Background - cholesterol has been high for three years. Three years ago I had a CAC of 0 and no plaque in my carotid artery, so I just changed my diet a bit, added an OTC statin (red yeast rice) and went on my way. Doc said to just do a repeat CAC/carotid ultrasound every three years and go from there. Well, at the beginning of last month I got bad news - I now officially have heart disease (CAC = 33 + plaque in L carotid artery). For reference I'm 49f, 5'6", was 120lbs, work out 5 days a week, don't smoke, rarely eat red meat, rarely drink, limited cheese, you name it, but it wasn't perfect (hello half and half!). I went on Crestor 40mg the day I got my CAC results on April 4th. I also found out that I have high lipoprotein(a) (109), knowledge I wish I had sooner so that I could have gone straight to a statin years ago. I have since seen a cardiologist, who ran an echo and stress test and everything was normal there (aside from the plaque).
Bloodwork, March of 2023:
Total cholesterol: 253 (under 200 is normal)
Triglycerides: 97 (under 150 is normal) - only thing that was normal last year
LDL (bad) cholesterol: 174 (under 100 is normal)
HDL (good) cholesterol: 57 (above 50 is normal)
Non-HDL cholesterol: 196 (under 130 is normal)
Since then I've kept daily saturated fat to under 10g/day, eat oatmeal every single day, eat more plants, no beef, no cheese/buttecream/egg yolks, switched to oat milk in coffee, all meat is lean, eating tons of fiber (at least 35g, but some days it's over 50), added avocados/flax/chia seeds to my diet - you name it, and I'll do it. I've also dropped a couple pounds, which the vain part of my brain likes too.
Now:
Total: 139
Triglycerides: 71
LDL: 72
HDL: 52
Non-HDL: 87
ApoB: 75 (didn't have a previous value for this) - optimal is under 90
I'm so relieved, but was secretly hoping my LDL would be at or below 50. My doctor called me about an hour after the results were emailed to me, and it was his idea to add Zetia/Ezetimibe to get my LDL even lower. And hallelujah, it's only like $5/mo instead of $600 like Repatha.
So, yay!

No way, Jose.... Only delicious tacos on Taco Tuesday for me....
Taco Tuesday Forever!!

Magnesium is important for:
Energy production. Blood pressure regulation. Normal heart rhythm. DNA and RNA creation. Bone structure development. Nervous system regulation. Insulin regulation ⬇️ https://mcpress.mayoclinic.org/nutrition-fitness/magnesium-glycinate-is-this-supplement-helpful-for-you/
Signs of Magnesium Deficiency

1. Twitching Muscles (eyelids)
2. Waking up between 2-3am. (high cortisol)
3. Irritation (nervousness, low blood sugar)
4. Heart Flutters (arrhythmias)
5. High Blood Pressure (Hypertension)
6. Constipation (irregular bowel movements)
7. Bone Pain (Osteopenia) 60% Magnesium in body is stored in the bones
8. Stiff Joints (Arthritis)
9. Anxiety (Stress) Magnesium + B1
10. Chocolate Cravings (stress= adrenaline & cortisol response)
11. Clawed Hands or Feet (Carpopedal Spasms=commonly in feet at bedtime)
12. Muscle Cramps (spasms=calf muscle, back, neck/electrolyte imbalance)
13. Asthma (Magnesium + Vit D3, K2 to improve asthma symptoms)

Only "1%" of Magnesium is stored in the blood, thereby making tests for Magnesium Deficiency null & void as 60% of the body's magnesium is stored INSIDE the bones. This is why Magnesium Deficiency is overlooked & ignored by doctors, resulting in billions of people living with Magnesium Deficiency.
75% of humanity has an "Invisible Deficiency" of Magnesium.
400-800mg daily supplementation is recommended for optimal health/reduction in Deficiency symptoms.
Causes of Magnesium Deficiency: 1. Grains 2. Fructose 3. Soda 4. Soil depletion 5. Emotional stress 6. Antacids , Diuretics, Pharmaceuticals 7. Deficiency in VitD=Sunshine exposure
To fix Deficiencies: Magnesium Glycinate supplements, 400-800mg daily, eat dark leafy green vegetables daily, use celtic sea salt (also add a pinch in daily Filtered drinking water) .. ⬇️ https://youtu.be/emkLyutJ71Q?si=fcMhRijbZKug2Tge
Magnesium is vital to support the energy required for the body, cells, organs, and DNA to prevent degenerative diseases that are responsible for chronic diseases and premature death. ⬇️ https://youtu.be/J6aVE1Lo6Dw?si=Qz2DAegFQ1jEgcJq
Magnesium Glycinate is an orally available magnesium salt of glycine. Magnesium activates over 600 enzymes and is essential for DNA and RNA synthesis, cellular repair, and maintaining the antioxidant status of the cell. Magnesium plays a key role in bone and muscle function and assists in the activation of vitamin D, which helps regulate calcium and phosphate homeostasis to influence the growth and maintenance of bones. ⬇️ https://pubchem.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/compound/Magnesium-glycinate
Randomized Controlled Trial:
The effect of combined magnesium and vitamin D supplementation on vitamin D status, systemic inflammation, and blood pressure: A randomized double-blinded controlled trial
Poor vitamin D and magnesium status is observed in individuals who are overweight and obese (Owt/Ob) and is often associated with a heightened risk of cardiovascular disease. Magnesium is a cofactor that assists vitamin D metabolism. ⬇️ https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/35576873/
Safest, fewest ingredients available for Magnesium Glycinate ⬇️ https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B0C8DMMYTC/ref=ox_sc_act_image_1?smid=A37SM01TLWSF12&psc=1
Safest, fewest ingredients available for Vitamin D3 (1 year supply) ⬇️ https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B00JGCBGZQ/ref=ox_sc_act_image_1?smid=AQAIDN8YDF665&psc=1&th=1
Magnesium, D3, and potassium work synergistically, in tandem, for better absorption and better utilization in the body for optimal health benefits.

What is the book about?
In this excellent volume, BVDK gives an overview of the knowledge about the effects of psychological trauma, abuse, and neglect based on three emerging disciplines:
· Neuroscience: the study of how the brain supports mental processes.
· Developmental psychopathology: the study of the impact of adverse experiences on the development of mind and brain.
· Interpersonal neurobiology: the study of how our behaviour influences the emotions, biology, and mind-sets of those around us.
What are the books’ key messages?
Trauma is not just the event(s) that took place sometime in the past. It is also the imprint left on mind, brain, and body. This imprint has on-going consequences for how the human organism manages to survive in the present. Trauma results in a fundamental reorganisation of the way mind and brain manage perceptions. It changes not only how we think and what we think about, but also our very capacity to think. What has happened – the events themselves – cannot be undone. This leaves us with a series of challenges:
· Finding a way to become calm and focused.
· Learning to maintain that calm in response to images, thoughts, sounds, or physical sensations that remind you of the past.
· Finding a way to be fully alive in the present and engaged with the people around you.
· Not having to keep secrets from yourself, including secrets about the ways that you have managed to survive.
These goals are not steps to be achieved, one by one, in some fixed sequence. They overlap, and some may be more difficult than others, depending on individual circumstances.
Narrowing down to developmental trauma, BVDK provides a good summary of the original 1990’s ACE study. In the years since TBKTS’ publication in 2014 this has been widely disseminated. The section concludes with a valuable re-frame: the idea of the problem being a solution, while understandably disturbing to many, is certainly in keeping with the fact that opposing forces routinely coexist in biological systems… What one sees, the presenting problem, is often only the marker for the real problem, which lies buried in time, concealed by patient shame, secrecy and sometimes amnesia – and, frequently clinician discomfort.
Following a refreshing discussion of the DSM’s weaknesses is a summary of BVDKs’ as-yet unsuccessful, attempts to establish developmental trauma as its own recognised diagnosis. Readers are led to recognise that two hurdles need to conquered: (1) PTSD, C-PTSD, and developmental trauma each need to be recognised as their own diagnoses and (2) the blinkered brain disease model summarised below needs to be replaced with multi-modal helping approaches blending BVDKs’ three avenues (as below) to best suit the individuals’ needs.
The brain’s own natural neuroplasticity can be developed to help survivors feel fully alive in the present and move on with their lives. There are fundamentally three avenues to follow:
· Top down, by talking, (re-)connecting with others, and allowing ourselves to know and understand what is going on with us, while processing the memories of the trauma.
· By taking medicines that shut down inappropriate alarm reactions, or by utilizing other technologies that change the way the brain organises information.
· Bottom up: by allowing the body to have experiences that deeply and viscerally contradict the helplessness, rage, or collapse that result from trauma.
What BVDK referred to as the the brain-disease model ignores four fundamental truths – we ignore them at our peril:
· Our evolutionary legacy provides us with a set of capabilities – and constraints. The more we – or others - push those boundaries, the more likely we are to suffer. This is central to restoring and sustaining our well-being.
· Our intelligence gives us the potential to develop ourselves, others, our environments, and our responses.
· We have the capability to regulate aspects of our own physiology, including some of the so-called involuntary functions of the body and brain, through such basic activities as breathing, moving, and touching.
· We can, collectively, change social conditions to create environments aligned with our evolutionary needs and expectations within which we can feel safe and where we can thrive.
When we ignore these basic truths of our humanity, we deprive ourselves of ways to both prevent maladies in the first place and to heal when they do occur. We may subordinate our agency and render ourselves patients of the healthcare system, rather than exercise our agency to drive our healing process. Connecting with – rather than disconnecting from – what makes us incredible.
Seeing issues with our mental health as internal processes, grants us much-needed agency – that feeling of being in control of our lives: being able to make the decisions that will lead us to our chosen future. If we consider the causes of mental health issues as external factors, something that happens to or around us – or as a biochemical anomaly - then it becomes a piece of history we can never dislodge. If, on the other hand, mental health issues are what take place inside us, resultant of what happened, then healing becomes a credible possibility. Trying to keep mental health issues at bay – or subcontracting them out to the medics (the doctor is responsible for resolving that issue while I get on with my life) hobbles our capacity to know ourselves better – to develop our agency.
What are its weak-spots?
Due to its very nature, the content runs the risk of triggering some readers: it’s difficult to see an easy solution to this.
TBKTS delivers on its intentions to disseminate knowledge about the effects of psychological trauma, abuse, and neglect based on the three emerging disciplines of neuroscience, developmental psychopathology, and interpersonal neurobiology. It was not intended as a self-help ‘how to heal yourself’ which may leave some readers looking for more.
While not a weakness, TBKTS was published around ten years ago. Given the pace of research, I wonder if there is scope or plans for a revised edition.
How does this relate to my practice with Solution Focused Hypnotherapy?
BVDK refers to one of the key underpinning theories of SFH – the triune (three phase) theory of human brain evolution. With that theory understood, we introduce two further key concepts: (1) the existence of a dynamic equilibrium between evolutionary phases and (2) developing the capability to manage that dynamic equilibrium to our advantage. Academically, these two concepts are supported by the generally accepted Broaden & Build theory (Frederickson.)
Trauma – among other things - can shift the dynamic equilibrium to limit our options and plunge us in to vicious cycles of anger, and or anxiety and or depression (which can manifest in a myriad of ways.) Additionally, developmental trauma can lead to neurobiological effects in the hippocampus, amygdala, and pre-frontal cortex.
Without downplaying the seriousness of this, there are counter-balancing positive factors. To varying degrees, we each have four capabilities: Self-Awareness (interoception), Imagination, Conscience and Free-will, as articulated by Viktor Frankl. These sit at the root of us developing our sense of agency. The same process of neuroplasticity that shaped our developing neurology as children can support us in developing our adulthoods. Through the work of BVDK and many others, we have an emerging understanding of the lifelong effects of developmental trauma, and an ever-growing understanding of how these can be mitigated.
Solution Focused Hypnotherapy can be highly effective in helping those at threshold (motivated, and responsible for their outcomes) with anger, anxiety, and depression. Adding the body of knowledge supporting the PERMA model creates a solid platform for developing and sustaining wellbeing for those in the acceptance and action areas of the awareness / acceptance / action spectrum. Those in the earlier – awareness, acceptance – areas would benefit more from the traditional analytical / counselling approaches to helping.
Who would benefit from reading this book?
With the caveat that some readers may find elements of the content triggering, this is an ideal read for those who have ever wondered if events of their childhood are negatively affecting their present.
For those experiencing developmental trauma, and those living with and supporting those who are – this is one of the must reads.

These are the things I learned about residency that I wish I could tell myself as a July intern on wards service. I know many of y’all here will disagree with a few, but this is how I see it. There’s definitely quite a few missing, so y’all fill in what I forgot.

• You earned the right to be here. You’ve proven you can do it so don’t doubt yourself.
• You’re not expected to know everything on day 1. Your job is to show up with a good attitude and ready to work hard.
• Listen to the nurses. Some of these critical care nurses, especially. Ask for their input and don’t brush them off as mere nurses.
• Write things down. Print a list and make check boxes by each patient for what needs to get done that day. There are interns who forget things and interns who write things down.
• The first thing you need to learn is to tell sick from not sick, and that can be tricky at times. Later on you refine that until you see a whole spectrum of how sick a patient is.
• Don’t waste too much time pre-rounding. Brief pertinent exam, ask patient about changes in symptoms, but the highest yield is asking the nurses.
• Call consults before noon if you can. It’s a courtesy to the consultant/their team plus they’re far more likely to be seen that day, avoiding a delay in workup for the patient.
• Your note doesn’t have to be an essay. Keep things simple and don’t get bogged down in eloquent explanations.
• However, document your reasoning well. Especially in tough cases, drop a paragraph about why you’re doing what you’re doing and the patient agrees.
• Auto text or whatever your EMR uses. Make an arsenal of these. Use them for everything. If you have a kind of case you see a lot, template out a note so you make sure you’re documenting all the important stuff in an efficient manner.
• Be cool to your co-interns. Y’all are about to spend the next few years together. Don’t leave them in a lurch or punt to others all the time.
• Call the seniofellow/attending, especially at first. Even if they give you attitude, it’s ultimately their responsibility and they should know that.
• Try to update families daily if you can, especially for your ICU folks.
• Never, ever lie. Even once will destroy your credibility.
• Have a good attitude in a way that refuses to be bullied - don’t take that shit.
• Read all your own images. Then when rads drops a report, read that and see if you can find what they’re describing for every notes finding. It’ll make you a better doctor.
• Get to your new city as early as possible. Do things like car inspection, dentist appointment, vet appointment, etc. before July kicks off.
• Our profession has a high rate of substance abuse. Do what that what you will.
• Sit down with your family and SO and let them know what to expect and try to explain how intense this job is. When there’s a difference between expectation and reality, you have problems. Either way, it’ll strain your relationships.
• Because of this, be deliberate on spending time with your SO/friends/family even if you’re dead tired.
• Wear comfortable shoes
• Scour the hospital for the best restroom. Sometimes having a proper relaxed shit can turn a day around.
• Get to know your chiefs. Go to them with problems earlier rather than later.
• Use every minute of PTO
• Step outside the hospital for a few minute a day when you can. See the sunshine.
• Make friends with the cafeteria staff and they’ll hook you up to no end.
• Make friends with the transporters and techs - they will save you.
• Appreciate the hell out of what PT/OT/SLP do.
• Know how to tell a patient no.
• Pharmacy is your friend - they know things
• If something is emergent, keep calling to follow up. If your crashing patient needs abx, it’s not like some doctor video game where you put the order in STAT and everyone goes rushing. Call down and check the status, let them know it’s needed now.
• Don’t order everything STAT
• Calling people in general gets so much more done and avoids so many headaches.
• You’re going to lose your first patient. Remember how you feel, and make sure you never forget it. You’ll need it later.
• Hang out outside of work, invite the nurses as well.
• Election ‘24 is coming up in November so work is a great place to talk candidly about politics and try to change others’ beliefs /s
• If you’re struggling, reach out to someone.
• Try to get outside on your days off
• It’s not uncommon to end up on an SSRI
• Take the stairs places as much as you can. Cardio and a nice lower body workout.
• Answer pages as they come in. Anything STAT call back the moment you see it. Aim to get back to everyone within 5 minutes if you can.
• Day to night nurse shift change. Wait 30-45 minutes, then go around and talk to the nurse for all your patients. Let them get report and see if they have questions. Explain the plan, agree on when to call you, make sure orders all look good and make sense. We even used to bring candy from the physicians lounge to pass out for this.
• Put the diet order in
• Keep your presentations short and to the point unless someone wants them longer. Know the details, but you don’t have to recite them. You don’t have to say all the exam findings that were normal and not related to the patient’s disease
• Always be prepared to dodge a punch when near a geriatric patient
• Even a 5-10 minute phone call with your loved ones on a frequent basis can do wonders
• Some people are just assholes and you can’t take things personally
• Other people are mad at something else and want to take it out on you.
• Be cool to the med students
• Get good at delivering bad news
• Celebrate delivering good news
• Fuck prior authorizations man
• When calling a consult, have a specific clinical question you need help answering. Know the patient well. Keep the call centered around what you need from them but be ready to provide details if needed. “Dr. X wants you on board” is resident code for “I know it’s bullshit but my attending made me call.”
• Delirium and sundowning are real af. The trick is to get them home.
• Benzos aren’t just “settle down” drugs. It’s like a whisky shot through the vein in the sense that it can also disinhibit people and make wildness worse
• Get to know 1 thing about each patient other than what’s in their chart. What job did they have? What’s their favorite team? Do they have pets? You’ll remember them better when the list is large and it can make the job more rewarding
• If the nurse is worried ALWAYS go to bedside
• If you feel the urge to get a tattoo, do it
• Read everyone’s note each day on your patients
• Case managers and social workers are heroes. Get to know them and work together to get patients proper dispo
• Don’t wear your damn shoes in the call room bed
• Sit down in patient rooms if you can. It shows you’re listening, it’s less intimidating for them, and they’ll tell you more.
• Talk louder to older patients
• Sternal rub like you mean it
• Sit done one day, caffeinate, and do all those stupid compliance modules in a single bolus.
• Never make the same mistake twice
• If things don’t add up, your math is wrong
• Some patients don’t care about their health and won’t look after it after all you do. That’s just the gig.
• If something adverse for residents goes into place on a “temporary” basis, it never goes back the other way. Fight for your rights.
• You’re not crazy - the patient always tells the attending something completely different or remembers some important detail. We get it.
• Have a good comfort show to stream when you come home half dead.
• Trust but verify (that’s actually a Russian proverb Reagan borrowed when speaking about the USSR)
• Remember to love it more than you hate it. Find a way to make it fun. They say it’s the best time you never want to have again. You get to save and improve human lives. There’s no greater calling in the world than that.

DAY: MAY 20 2024
5-20-2024

Why nightmares and ‘daymares’ could be early warning signs of autoimmune disease

An increase in nightmares and hallucinations—or ‘daymares’—could herald the onset of autoimmune diseases such as lupus, say an international team led by researchers at the University of Cambridge and King’s College London. The researchers argue that there must be greater recognition that these types of mental health and neurological symptoms can act as an early warning sign that an individual is approaching a “flare,” where their disease worsens for a period.
5-20-2024 Yoga and meditation-induced altered states of consciousness are common in the general population, study says
Yoga, mindfulness, meditation, breathwork, and other practices are gaining in popularity due to their potential to improve health and well-being. The effects of these practices are mostly positive and occasionally transformational, yet they are known to sometimes be associated with challenging altered states of consciousness. New research by a team including investigators from Massachusetts General Hospital reveals that altered states of consciousness associated with meditation practice are far more common than expected. Although many people reported positive outcomes, that were sometimes even considered transformational, from these experiences, for a substantial
5-20-2024 Examining the benefits of out-of-network care for pediatric moyamoya
Total in-episode expenses and resource use before the index surgery (preop) and including/after the surgery (postop). The comparisons are separated for analysis into (A) single institution cohorts (1 and 2) and (B) multi?institution cohorts (3 and 4). Moyamoya disease is a rare condition that affects the blood vessels in the brain, especially in children. Narrowing and blockage of vessels significantly increases the risk of stroke and requires surgical revascularization for treatment. Although research shows that outcomes of revascularization are better
5-20-2024 Study explores links between social media use, mental health and sleep quality
The more time you spend on social media, the greater the likelihood of having unpleasant social-media related dreams that cause distress, sleep disruption and impact our peace of mind. Flinders University’s Reza Shabahang says that the vast and rapid adoption of social media has the potential to influence various aspects of life, including the realm of dreaming. “As social media becomes increasingly intertwined with our lives, its impact extends beyond waking hours, and may influence our dreams,”
5-20-2024 How are asthma and heart health linked?
Although the heart and lungs are neighbors in your chest, people may think of them as separate entities with unrelated problems. But a growing body of evidence suggests that asthma—one of the most common lung disorders—is a risk factor for cardiovascular disease. Asthma is a serious chronic disease in which airways are inflamed, often in response to specific triggers. It affects about 25 million people in the U.S., including nearly 5 million children, causing millions of annual visits to doctors’ offices and emergency rooms. “We call these major changes
5-20-2024 STUDY EXPLORES PATIENT TRUST IN PHYSICIANS
Trust in one’s physician drives positive health practices. In a scoping review, SUNY Poly Professor of Sociology Dr. Linda R. Weber discovered new developments in the measurement of trust, identified those measures of trust that have known reliability and validity, and compared those instruments’ conceptualizations, dimensions, and indicators. The paper is published in the journal PLOS ONE. Weber explains that 10 dimensions emerged from the study: fidelity, technical competence, communicative competence, interpersonal competence (i.e., caring), honesty, confidentiality, global, behavioral, fairness, and system trust/accountability. In addition, these findings provide the foundation
5-20-2024 TIMESAVING TIPS FOR COOKING HEALTHY MEALS
Living a busy, fast-paced life can make it hard to find the motivation to cook a healthy meal at home. However, learning some shortcuts in the kitchen can keep your healthy eating goals on track and help you avoid grazing on unhealthy snacks, grabbing the first thing you see in the fridge or going out for fast food. Why cook at home? Research shows that maintaining a healthy weight is challenging when you eat out too frequently. Restaurant portions often are super-sized
5-20-2024 UNDERSTANDING PERIMENOPAUSE VS. MENOPAUSE
Menopause marks a significant transition for women, yet understanding its precursor, perimenopause, and its symptoms can be complex. Dr. Stephanie Faubion, director of Mayo Clinic’s Center for Women’s Health and medical director of The Menopause Society, says experiencing perimenopause and menopause can be confusing for some. She says it is not only patients who may find it confusing, but medical providers as well, due to lack of training in menopause management. “Menopause is defined by no menstrual cycle for a year,” says Dr. Faubion.
5-20-2024 LOW-DOSE IRON SUPPLEMENTATION HAS NO BENEFIT FOR BREASTFED INFANTS, SHOWS STUDY
The American Pediatric Association recommends iron supplements to all healthy infants who breastfeed longer than four months, while its European counterpart, Society of Gastroenterology, Hepataology and Nutrition, does not recommend it. These deviating guidelines stimulated researchers to design a new study. Breastfeeding is strongly recommended, and the proportion of children are breastfed during the first half of life is high. The researchers wanted to determine whether breastfeeding babies could benefit from extra iron.
5-20-2024 ALLERGY MEDICATIONS COME WITH HAZARDS: BE AWARE
People with seasonal allergies often turn to over-the-counter and prescription medicines to relieve symptoms like coughing, sneezing, runny nose, congestion and itchy eyes, nose or throat. But they often aren’t aware that these meds—including antihistamines—have as much risk for potential side effects, drug interactions and overdose as other drugs. “All medicines have side effects associated with them even when they are taken appropriately and according to dosing directions on the label,”
5-20-2024 I CAN’T AFFORD OLIVE OIL—WHAT ELSE CAN I USE?
If you buy your olive oil in bulk, you’ve likely been in for a shock in recent weeks. Major supermarkets have been selling olive oil for up to A$65 for a four-liter tin, and up to $26 for a 750 milliliter bottle. We’ve been hearing about the health benefits of olive oil for years. And many of us are adding it to salads, or baking and frying with it. But during a cost-of-living crisis, these high prices can put olive oil out of reach. Let’s take a look at why
5-20-2024 Researchers uncover biological trigger of early puberty
Heather Brenhouse, associate professor of psychology, says disrupting the caretaker relationship can really traumatize a child or a developing rodent. Credit: Ruby Wallau/Northeastern University New research conducted by the Brenhouse Lab reveals how early life adversity triggers early puberty and late-life anxiety, paving the way for potential interventions. The onset of puberty has been creeping downward for decades. In the United States, the average age of girls reaching puberty ranges from 8.8 to 10.3 years old. The early start of puberty, which is associated with many health risks, can be
5-20-2024 Bioluminescence and 3D-printed implants shed light on brain–spinal interactions
Brain-spinal cord duet’s neurodynamic symphony is now accessible to scientists via novel multi-organ implants. Credit: Dmitrijs Celinskis A sensory process such as pain is no ordinary phenomenon—it’s a symphony of neural and vascular interactions orchestrated by the brain and spinal cord. Attempting to dissect this symphony by focusing on a single region is like trying to understand a complex melody by listening to just one instrument. It’s incomplete, potentially misleading, and may result in erroneous conclusions. Enter the Carney Institute’s team of visionaries. Their mission? To develop tools that allow
5-20-2024 New thesis explores cancer treatment that can prevent relapse
. What is the main focus of your thesis? Relapse following initial treatment efficacy remains a major clinical challenge for many cancers. The focus of my thesis has been to explore the therapeutic impact of immune cells in patients with blood cancer (leukemia), by first investigating which cells
5-20-2024 New study reveals health and social benefits of car-free living
Participating in a three-week car-free challenge has enhanced the health and well-being of Oxford residents, according to research conducted by The University of Bath’s Centre for Climate Change and Social Transformations (CAST), in partnership with climate charity Possible and Low Carbon Oxford North (LCON), conducted this research project. After ditching their cars for three weeks, 10 out of the 12 drivers across Oxford who participated said they plan to continue with reduced car use beyond the project. The findings of this research project show that: Day-to-day transport emissions were slashed
5-20-2024 Research shows linked biological pathways driving skin inflammation
A certain biological pathway—a set of linked reactions in the body—drives the inflammation seen in the skin disease psoriasis, a new study finds. The work could lead to improved therapies for all inflammatory skin diseases, including atopic and allergic dermatitis and a type of boil called hidradenitis suppurativa, say the study authors. The findings are published in the journal Immunity. Inflammation is the body’s natural response to irritation and infection, but when out of control, it can lead to the reddish, flaky, itchy lesions that
5-20-2024 Prescription co-payments linked to more hospital admissions in New Zealand, study finds
A new study from researchers cautions that bringing back the $5 co-payment for prescription medicines could see a jump in hospital admissions. The study analyzed health data for 71,502 people and found those who didn’t pick up a prescription because they couldn’t afford the $5 fee had a 34% higher rate of being admitted to hospital.
5-20-2024 How a simulation is informing COVID-19 vaccine policy after our ‘return to normal’
As the saying goes “There is no such thing as normal” and this has been especially true after the pandemic. Before the emergence of the omicron COVID-19 variant, countries like the U.K. had high vaccination coverage along with widespread exposure to COVID-19 in the population. This combination of vaccine and infection-derived immunity is termed hybrid immunity and is different to vaccine immunity or infection immunity alone. In contrast, other countries, including Australia, New Zealand and those in the Western Pacific, had a very different pandemic experience.
5-20-2024 Researchers find intriguing connections between Alzheimer’s disease and other common conditions
A study has found that while some medical conditions appear to increase our likelihood of developing Alzheimer’s disease, others appear to decrease the odds. The study, led by Dr. Yijun (Nicholas) Pan and Dr. Liang Jin, analyzed data from 2,443 older Australians living in Melbourne or Perth who are part of the Australian Imaging, Biomarker and Lifestyle (AIBL) study, an internationally recognized cohort for dementia research. “We found anxiety and other neurological disorders are associated with increased likelihood of Alzheimer’s disease,” Dr. Pan said.
5-20-2024 Prepping autistic or sound-sensitive kids for cicada noise
As Chicagoans await the emergence of the cicadas, parents of children on the autism spectrum and/or who have sensitivities to sound can take a few steps to prepare for what is expected to be a loud summer. “Some children on the spectrum can struggle with loud or unexpected noises, such as toilets that automatically flush, fireworks around the Fourth of July or the emergence of a large number of cicadas,”
5-20-2024 Study highlights importance of screening for rare inherited iron metabolism defects
Over 40% of cases curated based on stringent clinical and laboratory criteria from the Indian subcontinent have an inherited iron metabolism defect on comprehensive genomic evaluation, report investigators in The Journal of Molecular Diagnostics. Although iron deficiency anemia is the most prevalent form of anemia globally,
5-20-2024 Study finds tyrosine kinase Csk promotes germinal center B cell survival and affinity maturation
The authors found that Csk (a tyrosine kinase that attenuates B cell receptor signaling) is required for germinal center maintenance and efficient antibody maturation. The immune system strikes a fine balance by identifying and neutralizing disease-causing agents while carefully avoiding destruction of healthy tissues and cells. Now, researchers from Japan have shed new light on one of the processes that helps train immune cells to act only against genuine threats.
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Earlier this year, I was tested and found to have pre-diabetes and elevated blood lipids. Through medication (Metformin, bp medicine and a statin) as well as dietary changes and exercise, I have brought these numbers all down but still have more work to do on this journey.
My concern is that even though my lipids are now in range, except for HDL, which needs to increase, I am leery to continue a meat/cheese/vegetable diet, since heart disease runs in my family.
I am leaning toward the Mediterranean diet to better support heart health, but worried that the carbs will send my A1C number back up - which seems like a vicious cycle since metabolic health is tied to cardio health (as I understand it, I am just an Average Joe (Josephine lol).
Have any of you been in a similar situation? how do you marry the best of dietary patterns to support both metabolic health and cardio health? Thank you.

I see a lot of people want name ideas- I have compiled a list of pretty okayish bird names while I searched for the right one.
𝙁𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙩 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙙:

• Kiwi
• Banana
• Mango
• Pineapple
• Melon
• Clementine
• Apple
• Citrus
• Cherry
• Berry
• Blueberry
• Coco(nut)
• Lychee
• Peach

𝙁𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙙:

• Olive
• Fry
• Potato
• Noodle
• Spaghetti
• Nugget
• Taco
• Cheese
• Cake
• Sprinkles
• Skittles
• Gummy
• Egg
• Soda
• Coca Cola

𝙎𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙙:

• Apollo
• Mercury
• Venus
• Mars
• Jupiter
• Pluto
• Andromeda
• Galaxia
• Galileo
• Rocket
• Spock
• Data
• Soleil
• Helios/Helio
• Elios
• Sunny
• Nuit
• Nebula
• Atlas

𝙊𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙮 𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙮 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙙:

• Eliza
• Thompson
• Thomas
• Jasper
• Sebastian
• Edna
• Bob/Robert/Bobby
• Caspian
• Casper
• Clemente
• Murphy
• Murdock
• Tasha
• Francis
• Milo
• Martin/Marty
• Beatrice
• Hattie
• Mattie
• Opal
• Pearl
• Remington
• Stella
• Maisie
• Millie
• Amber
• Clara
• Charles
• Frank
• Seymour
• Ozwald
• Harly
• Monroe
• Ace

𝙁𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙖 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙙:

• Dahlia
• Lavender
• Daisy
• Clover
• Jasmine
• Rose
• Fern
• Mint
• Oregano
• Flower
• Tulip
• Juniper
• Iris
• Ambrose
• Poppy
• Willow
• Sage
• Magnolia
• Hazel
• Ivy

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Part 1
First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.