot of reassurance from many folks here before I got my surgery.
I'm exactly seven weeks post-op today; I had a total laparoscopic hysto, including ovaries. For some background, I'm 34, 5'3 and 134lbs; been on T for 9 years now.
Surgery day: Nervous as hell, but medical team was amazing. Surgery took about 2.5 hours and I was able to go home the same day. I had a bit of trouble fully coming to afterwards, but after a nap, I was good to get up on my own and make my way to the washroom for the highly anticipated pee (can't leave without peeing). It did take me a long time to pee, but I managed a little something. There will be blood immediately after surgery, so it certainly can be startling if you've been without a period for years. Didn't eat much that day, as anaesthetic kinda ruined my appetite. Pain was tolerable, but getting up from the couch/bed was tough - you'll kinda have to roll out. I peed A LOT that evening (it did subside a bit the next day). Nurses said nothing over 5lb (I 100% did not abide by this because 5lbs is very light to me and I felt it silly) and no sex for 6 weeks.
First week: Pain was very manageable, just similar to sore abs. I continued my prescribed painkillers for a couple days and made the switch to Tylenol, which I took for another couple days and then I didn't feel like I needed anything. Bleeding was pretty mild throughout the first week. I think after about 4-5 days post-op, I was walking quite a bit (couple 10-15 min walks a day and general tidying around the house). I did get a little tired, but nothing bad. Drove my car around 4 days in. Was also drinking a dissolvable stool softener - you're really gonna want this. I never took it with top surgery, but hystos are so connected to your bowels, its just a must-have.
Second week: Went back to work after 12 days - I work in service and was on my feet 6-8 hours a day. I felt fine and didn't really overdo it. I didn't lift much over 10-15lbs, but was able to hustle. Bleeding continued to be quite light. I was pretty much cleaning my house as normal at this point, as well as walking my dog (though he is super young and a puller, so I was very cautious during our walks). Continued drinking the stool softener because I still felt a little discomfort when trying to go to the bathroom.
Third and Fourth weeks: Third week I just increased my walking, working and started to ease back into my routine. I will say my gas pains/bowel discomfort got pretty bad around this point - I've never experienced anything like it. It was obvious it was related to my intestines and bowels settling into a new place inside me, but it was so uncomfortable. I continued the softener every other day until the fourth week. Once I reached week four, I went back to the gym to do some stretching and isolation work on machines (leg extentions and curls, shoulder presses, rows, light curls and tricep work). I only went two days, that week, but it felt amazing to get back in there and move my body. I had no more bleeding at all after that week and had no adverse effects from going to the gym.
Fifth and Sixth weeks: Pretty much a full return to normal for me. Fifth week, I started increasing the weights (half my usual) at the gym and hit the exercise bike as well. Sixth week, I started my compound body work like squats, bench presses, light deadlifts, etc. Again, had no adverse effects. I'm now at week seven and I'm back fully to normal, in my opinion. My doctor has cleared me for all regular activities and I'm feeling great. This will be my first full week back in the gym and though things are feeling heavy as hell after all this time, it will come back in no time.
Some other things that I was worried about before my surgery: Muscle loss/Weightlifting - If you're in good shape beforehand and are a seasoned lifter, you're gonna be just fine. I was so freaked out about losing my muscle and physique, but it wasn't so bad. Just don't eat like shit and stay as active as you can. Things are gonna feel really heavy when you get back, but just go slow and focus on form.
Sex/Masturbation - I got myself off probably 2 weeks after and had some light bleeding, but nothing else. I waited again for another few days and it was fine after that. I continued to get off regularly after this with no adverse effects. Myself and my partner obviously didn't have penetrative sex during these 6 weeks, but we did manage to get by with some hands-on fun. I've yet to have the more "aggressive" penetrative sex I'm used to, but light penetration this past week has not bothered me - just go slow and make sure it feels ok.
Scarring - SO TINY. Seriously, just don't pick at them and keep them moisturized and they will heal great.
That's mostly all I can recall right now, but I'm happy to answer any questions. Sorry if this was long-winded, but I figured maybe it would help someone out!

Warning this will be a long post, it has everything I've learnt in the past couple of years from hair growth, to styling, to weightloss, to nervous system regulation and more.
I'm in my early 30s, I have 3B hair, tall, two years ago I was obese, prediabetic, I had anxiety problems, now I'm just a tall [seemingly ;) ] effortlessly pretty black girl and I want all my beauties on here to have my beauty secrets.
Topics discussed:

• Haircare
• Style
• Makeup
• Teeth
• Skincare
• Weight loss vs Fat loss
• Healthy Fat loss
• Body Recomposition
• Inflammation
• Gut Health
• How to lower androgen/testosterone levels
• Nervous System Regulation/Stress Management
• Tea Cycling
• Seed Cycling

Hair

I have PCOS so it affects my hair growth and causes hirsutism, basically male patterened facial hair and male patterned baldness.
Hair Growth: Here is the true secret sauce to hair growth, stimulating your scalp. I do daily scalp massages with a bamboo brush (even the bristles are made of rounded bamboo) very gentle. This is the one I use: Golab Beauty I do short strokes which prevents any tangles. Morning and Night. I then go in with a scalp serum, I use The Oui scalp serum but it costs a pretty penny. In the first yearish I used (The 'Ordinary' Haircare Growth Set Multi-Peptide Serum For Hair Density) which worked wonders and was cost effective. At nights I seal with any scalp oil that has rosemary oil. Sadly Mielle's formula no longer works for me, but As I Am rosemary oil has been working, I also like the Camille Rose Rosemary Oil Strengthening Hair and Scalp Drops. For Washing my hair I suffer from sebaceous dermatitis which causes scaliness. Paradoxically my scalp is so oily which is what triggers the ezcema and develops the dry patches. Reversing my PCOS symptoms fixed this but what also helped was the Nizoral shampoo with 1% Ketoconazole. It's harsh so I do it once to twice a month at most and I always follow up with a moisturizing shampoo, and of course finish with a wash out conditioner & leave in conditioner.
Hair Retention: This is the info we all know about preventing breakage but I'll include just in case. Hair growth happens in the scalp like said before but to retain that growth it's important to wear protective hairstyles (especially while asleep), a silk/satin bonnet or wrap, silk/satin pillowcase, do not let your hair air dry at night. There is debate about this but I've seen hair specialists and scientists say our hair is especially fragile when wet (especially curly/kinky hair). Therefore, we are much more prone to snags and breakage while our hair is wet. So going to bed make sure your hair is dried. If you're air drying your hair during the day try not to touch it too much - as little manipulation as possible. Personally choose to diffuse/blow dry my hair and this has prevented most of the breakage I was previously experiencing. Lastly, moisturize and oil your ends. I won't pretend like I know which order is best or even if it's important but I've found that using hair moisturizediluted leave in conditioner then hair oil works best for me.
Hirsutism/Facial Hair: Spearmint essential oil. I add 1-2 drops of the oil to my moisturizer each time I put on my moisturizer and it helped A LOT with reducing my facial hair. I also drink a lot of spearmint tea. Spearmint specifically has been proven to lower androgen/testosterone levels which is why it helps. I also took supplements which I'll include at the end because they served multiple purposes. Be sure not to add the oil to the entire bottle because that will ruin your moisturizer's formula. Just add the drops in your palm/finger tips and mix in your face cream each time you moisturize your jawline, chin, underneck. Also, do this after moisturizing the upper part of your face without the oil because it's harsh and the scent can be irritating to your eye area.
Body hair: Personally I sugar wax my arms and legs, the hair has grown back so thin now. I make it myself and follow tutorials from abetweene on youtube.
Hair colouHairstyle: This will depend on your face shape and color season. I'm a dark winter colour season and I have a heart face shape. I used the Dressika app to discover my color season before I could afford to get myself professionally assessed and I got the same results. Just be sure to use natural lighting, like by a window. Once you have your colour season you can choose hair colours that work best for you (although natural almost always works best). For my hairstyle I try to choose styles that compliment my heart shaped face. I used the youtube channel Dear Peachie to help me with figuring this out.

Style

I think most of us know about Kibbe and colour seasons. This was how I upgraded my wardrobe. I'm a soft dramatic so I wear things that work for my tall height and accentuate my waist.
This was the game changer with colour seasons. Most of us know about our true seasons, but it can get restrictive. Sister seasons and colour dissonance is also helpful to know.
My colour season is dark winter, so my sister seasons would be dark autumn and true winter. Thid gives me more wiggle room to style myself.
Dissonance are colours that are outside your true season and your sister seasons, you sprinke this in to add interest. Think of an outfit that is extremely matchy and cohesive but has that one accessory or item that stands out and adds interest. It's really fun in art and in fashion.
For my shoes I've started wearing dancing heels which help my flat feet lol and look stylish. Heel insoles help too, as well as the product Shoe Gummi. I still can't last more than 2, 3 hours at most but it's definitely bearable compared to before.
Matching pajamas and loungewear. You just feel so luxurious dressing up at home and they can (should) be comfy :)
Accessories:

• I wear glasses that work with my heart shaped face.
• I have a neutral leaning warm undertone so I wear gold jewelry, if I wear pearls or other gem stones I mix in gold to provide more harmony with my skin.
• Perfume, wear what works with your body chemistry. Some smell delictable on people I know and icky on me, and vice versa. Wear what works for you.
• Nails, press ons. So convenient, so cheap.
• Hair accessories, bows, barretes, clips, scrunchies, a ribbon, you could be wearing jeans and a t shirt but a simple hair accessory upgrades the look automatically.

Makeup

I used the youtube channel Dear Peachie to help me with finding eye looks, brows, blush placement for my face shape
I have a low visual weight face and I am a romantic ingenue, because of this I go for more subtle looks that emphasis two facial features maximum at a time (eyes, lips, cheeks).
Don't get me wrong I love glam bold makeup but soft and subtle makes me glow, I turn heads when my makeup is done like this.

Teeth

• Wax free floss (Cocofloss $10 expensive but I love it 😅, Burst black floss, Moon graphite floss, Twice floss, Dr. Jen’s silk floss)
• Oil pulling (coconut oil with clove & tea tree oil, or Guru Nanda oil pulling product)
• Brush teeth
• Tongue scraper (not everyday, couple of times a week and not too hard)
• Alcohol free mouthwash (TheraBreath)
• More so related to my lip area but I try to use wrinkle preventing straws or when I do use regular straws, I place it on the side of my mouth. The reason this works is because puckering the lips excessively causes smokers lines/wrinkles around the mouth.

Skin

Skincare. This was something that took me a while to work on because of my PCOS, age, weight and etc.
Facial Care: The basics includes chemical exfoliation, retinol, moisturizerecover. I cycle my nightly skincare routine with this in mind and always keep the same morning routine. Mornings look like this (Jojoba oil to help while I use my gua sha, Water based cleanser, eye cream, vitamin c/peptide serum, moisturizer with a drop or two of glycerin, spearmint oil mixed with face cream on the jawline & neck area, finish with sunscreen).
My nights I alternate these routines in this order
Night 1 - Chemical Exfoliation (Oil cleanser to help while I use my gua sha, Water based cleanser, eye cream, glycolic/lactic acid, moisturizer with a drop or two of glycerin, spearmint oil mixed with face cream on the jawline & neck area, castor oil on lashes and brows)
Night 2 - Retinol (Oil cleanser to help while I use my gua sha, Water based cleanser, eye cream, retinol, moisturizer, spearmint oil mixed with face cream on the jawline & neck area, castor oil on lashes and brows)
Night 3 - MoisturizeRecovery (Oil cleanser to help while I use my gua sha, Water based cleanser, eye cream, retinol, moisturizer with a drop or two of glycerin, rosehip oil as sealant on entire face, spearmint oil mixed with face cream on the jawline & neck area, castor oil on lashes and brows)
Repeat Night 1 - 3 (sometimes I need more days to recover if my skin is sensitive or acting up, do what works for you personally)
Other things that I've done/used to help: red light therapy (helps with both hair growth, so I use it on my scalp, and with stretch marks so I use it on my face and body), Microcurrent device (helps with collagen production and stretchmarks) - I use the brand NuFace & NuBody, Volufiline (a skin serum I mix with eye cream that helps with hollowness under the eyes, Kigelia Africana Skin Cream (I use the brand Maelys B-Perky which contains this ingredient and helped to tighten my chest area and my loose skin on the area), face yoga and myo fascia face massage, these help with the tautness of my face (basically everything else helps with wrinkles, these exercises and the microcurrent helps and prevents, sagging especially jowls). I follow tutorials I search for from youtube.
Body Care: Similar to facial care body care includes exfoliation, retinol, moisturizerecover
Night 1 - Physical Exfoliation (Dry brush/Body Scrub, Hydrating lotion with a few drops of glycerin, rosehip oil as sealant on entire body)
Night 2 - Retinol (Jojoba oil to help while I use my gua sha, retinol body wash, retinol body lotion)
Night 3 - MoisturizeRecovery (Jojoba oil to help while I use my gua sha, Hydrating lotion with a few drops of glycerin, rosehip oil as sealant on entire body)
Again, repeat Night 1 - 3 use more days for recovery if needed
Stretch marks/loose skin: Whether due to weight gain, pregnancy, etc. we can't ever truly get rid of loose skin or stretch marks but moisturizing the skin and derma rolling can help with the appearance. Especially derma rolling. Do NOT derma roll while pregnant but you can do so after when you’ve recovered and talk to your doctor (if you've had a c section you have to wait before derma rolling). I used this video as motivation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChG8aSvEU6A
For the body I never went beyond 1.5mm it worked for my deepest stretch marks. If this is too aggressive 1.0mm still works just as well. Make sure you use 70% alcohol as this is what experts say is better at disinfecting. It has more water, which helps it to dissolve more slowly, penetrate cells, and kill bacteria. The disinfecting power of rubbing alcohol drops at concentrations higher than 80%-85%. Make sure you disinfect the derma roller before and after use, and make sure you disinfect your area of contact before rolling as well. Do not do heavy workouts workout or sweat inducing activities for at least 3 days after and avoid harsh products.
I started derma rolling while working on losing weight (at the beginning of my journey while still obese) and continued a year after losing 130lbs. Derma rolling works by causing micro tears, the skin heals the area and in the process of doing so develops more collagen - leading to thicker skin, lighter stretch marks and tighter skin. Since I did this before losing the weight it helped my skin adapt a lot. I won't pretend like I have 0 loose skin or stretch marks but it's barely visible. Someone has to be intimately close to notice. Obviously genetics, how slowly you lose the weight, diet, and moisturizing the skin helps but my PCOS contributed to low collagen (thin skin) and so the derma rolling really helped.

Weight loss vs Fat loss

Tons of info here but I promise if you read through it helps to know this stuff.
Weightloss comes down to calories in versus calories out. I know that's rudely simpliflied and not that easy, but it truly is the answer to weightloss (which may be fat, water, or muscle). This is why people can eat barely nothing, lose weight but their shape stays the same (basically skinny fat). It's also why fasting or going low carb works so fast (water weight is the first to go).
Fatloss on the other hand is more complicated. This involves our TDEE (Total Daily Energy Expenditure).
TDEE includes: Resting/Basal Metabolic Rate (BMR), Metabolic Equivalent of Task or Exercise activity thermogenesis (EAT), Non-exercise activity thermogenesis (NEAT), Thermic Effect of Food (TEF), and Adaptive Thermogenesis (AT).
BMR (~70% daily energy) the energy taken to exist, so tasks like breathing. Your sex, body composition (muscle to fat ratio), age, and genetics play a role in this EAT (~5% daily energy) the energy taken for exercise weight lifting, swimming, high intensity walks, etc. NEAT (~15% daily energy) the energy taken for non exercise movements like walking, fidgeting, showering, standing, etc TEF (~10% daily energy depending on the macronutrients of your meal) the energy taken to digest, protein has the highest TEF of all the macronutrients, Carbs have a TEF of around 5-10%, while Fats have the lowest TEF, around 0-3%.
Adaptive Thermogenesis (AT) is the changes in energy expenditure (energy used) that occur in response to changes in energy balance. For example when you eat more food than you need, your body may increase energy expenditure to prevent weight gain eg. move more, eat less the next day, etc.. On the other hand, when you eat less food than you need, your body may decrease energy expenditure to conserve energy and prevent weight loss eg. less movement, eat more the next day.
Other things that affect AT include diet composition (eg high/low protein, high/low carb, calorie dense foods, etc), physical activity (eg. weights vs. cardio), and environmental factors such as temperature and altitude.
Things that influence AT can make weight management challenging, as it can lead to plateaus or rebounds in weight loss efforts. This is why lack of sleep, hormonal issues, aging, etc. makes weightloss harder.
Here is a clearer example of this
Things that affect calories in:

• 8-9 Hours of sleep (Maintains metabolic homeostasis, insulin sensitivity, hormonal processes). Compromised sleep lead to:
  • Increased Gherlin (hunger hormone - feeling hungrier & therefor eating more)
  • Decreased Leptin (sensation of satiety - needing to eat more to feel full)
• Insulin resistance: This is when the cells in your muscles, fat, and liver don't respond well to insulin and can't easily take up glucose from your blood. This results in excessive sugar in the blood & as a result the body produces more insulin in order to try to help the cells obtain the energy from glucose. This leads to weight gain as the insulin increases hunger. Also, since the body is insulin resistant, the excess glucose is converted to fat for long-term storage.
  • Things that can cause insulin resistance: PCOS, Inactivity/sedentary lifestyle, family history of diabetes, gestational diabetes, hypertension, alcohol abuse, poor sleep habits, high cholesterol levels, metabolic syndrome, cardiovascular disease, high bodyweight, acromegaly

Things that affect calories out:

• Body Composition (Fat to muscle ratio)
• Gut health
• Compromised sleep affects our energy levels which leads to
  • Decreased NEAT (Non exercise activity thermogenesis)
• Hypothyroidism (lowered levels of T3 and T4)
  • Thyroid hormones T3 and T4 affects every cell and all the organs in your body by regulating the rate at which your body uses calories/energy which is known as our bmr, meaning this affects your metabolic rate.
• Too few calories lowers daily NEAT
  • By eating below your BMI (calories needed to perform basic biological processes), your body makes up for this through energy conservation by lowering your NEAT (non exercise activity thermogenesis). Basically you lack the energy to perform your normal daily activities. This also affects your body composition and cardio health as you become sedentary (stop moving as much).

Healthy Fat loss

So to lose fat in a healthy way you need to:

1. Get enough sleep (8-9 hours per night)
2. Manage your stress levels/nervous system regulation
3. Look after your gut health
4. Manage inflammation
5. Increase your daily steps (8-10k per day)
6. Weight lift
7. Eat high protein (protein takes the most amount of energy to digest).
8. Manage your insulin resistence
9. Eat in a caloric deficit (make sure your calories in do not exceed calories out).

Futher information about the bold items in the list is included below. Also, I know this all seems overwhelming but keep in mind you are creating a lifestyle change. This is not a quick fix.
To manage your insulin resistance (info from the book Glucose Goddess by Jessie Inchauspé):

• Eat within an hour of waking up
• Protein with breakfast
• Tablespoon of apple cider vinegar before each meal (diluted in a glass of water)
• Eat foods in this order, veggies -> protein -> fat -> starches -> carbs -> sugar
• Never eat sweets/dessert/carbs on an empty stomach (dessert after dinner)
• Keep refined carbs and added sugar at a minimum.
• Minimize alcohol intake
• Try to minimize sodas, fruit juice and sweet drinks (this is because there is no fiber to help with the glucose spike or at least try to have these drinks after eating something fiberous)
• Only eat fruit whole, not transformed eg. eat the orange instead of having the orange juice, again fiber makes a world of a difference
• Put clothing on your carbs. Eg. have protein/fats/fiber with your carbs
• A short walk after carb heavy meals
• Fasting - this is controversial and I should add a disclaimer, if you in any way shape or form have or had an eating disorder, especially restrictive eating, I highly recommend against fasting. Intermittent fasting has a lot of studies out there that were done on men. The book Fast Like a Girl by Dr. Mindy Pelz includes a nuanced view of fasting that takes into account our hormones and our monthly cycle. She also has a free app 'Fast like a girl', you log your period and it tells you how long to fast. However, bioindividuality is key here, genetics, etc. Please if you are considering fasting make sure you get bloodwork done first. Manage your electrolyte levels, do not neglect iron and protein levels. Personally, I prefer using the other methods since fasting can also inadvertently worsens insulin resistence due to increased stress/cortisol which cause higher hunger cues. Some with insulin resistence found fasting to be helpful. So make sure you do what works for you and always consult your doctor.
• Supplements:
  • Vitamin D paired with Vitamin K1 & K2
  • Magnesium Biglycinate (I take this before bed)
  • Omega-3 Fatty Acids
  • Turmeric
  • Coenzyme 10 (Take with Clomid & Vitamin E)
  • N-Acetylcysteine (NAC)
  • Inositol
  • Zinc (Important to Note: It works inversely with testosterone - raises testosterone if your levels are low and lowers it if your levels are high)

To eat in a caloric deficit, calculate your TDEE and subtract 200-500 calories from that number. I like using this calculator. https://tdeecalculator.net
Eg. If it's calculated to be 2000 calories, you subtract 200, so 1800 should be your daily calorie intake. For the activity levels make sure you do not oversell yourself. Here is a general guide:

• Sedentary: Office job sat all day or less than 3000 steps per day
• Lightly Active: Exercise 1-3 times per week or 3-10k steps daily (up to 3-4 miles daily)
• Moderately Active: Exercise 3-5 times per week or 10-15k steps daily (up to 4-7 miles daily)
• Highly Active: Hard exercise 6-7 training days per week or 15-20k steps daily (up to 7-10 miles daily)
• Extremely Active: Intense daily exercise/hard physical labour 7 days a week or 25k+ steps daily (up to 10 miles daily)

As you lose weight your body adapts so after a while you may need to recalculate your TDEE and deficit. Once you are at your ideal weight, you no longer subtract the 200-500, you simply eat the TDEE amount to maintain but you do this gradually. After I lost the weight I came out of the deficit by adding 50 calories to my daily intake per week, till I was at maintenance/my TDEE. This prevented me from gaining fat or water weight.
Lastly, muscle mass (increase in muscle raises your metabolic level, meaning you burn more calories at rest). This is ideal and is also how you'll see someone who is short, seemingly small but weigh more than you imagined. Muscle density weighs more than fat. Think of a 50 pound dumbbell versus 50 pounds of feathers, you would need a whole lot of feathers to match the weight. Same difference, you need a larger volume of fat to equal to the same amount of muscle. Therefore, lifting weights is ideal because you will become more toned, burn more calories at rest, be able to eat more even when you've lost the weight to maintain your phisique, you'll be more insulin sensitive, and you will have stronger and higher bone density (really important for women, we lose up to 5% of muscle mass per decade after the age of 30).

Body Recompositon: Weightlifting for health (and aesthetics), lose fat & gain muscle

It is possible to gain muscle and lose fat at the same time. I followed Huskular Goddess and and LexiiGettingFit for inspiration and they were really the ones that opened my eyes to the concept of body recomposition (gain musle while losing fat).
The benefits of this is as you're getting smaller your TDEE is increasing. This means by the time you lose the weight you'll still be eating an adequate amount. The other benefits include insulin sensitivity versus insulin resistence, higher metabolism, and a improved body composition like I mentioned before in the dummbell versus feather example. The downside is the number on the scale won't have a dramatic shift while your clothes will be fitting looser. Again, weight density plays tricks on us and it's easy to get caught up in body dismorphia but I promise it works.
In order to sustain and build muscle while losing fat, you need to be consuming enough protein while remaining in a caloric deficit. So 60-80g of protein per day minimum to lose 1-2lbs per week. Ideally it should be 0.8-1g of per pound of lean body mass. Eg, someone is 300lbs and they want to get down to 150lbs. They would eat 120-150g of protein per day. If this is too much, try to get at least 60-80g like I mentioned before. Remember even though 1-2lbs per week sounds small, the changes are significant because of the muscle gained. You will look and feel smaller.
Weightlifting for a rounder booty (I reshaped my glutes by weightlifting. Hormones can actually affect the shape and my PCOS did a number on me. I developed a V shape over the years. Round, square, heart, A shapes are all based on your bone structure and fat placement. Some of us just have those stubborn fat deposits in certain areas that are genetic, even when we lose the weight, it's a smaller version but the same shape. V shape on the other hand is largely seen in older women post menopause and in younger women with hormonal disorders. This is becuase the hormonal imbalances also causes muscle imbalances. Regulating your hormones helps but it won't grow the muscles for you, so I used Fit With Emely's glute guide based on your glute shape (completely free, I watched all her videos to get this info and it took me two years to go from a V shape to a round shape.
Here is the guideline for each shape:
Glute Maximus - Everyone should be working on glute maximus. It builds the shelf and overall size. Step ups (all variations), hip thrusts (all variations), lunges, rdl, leg press, all squat variations Glute Minimus - (V and Square shapes), this muscle fills in the middle between the top and lower glute. Hip abduction, single leg bridge, Standing hip abduction/cable raises Gute Medius - (Heart, Round, and A-shaped) this muscles builds a longer hip for top portion of the glutes. Eg. Single leg squat, Single leg deadlift, Cable clamshells, Reverse lung, step ups Underbutt - Everyone should be working on underbutt but this is especially useful for V shaped folks. It works the hamstrings and lower portion of glutes. Good mornings, single leg rdl (also works minimus), single leg hip thrust (also works maximus), hip abductors (also works minimus)
How to structure workout:

• Warm up/Dynamic Stretches (specific to the muscle group you're working eg. lower body warm up or upper body warm up, etc.)
• Compound exercises (2-3 exercises eg. single leg rdl, good mornings, leg press - for each exercise you do 3-4 sets, 8-12 reps, with 3-4 minute rest between sets). That probably sounds like a foreign language to some, so for instance:
  • Start excercise 1
  • Set 1 (repeat exercise 1 - rdl 8 times)
  • 3 minute rest
  • Set 2 (repeat exercise 1 - rdl 8 times)
  • 3 minute rest
  • Set 3 (repeat exercise 1 - rdl 8 times)
  • Move on to exercise 2
  • Set 1 (repeat exercise 2 - leg press 8 times)
  • 3 minute rest
  • Set 2 (repeat exercise 2 - leg press 8 times)
  • 3 minute rest
  • Set 3 (repeat exercise 2 - leg press 8 times)
  • Move on to exercise 3
  • Set 1 (repeat exercise 3 - good mornings 8 times)
  • 3 minute rest
  • Set 2 (repeat exercise 3 - good mornings 8 times)
  • 3 minute rest
  • Set 3 (repeat exercise 3 - good mornings 8 times)
• Secondary Workouts (2-3 exercises eg. step ups, bulgarian split squats, lunges - for each exercise you do 3-4 sets, 8-12 reps, with 3-4 minute rest between sets)
• Isolated/Accessory Movements: these exercises work one part of the muscle more than others, for example an overbias on the underbutt/hamstring like I mentioned before to help with the V shape ( eg. hip abductors, kickbacks, glute bridge, lying leg raises, etc. (1-2 exercises high repetitions, low weight 2-3 sets, 15-20 reps, 1-2 minute rest between sets)
• Static stretch/cool down (specific to the muscle group you're working eg. lower body cool down or upper body cool down, etc.)

Keep in mind that you only need to work on a muscle group 2-3 times a week. So I only do glutes Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Also keep in mind while I work the lower body I am also working my upper body (eg. while doing rdls I am lifting the weight with my upper body), which is why I don't have tailered upper body days, this is for aesthetic reasons, and because weightlifting more than 3 days per week is not feasible with my PCOS.
My full routine is:

• Monday- lower body
• Tuesday - Pilates/core
• Wednesday - Rest (I still go for walks on these days)
• Thursday - lower body
• Friday - Pilates/core
• Saturday - lower body
• Sunday - Rest (I still go for walks on these days)

I also used primarily resistance bands in the beginning because gym equipment intimidated me (not anymore :) ). I started with 25lb resistance and went up to 125lbs. I use the product BandBar which allowed me to use the resistance bands like a barbell at home. This isn’t the only option and you can definitely buy resistance bands and do it without the bar. BandBar
For the ab separation from being obese, I did this workout 3 times a week (also helpful post pregnancy): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=smiGsW-mQX0
For my chest to help with getting perkier boobs (the derma rolling was what made the biggest difference, but this exercise helped as well though it took 6+ months for the changes to be significant. Women tend to take longer to grow chest muscles): https://youtu.be/hg7_R29jGIE?feature=shared
I also did workouts to help with my posture and mobility 3 times a week (any I could find online)
The last thing I will say is be mindful that you may gain weight initially when you start lifting weights. This is due to slight inflammation/water gain from foreign tension, which will last about a month or two before you adapt BUT your body will adapt, I promise. Keep in mind if it's days before your period or if you are on your period. It's not if, but when, our weight fluctuates. As long as you are in a deficit and doing everything right, the number will go down. Do not get discouraged!!!
Here is the edit to this post which includes my supplements, how I managed my inflammation, and how I improved my gut health. I also edited the information I shared prior to include a few more tips and lifestyle changes I made, and included a few more details. I also rearranged things so there is a separation between style/haiskin and health information. The post is getting really long so I may create a separate post for personal development/mindset tips.

Inflammation

In my case my inflammation was caused by my PCOS, insulin resistence and my obesity, but it can be caused by chronic stress, other autoimmune disorders like IBS, Crohn's disease, etc, smoking/alcohol, age related diseases, environmental toxins, diets high in processed foods, sugars, trans fats & high omega-6 fatty acids.
In my case the inflammation from the PCOS led to gut inflammation due to the high levels of coritsal (stress hormones) in reaction to the high testosterone and insulin resistence. I also experienced metabolic inflammation (non alcoholic fatty liver disease), skin inflammation (as I mentioned earlier the ezcema on my scalp, alopecia, and hirsutism), adipose tissue inflammation, chronic low grade inflammation (this led to edema or fuid retention -> insulin resistance and my high testosteron/androgen levels also exacerbated this).
To fix this these were the thin I added to my life:

• Dry brushing 2-3 times a week
• Body Gua sha
• Face Gua Sha or Face Yoga or Myofascial Massage
• Jump Rope
• Trampoline/Rebounder
• Vibration Plate (very useful for after a workout or while sitting down)
• Acupressure mat
• Arvigo (Mayan Abdominal massage) & Lymphatic drainage massage
• Leg elevation, I sleep with a pillow under my knees. In the evenings I keep my legs up.
• Massages
• Sweat more (exercise/sauna/steam room)
• Portable Infrared Sauna (reduce cortisol by 25%)
• Microcurrent
• Compression socks
• Castor oil pack 3-4x per week
• Eliminate inflammatory triggers (mine were gluten & dairy)
  • Switch to sourdough
  • Eliminate seed oils
  • Avoid alcohol & smoking
• Supplements
  • Vitamin D paired with Vitamin K1 & K2
  • Magnesium Biglycinate (I take this before bed)
  • Omega-3 Fatty Acids
  • Turmeric
  • Coenzyme 10 (Take with Clomid & Vitamin E)
  • N-Acetylcysteine (NAC)
• Teas that helped
  • Turmeric
  • Red Rasberru Leaf Tea
  • Fennel
  • Chamomile

Gut Health

Your microbiota needs the right bacteria in the right amount to perform its hormone regulating functions properly. When the type or number of bacteria gets disturbed by events such as stress, or poor diet, or your gut can no longer accomplish its job meaning you'll have inflammation, increased risk of chronic disease, skin conditions, mental health issues, weakened immune system, nutrient absorprion problems, and weight management challenges.
For weight loss issues, gut microbiomes influence hormones in producing and signaling leptin and ghrelin (these hormones regulate hunger and fullness signals). Inflammation and insulin resistence is also associated with gut health problems as mentioned before. Energy extraction from foods, certain gut bacteria are more efficient at extracting energy from food, particularly carbohydrates. When there is an imbalance, more calories can be absorbed from food leading to difficulties gaining or losing weight.
Things I did to improve gut health/intestinal permeability:

• Ate foods rich in digestive enzymes (mangoes, pineapple, etc.)
• Pre and probiotics (incorporate bifidobacterium and lactobacillus)
  • Favorite brand: Seed Heath Probiotics
• Pickles (without vinegar): Great source of prebiotics
• Apple Cider VinegaKimchi/Kombucha/Sauerkraut
  • Beware of certain types of vinegar contain chemicals which kill bacteria, “the good bacteria”, and leave the yeast Candida albicans alone.
  • Raw apple cider vinegar contains: Natural probiotics (friendly bacteria), which may help with your immune system and gut health.
    • Tablespoon of apple cider vinegar (diluted in a glass of water) before each meal
  • Balsamic vinegar: Acetic acid is the active compound in balsamic vinegar. This acid contains strains of probiotics that aid digestion. The probiotics found in acetic acid can help promote good gut health and digestion while supporting overall immune function.
• Raw Carrots (has the type of fiber that binds and flushes out toxins in gut, good to have as daily hormone & digestion support)
• Limit Processed foods and Sugar
• No drinking or smoking
• Stress managment (which I'll expand on just below)
• Increase fiber intake
• Regularly exercise
• Supplements
  • Ginger
  • L-Glutamine
  • Olive leaf extract (especially helpful if you have candida overgrowth)
  • Turmereric
• Teas
  • Ginger
  • Lemon Balm

Lower androgens/testosterone

• Teas
  • Nettle Tea
  • Spearmint tea
• Spearmint oil topically for hirsutism
• Supplements
  • Schisandra (adaptogen - stress management & hormone balance)
  • Saffron (Also helps reduce testosterone, lower blood pressure and prevents bad cholesterol)
  • Inositol
  • Holy Basil
  • Magnesium Biglycinate (I take this before bed)
  • Omega-3 Fatty Acids
  • Coenzyme 10 (Take with Clomid & Vitamin E)
  • Zinc (Important to Note: It works inversely with testosterone - raises testosterone if your levels are low and lowers it if your levels are high)

Nervous System Regulation/ Stress Management

Stress is one of the things that age us the most, and people with PCOS already have higher levels of cortisol so these are the things I do to manage my stress levels:

• Regulate circadian rhythm, direct sunlight upon waking up. I use a sunrise alarm clock lamp for this
• Same bedtime everynight (pre midnight)
• Invert screen colors at bedtime (red filter on screens)
• Pillow under knees
• No loud alarms
• Magnesium biglycinate supplement before bed
• Regulate circadian rhythm, view the sunset before bed. I use a sunrise alarm clock lamp for this
• Spend a few minutes breathing through left nostril only
• Epsom salt foot soak
• Journal
• Get back to using my coloring books (I even invested in alcohol based markers it's so fun). Regulates me and gets me in touch with my inner child
• Time with friends, my puppy, and my family
• Supplements
  • Holy Basil (adaptogen - stress management & hormonal balance)
  • L-Theanine
  • Magnesium biglycinate
• Teas
  • Red raspberry leaf (adaptogen - stress management, also good for menstrual cramps)
  • Reishi Mushroom
  • Lemon Balm
• Night time mocktail (have after dinner and not on an empty stomach due to the sugar levels in the tart cherry)
  • Teaspoon of tart cherry (high levels of melatonin)
  • Magnesium biglycinate powder
  • Probiotic soda (good for gut health)

Tea cycling

• On your period
  • Nettle leaf: Increase iron levels
  • Moringa: Increase iron levels
  • Red Raspberry leaf: Helps with period cramps (best to drink throughout the month, especially at the end of the luteal phase
  • Chamomile: Helps with wellness wind down routine when you're feeling extra tired
• Follicular phase
  • Focus teas: Peppermint, Spearmint
  • Adaptogens: Lion's mane, Adaptogen latte, and Chaga mushroom
  • Detox: Dandelion Root
• Ovulation phase
  • Detox: Dandelion root tea
  • Bloating: turmeric tea latte/golden latte
  • Estrogen dominance - symptoms (bad hormonal migraines, hot flashes, nausea): Schisandra berry, Lemon balm
• Luteal phase
  • PMS symptoms: Raspberry leaf, Schisandra berry, Ginger root (powder or tea)

The best teas for PCOS

• Spearmint
  • For reducing androgens & lowering hirsutism (facial hair)
• Cinnamon tea (improves insulin sensitivity)
• Chamomile tea (Adaptogen)
• Nettle Tea (reduce androgens)
• Red raspberry leaf (adaptogen/stress relief, also good for menstrual cramps)
• Schisandra (adaptogen/stress relief & hormone balance)
• Saffron (Also helps reduce testosterone, lower blood pressure and prevents bad cholesterol)
• Ginger (ginger offers anti-inflammatory, fertility and hormone-balancing benefits, aides digestion )

Seed Cycling

What is seed cycling? Seed cycling refers to the consumption of specific seeds at different times of the month in order to improve the production and levels of sex hormones, specifically estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone.
Seed cycling divides the female menstrual cycle into two parts:

1. During the first half of the menstrual cycle, or days 1 through 14, seed cycling encourages daily consumption of flax and pumpkin seeds.
2. During the second half of the menstrual cycle, or days 15 through 28, seed cycling encourages daily consumption of sunflower and sesame seeds

Results from seed cycling will not happen overnight. Normally women observe improvements after approximately three months of seed cycling adherence. It took me about 4ish months.
The Benefits of Seed Cycling: Support hormonal balance, alleviate PMS symptoms, decrease hormonal acne, alter irregularity of menstrual cycles, and fight stomach bloating and fatigue.

Optional backstory: My sweet hyperthyroid CKD boy is at Stage 3 since a major operation 8 months ago removing an upper row of teeth (due to osteomyelitis). He has been doing really well since then, all things considered. Eating well, happy, gaining weight. All was good until 2 weeks ago he had a weird gastrointestinal blowout. Diarrhea, lethargy, vomiting the food from the night before. Drinking not eating. We thought this was it, Stage 4-- the ER said to prepare ourselves, but then they checked his levels and were really surprised when he was still in S3. They said his levels weren't 'that' bad. The vets said they think it may have been something he ate (he has a penchant for eating tiny lizards that get into the house, and he had eaten some plain steamed carrot that night) or some kind of toxicity, (he had elevated liver enzymes which halved over the weekend after hydration), and he didn't eat even with 2 anti-nausea from the ER and he ate only a little after being given a Mirtz pill from the regular vet and an antibiotic (and probiotic). Important to note that he did eat on the Mirtazapine a week later though with his second dose, voraciously and enthusiastically, which makes me think he didn't want to eat much the first week because he actually was recovering from something that he ate, possibly.
Since then he has improved with a combo of medication and rest. He is moving around, has energy again, is purry and happy to see us. He is not doing as well as he was before the gastro 'blowout' though-- he is drinking more and peeing more. (Once every 1.5 hours, not much pee). Vet said they don't think he has a UTI but we might test again. He appears to have some trouble digesting (that might be due to CKD so we are looking into b12 and alternatives), and appears interested in food but is EXTREMELY FUSSY and only begs for 'bad' stuff from our plates or when we are prepping stuff he smells the raw meat and gets extremely animated. He is eating churu-style treats and applaws but suddenly hates all is renal food which he used to love. He is not eating much when the Mirtz wears off. We think its a combo of food aversion from gastro issue and CKD, and we think we may just be time to put him on Mirtz indefinitely, which is fine, it is what it is.
But since his gastro blowout, after he got over the initial diarrhea, he had a few hard poos, one of which came out 24 hours after diarrhea. He has been pooping okay since the gastro incident, but occasionally he will just go out and do these 'phantom' poo runs in the garden where he goes to his fave spot, strains, and nothing comes out. Rinse and repeat 3-4 times then he settles down in the afternoon. He's always had issues moving his bowels, even before, but used to poop pretty decently.
So it seems like constipation to me, but the vet said he wasn't constipated nor had megacolon, they checked his butt pretty thoroughly and took an Xray which was totally clear. But he absolutely gets 'phantom' poo urges now a few times every morning. Luckily no blood, he's not straining THAT hard but yeah, he feels like he needs to poop and I think he can't. Vet said it could be intestinal inflammation and/or anxiety and gave him a steroid but it didn't seem to do anything to stop his phantom poops or calm him. She didn't want to prescribe a laxative, presumably because of his gastro blowout/diarrhea 2 weeks ago.
My thinking is that the ipakitine he's been on a few years now (he get 1 dose at night with his 'regular' food) may be hardening his stool and making him feel like he has to pass and it's not coming out. We tried not giving him ipakitine last night and I think he only did a phantom poo once. So I think I might be on to something here. I figure it won't hurt any to alternate with a different phos binder to see if it makes a difference to his lil butt.
So everyone says Niacinamide 250mg is a good alternative. Where do I get it in Australia? Can I use human grade supplements powder as long as it has no additives? What's a good one that is safe for cats? I could order from iHerb, if that helps. Could I buy pills and just open the caps? I can't seem to get Phosfix easily in Australia and that still has chitosan in it anyway, which may be contributing to potential constipation.
People that use Niacinamide for your kitties, what do you guys use? I would really appreciate advice. Thanks!
Lastly, I need advice about Subq in Australia if anyone has ever done it. He's not on Subq because that is just something that is really not done here in Australia. :( Our vet has been amazing with him-- she literally saved his life 8 months ago-- but she basically said if he's at that point where he needs weekly Subq maybe time to let him go. All the vets we've talked to here are reluctant to have us do Subq for him. All my American friends with CKD cats Subq them even at Stage 2 and think Australia is crazy for not having anything in place for it. It is what it is. I am going to ask the vet again next checkup, but yeah. I'm not loving my chances as every time I suggest it I get a ton of pushback.
If they can't advise us on Subq, I am kind of considering doing it anyway (with the vets ok) because over all he is purry and happy and appears to have a real desire to live, and I think Subq can help ease his tummy discomfort and over all kidney health, especially at S3. He has a good heart and is over all in really good health still. But basically I have no idea where to get the fluids for an ok price in Australia. My friends say its basically just the same as human Subq fluids, (NaCL 0.9%) but I also don't know where to get those either.
Does anyone Subq in Australia? Where do you get your fluids? From the vet?
Sorry for the wall of text, I really appreciate you guys reading. Thanks for any and all help here.

Background: My dog is 6 months old, neutered male, poodle mixed breed, fully vaccinated, 38lbs. His medical history includes:
1/13/24: New Puppy Exam Bordetella Oral Vaccination Canine DAPP Vaccination Intestinal Parasite Screening
1/16: negative for fecal testing
2/3/24: Canine DAPP Vaccination Canine Leptospirosis Vaccination Final Puppy Medical Progress Exam
2/24/24: Canine Leptospirosis Vaccination Canine Rabies Vaccination
3/8: Neutered - slightly low red blood cell count Vet said it wasn’t so low that they needed to cancel the surgery or anything, but it is something they want to look into. I believe she said it was 32%.
3/22: Canine Bivalent Flu Vaccination
4/12: Scheduled for more bloodwork to check about the low red blood cell count from 3/8
He takes simparica trio every month, and has been doing so since January. He has no other known health conditions and takes no other medications.
What’s happening: Friday, 3/22 he had his 2 week follow up after neutering, and received the influenza vaccine. Everything looked good, doctor said he’s healed well, no concerns. Saturday, 3/23 he went to his first day of doggy daycare. He was with them from 8:45am to 3pm. He was happy when we picked him up, ate dinner normally that night and had a normal bowel movement. Sunday morning, again, everything normal, no changes in eating, behavior or bowel movements. Sunday night he had diarrhea after dinner. Thought it could be from whatever treats he had at camp, or just from it being such a big day for him. Monday morning about 1am, diarrhea blowout again, in the house this time. Again at 6am. Each bowel movement the rest of Monday and Tuesday morning were all liquid diarrhea. Tuesday morning (yesterday), I texted the vet sharing this update. They recommended him eat only plain chicken and plain white rice, and bring him in Thursday afternoon. Last night, he had the chicken and rice for dinner, and had 2 bowel movements that were half solid and half diarrhea. This morning before breakfast however, back to straight liquid diarrhea again. He’s had no changes to behavior or appetite. He still wants to play, still gets zoomies, eats his food and drinks water normally. The diarrhea is a normal color, no blood, but each day it’s slowly become more and more gelatinous and mucus-y. This morning especially, it was like tan jello mixed with snot.
Questions: What could this be? Is it related to his low red blood cell count? Can he wait to be seen tomorrow with his vet, or is this an emergency? Is there anything else I can do for him?

TL;DR at bottomMy husband and I have been married 5 years, together 10. Some background - my family has some very fit older folks, and has had several folks pass away far too young due to conditions resulting from not taking proper care of themselves. Having grown up with that, I try to stay active and take care of my physical and mental health, so I can be here a long time and with good quality of life. My husband's family doesn't really put specific value into physical well-being (or mental health honestly) and both of his parents absolutely refuse to see doctors or dentists because "they don't need to" until someone literally has a heart attack, or an intestinal blockage, or other acute emergency. My husband had undiagnosed colitis for 2 years (before we met) because of this mindset! He's acknowledged the influence this still has on him, but here we are.
Over the years we've enjoyed exercise together on and off. Right now I have a routine of movement that I'm happy with - not obsessive, but regular and challenging. I stay active and try to eat food that's nourishing. My endurance is great and I feel strong in my daily life.
We got married right before covid. My husband was quite fit and weightlifting before our wedding, but like a lot of folks, covid derailed his routine and it just disappeared as a priority. It's been a slow and continuous trend but it's gotten to the point where it's impacting his health and our relationship together. He sits at his desk looking at screens 8 hours a day, and all of his self-motivating hobbies (gaming, language class) have him seated. His unofficial hobbies (watching youtube/tv, etc) also have him seated or laying down. We started tennis last year but we can only play when we can get court time, which is maybe twice a month.
His body is just in a poor state, and none of this used to be the case. He now snores so loudly we sleep separately about half the time. He knows drinking makes it worse and he drinks anyways - while I've cut my drinking almost to zero because I saw how it was impacting my health. He has chronic heartburn that's resulted in a chronic, phlegmy cough. He's developed erectile dysfunction and performance anxiety, so we just don't have sex. I used to have low libido, and I worked hard on improving it and making intimacy-building activities part of our routine. (Spoiler: exercise really helps!!) I'm now sufficiently horny and he's completely disinterested, but he expresses frustration that we don't have more sex even though I'm the only one doing anything to nurture intimacy. He's talking about getting viagra, which feels like it's just trying to fix a symptom without looking at the big picture. His sedentary nature and poor posture have resulted in chronic back and neck pain - I referred him to my PT after he had a spasm that pinched a nerve, but he stopped going when the workouts started to get more intense (because muscle tone improves posture and prevents joint pain!) and blamed it on scheduling issues. He had been seeing a tele-therapist and recently stopped that for the same reason, too. He works from home and bills by the hour, he has quite a bit of flexibility but is uncomfortable staking out time for these things due to work anxiety.
He has started displaying dysmorphia, and I've tried to help by taking him shopping and helping him pick clothes that fit better and make him look and feel sharp. I make a point to compliment him, especially when I see him taking pride in his image. Even when he's not trying, we go on dinner dates and I make time to show him that I love him, irrespective of his appearance. But that only goes so far, y'know? When he cares, he's an absolute catch, but most days, he still sits around unshaven in badly fit graphic tees. His posture is terrible and he seems defeated and angry about how his body presents, but he won't do anything about it. He seems like he's just in a completely avoidant headspace. And looking at this from the outside, every single one of these issues - which have reached a level of medical significance! - are most likely linked to inactivity and weight gain, and he gets FURIOUS with me when I make any sort of comment or suggestion about that because he feels like I'm attacking him, no matter how gentle or compassionate I am. I know the inactivity and weight gain themselves might be symptoms of something else, but because that would require acknowledging the inactivity and weight gain, I can't bring it up.
I try to be encouraging, positive, and inclusive. I invite him on gentle walks or to work out with me, which itself builds intimacy. He'll only go to the gym if I prompt him to go, and even now he gets upset with me for even asking. When he does go he can't complete a full workout and he just mopes. He refuses all forms of cardio outright because it's uncomfortable. This man used to bodybuild! We rode a 100-mile bike race together!! I know he is capable of being physically active and it just makes me so sad to see him this way. Last year we started taking tennis lessons on his whim - it's the only physical activity he'll do voluntarily, but we can't play more than twice a month right now. It's a drop in the bucket. I try to find every opportunity to play tennis because he won't seek it out himself and it's the only activity he'll say yes to without complaining or blaming me for 'shaming him'. He just sits, and then he complains to me about all of these issues with his body, but I'm not allowed to make any suggestions because they make him feel insecure. And he gets angry with me as a result. He's never violent and I make it clear that his anger is an inappropriate response that makes me suffer, but you know how it is - the anger feels righteous and good, and it's easy, so he lets it happen. None of his therapists seem to pick up on it, probably because he doesn't willfully emphasize how destructive it is. I don't know what to do.
We've talked about it. I've been incredibly gentle and direct. He gets bitter and defensive and accuses me of shaming him, no matter how earnest I am. I finally convinced him to call his doctor for a general check-up because of the persistent cough and honestly that's my last-ditch effort - and if he's not honest with the doctor about all the things that are a problem for him, I don't know what else to do. I asked him if I could contact couples' therapists to work on these communication and sex issues and he said yes, but then he got furious when I actually followed through because it "implied something was wrong with him". Unfortunately, couples' sessions can't be billed through our insurance and cost $200 apiece out of pocket - they may be an option in a few months, which I will pursue when I can, but right now it's not possible. I have started seeing my own therapist however which is better than nothing.
What do you do when your partner is neglecting their body and in denial about it? He's no longer seeing his therapist, and his anxiety is completely unchecked. He's become completely unapproachable. Please, I'm completely open to criticism, I'm just desperate. If I sound frustrated, I am. My parents are divorced and I watched it happen - I know this is the kind of thing that can tank a marriage and I feel like I'm the only one who sees the train beginning to derail.
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TL;DR my partner's letting himself go and it's become the elephant in the room. It's reached a point where we can't sleep in the same bed or have sex, but he gets mad at me if I try to bring it up or suggest anything to better the situation. It's been getting worse and worse and I'm getting desperate. Couples' therapy isn't an option right now but when it is I will pursue it. How do you deal with this? Who else has been in this situation?

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.” I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist. “You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane. Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.” Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?”
My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew.
He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl. “Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause.
For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin.
Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

Hi Everyone!
I had my ileostomy installed on 1/24 and finally got home from the hospital on Wednesday (1/31) after a long week and a short stint with an NG tube. I wanted to share a funny story and also ask some questions for the pros.
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Firstly, I have consistently been waiting for something to go wrong. Things have already been so much easier than living with UC, and I feel like I'm in a honeymoon phase with Buddy (my stoma). He hasn't leaked and my skin is clear. I always assumed that when I did have my first big blowout, it wouldn't be something that I could have avoided. I was sorely mistaken...
Let me set the stage: I have finally arrived home after an extremely sleep deprived stay in the hospital. Up to this point my pouch has not gotten super full over night because the nurses and I have been consistently emptying it. I am used to waking up every 2 hours for vitals, blood-work, and emptying. So this morning I wake up at 6:00 and my dumbass self thinks that it's like 1:00am. I reach down and feel what I think is a bag full of air, and so I do what any normal person would do and go to burp it like a pro. Spoiler alert! It was not air... cut to me doing my first real emergency change, all because I thought I could burp my bag in a sleepy haze with no idea what's actually in my pouch.
On to my questions, I apologize in advance because I'm sure they have been asked before! My current setup is a hollister 2-1/4" wafer with a 1-1/8" hole cut in it. I put a barrier ring on the back before I apply and have a clear drainable bag for the moment.
1) Brands: All of my samples are currently in the works. The hospital set me up with hollister, but convatec and coloplast supplies are on their way. What are everyone's thoughts/preferences on these brands? Is there anything I need to be aware of in terms of pricing, insurance, or general upkeep before I start ordering? Are there any other brands you swear by instead?
2) Filters: I haven't gotten any bags with filters on them yet, but I have heard from some people that they don't work super well on ileostomies as they tend to get wet. Is it worth a try? Will they ever leak liquid out of the filter? Obviously, from my previous story, it's something that would probably be helpful to me if it did work.
3) Shaving: I am a man with relatively fine hair on my stomach. I was shaved before my surgery, but haven't done it since. Is this something that I should consider in order to get a better seal? I've gotten conflicting answers from two different nurses, one who said not to based on the risk for ingrown hairs, and one who seemed to think it could be a good idea as long as I did it dry and only directly around the stoma.
4) Wear time: this is another one that I have gotten very broad answers on. My original stoma nurse said a wafer lasts 5 days and I should swap a bag halfway through, My second said they could go up to a week and bags could be swapped on day 3/4. My at home nurse seemed to think both of those wafer wear times were far too long, and expected closer to 4 days total for a wafer. What are everyone's personal experiences/ schedules on this? How much time does insurance expect your supplies to last vs. how long they actually last?
5) Thoughts on J-Pouch procedures? Prior to my procedure I told my surgeon that I was considering just keeping the ileostomy and he seemed floored. He said that basically everyone is better off with a J-pouch, and made the argument that if I don't get the ileostomy reversed there will be too much extra space in my abdomen which could cause complications. He also mentioned the risk of my intestines being too short if I was to never have it reversed, but this didn't make sense to me as I am currently living with it as this length. At the current point in time I like the idea of keeping the stoma. I hated having UC and all the restrictions it brought with it. This might change as I have the stoma for longer and discover more problems with it, but I would love some insight here. Realistically the minimum amount of time I have my stoma is about a year and a half. I am a teacher and would do it during the summer of 2025 for a variety of reasons. (Side note that my stoma nurse was also more anti-J Pouch but didn't say a lot).
6) Last one I promise! Do you find that your peristomal skin has toughened over time? If I do opt for a permanent ileostomy will I eventually get to the point where the skin is more resilient/ less likely to become damaged?
Thank you all so much for your expertise and openness as a community! Even before my surgery I was glad to read through all the support and help provided by all my new ostomate compatriots.

Hello all, I recently discovered this sub and it makes me glad knowing there are this many other people who refused.
Since I have been around 9-10 years old, I have had digestive issues. I ended up going through a bout of what everybody, including the 3 doctors I saw, thought was Celiac's disease. I couldn't eat carbs for years and only when I was around 17 did I see any major improvement in my health.
I got into bodybuilding and weightlifting, and have made myself into an exceptionally healthy individual. I continued this for years with a few minor issues until I turned 24.
When I was 24, the vaccines had been rolled out for a few months at this point and they were beginning to enforce them at people job's and such. I suddenly had a major failure in my health, to the point where I was puking/defecating blood and having seizures intensely. I was taken to the ER a few times but the doctors couldn't pinpoint what was happening to me.
Despite knowing my previous medical history, one of the doctors was adamant with me.
"Do you know why you're sick like this? It's because you don't have the shot." I was told as I was reeling on a bed from pain. I have never been so angry in my life, I nearly stood up from the bed and slapped the doctor across his smug face.
I was in complete shock as they then started to treat me for COVID symptoms, ignoring the extreme pain in my middle and instead running several tests on me that had nothing to do with what I was experiencing. I stated multiple times that I had a history of intestinal problems, to which the completely ignored and tested me for COVID every 24 hours.
Since then, I have found it extremely hard to trust any doctors. I ended up having an ulcer that got treated and have been okay since then, but being told that my issues were from not getting the shot have never sat right with me.
Has anybody else dealt with anything similar? I don't know if theres even someone or an entity I can reach out to report this but I want to see if anybody else had to deal with a situation like that.

Not sure how long I've had the hernia or how it started but about a month ago noticed stomach gurgling and making weird noises always in the same area when doing situps or some other activities. Was weightlifting last week and felt a slight pull near my groin, then was in pain in that area later that night and noticed if I pushed on a specific part of my groin area I would get loud gurgling/organ noises.
I can feel what seems to be the hole in the inguinal hernia area, and it also feels like the intestine is not protruding through anymore like it may have been the first day or two, but not 100% sure... I have had CONSTANT gas and burping every day for a week, while also not taking a poop 3/7 days and only taking 1/3 size poop compared to normal 3/7 days. Only 1 day was a normal poop after taking a stool softener with light laxative in it. Was pretty uncomfortable taking the laxative but that was more intestinal and not in the area of the hernia.
Soonest I could see my doctor was 2 weeks, which is now this coming Friday. Any tips on how to deal with all this gas, bloating and constipation? Heard you don't want to go heavy on laxatives in case there is obstruction. The fact that I'm pooping means stuff is getting through, just a lot less than normal and my intestines now feel a bit backed up.
Also I tried walking since I can't do regular exercise now and it makes the gas and movements in my bowels really uncomfortable (not really painful, just constant movement going on that feels weird). Should I just ignore it as normal or? Was going to go to urgent care if the stool softener didn't help, but wondering if now I just have to keep using this stuff regularly until I can get surgery.

36 up Male 6'1 190lbs Swelling throat daily hard to swallow Stomach pain with acid reflux Intestinal pain cramping bloating severe constipation Nausea Joint pain Loss of appetite Can't gain much weight even when eating high calories (clean) Tried every diet I can find. Doesn't seem to be a food allergy. Also had every test the Drs can give with very little abnormalities. - also exercise 2-3x per week (yoga/weightlifting), reasonably clean diet.

Good evening folks,
I wanted to provide another “success story” in the hope that my experience is helpful. I’m a mid-twenties male in the UK who underwent an inguinal hernia repair, open and with mesh. Aside from the hernia, I’m otherwise in good health and am physically active. As of the time of writing, I’m 9 days post-op. I’m going to mention my general experience first and then provide a more detailed narrative after.
Experience
Generally, my experience of the hernia, and so far my recovery from it, has been mild. I’m quite active and it did not affect my quality of life majorly. I did feel some pain and discomfort from time to time. I was also vigilant of that area, which no doubt contributed to the discomfort. However, my body went through a lot without complaint. I played many sports matches, did plenty of hikes, long walks, danced late into the night etc. In one instance I took a direct, high-velocity football (soccer ball for those on the wrong side of the Atlantic) directly to the hernia area. The result? Nothing. I was completely fine (sans the usual groin impact effects).
Getting diagnosed with a hernia was a bit of a mental hit as I lost the ability to do compound weightlifting but I came to enjoy the new exercises I took up. As I said, I was vigilant of the area and of lifting anything heavy, but I suffered much more in imagination than reality. I did a lot of “research” online. Some of this was terrifying, some of it uplifting. For positive stories, I recommend looking at Alan Thrall and Colossus Fitness’ videos on the subject. I think Athlean X has stuff too.
My surgical experience so far has also been relatively trouble-free. Yes, there were strange new pains and sensations in my body, but with time these have passed. My mobility is not 100%, but it’s rebounded quick. The worst part has definitely been the fatigue. I tire very quickly right now, but I get more capable day by day. My wound is healing well. It doesn’t look too pretty but of course it doesn’t. The swelling, which will go down, is much worse than the permanent cut scar. There’s pain in the region, but again it gets better every day and it is bearable. I stopped taking painkillers after three days.
Overall, it has not been too challenging of an experience. I read a lot of negativity about how the surgery could go wrong. Nothing of the sort has happened to me. Of course, it’s been an adjustment adapting to being wounded and tired all the time, but it gets easier and easier every day. It’s so much better than the alternative of having a hole that was only going to get bigger. I know there are many people who have had initial successes, followed by complications and misery. I have decided to remain optimistic, and plan to return to activity gently and see how I fare. Mentally, I’m much happier now I’ve had surgery.
I’d recommend to people about to get surgery is that they first stock up on good, wholesome food. I bought a lot of soup and stews as I assumed I’d need something easy to eat. This was fine for the first couple of days, but when I had some home cooking for the first time I felt human again. Secondly, double-check your preparations for when you’re in recovery. I realised I had completely forgotten about laundry, for example. Not fun. Also be aware that you won't be able to laugh, cough, or sneeze for a few days without pain.
Narrative:
Pre-surgery
I found a lump in my groin in February 2023. After a bit of panicked first reaction, I thought it might be a swollen lymph node. The actual size of the lump was quite small and it was easy to move about/push back in. After about three weeks of this lump, I arranged a doctor’s appointment. It took a long time to have a doctor actually see and feel the lump to confirm it was a hernia. That was a bit of a pain and characterised the general silliness of the process of getting my hernia fixed on the NHS (still love it).
First, I had to have a telephone appointment with a doctor which went along the lines of “Yes, it’s a lump. Yes, it’s new. Yes, you will need to actually see it.” I had to then wait for an in-person appointment. I was finally seen in person around late April. The good doctor had a feel of my groin while I coughed and said “Yep, hernia. You will need surgery”. As I play sport and weightlift, I was advised to take it easier. Heavy weightlifting requiring a braced core (so all the fun movements) was ruled out. My sports were deemed ok. I adapted by picking up swimming (they cleared me for it) and switching to machine work at the gym, doing isolation exercises.
It took another two months before I had an initial meeting with a surgeon in late June, which was again quite silly. They told me I had two options: 1. Surgical repair 2. Wait and see. They asked me what I wanted to do, I asked if it would go away without surgery. They said no. I said, “Well fix me then, please”. I got the impression they were hoping I wouldn’t pick that option, but I’d prefer my intestines not to secede from my abdominal cavity.
I did not hear from the hospital again until November. In the meantime, I could feel more symptoms with my hernia. I am the type of person to psycho-somatically manifest symptoms, so I don’t know how much was caused by the hernia, and how much was my brain running anxiety simulations. I began to feel pain, odd shifting sensations, and general discomfort in the area. The lump itself gradually got bigger as time went by. By the end of the year, it was much more noticeable. At no point, however, did it majorly affect my quality of life. As I mentioned – I survived a direct football hit without consequence.
I finally got a call (unknown number, don’t automatically hang up) asking me for another pre-operative assessment. Here, they went through a lot of the same questions I answered when speaking to the surgeon – but this time for anaesthesia. This one could have been a telephone appointment, but alas I had to go in person. A couple weeks later I received a call from the surgery unit asking when I could be free for surgery.
They can and will give you a range of dates. I had as soon as next week, all the way up till February 2024 offered to me. If you have no one to look after you, your wait will be probably longer as there’s no room in hospitals for overnight cases. I settled on a date. Two days later, that date was cancelled due to strike action. I got a new date a week later. It was after Christmas, which was a bit logistically difficult – relying on my friends to rearrange their plans to take care of me for example.
Surgery
Before surgery, they’ll tell you not to eat or drink, depending on when your intake is. My intake was at midday so I had to eat breakfast by 07:30, and then not drink anything but water. They called me in early! I arrived at the hospital by 11. There was one other patient in the waiting room – no doubt a very unusual situation due to the Christmas period.
As an aside - There are signs in the waiting room asking people not to eat or drink out of empathy for those who are waiting for surgery. That did not stop the receptionists from having their lunch in full view of us in the waiting room, illustrating the typical empathy of an NHS receptionist.
I had three meetings to go through before surgery. All three were with consummate professionals. There’s a basic intake with a nurse who runs through questions to make sure I know why I’m here and if I’ve accidentally eaten or drank anything. There’s one with the anaesthetist to discuss anything that could affect the interaction of your body and the anaesthesia. That meeting was amusing – as I was feeling apprehensive about the thought of anaesthesia, I looked down to discover the guy responsible for making sure I didn’t die was wearing bright blue crocs. There’s a final one with the surgeon to discuss the operation. I didn’t get a choice per se as to how the repair would be done. I was simply told what the operation would be, and I accepted it.
It was then a long wait. I came into the hospital at 11, but I went into the theatre at around 14:30. I would recommend a good book while you wait. I was very nervous to be put under. The team responsible however were very good at taking care of me. Once I was cannulated and the juice started flowing, I relaxed very quickly. Gradually I lost sensation in my body until I could only feel pins and needles in my face, and then I was gone. This process did not stress me out at all, contrary to what I expected.
I came to rather quickly. I was positioned upright and fed the most delicious toast of my life. There was residual numbness in my body, including some in my right thigh which took a while to go away. I was surprised to find I could get up and walk about quite readily. I felt lucid and very hungry. The nurses were not the most helpful but did provide painkillers and a schedule on which to take them.
After all the months of waiting and everything I had put my body through, my surgery went off without complications. The finding was “indirect hernia sac: empty”. No idea what that actually means, but it sounds good.
Post-surgery
My first night, I was honestly fine. I was obviously having difficulty walking, but was capable enough to move. The pain was dull and deep within my body (obviously) which became tiring. I did feel some other odd pains and sensations, but these passed without further incident. I was very able to demolish two servings of dinner, as well as maintain conversation. Toward the end of the night, I started getting a little confused and disoriented, so I went to bed.
Getting to sleep was difficult, waking up was a lot worse. I lay in bed for many hours before finally managing to get myself mobile. Walking was now much harder – but still possible. I retained my lucidity almost completely. Being on codeine for the pain, I occasionally found myself liable to spacing out (first time on the opioids), but not for very long.
I was taken to my home that day and spent the rest of it in bed. The next few days I left my bed on only a couple of occasions – bathroom, kitchen. Before surgery, I had stocked up on soups and stews for easy eating. Looking back I should have prepared some proper meals. My appetite did decline, but this was probably due to the lack of activity rather than the surgery. The pain was very bearable provided I remained lying down – easy enough to do considering how tired I was all the time. The fatigue was, and still is the worst part.
After losing about four days on my back, playing video games, I left the house for the first time. This was very tricky. I pushed myself a bit too hard – taking about 5 thousand steps. This really wiped me out for the rest of the day. Each subsequent day has gotten easier and easier – but I’m nowhere near what I used to be just yet. My mobility is improving a lot, however I tire very quickly. I did some grocery shopping yesterday (day 8) and had to split it into two trips on account of the weight of the bags (didn’t think that through) and the exertion of walking. Despite this, however, I want to emphasise the notable daily improvement.
The wound itself made me very nervous. It bled while I was in the hospital so I received a second dressing applied over the first. After 48 hours I had to change this dressing. The actual cut is small. However, it will swell and bruise. It’s not exactly pretty. If this stuff squicks you out, I’d recommend having someone support you changing that dressing for the first time. I did it alone, and it wasn’t a great experience. However, getting it changed did make me feel much better about my recovery. I also had a terrifying experience two days in, where I leaned back and felt something shift suddenly inside me. I believe now that was caused by swelling rather than accidentally blowing my mesh out, but it was a bit traumatising and uncomfortable to go through alone.
Right now, there’s pain at the wound site itself. It’s a sharper, scratching sensation that’s very low on the pain scale – between 1 to 2. The swelling is going down. Healing is generally progressing well and I’m very optimistic.
I got three weeks off work, and orders not to lift anything heavy for 6-8 weeks.
That’s about all I can think of. Hope this helps someone out there. Feel free to drop me any questions.

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.”
I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist.
“You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane.
Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.”
Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?” My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew. He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl. “Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause. For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin. Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.”
I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist.
“You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane.
Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.”
Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?”
My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew.
He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl.
“Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause.
For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin.
Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.”
I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist.
“You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane.
Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.”
Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?”
My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew.
He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl.
“Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause.
For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin.
Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

Situation before the surgery
Had a medium-sized anal skin tag that appeared after a hemorrhoid. The hemorrhoid that caused it would only "come out" 0-2 times a year for the past few years and would resolve on its own pretty fast. However, after the last time it never went back in. I thought I had a painless hemorrhoid but later found out that it was a skin tag and that it would never go back in. It did not hurt and the main reason I wanted to have it removed was because it made me feel very self-conscious.
Surgery and the first 24hrs
The doctor recommended going under general anesthesia for the surgery and I was a bit nervous about that and it was for no reason. If I ever have to do it again, I would opt for general anesthesia again. I was only out for 10-15 minutes so there were no side-effects associated with being under general anesthesia. The whole hospital visit took 2 hours and if I had to, I could have gone home by myself as I was feeling great. The best part about being under the anesthesia is that you're not awake during the whole thing which could feel a bit embarrassing with multiple people in the room and you being in an awkward position. I fell asleep and woke up lying on my back as if nothing happened.
They also used a local anesthetic so when I woke up there was no pain. I am not sure what else or what kind of anesthetic it was but I was completely pain-free for the first 24hrs and managed to do 15k steps later that day. I went to the bathroom the next morning for a BM and it was very easy.
First week
Days 2-3 were still pretty much painless (again, idk why exactly), only after the BMs I started feeling some burning in the area which would go away pretty fast.
On days 4-7 the pain was probably the worst during the whole recovery (still manageable though). I would wake up feeling fine but then after the BM's the pain would get pretty bad (up to 6/10) and would slowly start fading away over a few hours. I was taking Diclofenac (aka Voltaren but I think mine was extended release) for pain relief. Then later in the afternoon, I would be mostly pain-free, just a bit uncomfortable. I was going outside for walks every single day. There was a little bit of discharge every once in a while but not a lot.
Second week
The second week was with a lot of ups and downs. One day I was feeling almost back to normal, then the next day it would suddenly become very painful and it was hard to walk. I looked at the wound and it did not look very nice, it was healing but still open. Middle of week 2 I tried to go on a bike ride but then quickly realized that it was too soon lol. End of week 2 the discharge stopped.
Third week
I returned to the gym for some light weightlifting and it felt fine. The wound had closed but there was still a small bump in the area that kind of looked like a small skin tag. The only annoying thing was the pain after the BM's. So I continued with pain meds and stool softeners.
Fourth week (3 days in, gonna update later)
The bump is significantly smaller. Still there but I'm feeling very optimistic about it healing nicely. I've completely returned to running and working out as I was before the surgery. No problems there. The only problem that I am still dealing with is the pain that starts 30 mins after a BM and is very persistent and annoying. I hope that will go away soon too.
Overall
Very happy with the surgery. There were some painful moments but it was definitely worth it. The area already looks so much better than before the surgery, can't wait to see what it's gonna look like in another two weeks.
Tips

• If you're a girl and you get period poops (iykyk), then try to schedule your surgery as far away from your period as possible. Mine started end of the first week and it was not fun. Plus dealing with cramps while dealing with the booty pain makes the whole area feel extremely unpleasant.
• If you're having problems pooping, try pooping inside water. I made a post about it earlier, you can see it on my profile.
• Experiment with foods and pills before the surgery to see what works for you best so that right after the surgery your poops will be super soft/runny so you don't have to strain but also something that doesn't upset your stomach too much and give you diarrhea. I found that stool softeners + some herbal pills for intestine support do the trick for me. (First few days I literally had to run to poop first thing in the morning without any help and everything would come out in seconds lol).
• Always have some ice packs or ice sticks in the freezer. I found that it really helped in the first couple of weeks after BMs.

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Feel free to ask any questions! + I'm gonna keep updating this thread in the next days/weeks.
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Background: My wife (44, 120lb, 5'5", exercise obsessed, occupation: surgeon, Caucasian, NS) has lived with Crohn's disease since she was 16. She kept it in check through obsessive workouts (cardio, weightlifting, HIIT) and strict diets.
(What follows is lengthy clinical report, but you can skip ahead to "What is End Stage Going to Entail" if you want - I'm looking for a pragmatic, "no bullshit" take)
Starting late 2022 she felt "off", her workouts were getting harder, she had unexplained pains in her back, other vague symptoms (none of this stopped her from working as a highly productive surgeon. I thought it was just a result of her age combined with how intense her workout regimens were (2+ hours a day that would make Tony Horton blush). As a physician she went through all tests as she wanted to rule out cancer (CEA, C19?, colonoscopy, many others I can't remember) - everything came back normal (this was early 2023).
April 2023 her abdominal pains were so bad she couldn't get of bed, got admitted to excellent hospital, and was diagnosed (based on CT) with blockage in her intestine, planned to get bowel resection and colostomy - projected 5 hour surgery.
After 2 hours, her surgeon comes out, "I'm so sorry". He found tumor in small bowel/lower ileum, re-sectioned, skipped the ostomy. Said numerous implants he didn't remove, she has carcinomatosis, on several lymph nodes, he is so, so sorry to see a colleague suffer this fate.
Next 6 weeks brutal, she took 2 weeks to discharge, then after 3 weeks spent 2 more weeks admitted. Just before Memorial day they set us up with Hospice and had me contact funeral home, but her oncologist pushed to start chemo (cisplatin? something else? Doesn't make hair fall out) and they added fetanyl patches on top of the dilaudid and few other drugs. She rebounded, we avoided hospice, and she has been much better since early June.
Her oncologist is always upbeat, yet what I read and what she says the literature shows - she is doomed. No cure, just life extension. Maybe 2, hopefully 5, who knows. She did the.... Signaterra(?) tests, so far not a candidate for immunotherapy (they say that may change)
She wants CRS/HIPEC, and she wants it now. She is at 8 of 12 cycles of this chemo (48 hours every other week), but it's wearing her down. She has great appetite now, fairly active with regular walks, active with our young kids (taught my son how to ride a bike FINALLY!), hikes, occasional low intensity workouts, good bowel movements, yet she has been declining again - resting more, having more pain - especially groin and symptoms of UTI but negative for UTI.
With her clout she got recent email correspondence with one top HIPEC surgeon, without meeting her and just based on the original pathology and CT from late July, said she wouldn't be a candidate for surgery, but perhaps if Chemo shows response, things could change. We have an in person meeting with another top HIPEC surgeon in Oct. She is convinced CRS/HIPEC is the way, but I wonder if "Kaplans rule of instruments" at play - as a surgeon she sees the solution to be surgery.
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"What is End Stage Going to Entail"? I'm a pragmatic person. I want it told straight. I feel like our oncologist is possibly too upbeat, potentially giving false hope (and I could completely understand how that may be how to treat people with no hope - why make their last months/years filled with misery).
What I don't understand is how could dozens/hundreds of small tumors not visible on CT scans actually kill someone. What will happen? Do they eventually grow and disable a vital organ like your pancreas? Do they just wear down your immune system so you become vulnerable to infections/illnesses? How exactly does an otherwise healthy young person with a bunch of small tumors actually die? What signals will we see?
And bonus question - why is "light" chemo the standard of care? When my dad had testicular cancer in the late 80's spread to all his lymph nodes and they did a MASSIVE surgery, they then put him on Chemo that nearly killed him (bedridden for 2 months, lost hair, etc) but he wound up living to this day? Why isn't the chemo shes given that "knock you on your ass" shit he was given?
Greatly appreciate any feedback!

Hi all! I know this is a tale as old as time, but I'm having trouble deciding 1) whether to jump in and loc up and 2) if I do, whether to go with Sisterlocks or microlocs. For context, I'm a bw in my 30s who's been a loose natural my entire life (two-strand twists and braids with extensions once or twice and a few silk presses/Dominican blowouts in my life, but those have been rare). 4c, about BSL if I blow out my hair.
I've really liked the look of two-strand twists (no extensions) and twist outs on me, and I think that aesthetic can work as a more permanent style. Honestly, I feel most confident with those styles, but I don't like that they don't last in the way locs would. Hence the interest in locs.
My three biggest concerns are:
1) MOVING: I have access to certified Sisterlocks stylists in my current area, but I worry about maintenance if I move. That's not in the cards right now, but what if I move Helsinki in five years? (I just picked a random place lol). I'm worried about feeling limited and/or slacking on reties if I don't have a certified person available. My understanding (correct me if I'm wrong) is that this is less of a concern with microlocs...
2) EXERCISE: I work out heavily. I aim for at least 4 days a week of heavy weightlifting (about 45 mins) followed by approx 30 mins of cardio (usually running a few miles). Outside of that, I cycle and walk a lot, as I haven't had a car in about 5 years. The point is... ya girl SWEATS. I'm not one of the cute girlies who's dainty with the workouts (no shade). And I simply cannot function with sweat/buildup on my scalp. When I say can't function... I mean, I will cancel plans to go wash my hair because I can't focus if my hair isn't fresh. I've heard some ladies with mature locs say they can just wash and go as often as they need to, but the initial stage requires not washing your hair. Any sense of how long that phase lasts, with either SL or ML? Tbh, I really will struggle if it's more than a week lol. (Btw, any overall thoughts from the muscle mommies out there would be appreciated!)
3) OVERALL HAIR HEALTH: I've seen women on YT with their locs falling out and edges receding, and I DO NOT want that for myself. Any tips on what to consider to maintain the health of my hair?
I've been thinking about this for YEARS, but anything that's permanent always scares me (lol... no tattoos, no plastic surgery, etc not because I think they're inherently bad but because I'm a scaredy cat). I actually cut my hair (no BC, just cut my natural hair) in 2019, but I knew that even if I hated it, it would grow back soon enough. Getting locs feels like a heavier decision because if I regret it, I'm out $$$$ AND I have to cut my hair again AND wait for it to grow back. It wouldn't be the end of the world, but I'd like to try to avoid that fate by asking lots of Qs in advance.
P.S. I know this is really long. Any thoughts are appreciated. Note that I definitely plan to have a consultation before doing anything, but the online community has been helpful thus far.