Diagram sinus

Is this HES or something else?

2024.05.10 01:15 Ok_Wait_577 Is this HES or something else?

Hi everyone, first time posting on reddit and first time here (for obvious reasons 😂). I haven’t been officially diagnosed with HES but everyone involved in my health care are leaning heavy into that diagnosis. It should be confirmed in the next week or so.
My main question is if anyone here started with only lung issues? I developed a cough that became chronic in June of 2022. Before that, I had no health issues outside of sleep apnea that I’ve had since I was 17, I’m 47.
A little more background that may or may not be relevant, but I’m not overweight, I don’t exercise much, and smoked for 30 years. I grew up in Texas and moved to Seattle in 2018 where I developed allergies. Got a yellow lab in 2020 and recently had an allergy test done to find out I have a mild allergy to dogs. At first I thought I had developed a cough from smoking or was having an allergic reaction, so I went to see specialist.
My first pulmonologist was an a-hole, but my second was a lifesaver and seemed to know everyone that was top in their field here in the Seattle area. Long story, somewhat shorter, I was diagnosed with pretty bad ILD and severe sinusitis. I have a persistent cough with blood, fatigue, no appetite, lost a total of 60 pounds in a year (the last 30 from August 2023 to Jan 2024, and most recently skin lesions after coming of 60mg of prednisone for 2 weeks. That sparked discussion of various autoimmune disorders.
Now after 3 dermatologists, ENT, ILD specialists, Rheumatologist, hematologist/oncologist, a year and a half’s worth of a crap ton of tests and biopsies, including a recent VATS lung wedge resection, they think I have a type of hypereosinophilic syndrome. I have a bone marrow biopsy next Wed and they are presenting my case at a conference at UW tomorrow in hopes to confirm this. What’s made it so difficult is that a ton of my symptoms overlap other diseases so I’ve become a Venn diagram of sorts.
The skin lesions were a one off, but I am having new joint pain. Seems like something new every week. I have night sweats, don’t sleep well and have zero appetite. I went from 190 to 131 and I’m 5’10”. I also lost my sense of smell and taste since my sinuses are so bad.
My levels for a lot of my different cells are high or low. To note, my neutrophils at 8.62 and my MyChart says Normal range: 1.80 - 7.00 103/u, and my absolute eosinophil count is 5.25 with Normal range: 0.00 - 0.50 103/uL
I guess my curiosity is if my case is truly rare or if others out there have gone through something similar (or as specific as me) and how did you handle it. Because of the roller coaster I’ve been on for the past 2 years, I’m having a hard time accepting that I might finally have a diagnosis and that it’s HES.
Thank you in advance for your support and insight. Also, thank you to those who took the time to read all of this rambling.
submitted by Ok_Wait_577 to Eosinophilia [link] [comments]

2024.04.26 23:54 DOSO-DRAWS Have you noticed how the Sphenoid bone is kind of like the Skull's Pelvis? They're strikingly visually similar, and they actually have similar functions - that of hub-like mediating all the other bones/plates within the skeleton/skull.

Have you noticed how the Sphenoid bone is kind of like the Skull's Pelvis? They're strikingly visually similar, and they actually have similar functions - that of hub-like mediating all the other bones/plates within the skeleton/skull. submitted by DOSO-DRAWS to Anatomy [link] [comments]

2024.04.16 03:23 EclosionK2 Drainage

Will left his ground floor apartment and breathed in the rotten air.
Two years ago, he would’ve thrown up on the spot, it had been impossible to stomach the indescribable sewer reek that filled one’s sinus and caked one’s tongue. The closest definition Will could come up with was: moldy bananas festering in a broken urinal. But time and experience had played their part, and eventually the repugnant smell was assimilated into Will’s day-to-day. It became the balmy spice that simply lined his saliva. A mild discomfort but nothing more.
With cane in hand, Will gently sauntered over to his refurbished floater-car. In appearance it was a harmless four seater with auto-steering, but two years ago it stood as a defeating reminder of Will’s divorce, his near-bankruptcy and his firing. Just a momentary glance used to crumble him into a regret-fueled stupor followed by a sleepless night on the floor.
But not anymore, Will forced a weak smile and prepared for boarding.
No matter how gently he stepped into the seat, Will’s lower back would always protest. Only by sitting perfectly still for five minutes would the fiery wire eventually uncoil from his spine. Though sometimes it took ten minutes. And other times a little longer.
He used to enjoy the self-piloting feature of floater cars. It allowed him to observe the tapestry of subways, the weaving of other vehicles and the flashes of red sun peeking out between the thousand-floor suites. But today’s headache once again proved too greedy. Will applied his blindfold and embraced the darkness.
Calm, soothing darkness. It allowed Will to breathe and remember his new existence wasn’t so bad. Just like at his old job where he would downgrade bank accounts from premium to basic, his own life had switched from being a complicated blend of relationships and responsibilities to something far more modest. Like basic chequing.
A beep and a gentle thrust indicated the Ford was now ascending. Despite his blindfold, Will could almost discern the exact elevation based entirely on smell. The higher he rose, the further the city’s drainage disappeared. The air became fresh.
The car quickly reached the required airspace and bolted along a designated route. For the next seven minutes, the world became a loud, vibrating hum, full of precise dips, lifts and turns.
Once docked at the clinic’s five hundredth floor, Will removed his blindfold and gently rolled out of the car. The ceramic promenade was not gentle on his feet, but as long as he kept moving, the waning pain could not settle on any particular bone.
Past the frosted glass, Will quickly reached the front desk and flashed the appointment badge on his phone. He was quickly directed down the hall. Room 5420 - Hirudotherapy.
As usual, the waiting space was empty. Before Will could inspect the window into the physician’s office, Dr. Montgomery had already opened its door.
“So...you’ve had a relapse?” The greying doctor was never one for introductions.
Will stared blankly for a moment. “Yes, I think so. Thank you for seeing me.”
With the utmost care, Will collapsed his cane and seated himself on the patient’s recliner, here he would try to move as little as possible as his spine settled.
Montgomery drifted past the many tubes, leech tanks and metal trays before perching upon on his tiny stool. The doctor had always seemed a little strange to Will. It had something to do with the black toupe resting on sideburns so obviously grey, but Will supposed the physician had gone past caring about appearances. Everyone is suppressing something.
Montgomery raised his head from his tablet, “You say it’s on your back?”
Will nodded with a grimace. Shoulder bones flared as he removed his shirt and leaned slightly forward. Staying still was always difficult at the clinic.
The doctor adjusted his glasses and came over for an inspection. “I don’t see any eczema.”
Will was prepared for this and did his best to sound convincing.
“Ahem. I know it's very faint. But I can definitely feel it. The characteristic tingling I mean. I usually get it before the redness swells up.”
There came a long sigh from the doctor. With cold hands, he inspected the skin around Will’s shoulder blades and lower back.
“Mr Lin, I can’t even spot the faintest signs. Also, I can see on your file you’ve been requesting other practitioners about the same thing.”
“That’s because it's been acting up.”
Another sigh. Montgomery wiped a smear of dust off his glasses. “Mr. Lin, Our leeches are very specialized and very expensive. There’s a woman coming after you with extensive psoriasis. I can’t spend hours each day on rashes that have already been treated. I thought the last time you had come —we confirmed it was gone”
“I know, I know, but please understand, the leeches...” Will tried to find the right words.
“—Have cured the symptoms they were prescribed for.” Montgomery stood up and began tapping on his tablet.
A new barb formed around Will’s vertebrae. “The leeches allow me to cope with other pain from my accident.”
Montgomery perched back on his stool. “We don’t overmedicate.”
The tendrils of defeat began sagging Will’s head, he tried his best to stay upright.
“I know there’s regulations, and I know you can’t prescribe them for just anything. But honestly it feels like they draw it out. The leeches have a way of removing all my discomfort. For a whole month I feel alleviated of... everything.” That was about as well as he could put it. Will didn’t expect the doctor to fully comprehend. But truly it felt like the hirudotherapy had a way of draining the ‘bad blood’ of his trauma.
“Mr Lin. You’re at the wrong place.” The doctor removed his glasses, revealing lined, tired eyes. “The leeches aren’t designed for this.”
The barb tightened further, Will momentarily stuttered. ”Y-Youve got my file. You can see the amount of Fluoxetine and other pills I’ve been prescribed. I’m telling you —none of that works as well as this. None of that.”
The doctor entertained the request and perused the tablet again.
The medical history should be obvious, Will thought. He never had the energy to re-explain what he’s gone through. What he’s going through. Carrying himself and bottling the car accident was already an all-consuming activity. Putting anything on display felt impossible.
“Hirudotherapy is not designed for anything neuropathic,” Montgomery said. “Nor can it cure depression or mood disorders. Whatever you think it’s doing for you. It’s not related.”
A shudder travelled through Will’s skin. He grimaced again and forcibly slipped on his shirt. “If I could buy my own leeches I would. I’d even consider going to the lake, fishing my own if I had to.”
“That is ill-advised.”
The dormant anguish was now bubbling inside Will, it had been months since emotion had overcome apathy.
“I… I don’t know what else to say. You’re a physician. This helps me. Improves my life. Isn’t that the purpose of medicine?”
“Mr. Lin, I don’t want to sound rude ... but I know your type.” The doctor stood up, the harsh lighting cast a shadowy veil across his face. “I can smell it on you.”
Will now realized the situation he was contending with. The unspoken tension. Does he think I’m some bottom-dwelling Junkie?
“Whatever claim you’ve got to travel up here is long expired. I know how far the gene-hacking in these leeches has come —their enhanced anesthetic should frankly be classified as an opioid. I don’t just prescribe them willy-nilly.”
A moment passed. The fire renewed inside Will.
“Doctor, excuse me, but I used to live on the two hundredth floor of a nearby tower. I used to work for Metro Bank. Whatever you think I am—”
Then came pain. Abrupt and sharp. A release of sparks melted Will, broke his composure. He fell back into his chair, groaned, and dug nails into the padded foam.
“That’s quite enough Mr. Lin. This act you're putting on isn’t going to get you what you want. Your eczema is gone. I’m not going to waste my valuable leeches on your addiction.”
Will waited for his back spasm to acquiesce before continuing to speak. All he could do is focus on breathing. He closed his eyes.
“I’m writing you a referral to a psychiatrist and an orthopedist. Their expertise is far more appropriate for the injury you’ve got.”
Will exhaled, shook his head. The insurance limits had been used up on ortho and psych. He needed the leeches. Nothing else worked.
“Up we go now, take your cane.”
There came flashes of Will’s old floater spiralling out of control. An incoming commuter train. He could barely see the room he was being led out of. Tears began to form.
Montgomery seated Will in the waiting room outside, and placed the printed referrals on his lap.
“This is for the best Mr. Lin, believe me. I’ll leave you here to gather yourself. When you’re ready you can call a cab from the front desk. Alright?”
Will could feel himself being pressed beneath broken glass. For a moment it felt like he had to crawl his way out of the wreckage all over again. One agonizing arm at a time. Then the bright headlights became the ceiling LEDs. He was back at the clinic.
“Are you alright Mr.Lin?”
There wasn’t any energy left to talk. Or disagree. Will gave a wan nod.
“Very good. Take care now.”
Will eased into the hot coals. For the next little while he would have to truly focus on staying absolutely still. Not moving at all.
Maybe I have formed an addiction without realizing it? A dependency? He wondered if the leeches were just a band-aid on a disorder that now truly delved far too deep. Perhaps he had to reset his recovery by a different means.
He stared at the papers resting on his legs. The names of the orthopedist and shrink seemed totally unfamiliar, they must have been out-of-district. But maybe that was a good thing, he thought. Somewhere new.
Then he wondered how he could possibly afford the coverage. Additional treatment was all beyond his means. He might have to start seeking additional employment at another bank again, and hope they somehow overlooked his record.
Christ. He bent over, ignoring the pain. Starting over is so hard.
He considered where he might find the nearest lake.
***
Dr. Montgomery shut the exam room door and obscured the window. He stared at his warped reflection on one of the leech tanks. A furrowed scowl stretched across the moving black bodies. What has become of my profession?
It seemed like every other day someone was crawling their way into his office with personal trauma this and separation anxiety that. The leeches were predominantly designed for skin conditions, coagulation issues. He didn’t have a degree in clinical psychology. Nor did he care to acquire one.
Let the psychologists deal with the kranks. Montgomery applied his gloves and with reluctant expertise of a master, he thrust his arm into a tank and snagged half a dozen blackstripe leeches.
This bio-engineering has gone too far. It’s turning them into something unwieldy. Something aberrant. He placed the creatures on a tray and wiped away the excess moisture. They recoiled. Squirmed. Then Montgomery wheeled the tray over beside the patient's recliner. And sat in it.
He thought about the dozens of email drafts he’d composed about returning to standard leeches. He’d written long lists about the unintended effects these new lab-breeds came with.
Eventually I’ll send something. I’ll have to do something about it. In time. Then he sighed, stared at the elongating lifeforms and knew that it wouldn’t happen.
Dr. Montgomery had his own set of problems. A daughter who wouldn’t speak to him, a legal debt from three different malpractice lawsuits, and not to mention his persistent bouts with glaucoma. He removed the black toupe off his head, revealing a pale scalp riddled with teeth-marks. Red circles overlapping each other. Venn diagrams.
One by one, he applied the leeches onto his head. Their cool bodies writhed against his scalp and squirmed along the bumps of his skull, turning all sensation frigid. Had he used any specimens on patients today, he wouldn’t have been able to reach the same level of relief as he needed. His tolerance had grown too high.
It is a knowing self-delusion, this habit of mine. But there was no use worrying, all material concern would always end in the last hours of his office —when he had the space to himself.
With eyes closed, the doctor waited for the first instance of the needle-pricks. His serotonin levels would reach the requisite levels, and his synaptic receptors would become blocked. He’d feel at ease for another few days.
When the bite finally came, Montgomery slightly winced. It was like the puncture of a mini-stalactite. Every bite afterwards grew increasingly numb.
He gave one last glance at the door —to make sure it was closed— and caught his reflection on a hung mirror. What he saw was a gorgon. A medusa-like monster with leeches instead of hair. It hissed and laughed at him, sparked a momentary horror. Then Dr. Montgomery turned away, sank into his chair and felt nothing at all.
submitted by EclosionK2 to DarkTales [link] [comments]

2024.04.16 03:22 EclosionK2 Drainage

Will left his ground floor apartment and breathed in the rotten air.
Two years ago, he would’ve thrown up on the spot, it had been impossible to stomach the indescribable sewer reek that filled one’s sinus and caked one’s tongue. The closest definition Will could come up with was: moldy bananas festering in a broken urinal. But time and experience had played their part, and eventually the repugnant smell was assimilated into Will’s day-to-day. It became the balmy spice that simply lined his saliva. A mild discomfort but nothing more.
With cane in hand, Will gently sauntered over to his refurbished floater-car. In appearance it was a harmless four seater with auto-steering, but two years ago it stood as a defeating reminder of Will’s divorce, his near-bankruptcy and his firing. Just a momentary glance used to crumble him into a regret-fueled stupor followed by a sleepless night on the floor.
But not anymore, Will forced a weak smile and prepared for boarding.
No matter how gently he stepped into the seat, Will’s lower back would always protest. Only by sitting perfectly still for five minutes would the fiery wire eventually uncoil from his spine. Though sometimes it took ten minutes. And other times a little longer.
He used to enjoy the self-piloting feature of floater cars. It allowed him to observe the tapestry of subways, the weaving of other vehicles and the flashes of red sun peeking out between the thousand-floor suites. But today’s headache once again proved too greedy. Will applied his blindfold and embraced the darkness.
Calm, soothing darkness. It allowed Will to breathe and remember his new existence wasn’t so bad. Just like at his old job where he would downgrade bank accounts from premium to basic, his own life had switched from being a complicated blend of relationships and responsibilities to something far more modest. Like basic chequing.
A beep and a gentle thrust indicated the Ford was now ascending. Despite his blindfold, Will could almost discern the exact elevation based entirely on smell. The higher he rose, the further the city’s drainage disappeared. The air became fresh.
The car quickly reached the required airspace and bolted along a designated route. For the next seven minutes, the world became a loud, vibrating hum, full of precise dips, lifts and turns.
Once docked at the clinic’s five hundredth floor, Will removed his blindfold and gently rolled out of the car. The ceramic promenade was not gentle on his feet, but as long as he kept moving, the waning pain could not settle on any particular bone.
Past the frosted glass, Will quickly reached the front desk and flashed the appointment badge on his phone. He was quickly directed down the hall. Room 5420 - Hirudotherapy.
As usual, the waiting space was empty. Before Will could inspect the window into the physician’s office, Dr. Montgomery had already opened its door.
“So...you’ve had a relapse?” The greying doctor was never one for introductions.
Will stared blankly for a moment. “Yes, I think so. Thank you for seeing me.”
With the utmost care, Will collapsed his cane and seated himself on the patient’s recliner, here he would try to move as little as possible as his spine settled.
Montgomery drifted past the many tubes, leech tanks and metal trays before perching upon on his tiny stool. The doctor had always seemed a little strange to Will. It had something to do with the black toupe resting on sideburns so obviously grey, but Will supposed the physician had gone past caring about appearances. Everyone is suppressing something.
Montgomery raised his head from his tablet, “You say it’s on your back?”
Will nodded with a grimace. Shoulder bones flared as he removed his shirt and leaned slightly forward. Staying still was always difficult at the clinic.
The doctor adjusted his glasses and came over for an inspection. “I don’t see any eczema.”
Will was prepared for this and did his best to sound convincing.
“Ahem. I know it's very faint. But I can definitely feel it. The characteristic tingling I mean. I usually get it before the redness swells up.”
There came a long sigh from the doctor. With cold hands, he inspected the skin around Will’s shoulder blades and lower back.
“Mr Lin, I can’t even spot the faintest signs. Also, I can see on your file you’ve been requesting other practitioners about the same thing.”
“That’s because it's been acting up.”
Another sigh. Montgomery wiped a smear of dust off his glasses. “Mr. Lin, Our leeches are very specialized and very expensive. There’s a woman coming after you with extensive psoriasis. I can’t spend hours each day on rashes that have already been treated. I thought the last time you had come —we confirmed it was gone”
“I know, I know, but please understand, the leeches...” Will tried to find the right words.
“—Have cured the symptoms they were prescribed for.” Montgomery stood up and began tapping on his tablet.
A new barb formed around Will’s vertebrae. “The leeches allow me to cope with other pain from my accident.”
Montgomery perched back on his stool. “We don’t overmedicate.”
The tendrils of defeat began sagging Will’s head, he tried his best to stay upright.
“I know there’s regulations, and I know you can’t prescribe them for just anything. But honestly it feels like they draw it out. The leeches have a way of removing all my discomfort. For a whole month I feel alleviated of... everything.” That was about as well as he could put it. Will didn’t expect the doctor to fully comprehend. But truly it felt like the hirudotherapy had a way of draining the ‘bad blood’ of his trauma.
“Mr Lin. You’re at the wrong place.” The doctor removed his glasses, revealing lined, tired eyes. “The leeches aren’t designed for this.”
The barb tightened further, Will momentarily stuttered. ”Y-Youve got my file. You can see the amount of Fluoxetine and other pills I’ve been prescribed. I’m telling you —none of that works as well as this. None of that.”
The doctor entertained the request and perused the tablet again.
The medical history should be obvious, Will thought. He never had the energy to re-explain what he’s gone through. What he’s going through. Carrying himself and bottling the car accident was already an all-consuming activity. Putting anything on display felt impossible.
“Hirudotherapy is not designed for anything neuropathic,” Montgomery said. “Nor can it cure depression or mood disorders. Whatever you think it’s doing for you. It’s not related.”
A shudder travelled through Will’s skin. He grimaced again and forcibly slipped on his shirt. “If I could buy my own leeches I would. I’d even consider going to the lake, fishing my own if I had to.”
“That is ill-advised.”
The dormant anguish was now bubbling inside Will, it had been months since emotion had overcome apathy.
“I… I don’t know what else to say. You’re a physician. This helps me. Improves my life. Isn’t that the purpose of medicine?”
“Mr. Lin, I don’t want to sound rude ... but I know your type.” The doctor stood up, the harsh lighting cast a shadowy veil across his face. “I can smell it on you.”
Will now realized the situation he was contending with. The unspoken tension. Does he think I’m some bottom-dwelling Junkie?
“Whatever claim you’ve got to travel up here is long expired. I know how far the gene-hacking in these leeches has come —their enhanced anesthetic should frankly be classified as an opioid. I don’t just prescribe them willy-nilly.”
A moment passed. The fire renewed inside Will.
“Doctor, excuse me, but I used to live on the two hundredth floor of a nearby tower. I used to work for Metro Bank. Whatever you think I am—”
Then came pain. Abrupt and sharp. A release of sparks melted Will, broke his composure. He fell back into his chair, groaned, and dug nails into the padded foam.
“That’s quite enough Mr. Lin. This act you're putting on isn’t going to get you what you want. Your eczema is gone. I’m not going to waste my valuable leeches on your addiction.”
Will waited for his back spasm to acquiesce before continuing to speak. All he could do is focus on breathing. He closed his eyes.
“I’m writing you a referral to a psychiatrist and an orthopedist. Their expertise is far more appropriate for the injury you’ve got.”
Will exhaled, shook his head. The insurance limits had been used up on ortho and psych. He needed the leeches. Nothing else worked.
“Up we go now, take your cane.”
There came flashes of Will’s old floater spiralling out of control. An incoming commuter train. He could barely see the room he was being led out of. Tears began to form.
Montgomery seated Will in the waiting room outside, and placed the printed referrals on his lap.
“This is for the best Mr. Lin, believe me. I’ll leave you here to gather yourself. When you’re ready you can call a cab from the front desk. Alright?”
Will could feel himself being pressed beneath broken glass. For a moment it felt like he had to crawl his way out of the wreckage all over again. One agonizing arm at a time. Then the bright headlights became the ceiling LEDs. He was back at the clinic.
“Are you alright Mr.Lin?”
There wasn’t any energy left to talk. Or disagree. Will gave a wan nod.
“Very good. Take care now.”
Will eased into the hot coals. For the next little while he would have to truly focus on staying absolutely still. Not moving at all.
Maybe I have formed an addiction without realizing it? A dependency? He wondered if the leeches were just a band-aid on a disorder that now truly delved far too deep. Perhaps he had to reset his recovery by a different means.
He stared at the papers resting on his legs. The names of the orthopedist and shrink seemed totally unfamiliar, they must have been out-of-district. But maybe that was a good thing, he thought. Somewhere new.
Then he wondered how he could possibly afford the coverage. Additional treatment was all beyond his means. He might have to start seeking additional employment at another bank again, and hope they somehow overlooked his record.
Christ. He bent over, ignoring the pain. Starting over is so hard.
He considered where he might find the nearest lake.
***
Dr. Montgomery shut the exam room door and obscured the window. He stared at his warped reflection on one of the leech tanks. A furrowed scowl stretched across the moving black bodies. What has become of my profession?
It seemed like every other day someone was crawling their way into his office with personal trauma this and separation anxiety that. The leeches were predominantly designed for skin conditions, coagulation issues. He didn’t have a degree in clinical psychology. Nor did he care to acquire one.
Let the psychologists deal with the kranks. Montgomery applied his gloves and with reluctant expertise of a master, he thrust his arm into a tank and snagged half a dozen blackstripe leeches.
This bio-engineering has gone too far. It’s turning them into something unwieldy. Something aberrant. He placed the creatures on a tray and wiped away the excess moisture. They recoiled. Squirmed. Then Montgomery wheeled the tray over beside the patient's recliner. And sat in it.
He thought about the dozens of email drafts he’d composed about returning to standard leeches. He’d written long lists about the unintended effects these new lab-breeds came with.
Eventually I’ll send something. I’ll have to do something about it. In time. Then he sighed, stared at the elongating lifeforms and knew that it wouldn’t happen.
Dr. Montgomery had his own set of problems. A daughter who wouldn’t speak to him, a legal debt from three different malpractice lawsuits, and not to mention his persistent bouts with glaucoma. He removed the black toupe off his head, revealing a pale scalp riddled with teeth-marks. Red circles overlapping each other. Venn diagrams.
One by one, he applied the leeches onto his head. Their cool bodies writhed against his scalp and squirmed along the bumps of his skull, turning all sensation frigid. Had he used any specimens on patients today, he wouldn’t have been able to reach the same level of relief as he needed. His tolerance had grown too high.
It is a knowing self-delusion, this habit of mine. But there was no use worrying, all material concern would always end in the last hours of his office —when he had the space to himself.
With eyes closed, the doctor waited for the first instance of the needle-pricks. His serotonin levels would reach the requisite levels, and his synaptic receptors would become blocked. He’d feel at ease for another few days.
When the bite finally came, Montgomery slightly winced. It was like the puncture of a mini-stalactite. Every bite afterwards grew increasingly numb.
He gave one last glance at the door —to make sure it was closed— and caught his reflection on a hung mirror. What he saw was a gorgon. A medusa-like monster with leeches instead of hair. It hissed and laughed at him, sparked a momentary horror. Then Dr. Montgomery turned away, sank into his chair and felt nothing at all.
submitted by EclosionK2 to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]

2024.04.16 03:21 EclosionK2 Drainage

Will left his ground floor apartment and breathed in the rotten air.
Two years ago, he would’ve thrown up on the spot, it had been impossible to stomach the indescribable sewer reek that filled one’s sinus and caked one’s tongue. The closest definition Will could come up with was: moldy bananas festering in a broken urinal. But time and experience had played their part, and eventually the repugnant smell was assimilated into Will’s day-to-day. It became the balmy spice that simply lined his saliva. A mild discomfort but nothing more.
With cane in hand, Will gently sauntered over to his refurbished floater-car. In appearance it was a harmless four seater with auto-steering, but two years ago it stood as a defeating reminder of Will’s divorce, his near-bankruptcy and his firing. Just a momentary glance used to crumble him into a regret-fueled stupor followed by a sleepless night on the floor.
But not anymore, Will forced a weak smile and prepared for boarding.
No matter how gently he stepped into the seat, Will’s lower back would always protest. Only by sitting perfectly still for five minutes would the fiery wire eventually uncoil from his spine. Though sometimes it took ten minutes. And other times a little longer.
He used to enjoy the self-piloting feature of floater cars. It allowed him to observe the tapestry of subways, the weaving of other vehicles and the flashes of red sun peeking out between the thousand-floor suites. But today’s headache once again proved too greedy. Will applied his blindfold and embraced the darkness.
Calm, soothing darkness. It allowed Will to breathe and remember his new existence wasn’t so bad. Just like at his old job where he would downgrade bank accounts from premium to basic, his own life had switched from being a complicated blend of relationships and responsibilities to something far more modest. Like basic chequing.
A beep and a gentle thrust indicated the Ford was now ascending. Despite his blindfold, Will could almost discern the exact elevation based entirely on smell. The higher he rose, the further the city’s drainage disappeared. The air became fresh.
The car quickly reached the required airspace and bolted along a designated route. For the next seven minutes, the world became a loud, vibrating hum, full of precise dips, lifts and turns.
Once docked at the clinic’s five hundredth floor, Will removed his blindfold and gently rolled out of the car. The ceramic promenade was not gentle on his feet, but as long as he kept moving, the waning pain could not settle on any particular bone.
Past the frosted glass, Will quickly reached the front desk and flashed the appointment badge on his phone. He was quickly directed down the hall. Room 5420 - Hirudotherapy.
As usual, the waiting space was empty. Before Will could inspect the window into the physician’s office, Dr. Montgomery had already opened its door.
“So...you’ve had a relapse?” The greying doctor was never one for introductions.
Will stared blankly for a moment. “Yes, I think so. Thank you for seeing me.”
With the utmost care, Will collapsed his cane and seated himself on the patient’s recliner, here he would try to move as little as possible as his spine settled.
Montgomery drifted past the many tubes, leech tanks and metal trays before perching upon on his tiny stool. The doctor had always seemed a little strange to Will. It had something to do with the black toupe resting on sideburns so obviously grey, but Will supposed the physician had gone past caring about appearances. Everyone is suppressing something.
Montgomery raised his head from his tablet, “You say it’s on your back?”
Will nodded with a grimace. Shoulder bones flared as he removed his shirt and leaned slightly forward. Staying still was always difficult at the clinic.
The doctor adjusted his glasses and came over for an inspection. “I don’t see any eczema.”
Will was prepared for this and did his best to sound convincing.
“Ahem. I know it's very faint. But I can definitely feel it. The characteristic tingling I mean. I usually get it before the redness swells up.”
There came a long sigh from the doctor. With cold hands, he inspected the skin around Will’s shoulder blades and lower back.
“Mr Lin, I can’t even spot the faintest signs. Also, I can see on your file you’ve been requesting other practitioners about the same thing.”
“That’s because it's been acting up.”
Another sigh. Montgomery wiped a smear of dust off his glasses. “Mr. Lin, Our leeches are very specialized and very expensive. There’s a woman coming after you with extensive psoriasis. I can’t spend hours each day on rashes that have already been treated. I thought the last time you had come —we confirmed it was gone”
“I know, I know, but please understand, the leeches...” Will tried to find the right words.
“—Have cured the symptoms they were prescribed for.” Montgomery stood up and began tapping on his tablet.
A new barb formed around Will’s vertebrae. “The leeches allow me to cope with other pain from my accident.”
Montgomery perched back on his stool. “We don’t overmedicate.”
The tendrils of defeat began sagging Will’s head, he tried his best to stay upright.
“I know there’s regulations, and I know you can’t prescribe them for just anything. But honestly it feels like they draw it out. The leeches have a way of removing all my discomfort. For a whole month I feel alleviated of... everything.” That was about as well as he could put it. Will didn’t expect the doctor to fully comprehend. But truly it felt like the hirudotherapy had a way of draining the ‘bad blood’ of his trauma.
“Mr Lin. You’re at the wrong place.” The doctor removed his glasses, revealing lined, tired eyes. “The leeches aren’t designed for this.”
The barb tightened further, Will momentarily stuttered. ”Y-Youve got my file. You can see the amount of Fluoxetine and other pills I’ve been prescribed. I’m telling you —none of that works as well as this. None of that.”
The doctor entertained the request and perused the tablet again.
The medical history should be obvious, Will thought. He never had the energy to re-explain what he’s gone through. What he’s going through. Carrying himself and bottling the car accident was already an all-consuming activity. Putting anything on display felt impossible.
“Hirudotherapy is not designed for anything neuropathic,” Montgomery said. “Nor can it cure depression or mood disorders. Whatever you think it’s doing for you. It’s not related.”
A shudder travelled through Will’s skin. He grimaced again and forcibly slipped on his shirt. “If I could buy my own leeches I would. I’d even consider going to the lake, fishing my own if I had to.”
“That is ill-advised.”
The dormant anguish was now bubbling inside Will, it had been months since emotion had overcome apathy.
“I… I don’t know what else to say. You’re a physician. This helps me. Improves my life. Isn’t that the purpose of medicine?”
“Mr. Lin, I don’t want to sound rude ... but I know your type.” The doctor stood up, the harsh lighting cast a shadowy veil across his face. “I can smell it on you.”
Will now realized the situation he was contending with. The unspoken tension. Does he think I’m some bottom-dwelling Junkie?
“Whatever claim you’ve got to travel up here is long expired. I know how far the gene-hacking in these leeches has come —their enhanced anesthetic should frankly be classified as an opioid. I don’t just prescribe them willy-nilly.”
A moment passed. The fire renewed inside Will.
“Doctor, excuse me, but I used to live on the two hundredth floor of a nearby tower. I used to work for Metro Bank. Whatever you think I am—”
Then came pain. Abrupt and sharp. A release of sparks melted Will, broke his composure. He fell back into his chair, groaned, and dug nails into the padded foam.
“That’s quite enough Mr. Lin. This act you're putting on isn’t going to get you what you want. Your eczema is gone. I’m not going to waste my valuable leeches on your addiction.”
Will waited for his back spasm to acquiesce before continuing to speak. All he could do is focus on breathing. He closed his eyes.
“I’m writing you a referral to a psychiatrist and an orthopedist. Their expertise is far more appropriate for the injury you’ve got.”
Will exhaled, shook his head. The insurance limits had been used up on ortho and psych. He needed the leeches. Nothing else worked.
“Up we go now, take your cane.”
There came flashes of Will’s old floater spiralling out of control. An incoming commuter train. He could barely see the room he was being led out of. Tears began to form.
Montgomery seated Will in the waiting room outside, and placed the printed referrals on his lap.
“This is for the best Mr. Lin, believe me. I’ll leave you here to gather yourself. When you’re ready you can call a cab from the front desk. Alright?”
Will could feel himself being pressed beneath broken glass. For a moment it felt like he had to crawl his way out of the wreckage all over again. One agonizing arm at a time. Then the bright headlights became the ceiling LEDs. He was back at the clinic.
“Are you alright Mr.Lin?”
There wasn’t any energy left to talk. Or disagree. Will gave a wan nod.
“Very good. Take care now.”
Will eased into the hot coals. For the next little while he would have to truly focus on staying absolutely still. Not moving at all.
Maybe I have formed an addiction without realizing it? A dependency? He wondered if the leeches were just a band-aid on a disorder that now truly delved far too deep. Perhaps he had to reset his recovery by a different means.
He stared at the papers resting on his legs. The names of the orthopedist and shrink seemed totally unfamiliar, they must have been out-of-district. But maybe that was a good thing, he thought. Somewhere new.
Then he wondered how he could possibly afford the coverage. Additional treatment was all beyond his means. He might have to start seeking additional employment at another bank again, and hope they somehow overlooked his record.
Christ. He bent over, ignoring the pain. Starting over is so hard.
He considered where he might find the nearest lake.
***
Dr. Montgomery shut the exam room door and obscured the window. He stared at his warped reflection on one of the leech tanks. A furrowed scowl stretched across the moving black bodies. What has become of my profession?
It seemed like every other day someone was crawling their way into his office with personal trauma this and separation anxiety that. The leeches were predominantly designed for skin conditions, coagulation issues. He didn’t have a degree in clinical psychology. Nor did he care to acquire one.
Let the psychologists deal with the kranks. Montgomery applied his gloves and with reluctant expertise of a master, he thrust his arm into a tank and snagged half a dozen blackstripe leeches.
This bio-engineering has gone too far. It’s turning them into something unwieldy. Something aberrant. He placed the creatures on a tray and wiped away the excess moisture. They recoiled. Squirmed. Then Montgomery wheeled the tray over beside the patient's recliner. And sat in it.
He thought about the dozens of email drafts he’d composed about returning to standard leeches. He’d written long lists about the unintended effects these new lab-breeds came with.
Eventually I’ll send something. I’ll have to do something about it. In time. Then he sighed, stared at the elongating lifeforms and knew that it wouldn’t happen.
Dr. Montgomery had his own set of problems. A daughter who wouldn’t speak to him, a legal debt from three different malpractice lawsuits, and not to mention his persistent bouts with glaucoma. He removed the black toupe off his head, revealing a pale scalp riddled with teeth-marks. Red circles overlapping each other. Venn diagrams.
One by one, he applied the leeches onto his head. Their cool bodies writhed against his scalp and squirmed along the bumps of his skull, turning all sensation frigid. Had he used any specimens on patients today, he wouldn’t have been able to reach the same level of relief as he needed. His tolerance had grown too high.
It is a knowing self-delusion, this habit of mine. But there was no use worrying, all material concern would always end in the last hours of his office —when he had the space to himself.
With eyes closed, the doctor waited for the first instance of the needle-pricks. His serotonin levels would reach the requisite levels, and his synaptic receptors would become blocked. He’d feel at ease for another few days.
When the bite finally came, Montgomery slightly winced. It was like the puncture of a mini-stalactite. Every bite afterwards grew increasingly numb.
He gave one last glance at the door —to make sure it was closed— and caught his reflection on a hung mirror. What he saw was a gorgon. A medusa-like monster with leeches instead of hair. It hissed and laughed at him, sparked a momentary horror. Then Dr. Montgomery turned away, sank into his chair and felt nothing at all.
submitted by EclosionK2 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]

2024.03.20 01:12 Wealth_Is_Not_Cash Day 8: what the fuck is this ungodly pain behind/below my tongue?

Drinking water irritates the hell out of this very specific location on both sides of my mouth. All other things irritate it as well, but it really sucks for water to be this painful to drink. Anyone else know this very specific pain location? When I look at diagrams it looks like it's near the salivary glands. And I have a sinus infection -- ugh. I feel pretty great overall but this one specific pain keeps me writhing. Literally writhing.
submitted by Wealth_Is_Not_Cash to Tonsillectomy [link] [comments]

2024.03.09 21:16 Deadpool0600 Roof of mouth pressure and growing pain (2 days and continuing)

It started last night, mild at first but has gotten worse throughout the day, I have never had this before, not where it is located anyway. It is right in the centre of the roof of my mouth, somewhere near the front, right behind something called the incisive papilla according to some diagrams I looked at.
I don't have a dentist I can just go to, or a doctor, I live in ass end nowhere and unless I am dying I don't tend to go to the doctors.
Best way to describe the pain is like someone is blowing up a small balloon inside both sides of the roof plate.
It started last night after eating some like chocolate caramel bar thing that someone gave me, it was mild at first but it has been growing and now it is the worst it has been since then. I have also had a lot of blocked noses since then too, It isn't a common thing with me so it might be something sinus related.
If I press into the point where it hurts it relieves the pressure but then comes back a few seconds later, kinda like a most sinus issues I get from time to time. If I suck and produce pressure in my mouth it also relieves it to a lesser extent.
Ya'll got any advice or ideas? If it continues into tomorrow and Monday I will be going to the doctors, naturally. But until then I am boned.
Also It is very much not a burn I have burnt my mouth on pizza enough times to know what that is like.
​
EDIT: Also I have check it with a mirror on a stick or whatever it is called and there is no swelling or redness, looks like it always does.
submitted by Deadpool0600 to askdentists [link] [comments]

2024.03.09 20:06 corvanus 1989 3.0L to 1995 3.4L

Alright, I'm planning on doing a full swap. A rebuild is 4k direct quote and I'm a broke ass unemployed vet, so I've been sitting on my poor darling knocking away in the driveway. Kept it dry, turn it over every other month and idle it for a few. But I'm not about to try and rebuild an old 3.slow when I've just picked up the deal of a lifetime!
Got a 1995 4runner 3.4 WITH: Harness ECU/ECM A340f transmission 3 A/C compressors Exhaust crossover Missing intake plenum Missing water pump cover
The engine is well maintained and has 212k miles. The whole entire lot cost me 1,200.
All I'm doing now is trying to dig up the wiring diagrams from each engine respectively so I can trace it all out and swap any plugs or wires as needed and go from there.
Still need a battery tray Oil dipstick relocation (maybe) A/C dash hookup (my 3.0 didn't have it so button, any extra wiring etc)
Anything else I might need? Suggestions? Been all over the forums and in old threads, so I'm feeling pretty good here. BUT the more minds the better so if there's anything I might need or should be aware of please send it.
Other than that it's soon going to be time to turn wrenches and smash my hand into a different engine!
UPDATE: Engine I was trying to get has sold while I've been laid up with a crazy sinus infection that's wrecked my balance, and my stomach to boot. But I'm already hot on the trail of a few t100s/4runners that I'm trying to pick up as dono vehicles! Wish me luck! I will be posting once I've nailed down the loose ends
submitted by corvanus to ToyotaPickup [link] [comments]

2024.02.07 19:45 medicineisme Help please: BRAND NEW Levoit humidifier not blowing mist out at expected levels

Help please: BRAND NEW Levoit humidifier not blowing mist out at expected levels
-Purchased two new Levoit Classic 300S humidifiers from Amazon. Opened one of them, worked robustly initially, connected to Levoit's VeSync app, programmed to Auto mode for 60% humidity, went to bed.
-Next morning, sensor read 24% (my sinuses were dying lol). Tried MANUAL mode on High, no mist. Lifted tank, replaced it, mist blows out for a few seconds then nothing. Took lid off and barely see any mist production from the ultrasound transducer despite it 'running' (see Figure)
-Weird thing though: I put a skewer to 'lift' one side of the tank and seems to resolve the problem (see other Figure with skewer). This makes me wonder if it's a water level issue, but I can't just keep propping the tank up.
-I attached a diagram of its parts. Other troubleshooting: surface is indeed level, filter (L) is unobstructed, float (N) is freely moving, transducer (T) is clear.
-Also again, brand new. I don't want to open my 2nd $$$ humidifier if the first turned out disappointing already. Note: The black dots you see in the Mist Tube are water droplets, not mold. This became a heated exchange - please not here. Also I don't think it's mineral deposits since the machine was literally unboxed a day ago and NYC water isn't THAT terrible.
Thank you, friends, in advance.
It's actually running but minimal output from mist tube. Don't know what's up with the display during this photo.
See the skewer propping up the left side? See the mist? Weird.
Le Diagram
submitted by medicineisme to fixit [link] [comments]

2024.01.09 01:13 Infinite_Scallion_24 Settling the Macroevolution and Microevolution ‘debate’

I’m tired of creationists throwing around micro and macro evolution with zero knowledge of what it is. It’s grating and it makes me so annoyed whenever I have to explain it, especially because it tends to accompany the absolute bottom of the barrel arguments from the creationist side.
Firstly, let’s settle the definitions of these terms. An address to the people arguing for evolution, please stop dismissing the terms as made up creationist ones - they aren’t, they’re actually very important aspects of evolutionary biology.
Microevolution: change in allele frequency within a population, usually over a short period of time.
Macroevolution: evolutionary changes that occur above the species level, usually over much longer periods of time. Macroevolution is the result of continuous microevolution.
These are not disputed definitions, nor are they poorly understood phenomena. These are as set in stone as science can get - consistent beyond reasonable doubt.
Microevolution is pathetically easy to provide evidence for. Changes in allele frequency are so common that you literally just need basic microbiology to present them.
Let’s take a favourite of mine - a practical I’ve done on my degree course. Culture some bacteria (ideally non-pathogenic to avoid problems), and make what’s called a gradient plate, where a wedge of agar is poured out on the plate, then more agar is mixed with antibiotic and poured over the wedge, creating a gradient of concentration along the plate. Make a spread plate from cultured bacteria, and then let it incubate overnight. Take out the petri dish and remove a colony that survived in the higher concentration area. Reculture that colony and make a new gradient plate - this one should have even more in the high concentration area. Repeat this enough times and you’ve cultured a bacterial population that is totally resistant to the antibiotic you used. Then immediately destroy the entire population to avoid accidentally causing an epidemic.
I could do a similr method for temperature, pH, etc. All of them will show a bacterial population developing that is resistant to the extreme conditions. This is what’s great about bacteria for evolutionary biology, they let us do in a couple of days what more complex organisms take millions of years to achieve. Love our prokaryotic friends.
Macroevolution is the one that really inflates the stupidity. It’s where we get moronic statements like “it’s historical science/never been observed” or the dreaded Kent Hovind special “a dog doesn’t produce a non-dog”. First, let me dismantle both of these.
The experimental vs historical science divide is a fallacious one. No actual scientist draws this line, it’s a fake distinction made by creationist organisations in a pathetic attempt to discredit the fossil record and other such things. Answers in genesis claims “In order to analyze this type of evidence, a scientist must draw conclusions and make inferences about things they did not directly observe. This lies outside the realm of the scientific method” I lifted this quote directly from their site. The claim that this lies outside of the realm of the scientific method is moronic at best and a deliberate attempt to mislead at worst. The scientific method is as follows:
  1. Observe and Question: make an assessment of something, for example - I’ve been suffering from pressure in my nose lately, so I observe “I feel pressure in my nose, I want to know why”
  2. Gather Information: read up on relevant literature. In my case, I went onto the NHS site and searched up ‘nasal bridge pressure’. This step isn’t always necessary or possible.
  3. Hypothesise: make a claim tht you believe answers your question “my nose pain is due to sinusitis”
  4. Predict and Test: predict something that would only be true if your hypothesis is correct, then test it “If I take decongestants and I do have sinusitis, it should alleviate my symptoms” I then take those decongestants.
  5. Analyse, Repeat, & Conclude: see the results of your testing, do they line up with your prediction? “My nose pain went away when I took decongestants”. Then repeat to make sure your results are valid “I’ll take decongestants again the next time my pain comes back to make sure I’m right”. Once that’s done, conclude - “I took decongestants 3 times and my nose pain went away each time, I must have sinusitis”.
  6. Test Significance: This is where the analogy falls apart. If relevant, test the statistical significance of your results to make sure your conclusion is valid. This is also where you make a null hypothesis “my nose pain is not due to sinusitis”. Do a stats test (e.g. Chi squared, t-test, correlation coefficient, etc.) and then conclude if the difference was due to chance or not.
  7. Publish & Ask Again: Once you have made a valid conclusion and tested it sufficiently, publish it for peer review, and then ask a new question that builds on the last one “my nose pain was due to sinusitis, what strain of virus caused that sinusitis?”
This process is what is indicative of a scientific discovery, and it works for stuff in the here and now, just as much as it works for stuff we cannot directly see happening. For example:
  1. Where did tetrapods come from?
  2. Tetrapods evolved from prehistoric bony fish.
  3. If this is the case, we should find transitional fossils that show the stages leading up to tetrapods. So let’s look for this fossil.
  4. We found a fossil that we’ve named Titaalik, does it show a transition? It has fish-like structures, but its limbs are in a distinct in-between state, still aquatic, but very similar to modern tetrapod limbs. Thus, this implies this organism may be the fossil we’re looking for.
  5. We have found more fossils of other species from a similar time, which also show intermediary features of tetrapods, such as Acanthostega.
  6. We can show a clear transition between the species we have found, as well as a clear progression in age. The less tetrapod the fossil, the older it is. This shows the hypothesis to likely be true.
  7. Publish findings in a paper, attempt to find more fossils that show this transition.
Now, onto the dumbest of dumb arguments - “dog doesn’t make non-dog”. This argument is bad on so many levels - it shows a total lack of knowledge of evolution, which also implies a total unwillingness to learn about the concept you reject, and thus implies a bad-faith debate is incoming.
No, a dog doesn’t produce a cow, or a sheep. A dog produces another dog, but that dog#2 (I’ll say dog #X to make things easy to follow) is ever so slightly different from dog#1. Dog#2 then has kids, and they are slightly different, then dog #3 has a kid, and it’s slightly different. When his hit , say, dog#15 (arbitrary number, don’t read into it), we’re starting to see some noticeable differences. Millions of years later when we reach dog#1,250,000, it’s completely unrecognisable when compared to dog#1, in fact it’s not a dog at all. It cannot breed with dog#1 and produce fertile offspring, so it’s a totally different species. That’s how evolution works.
So now onto the evidence for macroevolution, and spoiler alert - there’s a lot. To prove macroevolution, we need to prove change occuring above the species level - like a species giving rise to numerous other species, or entirely new clades. I can think of 3 really strong instances of this: Theropods -> birds, Hominidae from their common ancestor, and Fish -> Tetrapods
Birds:
The awesome thing about this one is that it started out when Darwin was still alive. Archaeopteryx was discovered during Darwin’s lifetime. Linked below is an image comparing Archaeopteryx to a chicken skeleton, they look very similar. Almost like they‘re related.
https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fpterosaurheresies.wordpress.com%2F2011%2F12%2F18%2Fthe-origin-of-archaeopteryx-illustrated%2F&psig=AOvVaw3lADu8iuwIwXIENOEj9TDz&ust=1704842951665000&source=images&cd=vfe&opi=89978449&ved=0CBAQjRxqFwoTCLDDz4b5zoMDFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD
We even have a process for how we went from Jurassic bird-like theropods to modern birds, showing the exact evolutionary route that would’ve been taken. The links below are to studies detailing this process:
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0960982215009458
https://evolution-outreach.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1007/s12052-009-0133-4
From Berkeley, here’s an article more directed towards the lay person:
https://evolution.berkeley.edu/what-are-evograms/the-origin-of-birds/
Tetrapods:
We have a similar amount of evidence for these, and this is a topic fundamental to evolution. The formation of the tetrapod limb is key to all of life on Earth. If it didn’t happen, every land-dwelling species wouldn’t exist.
We have a very clear timeline of the evolution of this limb, and the species it is attached to. The below png should give a clear idea of this.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Fins_to_hands.png
On this diagram, we can see a number of very cool species, I’m going to pick out 3: Tiktaalik roseae, Panderichthys rhombolepis, and Acanthostega gunnari. We have a number of fossils of all these species, and they show a beautiful progression over time. Panderichthys is ≈380,000,000 years old, Tiktaalik is ≈375,000,000 years old, and Acanthostega is ≈365,000,000 years old. Panderichthys is signlificantly less tetrapod-esque than Tiktaalik, which is significantly less tetrapod-esque than Acanthostega. If that ain’t change occuring above the species level, then I dunno what is.
Here are some studies relating to the matter:
https://www.pnas.org/doi/abs/10.1073/pnas.2016421118
https://www.pnas.org/doi/abs/10.1073/pnas.1322559111
https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/08912963.2012.755677
Best study here, unfortunately, it’s paid: https://www.nature.com/articles/nature04637
Hominids:
For context, the Hominidae are a family of primates that are colloquially known as Great Apes. Living Hominids include members of the genus Pan (Chimpanzeees & Bonobos), members of the genus Gorilla (self explanatory), members of the genus Pongo (Organgutans) and members of the genus Homo (Humans). Like all species, Hominids evolved from a single common ancestor, and thus we should see genetic similarities to provide evidence for this. Fortunately, we do.
Firstly, we can observe a clear genetic fork between humans & chimpanzees. Chimps are well known to be our closest living ancestor, but there is a pretty massive difference between us - chromosomes. Chimps, like all other hominids besides ourselves, have 48 total chromosomes (24 pairs), we have 46 (23 pairs). We need to explain where the chromosomes went. Answer: nowhere, they’re still very much there, sat in our genome. We experienced a rare mutation in chromosomes 2A & 2B, called a chromosomal fusion. 2 chromosomes became 1, and now we have our chromosome 2. This isn’t just assumption, we can map the 2 chimp chromosomes onto our chromosome 2 and they fit almost perfectly. We’ve also found telomere remnants in the middle of chromosome 2, where 2A & 2B would have fused. Telomeres are non-coding DNA segments on the ends of chromosomes, which would only appear in the middle if two chromosomes were fused into one. That’s a pretty big example of change above the species level, since it split one genus into two: Pan and Homo.
https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FChimpanzee_genome_project&psig=AOvVaw2ojxMynYaykwz3skdyCINx&ust=1704844936396000&source=images&cd=vfe&opi=89978449&ved=0CBAQjRxqFwoTCLCNg7qAz4MDFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD
Secondly, NANOG. NANOG is a gene that I believe plays a role in prevening stem cell ageing, and it’s on chromosome 12. However, NANOG is duplicated all across the human genome as 11 non-functional pseudogenes (NANOGP1). There are a number of reasons for this happening, such as reverse-transcription, but what matters is copies of the same gene in different places. When we look for NANOG in chimp genomes, we firstly see the functional gene in the same place on chromosome 12, as well as all 11 NANOGP1 versions in the exact same places as humans. Again, that shows common ancestry pretty well.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1457002/
Welp, that’s me done, forgive the massive size of this post, I’m just so tired of these arguments and want to give myself something to lazily link to whenever they come up. Moreover, they’re some of the dumbest bits of creationism out there.
submitted by Infinite_Scallion_24 to DebateEvolution [link] [comments]

2023.12.30 22:10 _lmartin Pointers on understanding my abnormal ECG?

Hello!
I am 40M, 5'11", 180lbs. I have a history of congenital pulmonary artery stenosis and pulmonary artery patch repair for rupture following an unsuccessful "theraputic angioplasty" circa 1985 at age 4. Since then my cardiac health has been good and things were uneventful until a recent onset occurence of paroxysmal afib. Converted spontaneously, on diltiazem and eliquis until my followup in 5 weeks or so.
My recent adventures at the ER and my cardio's office have me trying to understand my ECG better, especially sicne I'm seeing it more often monitoring with a Kardia 6L and apple watch to check for sinus rhythm. It has been abnormal since the patch repair and is consitently annotated with "Marked ST elevation, possible inferior subendocardial injury, abnormal ECG".
I'm struggling to follow along with online courses and tutorials to just understand the basic lead 1 picture because the examples are so different from mine, I'm not sure if I'm correctly identifying the constituent waves.
Reference image from ecgwaves.com
Below is an "average single beat" diagram from my normal ECG, generated by the Kardia app, which I have labeled with what I think P, Q, R, S and T are. Did I get it right?
https://i.imgur.com/cOVmpfw.png
Also wondering why it's described as "ST elevation" when it looks like a depression? The S point in the normal ECGs I've seen are near the same baseline as the Qs.
Lastly I've been told that my normal ECG looks like someone having a heart attack. I am not having a heart attack!
submitted by _lmartin to AskDocs [link] [comments]

2023.12.27 05:12 PaleCriminal6 Trigger Point Massage for NAR/Sinusitis Relief

I wanted to post this here because it may be helpful to some sub members -- unrelated to NAR, I'm reading a book called "The Trigger Point Therapy Workbook: Your Self-Treatment Guide for Pain Relief" by Clair Davies, which outlines self-massage you can do across various areas of your body to relieve certain painful areas. The opening Trigger Point chapter is about the head/neck/shoulders specifically, and there are various diagrams of Trigger Points that can be focused on for Sinus Pain Relief, including "allergy symptoms."
Although I recommend purchasing the book and trying the massages for yourself, here are a few muscles that are notes to influence Sinus problems:
EDIT: - Pterygoid Muscles: "...trigger points in the Lateral pterygoid refer pain to the cheek, mimicking Sinus pain. They can also stimulate Sinus secretions. Many 'Sinus attacks' are simply the effects of Lateral pterygoid trigger points." /EDIT
Quick about me: I was diagnosed w/ NAR about a year and a half ago with consistent viral Sinus infections, runny nose, sore throat from post nasal drip, fevers, crazy coughing, etc -- medication essentially did not help me except for Sudafed and advil, which led me to realizing that my Sinus issues were likely from recurrent migraines rather than environmental triggers. My primary care suggested this was likely correct, but did not have advice on how to prevent the migraines overall. Allergies run in my family and I was on zyrtec/Claritin for over a decade before testing and realizing that I am not allergic to anything -- meaning all issues are likely from my nervous system or muscle tension, unless something truly awful is happening in the environment (wildfires, etc)
After working on my nervous system/emotional health, which has eliminated many musculoskeletal issues for me, I firmly believe that NAR (and other "uncurable" issues like it, like IBS), are due to overworked nervous systems, recurrent body inflammation, and weakened immune systems. I highly recommend Stanley Rosenberg's "Access The Healing Power of the Vagus Nerve" and Peter Levine's "Waking The Tiger" for nervous system regulation exercises, Clair Davies' "The Trigger Point Therapy Workbook: Your Self-Treatment Guide for Pain Relief" for taking care of tension buildup, and looking to inflammatory-prone stressors (poor sleep, diet, emotional turmoil, etc), as the baseline of things you can control to help with NAIBS/etc. At worst, these things will not help and are very low cost investments to try; at best, they will help mitigate or eliminate symptoms (as they have for me).
All of this said: I have not had nor needed surgery for sinuses, nor did I have daily symptoms for years. My notes here are not intended to dismiss the suffering and symptoms many people feel, but rather, to provide some methods that have worked for me -- hopefully these muscles help as areas to explore for Trigger Point Therapy.
Best of luck!
submitted by PaleCriminal6 to nonallergicrhinitis [link] [comments]

2023.10.04 02:11 Mrmander20 [Vell Harlan and the Doomsday Dorms] 3 - C24.1: Smells Like Trouble

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
For the past two years, Vell Harlan has been caught in the loop alongside his best friends, Lee and Harley, and with their help he’s been able to survive every disaster the universe has thrown at him. But as Vell enters his third year, Lee and Harley are entering their fourth (and final) year at the Einstein-Odinson College. With a ticking clock counting down, the trio must cut through the chaos of killer crickets, haunted phones, and naked sorcerers to try and solve some of the mysteries plaguing their lives -including why all these butterflies keep following Vell around...
[Chapter 1 (Book Three)][Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art][Next Chapter]
“Ibrahim, can you at least pretend to pay attention?”
Samson tried to reach out and snatch his brother’s phone away, but Ibrahim evaded his grasp.
“I’m listening!”
“What was the last thing I said?”
“You asked me to pay attention.”
“Before that,” Samson snapped. He gestured to the computer science textbooks in front of them. “You’re not even on the same page as me.”
“It’s all diagrams anyway, I already know this stuff,” Ibrahim said.
“Then why’d you ask me to study with you?”
“Because you need my help, not the other way around,” Ibrahim said. Samson could only roll his eyes. He’d been getting better grades than Ibrahim all year, and they both knew it. He slammed his textbook shut and packed it up.
“Whatever, Ibs,” Samson grunted. “Let me know when you’re done texting a girl you just met.”
“Hey, I’ve known Casey for a while now-”
“Are you kidding me?” Samson snapped. “That was supposed to be a joke!”
“Uh.”
“At least tell me it’s just one chick and not you trying to two time people again.”
“I told you I don’t do that anymore,” Ibrahim said, unconvincingly. Samson sighed and headed for the door. Right up until the door started heading for him.
“Ibrahim!”
A young brunette woman forced her way into the dorm with such force she barely noticed the door slamming right into Samson’s face and knocking him aside.
“Oh shit.”
“Casey? Seriously? I told you-”
“Hey can this wait?” Ibrahim asked.
“No, you don’t get to weasel your way out of-”
“Yeah yeah I’m a bad person whatever,” Ibrahim said. “But I think you just broke my brother’s nose.”
***
“And it turns out he was right,” Samson said. His voice came through strained and nasally thanks to his shattered nose, and the bandage keeping pressure on it.
“Shit. You need anything?”
“I already got the nurses to look after it, all the magic mumbo jumbo,” Samson mumbled. “It should heal up pretty fast. Three days, they said.”
Samson did the math and let out a deep sigh.
“Three class days.”
“Ouch. So more like six for you.”
While the time loops provided a chance to get injured without consequence, they also doubled up the consequences of getting injured at the wrong time. Samson would have to live every day with a broken nose twice.
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and die early,” Samson grumbled. Everyone else chose not to address that.
“We’ll do whatever we can to help, of course,” Lee said. “Just say the word.”
“I’ll be fine, you guys, it’s a nose,” Samson said. “I don’t have a good sense of smell anyway.”
“Still hurts,” Vell said. Samson nodded. It really did hurt. Just squinting the wrong way made his entire face ache sometimes, but he was trying to put on a brave face. A few days ago Lee had gotten her leg gnawed off by a horde of ravenous shrimp and she’d kept on giving orders and advice right up until she passed out. He couldn’t sit here and whine about a broken nose.
“It’s cool. Besides, if I get help from you, I lose an excuse to guilt trip Ibs into doing whatever I say.”
While he’d been in the medical room last night, Samson had jokingly suggested that Ibrahim better study while he was getting treated. It had been a sarcastic jab at the time, but Samson had returned to find Ibrahim’s notebook filled with pages and pages of meticulous notes. Apparently guilt made for good motivation.
“Hell yeah brother, play that victim card,” Harley said.
“You know it,” Samson said. “I’m going to try and get him to write an essay he’s been stalling. Next time. Since it’s the first loop I’m just going to make him get me a milkshake.”
He grabbed his phone to start guilt-tripping via text and headed out to relax. If he had to live through several loops of this broken nose, he was going to do it by chilling in his dorm with a cold drink in hand. At least until the world started exploding. World exploding took precedence over broken nose.
As he waited for the world to end, Samson laid back in bed, popped some ibuprofen, and turned on some music. He had a movie or two he wanted to watch, but staring at a screen too long made his eyes face hurt.
“Hey, Samson, you here?”
“I’m here, Ibs.”
Ibrahim walked into the room and awkward set a chocolate shake down on Samson’s bedside table. Samson immediately took a sip. He didn’t even like milkshakes that much, but an ice cold drink helped sooth his shattered face.
“You doing good, Sammie?”
“I’ve been better,” Samson said. He’d also been worse. Much, much worse. But Ibrahim didn’t need to know about the time he’d been dissolved in acid.
“Good. Good. So, uh, you need anything?”
“I need my nose back, but I don’t think you can pull that off,” Samson said. He allowed himself to be a little pettier than usual, since this was the first loop.
“Wish I could,” Ibrahim said. “Sorry.”
Samson sighed. The first loop could only excuse so much pettiness.
“It’s not your fault that chick slammed a door in my face.”
“It is my fault she was slamming doors,” Ibrahim said. “I’ve been pissing people off left and right. Wish it didn’t take you getting hurt for me to see that.”
“Yeah, I would’ve appreciated that too. But here we are. What are you going to do about it?”
“Well, maybe we can finally have a sane conversation about your insane friends.”
“Come on man,” Samson grunted. The exasperated tone hurt his nose, but he had to properly express his frustration. “You don’t need to bring them into everything.”
“They put themselves in everything!”
“They do-”
The door to Samson’s door exploded into a shower of splinters as Kim cannonballed her metal body right through it.
“Samson! I need you to rip my brain out!”
Ibrahim brushed some splinters off his shoulder and looked at his brother.
“They do,” Samson said. “Like I was saying. They do.”
The attempted recovery flopped all around. Kim didn’t even know what they were talking about, but she knew Samson was trying to cover his ass and doing a bad job of it. They had bigger problems to deal with, though. Kim turned around and ripped a metal plate off her own backside, just above her hips.
“Reach in there and rip out the blue computer chip with the tubes attached,” Kim commanded. “Now!”
“Why am I-”
“Just do it!”
The LED’s in Kim’s face flashed red, which always meant she was angry, so Samson sprang into action. He spotted the offending chip inside Kim and reached in to grab it and rip it out, carefully avoiding other components as he did so. Her body jerked slightly as the bit of hardware was removed, but she quickly recovered and gave a digital sigh of relief.
“Thanks, Samson. Now quick, break it.”
Samson didn’t bother asking questions this time, and he threw the chip to the ground and stomped on it. Once it was nothing more than silicon dust and loose wires, Kim finally dared to turn around.
“Thanks.”
“What the hell was that about?” Samson asked. Millions of nightmare scenarios raced through his wounded head all at once. “What part of your brain did I just rip out?”
“My olfactory processors.”
“Your- I just ripped out your nose?”
Samson looked down at the shattered scent circuits and felt a sympathetic twinge in his own nose.
“Yeah, it’s wild,” Kim said. “Long story, but it turns out it’s a great day to have a broken nose. Speaking of, hey Ibrahim, have you smelled anything really good lately?”
She had only recently noticed Ibrahim’s presence in the room, and he took a cautious step back as her digital eyes turned to him.
“No, why?”
“Oh good. Sorry, explanations later, punching first.”
Punching came so much first that Ibrahim didn’t even get to protest that punching. Kim walloped him right in the nose, knocking him off his feet and into the nearby wall.
“Kim! What the hell?”
“I needed to break his nose so he can’t smell,” Kim explained. “There’s some kind of weird flower that smells so good it makes everybody crazy.”
“Oh. I guess our noses don’t have off switches, yeah,” Samson said.
“I just barely caught a whiff before I turned off my nose and ran here,” Kim explained. “I was still so tempted to smell it again I had to get my smell sensors ripped out.”
“Could you have explained all that before you punched me?” Ibrahim said. “I’d still hate it, but a little less.”
“Don’t care,” Kim said. She didn’t like Ibrahim to begin with, and in her mind that punch was long overdue. “We’re in a hurry. Some of those smell-crazy freaks were running after me.”
“Smell-crazy?”
“I’m bad at naming things,” Kim said. “They smelled the thing and now they’re crazy about it, you know how this works, Samson.”
Unfortunately, he did. People on campus got crazed very easily. Though Samson thought he was mentally prepared, this particular situation had a new and upsetting twist.
“Kim! Where’d you go?”
“Oh shit,” Samson said. He instinctively dropped his voice to a whisper. “Is that Harley?”
Kim nodded.
“Is she-”
Kim nodded again.
“Oh fuck,” Samson said. “What about-”
“Hawke, Lee, and Vell too, yeah,” Kim said. Samson bit his tongue. When things got insane, Samson usually took comfort in the fact that the veteran loopers would have a handle on things. They were far from sane themselves, but they were at least crazy in a productive direction. Samson didn’t want to be on the other end of that crazy.
“Just play it cool,” Kim said. “They might be a little amped up on weird smells right now, but they’re still themselves. Just play it cool.”
This time it was Samson’s turn to nod. He held his breath and tried to stay silent as he and Kim pressed their backs to the wall and hoped Harley would pass them by.
“Why the hell are you guys bothering to hide?” Ibrahim asked.
“Well obviously, even if they’re ‘chill’ brainwashed, they’re still brainwashed,” Kim said. “Keep it down!”
“No, I get that,” Ibrahim said. “It’s just very obvious where you are considering you Kool-Aid Man’d through the door!”
He pointed at the scattering of wood splints and shrapnel on the floor. Kim summoned up two pink circles on her digital face to blush with shame.
“Oh, yeah.”
The very distinct silhouette of Harley cast a shadow on the splinters of wood.
“Hey, Kim,” Harley said. “I know you’re in there. There’s only like three people on campus who can bust through a door like this.”
Samson would spend the rest of the day wondering who the other two were, but he had other priorities right now. Knowing they’d been caught, Kim switched gears from stealth to deception.
“Right over here, Harley,” she said. “I was just grabbing Samson and Ibrahim.”
She stepped forward and made sure to put her foot over the shattered remnants of her olfactory sensors, so Harley wouldn’t suspect she’d destroyed it. Harley stepped into the room, took a quick look around, and focused on Ibrahim.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Little brotherly fight,” Ibrahim mumbled. “I pissed Samson off about the whole broken nose thing.”
“Yeah, I figured he could have a taste,” Samson said. He wasn’t quite as good at lying as his brother, but he managed. “See how he likes it.”
“Wow, you guys have the worst timing,” Harley said. “The botany guys made the best smelling flower ever. Once you get the blood out of your sinuses you should come smell it!”
“Yeah, for sure,” Samson said. “Just at face value, though, isn’t a plant that brainwashes people like, daily apocalypse material?”
“The plant isn’t brainwashing anybody, Samson,” Harley scoffed. “Besides, apocalypses are bad things, and this flower is the best thing that’s ever happened. God, now I need to go smell it again. Later losers!”
Harley turned around and sped off as fast as she could. Samson was impressed at just how fast she bailed.
“Are we sure it’s not brainwashing anyone?”
“Pretty sure,” Kim said. “I only smelled a little bit but holy shit, it does smell awesome. I’m kind of angry at myself for having you rip my nose sensor out.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Samson said. “Come on Ibs, shove some tissues up your nose and let’s figure this shit out.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Ibrahim grumbled. He was still trying and failing to staunch his bloody nose, and he left a little trail of red droplets all the way to the flower.
***
“As far as cults go, this one is unusually nice.”
The irresistible fragrance of the Power Flower (as Kim had badly named it) had naturally drawn the entire student body towards it, and they had, as the usually did, formed a cult around it. Unlike most cults, this one was almost entirely peaceful. The pleasant aroma of the Power Flower had everyone in such a good mood they didn’t even want to do any human sacrifice. All the cultists were lounging around making flower crowns or other floral art, to celebrate their new object of obsession. The flower itself was at the center of it all, with blue petals swaying in the breeze as dozens of people gathered around it in turns, taking deep breaths of the heavenly aroma before moving on to give someone else a turn.
“It’s almost creepier than the murder,” Kim whispered. The fact that nobody was technically being mind controlled made it much weirder that they were just lounging around, singing songs, and being happy.
“What are you people fucking talking about?” Ibrahim said. “Have you seen cults before?”
“We watch a lot of documentaries,” Samson said. “The cult ones.”
“They’re all over the place. Netflix and stuff,” Kim added.
Ibrahim tried to glare suspiciously at the two of them, but glaring hurt his face. He settled for a disgruntled sigh and followed along.
“So, if everything here is so nice,” Ibrahim said. “What exactly are we doing here? What’s the goal?”
“Well, we have to get rid of the flower,” Kim said.
“Why?” Ibrahim said. “Seems like it’s just making everybody happy.”
He pointed to Lee, who was relaxing and eating lunch near the Flower, and being serenaded by a group of musicians. She had a bigger smile on her face than Ibrahim had ever seen.
“In the short term, yes, everybody is having a great time,” Kim said. “You’ve got to think about the long term for a second. Hold on a second. Hey Freddy!”
Freddy wandered away from a device he was working on, and a few flower petals dislodged themselves from his tangle of red hair as he walked.
“What’s up?”
“What’s that machine you’re working on, there?”
“It’s for scent dispersal,” Freddy said. “So we don’t all have to crowd around the flower. Soon, everybody will be able to smell it all at once!”
“Right, and once you’re done, then you can get back to all your other important projects, like cold fusion?”
“Maybe if I have time after helping Skye and the other geneticists clone the flower,” Freddy said. “Oh, and then distributing the flower clones. And working on cultivation methods, perfecting watering schedule, efficient fertilizer...Oh, and I need to calculate ideal soil composition!”
The revelation caused Freddy to immediately lose interest in the conversation and dash off to his flower-related work. Kim gestured to him as he ran away.
‘That answer your question, champ?” Kim asked. “All these geniuses who were going to make the world a better place are now just working on gardening.”
It would be a slow apocalypse, but an inevitable one, as all the brilliant geneticists who should’ve been curing cancer chose to focus on horticulture instead. Also, it was just weird. Everyone was in an unnervingly good mood. The unnatural good cheer was so overriding that Harley was talking to Michaela Watkins, and looking genuinely happy to do so. That was just wrong.
“I’m going to the botany lab to see if I can get any info on how all this started,” Kim said. “You guys ask around and see what you can learn about the flower.”
Kim headed for the labs, leaving the twins to their own devices. That was a mistake, as Ibrahim’s device consisted of sitting down and helping himself to some of the snacks on offer.
“Ibrahim, come on,” Samson said. “We have to figure this out.”
“I already figured it out,” Ibrahim said. “Your robot friend wants to ruin everyone’s day for no reason. No thanks.”
“You heard Freddy!”
“I’m sorry your pet fuzzball doesn’t want to do his homework anymore, I just don’t really see how that’s a problem!”
“Do you have any sense of responsibility, Ibrahim?” Samson snapped. “Can you not look past your own nose and see that there are going to be fucking consequences for this stuff?”
“Oh don’t get all sanctimonious,” Ibrahim countered. “You sound like mom.”
“I’m sorry I’m trying to get you to care about somebody other than yourself for a change.”
At that point, Ibrahim became keenly aware of the fact that all eyes were on them. Their argument was at harsh odds with the laid-back joy of everyone around them.
“Relax, Sammie,” Ibrahim said. “Even your crazy friends are chilling. They know this is no big deal.”
“He’s right, Samson, need to relax,” Vell said. He was a short distance away, lounging with a drink in one hand and his other arm around Skye’s shoulder. “Maybe we can find something to fix your nose, then you can see what all the fuss is about.”
“Yeah,” Skye agreed. “Take a sniff, have a snack, relax.”
“I don’t want to smell your fucking flower,” Samson said. He was so mad his nose was bleeding again. “I don’t want a snack, I don’t want to relax, I want a brother who isn’t a useless piece of shit!”
Skye dropped the cracker she was holding as the room came to a halt. The conflict’s continued escalation was stunning the joyous crowd around them. Despite not being high on flower power, Ibrahim looked just as stunned.
“Alright. Fine,” Ibrahim said, through clenched teeth. “You want me to do something useful?”
Ibrahim stood up and made a beeline for the Power Flower.
“Oh shit,” Samson said. He ran after his brother. “Not that, not that, not that!”
Ibrahim’s many failings worked to his advantage this time. A lifetime of running from enough consequences had made him a much better sprinter than his twin. Ibrahim elbowed past the crowd of flower-drunk hippies and grabbed the flower pot the Power Flower was in.
“Here you go!”
Ibrahim spiked the pot into the ground, shattering the ceramic and crushing the flower. For good measure, he stomped on the scattered blue petals a few times.
“There you go, flower problem solved.”
Samson just stared at the wreckage of the flower -and at the crowd rapidly closing in around Ibrahim.
“You fucking idiot.”
submitted by Mrmander20 to redditserials [link] [comments]

2023.09.12 20:35 inhaliens An update + encouragement

An update + encouragement
TL;DR - I will be getting a stent placed for venous sinus stenosis (specifically in my transverse sinus). I saw many, many doctors and had to keep pushing for answers, and I finally got them - don’t give up!
Hey everyone, I’ve posted here about my pulsatile tinnitus before - I’ve had it for 2.5-3 years at this point but it has progressed throughout that time to become more bothersome. I have it in my right ear.
Back in November, I finally decided to seek the help of a doctor. I didn’t know much about PT at this point. I saw an ENT, and he told me it could be TMJ (which I do have), and to get that treated and then come back in 3 months if nothing changed. Pretty typical. However, in December I suddenly had an onset of normal tinnitus. My PT also got significantly worse - I’m not sure if it was the anxiety I had about the normal T, or just a coincidence. I went back to the ENT and he ordered an MRI (mostly to check for any abnormalities that could be causing my normal T, as it was unilateral at the time). Everything came back normal and I was pretty devastated. I saw my primary care doctor and she said she saw fluid in my right ear, then proceeded to show me a diagram of the ear and how this fluid could cause the pulsatile tinnitus, and that it was “normal” and “fine” and she wondered why I was so anxious. Around this time I also started to be able to see my vision pulse - it’s very bizarre. I went to the eye doctor who did a thorough exam and saw nothing abnormal. I was half hoping she’d find signs of IIH which could explain my symptoms.
Fast forward a few months and I saw the ENT for a follow-up. I told him I wanted an MRV and MRA for my PT. He told me he would order one but usually they find something and “nothing would be done” and I’d have to “live with it.” I said that’s fine, maybe if I had answers I’d at least be less anxious. Well, I never got the MRA/MRV. I was constantly going back and forth playing phone tag with his nurse, receiving letters from insurance saying the authorization was only good for a month, calling the place to get scheduled for my scans and finding out they’re booked out far more than a month, call the nurse again to try to get the authorization extended, repeat (This ENT sucked, lol). I finally just gave up as my PT wasn’t bothering me as much and my normal T increased significantly which was my new worry. I saw an audiologist for my normal T and she told me she’d really suggest I get more testing done. I saw a neuro-otolaryngologist that the audiologist referred me to (for my normal T) who also peeked at my MRI and saw nothing abnormal.
Fast forward a few more months, May/June at this point, and my PT was flaring up again. At this point I knew much more about PT and many of the potential causes. I asked the audiologist if she’d be able to refer me to a certain interventional neuroradiologist in my area I’d heard was knowledgeable about PT. She said she couldn’t, but she would ask the neuro-otolaryngologist if he would (the INR and neuro-otolaryngologist work in the same university hospital network). He hesitated but agreed.
In July, I got a CTA & CTV that was ordered by the INR. A few days later his nurse called and said he saw some narrowing, and wanted to get me scheduled for a venogram. I had this done on September 5th. The results are attached in the images. I will be stented in October, despite my pressure not being super high!
My point to this long message - don’t give up. This was a long ordeal with many doctors involved and I know some people struggle for even longer than I did to get answers. But keep pushing. Be a thorn in your doctor’s side if you have to. Be as persistent as you can. Arm yourself with information and if one doctor won’t listen, try to find another. Good luck everyone!
submitted by inhaliens to PulsatileTinnitus [link] [comments]

2023.09.08 12:13 leonivey88 IT STOPPED! My Journey with Tinnitus and How I Found Relief (Skip to "The Fix/Help" for Quick Solutions)

I'm sharing my experience with tinnitus in hopes that it may offer some guidance for others facing this condition.
Background
Over the last year and a half, I've faced significant stress, including a breakup with a long-term girlfriend and almost losing my home. About two months ago, shortly after returning from a vacation, I noticed a thumping sound in my ear. It began two days into resuming work and continued throughout the day.
The Onset
As night approached, I grew concerned. The thumping sound seemed persistent, making sleep virtually impossible. I turned to the Internet, as most of us do when worried, and began researching tinnitus. My preliminary conclusion: I had pulsatile tinnitus. The general consensus from my research was to consult a specialist, so I scheduled an appointment.
The Immediate Struggle
The main issue was my inability to sleep due to the noise. After two sleepless nights, I stumbled upon the concept of white noise. While some forums suggested sleeping with a fan on, that approach was ineffective for me. However, I discovered an app called ReSound Tinnitus Relief, which allowed for sound customization. Using brown noise with a single earphone in, I finally managed to sleep again.
Medical Intervention
At my medical appointment, the specialist conducted visual examinations and sound tests. He prescribed sinusitis relief spray, which, frankly, I wasn't thrilled about. Two weeks later, the issue remained. I revisited the specialist, who scheduled me for an MRI.
For those with claustrophobia or apprehension about MRIs, this link offers some useful preparation tips:
Minimize Claustrophobia During MRI
https://www.healthimages.com/tips-minimize-claustrophobia-during-mri/
Diagnosis and Continuing Struggle
The MRI results showed no brain or head abnormalities, which was a relief, but the thumping persisted. When I inquired about the next steps, the specialist's advice was simply to "live with it." Unsatisfied, I decided to consult another specialist while also doing more research.
The Fix/Help
Over the next month, I made the following lifestyle changes:
Adopted a healthier diet and reduced salt intake by 50%.
Began taking supplements: B12, Omega-3, Magnesium, Garlic, Vitamin C, and Ginseng.
Incorporated daily exercise, even if only for 10-15 minutes.
Started using the Insight Timer app for wellbeing, which included resources for coping with tinnitus.
Remarkably, my tinnitus ceased a week before my next appointment. I still wanted answers, so I went through with the consultation.
The Revelation
During my research, I found a website that mimicked the thumping sound: Check Hearing.
https://www.checkhearing.org/pulsatiletinnitus.php?rangePitch=2&rangeHz=0.772&rangeLoudnessVari=100&toneType=buttonThump
The second specialist pointed out that the tensor tympani muscle in my ear might be contracting under stress, potentially causing the noise.
Here's a helpful diagram to understand the ear muscles: Ear Muscle Diagram
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/360639882663321935/
Current Status
As of now, I continue to follow the lifestyle changes mentioned earlier. While the issue could recur under extreme stress, I now have tools to manage it. In worst-case scenarios, medication or surgical options are available, but for now, I'm optimistic.
I'll revisit the specialist in six months to evaluate my progress, but so far, I feel quite positive about the trajectory of my health.
I hope my journey offers some help to those battling tinnitus.
submitted by leonivey88 to tinnitus [link] [comments]

2023.07.31 11:53 SnickerFicker Wiring Diagram 230V System

Wiring Diagram 230V System
Hey everyone :D
We've made some progress since my last post and are now working on our electrical system. While planning the 230V part some questions came up.
Below you can see our current wiring diagram regarding all things 230V.
Wiring Diagram 230V
I didn't really find other builds (or even just diagrams) of people using a battery charger and a separate inverter with bypass functionality. I'm mainly confused about the wiring and breaker layout.
  1. Can I daisy-chain the inverter and battery charger via the J-Box, protected by only one RCBO or do I need separate breakers?
  2. Same question for everything after the inverter. Do I need separate breakers for all the 230V appliances or can I connect them all in another J-Box and wire another RCBO after the inverter (like in the diagram)?
  3. Any other errors or things that I'm missing in the diagram?
​
We greatly appreciate any input! :)
​
In case it is of any help, here are all the links to the products we intend to use:
CEE Plug: https://www.schlanser.ch/elektro/energieversorgung/cee-stromversorgung/1554/fawo-cee-17-einspeisesteckdose-einspeisestecker-mit-magnetverschluss-120-x-140-mm-weiss
RCBO 16/30 with box: https://shop.cabotz.ch/pi/Votronic/Zubehoer1/fuer-Reisemobile-Offroad-Boote/fehlerstromschutzeinrichtung-rcbo-16-30.html
RCBO no box: https://www.digitec.ch/de/s1/product/hager-fils-schalter-schutzschalter-20024725
Ective TSI 30 Inverter: https://www.ective.de/ECTIVE-TSI302-Sinus-Inverter
BlueSmart Charger: https://www.victronenergy.de/chargers/blue-smart-ip22-charger
submitted by SnickerFicker to vandwellers [link] [comments]

2023.07.20 07:07 MerryTexMish Unilateral orbital myalgia and godawful headaches for months; please help!

54yo female 5’9, 180lbs (?) .5mg aprozolam daily at bedtime Celiac/wheat intolerance Nonallergic rhinitis Complete hysterectomy in 2000 Cataract surgery/lens replacement (failed) in December. Uveitis Feb-April.
I have started this post over and over, but always get overwhelmed by trying to figure out what info to include. There is so much, and idk what is relevant.
My mom is 76, and has advanced rheumatoid arthritis, sjogrens, and several related conditions. For a long time, I have been what I call “autoimmune-adjacent,” with test results that are odd, but not significant enough for any kind of AI diagnosis. Platelets always just high of normal, positive ana marker with speckled pattern. Stuff like that.
My eyes have been going downhill for the past several years. Eye dr referred me for cataract surgery. Before that, the surgeons did what they call epi-peels — smoothing the surface of the eye. The first (Jan ‘22) was very difficult, then I got COVID immediately afterwards (was vaxxed and boosted). Had second epipeel in March ‘22. Decided on trifocal lenses, because that’s what kind of glasses I had worn for years.
One eye was done Dec 15, and the other 2 weeks later. Recovery was fine at first, but my vision was no better. At my one-month checkup, the doctor said I had uveitis, and prescribed steroidal eyedrops. At recheck, I was worse, and had begun having headaches unlike any I had ever had before. At the time, I thought they were from the uveitis itself, or that I was having a reaction to the eyedrops.
I keep a headache journal now, but didn’t at the time, but I will try to describe what they felt like. My eyeballs hurt, the left waaaay more than the right; I had the urge to just dig the heels of my hands into my eyes and push as hard as possible. The best way I can describe the pain is sinus-y. I feel like that downplays the pain, but it’s that type of pain — not electric, not stabbing, but like a sinus headache x 20million. I also began to have swelling around my left eye only, some days worse than others. One day after a run, my left eye was swollen so much that I couldn’t drive home for 10-15 min.
I was surprised that the eye dr said it couldn’t be from the uveitis, because that was bilateral. He immediately was afraid it was cellulitis, but ruled that out. He ran tests for everything that usually causes uveitis — mostly looking for Lyme, MCTD, MS, lupus, sarcoidosis, and all other AI and other conditions that are normal causes of uveitis. A couple of tests were just outside of normal, but nothing truly positive or alarming. The uveitis went away with the Mack-daddy eyedrops he prescribed when the first round didn’t work, but the swelling got worse, and the headaches didn’t stop.
He sent me for orbital and brain MRIs, which were unremarkable.
I saw a retina specialist, who found no problem with my eyes (this was right after the uveitis cleared up), and no reason for my symptoms.
An allergist reconfirmed that I have nonallergic rhinitis — no true allergies — and clear, “glorious” sinuses.
I began to think they were related to running, which I had picked up again after years of lower-impact exercise. But although the headaches were at their worst when I was running the most — and we’re only talking 3.5 miles or so, every other day — my headaches did not coincide directly with days I ran.
For the first few months, the eye swelling was worse when I first woke up. Regardless of which side I slept on, my left eye would feel swollen shut. But I looked normal to other people; it just FELT swollen, as though if you looked at me, my left eye would look like the end of Rocky II.
Now, though, I look a bit like Joe Mantegna— a much milder version of his wonky eye. Like, other people can see it. It is constant, and it hurts. If you have ever forgotten your sunglasses and had to squint all day, you probably understand the sensation. It’s like my face is tired (on the left), as though I have been intentionally squinting, even though I’m not.
I went to a highly rated headache clinic, where she immediately diagnosed me with trigeminal neuralgia. But while the location matches, this is nothing like what I read that TG feels like. The headaches always start after 3pm and get steadily worse. They usually peak around 10-11pm, and are sometimes still there in the morning. They always clear up by noon. They affect my left temple, and the top of my head. The only relief comes from putting a bag of frozen edamame on top of my head, and pushing it down as hard as possible. I have not had an unbearable, level-10 headache since May. The swelling/continuous “squinty headache” is about a Level 5 most of the time. But it is constant.
I am supposed to go back to the headache dr in august, but I don’t have high hopes. It seemed like she made up her mind without listening to me, like she was trying to make my symptoms fit TG. My headache journal is very detailed, and hopefully will make her listen to me.
What is hardest is that I don’t even know where to turn now for answers. Neurologist? ENT? (Appt scheduled for Sept 1) Rheumatologist? I am normally a hoofbeats = horses kind of person, but I fear this will be a zebra. Idk if I should be exercising, or how urgently I should regard this.
I would appreciate any insight, even if it’s just advice about what to try next. I’m sure I’m leaving a lot out, and will be happy to answer any questions. I will try to attach a badly drawn diagram from my headache journal that will show where the pain is. Thanks so much for reading this.
EDIT: It’s sarcoidosis, so … no diagnosis needed
submitted by MerryTexMish to AskDocs [link] [comments]

2023.05.18 01:58 ohhidied LEGACY: From the Book of SAW (CHAPTER 25) The Final Game / Tar Trap

Read Chapters 23 & 24 here: https://www.reddit.com/saw/comments/13djp4h/legacy_from_the_book_of_saw_chapter_23_24_the/
______________________________________________
*** CHAPTER 25 **\*
The Hotel and Convention Center is located on the eastside of town. A booth issuing parking tickets sits at the entrance. Across the street, a fence borders the National History Museum that is currently under construction. The contractors are on leave while they await additional permits.
Waking up on the cold concrete floors of the museum, Renee Walsh finds herself under the dimly lit lights of an exhibit. A thick glass wall was recently installed, separating her from the observation area.
Inside the unfinished exhibit are a collection of construction items: orange parking cones, sandbags, water barrels, buckets of dirt, a tower of bricks, and painting utensils that have been left over from the prior weeks.
Still groggy from the sedation, Renee struggles to sit up. When her senses return, she discovers the outline of two bodies, and a timer that is counting down. There's two hours on the clock.
Conjuring the strength to stand, she walks wearily towards the glass and peers out of the room. Learning from her previous trap, Renee checks the room for clues. There are cameras in the corner of the exhibit, and on the other side of the barrier, she can see a terminal with a red button flashing.
Moving a way from the window, Renee finds a small wooden box on top of a blue water barrel, sealed by a padlock. Despite the odds, she reaches into her pocket hoping to find the key. A faint glimmer of surprise shoots across her face. Inside her pants, she finds a white card with a message that reads:
“There’s a woman in the room with you. You must protect her.”
Renee’s eyes move toward the blond woman on the floor, and with further inspection, she recognizes Sarah Harper. Her neck is bruised from the assault with Seth, but her broken glasses have been replaced. Walking towards her, Renee is startled by Gavin Beck, who awakes and begins to groan. Putting the note away, she watches him closely.
The husky man struggles to breathe and rubs his chest, which appears tender to the touch. Dismissing the pain, he wipes his eyes and sees Renee standing before him, stone-faced. Looking over her shoulder to the front of the exhibit, he realizes they are trapped. Unaffected by the predicament, Gavin lays on the floor and laughs, staring at the ceiling. Whether they lived or died did not matter anymore. For Gavin, he felt he was already on borrowed time.
Confounded by his indifference, Renee crouches in front of Sarah and gently rubs her back. As the blond amputee awakens, the pain of her strangulation is still present, and she reaches for her neck.
“Sarah, it’s me, Renee… Are you all right?”
Relaxed by the voice of her fellow survivor, Sarah stays quiet at first, still coming to terms with the situation, then asks, “What…happened?”
Upon rising, Renee notices that a blood vessel has popped in Sarah’s left eye, turning it crimson.
“Seth brought me here…” Renee explains, “He’s helping Jigsaw. He wants us to survive this.”
Annoyed by her naivety, Gavin interjects, “Jigsaw is dead, you idiot. This wasn’t him.”
Unabashed by the insult, Renee assisted Sarah to her feet and promised, “You’re going to be okay.”
Still confused, Sarah checks her surroundings, “Why would Seth do this?”
Together, they watched the clock, and, appreciative, Renee said, “Jigsaw helped me.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Gavin asked with ridicule, “We were brought here to die. What part of that don’t you understand?”
Refusing to put up with Gavin’s attitude, Sarah demands, “Leave her alone, asshole.”
Gavin blows a raspberry with his lips and mockingly yells, “Help us!”
“There’s a switch right there,” Renee says, pointing, “We need to get to it.”
Sarah ignores Gavin’s childish comments and walks towards the window to see the button.
“It’s gotta mean something, right?” Renee insists.
Sarah takes a brick from the top of the pile, “It’s worth a shot.”
She attempts to shatter the glass, but the stone bounces off the wall and hits the concrete floor, breaking into two pieces.
“Couple of fuckin’ geniuses, you are….” Gavin said, pushing himself up and resting his back against the wall, “Hope that wasn’t your only plan.”
Exasperated by his careless attitude, Sarah retorts, “Get off your ass and help us.”
“I don’t think so, princess,” he responds, smirking resolutely, “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Asks Renee.
“It means I’m not doing shit. My game was about patience. So, I’ll wait until the clock counts down and see what happens.”
“You’re a fool,” Sarah said.
Laughing again, he replied, “We’ll see. Why don’t you throw some more bricks at it? Or do you have another trick up your sleeve?”
“I guess we know why Jigsaw tested you,” Renee said sarcastically.
“Wrong again, sweetheart. It was The Organ Donor who got me.”
Sarah glared at the antagonizer and read discomfort on his face. Her maternal instincts kicked in despite his behavior, and she asked, “What’s the matter with you?”
Gavin brushed her off and stared at the woman contemptuously, “I’m fine. Just out of breath.”
“Being macho isn’t going to save you,” Sarah said, “We’re here for a reason. We should help each other.”
The words remind Gavin of his original trap, “We can’t,” he said, “That’s not how this works.”
Curious, Renee asks, “What happened to you?”
Gavin drops his head and gazes at the burns on his hand and wrist, “It was three years ago….”
After a long night of partying, the habitual philanderer found himself lying in a bed that wasn’t his, still feeling the effects of his cocaine addiction. His clogged sinuses made breathing difficult, so he sat up and forced the yellow, bloody mucus out of his nostrils, wiping the dangling secretion on the mattress.
The room was clean, and the bluish-gray walls seemed to have been painted recently, based on their immaculate condition. Hence, Gavin was initially unphased by the unfamiliar environment, but something on the floor caught his eye.
Leaning forward, Gavin was surprised to find polaroid's of himself and his paramour. His eyes followed the snapshots to the door, where he found a message written in red paint: “Share Your Secrets.”
He looks at his hand and spins the wedding ring around his finger, reflecting on his marriage. Sensing the guilt in his chest, he walks towards the door and tries to open it, but there’s something in the way that won’t budge. Frustrated, he steps back and thrusts his leg into the wood. A wire holding the door shut snaps, and he’s through to the next room.
Once inside, he can see the words “All Problems Solved” painted on a locked door, and above the door is a timer.
On the other side of the room, three hackneyed TV monitors are stacked on top of each other. The antiquated machines barely seem to function as they emit white noise.
Gavin then turns his attention to a second door in the room, but it’s locked as well, and there’s another message, “Enabler.”
While Gavin contemplates his situation, the volume of the TVs grows increasingly louder, and a disturbing Pig Puppet emerges through the static. It speaks.
“Rise and Shine, Officer Beck… This is your Moment of Truth… Using fear and intimidation, you’ve ruined the lives of others for your own gain. Today, I will give you the chance to let sleeping dogs lie.”
The video cuts to a live feed of the woman from the photographs, and Gavin gazes at her with bated breath.
“Your mistress waits for you in the next room. In four minutes, Paige will be free. The next choice you make will decide your fate. Will you let yourself die today for the greater good? Have you found a way to truly serve and protect? Tonight, you’ll show me.”
A four-minute timer appears above the locked door in Gavin’s room. The countdown has begun.
On the other side of the wall, bound to a chair, Paige sits in a sky-blue room that smells of rotting flesh. A pig carcass is propped in a chair surrounded by the guts of its kin. Protruding from the mouth of the deceased animal are vibrant multicolored flowers and a note. Above the door in her room, there is another timer.
Paige squints to read the note: “The Choice is Yours.”
Nosey static from a TV grabs her attention. In both rooms, all television monitors have changed to the internal diagram of a pig. The pictures show an arrow pointing into its stomach. Written on the pictures are the words: “Your Key to Freedom?”
Gavin steps in front of the monitors as they change to a view of Paige in the next room.
“Paige, I’m sorry. This is my fault.”
The frightened woman stares at the timer above the door and then at the monitor. She recognizes the voice. It’s her boyfriend.
“Gavin? What’s going on? Get me out of here!”
Gavin winces, fighting his emotions, and places his hand on the door to her room. “I lied. I used people… I hurt…” He glances at the timer, “Look, I’m gonna get us out of here, but I need you to be strong now.”
2:57
“What is going on?” Paige repeats.
“I can’t explain right now. I just need you to trust me. Now, you have to hurry, Ok? Get up!”
“What?”
“Get up, Goddamnit or we’re both dead.” Gavin stares at the locked door, “I need you to get the key.”
Paige struggles to free herself from the ropes, each tug burning and tearing her skin.
“I can’t!”
Gavin kicks at the door, “You can, baby. Please, I know you can.”
2:21
The ropes dig into Paige’s wrist as she quickly bends her hand, breaking a finger. The pain is considerable, but she’s free.
“Yes!” Gavin cheers.
“Fuck!” She screams, sensing the pain.
She squeezes her wrist and inhales sharply. Her hand is throbbing.
“Hurry up! Don’t stand there,” he barks, “Move!”
Bones and organs are crushed under the weight of Paige’s feet as she steps through the surface of rotting swine. The leader sits on the chair like a King, its mouth open, discharging a horrific stench, despite the beautiful bouquet of flowers.
Paige removes the lantanas, the stems dripping with puke, and uncovers a lumped-over purple tongue.
1:36
Paige covers her mouth, trying to hold off the odor, and gradually inches her hand into the hog's mouth, pushing her way through a dense layer of puke.
“Paige, please hurry! I can’t help you if you don’t get the key!”
Overwhelmed, Paige shouts back, “I’m trying!”
She pushes her hand further into the esophagus until her wrist is entirely inside. As she grinds her hands against the innards, the smell of the carcass reaches her nostrils. Her eyes swell, and her throat tightens.
Gavin watches Paige vomit on herself. He grunts sympathetically and turns his head from the monitor.
1:02
“Keep going, baby. There's no time. I’m going to get you out of here.”
As luck would have it, Paige felt something on her fingers. She gently moves the object against the smooth, wet tissue of the stomach. Keeping a firm grip, Paige knew she had found the key.
Upon liberating her hand from the depths of the mammal, Paige rushes to the door and slides the key underneath.
0:36
Panicked, Gavin grabs the key and attempts to use it on the door. To his surprise, it works.
0:11
Gavin enters a pitch-black room.
The television in Paige’s room has changed, and she can now see Gavin on the monitor.
It’s dark for a moment, but in the corners of the room are dimly lit fluorescent tube lights that come to life. A TV in front of him turns on, and the Pig Puppet returns.
“Hello, Mr. Beck, if you’re hearing this, then you’ve got what you wanted, or so you think. I told you she was free, but your selfish desires caused you to act. Today, you will stop living a double life. A snake can shed its skin, but a leopard can’t change its spots.”
The lights grow brighter, and Gavin now sees the floor is covered in black steaming liquid. He fearfully tilts his head upward and discovers four nozzles that are dripping. The potent smell of tar has finally registered in his mind. Terrified, he tries to escape, but the door has sealed behind him.
The sprinklers begin to spray, and he quickly shields his face, but the pain is exquisite, and he drops to the floor. The tar instantly burns and melts his flesh, and his screams of agony echo throughout the room.
Paige stares at the monitor, watching in horror as Gavin wails and writhes. Seconds later, the mist stops and all of the rooms are unlocked.
“I was supposed to die in that room.”
“But you didn’t.” Sarah said, “You got a second chance. We all did.”
Gavin looks up at her, “You call this a chance?”
“I do.”
“Hey, guys… I almost forgot….” Renee said excitedly.
Gavin groans, “What now?”
Walking across the room, Renee grabbed the box on top of the water barrel and showed it to the others. “There’s a box here, but it requires a key,” she explained, “Check your pockets!”
“A box?”
“It’s obviously a clue,” Renee said matter-of-factly.
Rolling his eyes, Gavin reached into his pocket, and Renee watched him enthusiastically while Sarah checked her jeans.
The smooth texture of something caused Sarah’s eye to twitch. She turned away from Renee and Gavin and removed the item. It was a white card with words typed into it:
“There’s a woman in the room with you. Kill her, and you’ll see your kids again.”
“I got nothing,” Gavin declared.
Renee’s face showed disappointment, “What about you?”
Sarah slowly returned the card to her pocket, hiding it from the others, and shook her head, “Nothing….”
She caught the eyes of Renee, who smiled and said, “It must be around here somewhere. Let’s keep looking.”
***
TO BE CONTINUED...
submitted by ohhidied to saw [link] [comments]

2023.04.15 14:29 Environmental_Sky401 [Yr 11 Physics - Astronomy] I don’t understand what any of this :”)

[Yr 11 Physics - Astronomy] I don’t understand what any of this :”)
This was hw for spring break and the only thing that our teacher taught us abt it (new topic) is a slideshow on the life of a star in general, I have no clue what a solar mass is let alone the graph that looks like Einstein himself came up with. Please help 😭
submitted by Environmental_Sky401 to HomeworkHelp [link] [comments]

2023.04.06 04:30 inferno-bot Danger Horse Ep. 01: The Moon and the Water

Danger Horse Ep. 01: The Moon and the Water
https://preview.redd.it/5c2eebdod6sa1.png?width=688&format=png&auto=webp&s=5399834da842b209147d24c8504d4816f79494cd
Danger Horse Ep. 01
The Moon and the Water
By InfernoBot
The slap of meat against meat echoed through the Baton Rouge apartment. The staccato notes of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet punctuated blow after blow landing against the bruised flesh of Frank Delapore’s face. His assailant gripped his lapel and gave him a backhand across the face, bringing the older man to his knees. The figure seated at the desk at the far side of the room puffed on his e-cigarette and drummed on the table. Pressing a finger to the side of his nose he cleared his sinuses and wiped it on his shirt.
“That’s enough!” he said, rising from the desk and pocketing his e-cig.
The larger man tossed Delapore toward his counterpart and stood flexing his hands within their fingerless gloves, menacingly. Delapore staggered, struggling to remain on his feet and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. The older man’s suit was crumpled and ripped where the thug had pawed at it, and his necktie was half-undone.
“I hope you don’t intend on wasting any more of our time, Mr. Delapore.” The smaller man said. “I don’t like doing this. I’d much rather be home watching the new episode of Wednesday, with that little hard-body Jenna Ortega.”
“She’s supposed to be…in highschool,” coughed out Delapore.
“All the sweeter,” muttered his captor in a phlegm-ridden voice. “But, let’s get back to it. Where’s the gold?”
“Now, look, Mr. Hold, I risked everything to get that gold. It took months, why should I give it to you?”
“It’s only a matter of time until we find it,” said Hold as he stroked his lengthy goatee. “Why not save yourself the trouble and just tell us where it is?”
Delapore shook his head. “You can’t have it.”
Hold looked displeased and gave a faint nod to his associate. His chunky companion seized Delapore by his necktie again and gave him another backhanded slap across the face. As his associate worked, Hold wandered over to a display cabinet and inspected a carved wooden zebra. The record playing on the faux-vintage turntable progressed to the next song, but this time, there were no accompanying sounds of violence.
Cursing loudly, Hold spun around and crossed the room to Delapore’s prostrate form crumpled on the rug. The rising sound of horns accompanied him as he rolled the older man over and checked his neck for a pulse.
“You hit him too hard, dickweed!” He shouted as he slammed a meaty ham-hock into his partner’s chest.
Just then, something made a loud bang in the adjoining room. The door to the bedroom was cracked almost imperceptibly open, and the two men sprinted across the room to see what lay inside. Slamming the door knob into the wall, Hold scanned the room and quickly focused on the curtains flapping in the night breeze. Racing to the window, he caught sight of a woman’s form leaping off the last step and racing to a parked car.
“Damnit! She saw!” yelled Hold. “She was here the whole time!”
“But, who is she?” asked his companion.
Louisiana isn’t all gumbo and bayou, and the gators aren’t the only things that bite. When it gets messy, they call in someone like me. The name’s Horse. Moonhorse.
The paramedics were carrying the body out by the time Moonhorse arrived on the scene. He had been summoned by the CEO of Gulf Coast Bank & Trust, to investigate a matter described to him as critical and time sensitive. His teal overcoat billowed about him as he breezed into the room at his typical fast pace.
Pausing to lift the sheet and view the corpse Moonhorse asked, “Did you make me climb all those stairs to look into a murder for you?”
“Not the murder per-se, Mr. Moonhorse, something far bigger,” came the smaller man’s reply.
“And what is bigger than murder, Mr. Fitch?” followed Moonhorse as he strode into the room.
The smaller man moved in close, the scowl lines above his mustache and his knitted brow told the action horse that this bureaucrat was teetering on the edge of a fit.
“Delapore was directly responsible for a large reserve of gold being held in Baton Rouge as part of our insured assets. Five million dollars worth is now missing, Mr. Moonhorse.”
Moonhorse paced around the room, examining its contents, not directly addressing the CEO as he thought aloud.
“A respectable banker for twenty-five years suddenly embezzles five million dollars? He never had a chance to spend it, did he, Mr. Fitch?”
Holding out his hands like a frame, Moonhorse staged the scene in his mind, picturing the chalk outline of the body, the rug scrunched up to one side, the position of the chair behind the desk. He stopped to straighten a painting of a classic riverboat docked along the shore.
“Mr. Moonhorse. I can’t stress enough how much we need to recover that gold. Without that liquidity…”
Moonhorse cut him off. “I wonder what made him do it. You know, that amount of gold would weigh close to two hundred pounds. How did he get it out?”
Mr. Fitch blinked rapidly several times before he responded, “Well, I suppose he took it out a little bit at a time.”
“A little bit at a time. Hmm.” Moonhorse eyed the little banker for a moment before he gestured to the door. “Bedroom through here?”
Without waiting for a response, he swung the door open and surveyed the room. To his trained eye, nothing seemed terribly out of place aside from a few articles of discarded women’s clothing on the bed. Picking up a dress and running the fabric between his fingers, Moonhorse asked, “Was he married?”
“Yes,” answered Fitch, “But his wife lived elsewhere.”
Beneath the dress, Moonhorse found a satin teddy hemmed in lace and gave Mr. Fitch a knowing look.
“This is Baton Rouge, Mr. Moonhorse, not New England.”
With a snort, Moonhorse tossed the dress down and moved to check the closet.
“So you know, it happens in New England as well, Mr. Fitch.”
Mr. Fitch gave no reply, but merely wrung his hands as he watched Moonhorse pull the items from the closet.
Glazing at the tags at the neck of each garment he observed, “Ceratti Custom Clothiers.” Draping the garments over his arm, he started out the door, leaving a befuddled Mr. Fitch behind. Almost as an afterthought he asked, “You don’t mind if I borrow these, do you Mr. Fitch?”
“Of course not.” He replied, reaching up with his handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his brow.
On Royal Street in downtown Baton Rouge, Moonhorse paused to inspect the mannequin behind the display windows branded with “Ceratti” stenciled in fine script. Swinging open the door to its air conditioned interior, Moonhorse was treated to an enchanting mix of perfume and incense. The shop was decorated like the court of a fifteenth-century french noble. Antique chairs with delicate upholstery lined one wall while an extravagant lighting fixture blazed overhead, throwing shadows into the folds of the voluminous bolts of regal fabric draped over tables and hanging from sconces along the wall. Several women were gathered around a small dais in the center of the room, apparently in the midst of a fitting.
“Excuse me,” said Moonhorse, to get their attention.
A young woman looked up and approached him.
“Good morning, I’m Anglea, how may I help you, cher?” She asked in a gentle tone.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to the manager. Ceratti,” he replied.
The older woman who had been attending the fitting turned and approached him.
“I’m Ceratti,” she said with a smile. “How can I help you?”
It might have been his imagination, but Moonhorse felt like her eyes twinkled when she looked at him. Dressed in a blouse and skirt with her hair styled up to show off her diamond earrings, she fit right in with the lavish decor.
Moonhorse raised the leather valise he’d been carrying and said, “I’m Moonhorse. I have something here, but it’s a bit personal. May we speak in private?”
Eyes twinkling, she smiled again and gestured for him to follow. As they passed the dais, she handed a measuring tape to Angela and said something in Spanish.
Once behind the door to the back office, she paused to ask her guest, “Now, what is it that’s personal, Mr. Moonhorse?”
“These clothes,” he began, “I was hoping you could remember who you sold them to. They all belong to the same woman.”
She seemed faintly surprised, if only for a moment, then her smile returned.
“Let me see, Mr. Moonhorse,” she said as she began pulling each garment out one at a time.
When she reached a green dress, she paused. “I remember this dress. See, here.” She gestured to some seams. “The hem line was altered.”
“Who did you alter it for?”
“I don’t remember her name…” she said, looking away. “I’m sorry.”
“But you must keep a record,” said Moonhorse, stepping a tiny bit closer.
Her cheeks reddened ever so slightly. Without a word, she moved behind a desk and opened a laptop.
Moonhorse toured around the room, idly poking at a seamstress dummy before he asked, “Do you remember what she looked like?”
“Blonde, pretty, with measurements about…”
“About one hundred and ten pounds. Figure, thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six?”
She smiled and looked away.
“You’re very perceptive, Mr. Moonhorse,” she said, scrolling through a list of orders. “Ah, here we are. Lucho, Miss Bella Lucho. 4850 Rouzan Square Ave.”
“4850 Rouzan Square Ave,” parroted Moonhorse. “Thank you very much.”
“Best of luck finding her, Mr. Moonhorse.”
Moonhorse winked and tipped the brim of his fedora.
On Rouzan Square Avenue, the Uber driver pulled up along a stretch of orange construction cones and tapped his GPS display.
“This is it. 4850 Rouzan Square Ave.” He said to his passenger.
Peering through the Prius’ windows, Moonhorse observed, “It’s not built yet.”
In fact, the lot occupying 4850 Rouzan Square Avenue was barely under construction at all. The bare dirt was mostly taken up by cyclone fencing surrounding piles of building materials.
“This is the address, man.”
Moonhorse twirled a finger through a strand of his blue hair thoughtfully before he said, “Welp, we can’t wait around until it's finished. Let’s head back.”
In a high-rise luxury condominium, Moonhorse reached out to ring an ornate door buzzer. The marble paneling and brushed gold accents lent a certain old world charm to the thoroughly modern building. He was admiring a renaissance style painting on the ceiling when a young woman in a maid’s uniform answered the door.
“Hello, I’m Moonhorse.” He introduced himself politely. “I’m here to see Mrs. Delapore.”
The maid shook her head and answered, “Mrs. Delapore is resting. She can’t be disturbed.”
Internally, Moonhorse responded with Ohw, wah-ah-ah-ah! But outwardly kept his composure.
“It’s really important I see her.”
Before the maid could protest further, a voice called from further inside the condo.
“Who is it, Maria?”
“A gentleman to see you ma’am. Mr. Moonhorse.”
“Moonhorse? Show him in.”
Maria led him back into the master bedroom, where they found Mrs. Delapore sat up in bed. For someone allegedly resting, she looked ready for a night on the town; a full face of makeup, golden blonde hair styled, a lit cigarette between her fingers. He smiled faintly as the scent of cannabis reached his nostrils.
“Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Moonhorse. You have a first name?”
“Just Moonhorse.”
“Very well, ‘Just Moonhorse’, what can I do for you?”
Moonhorse looked around the bedroom, finding every chair already piled with clothes, and opted to stand.
“It’s about your husband, Mrs. Delapore,” he said.
“Chas-Chas.”
“Hmm?”
“Call me Chas-Chas,” she said and took a puff of her joint. “You have yellow eyes. Clear yellow eyes. And such a splendid horn…”
Moonhorse took back control of the conversation. “It’s about his death, Mrs. Delapore.”
“And you expected to find his grief-stricken widow?” She flicked a little bit of ash into a glass tray beside her on the comforter. “Frank and I haven’t really been anything to one another for years.”
She turned to look out the window. Smoke from her joint drifted lazily up into the air and hung between them.
“We kept it up mostly for him. Position at the bank and all that. Respectable.” She turned back to face Moonhorse, her expression blank. “Now, he’s dead. I’m not glad, I’m not sorry.”
Running his finger over the lid on one of the many liquor bottles lining the widow Delapore’s sideboard, Moonhorse responded, “How moved or unmoved you are by your husband’s death is your business. My concern is to recover the gold he stole from the bank.”
With eyebrows arched in surprise, she replied, “Gold? What gold?” Her voice cracked as she continued, “Are you suggesting Frank stole something from the bank?”
“Your husband was entrusted with five million dollars in gold bullion that is now missing.”
She returned her gaze to the window, offering no response. Moonhorse continued speaking.
“He was planning to leave the country, but he was murdered.”
“That is surprising. I guess Frank had some qualities I never knew about.” She took a short puff on her joint and set it in the ashtray. She reached out to take Moonhorse’s hand and said with a smile, “Look, sit down and have a drink with me and I’ll help you all I can. Would you care for a bunt?”
Pulling his hand away, Moonhorse picked up his leather valise and set it on the bed. As Chas-Chas reached for a bottle, he began pulling out dresses.
“Have you ever seen this dress before Mrs. Delapore? Or this one? Or these?”
Returning the bottle to its tray, Chas-Chas reached out and held up a dress.
“These were all from a boutique, a clothier called Ceratti.”
“That second-rate little place on Royal? Not my style.”
“I got these all from the apartment where your husband was murdered.”
“Not Frank’s style either.”
“Rather than imply your husband was living a secret fabulous life, I assume these belonged to his mistress.”
“I never knew Frank could have so much initiative…”
Moonhorse packed the dresses back into the case.
“I’m sorry, Chas-Chas. I thought these might be familiar to you, an acquaintance or a friend of yours…”
“A friend!?” she huffed. “Well, now I really am going to need that drink.”
She reached again for the bottle as Moonhorse zipped up the bag and replaced his fedora on his head.
“Now, hold on, you’re not leaving, are you? We had a deal, you’re going to have a drink with me.”
“You made the deal, lady. I’m much obliged for your hospitality, but I have places to be.”
Out in the hall, Moonhorse made his way to the elevator. When the artistically patterned doors slid open, his nose wrinkled involuntarily. The portly man with a long black goatee exiting the elevator wafted fumes like pickled eggs as he passed. Moonhorse gulped some air and tried to hold his breath for the ride down.
Ms. Ceratti’s voice rang out in a clear sing song, “Come in!” in response to Moonhorse’s knock. He strode casually into the back office of Ceratti’s Custom Clothiers once again. Removing his hat and resting it atop a filing cabinet, he regarded the buxom brunette behind the desk.
“That address you gave me, the one on Rouzan Square Avenue, it isn’t built yet.”
“Isn’t built yet? I don’t understand.” She replied as she leaned back in her chair, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.
“Are you sure you gave me the right address?”
“I think so,” she answered quickly. “We can easily confirm.”
With that, she typed into her laptop and turned the computer around to face Moonhorse. An order management screen was on display with a date and a description of a green dress requiring alterations. With a quick glance over the data, Moonhorse nodded.
“She probably gave you a fake address and a fake name too.”
She stood up from the computer and crossed her arms.
“After you left, I had some time to think about it. She was always a strange customer.”
“Strange? In what way?”
“She always paid in cash, no matter how large the amount. She never had her orders delivered, always picked up by messenger or herself. She would often arrive with a man, but he never once came into the shop.”
That got Moonhorse’s attention.
“How’d he look?”
“I’m not sure, he always stayed out in the car. Middle-aged; business-y.”
Moonhorse pulled out a picture of Frank Delapore and showed it to her.
“Could he have been this guy?” He asked.
She studied the picture, but eventually shook her head.
“I can’t be sure,” she said, “but in my opinion, I think you’re wasting your time trying to find this girl. I don’t think she was very nice.”
She stepped over to a pile of clothes and began folding them into neat stacks.
“She was evasive, she gave me a fake name and address; everything about her was phony.”
Moonhorse picked his hat up off the filing cabinet.
“Well, thanks for the tip, Ms. Ceratti.” He said.
She didn’t turn around from her work, and after a moment's pause, he exited the office.
Seated on a rooftop patio, Moonhorse flipped over the newspaper he’d bought on the street. So far, his investigation had gotten him nowhere, and he had returned to a restaurant he’d noticed across from Delapore’s secret love nest. The place was packed with what looked like locals, which meant the food was either very good or very cheap. An older waiter wearing a bow tie and crisp vest brought him an appetizer, and before he could hurry off to the next table, Moonhorse caught his arm. An idea had been percolating in his mind, a long shot, but worth a try.
“Say friend, you worked here long?” He asked the waiter.
“Yes sir.” the older man replied with a smile that starkly contrasted his bright white teeth with his dark brown skin. “Twenty-five years this September.”
“I wonder if you could help me, then,” Moonhorse said as he brought out the picture of Frank Delapore. “Have you ever seen this man before? He used to live in that building across the street.”
The waiter paused to look at the picture, then smiled and nodded.
“With a lady?” pressed Moonhorse.
“Of course, sir. Always with that same lady.”
Moonhorse sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair in a friendly, easy manner.
“What was she like?”
The waiter smiled as he thought back.
“Oh, she was a fine woman. So kind, very generous. She always makes us laugh.”
With a chuckle, Moonhorse asked, “Are you sure we’re talking about the same woman?”
“Oh, yes sir. He always came in with the same woman.”
“What did she look like; blonde full figure…?”
Shaking his head, the waiter replied, “No, no. She was darker sir. Dark hair, Hispanic complexion.”
Moonhorse reached into the inner pocket of his long coat and withdrew a wad of bills. He unfolded a twenty and placed it on the empty server tray.
“Very kind, very generous, sir.” He smiled and slid the bill into his waistband before heading back toward the kitchen.
Before he could begin his appetizer, Moonhorse was approached by another figure. A younger man with the look of a LSU student leaned over the table with a sketch pad in hand.
“Excuse me, sir, would you permit me to make a sketch of you, it would only take a moment.”
With a small wave of his hand, Moonhorse gently turned down the offer. The younger man started away from the table when Moonhorse had a sudden idea.
“Hey, wait a minute!” he called after the artist.
Sensing a chance to earn a commission, the young man eagerly returned to the table.
“You have a distinguished face, sir. You’ll make a fine subject. A very proud jawline and a regal nose. And a magnificent horn, if I may say so.”
“How often do you do sketches here?” asked Moonhorse as the artist set his pencils and charcoal down on the table.
“Oh, two or three times a week. Busier on the weekends,” came the reply.
Once again, Moonhorse produced the picture of Delapore.
“Do you know this man?” He asked.
Taking a moment to examine the picture, he responded, “Yes. I’ve seen him here several times.”
Moonhorse reached into his pocket and unfolded the wad of bills again.
“This man, when he came in, was he with anyone?” He asked as he tugged a bill loose from the stack.
“Yes sir. He was accompanied by a younger woman. Very beautiful. Very charming.”
Placing a twenty on the artist’s sketch pad he asked, “Did you catch her name?”
“No sir, I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you did a sketch of her one day?” queried Moonhorse.
The artist’s face lit up and he eagerly began flipping through his sketchpad.
“Better than that, she sketched me!” He said as he excitedly pulled loose a page and handed it to the seated investigator.
The sketch was rough, clearly something done quickly in a spur of the moment way, but it accurately captured the likeness of the college student seated next to Moonhorse. Everything was quick, broad and simple lines done in charcoal with the exception of a dark patch of ink in the corner; a stylized letter G.
“Would you mind if I borrowed this?” asked Moonhorse.
“Oh, well, you see…This has great sentimental value…” His response trailed off as Moonhorse pulled loose another pair of bills. “But I can tell you are a deeply sensitive individual, I know you will treat this with great care.”
He pocketed the money and hurried off with a smile before Moonhorse could change his mind. Raising a finger to get the waiter’s attention, Moonhorse munched quickly on his appetizer. This meal would have to be to go.
Back in Delapore’s secret apartment, a bored patrolman bit into a cold roll, the last of his own lunch. He had barely begun to chew the dry bread when the buzzer sounded at the door. He quickly folded a napkin around the remains of the roll and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. As soon as he turned the doorknob, Moonhorse burst through, tightly rolled sheet of sketch paper in hand. The bewildered cop checked the hall, then turned and followed the equine investigator across the room, to a simple painting of a riverboat.
“There. Same artist, same signature; a G in the corner.” He said as he held up the drawing next to the picture.
The patrolman with him looked between the two and merely nodded. Setting the paper down, Moonhorse lifted the painting off the wall and flipped it over, resting it on the desk. Flipping open his iridescent rainbow butterfly knife, he worked the fixtures loose and removed the frame from the painting. He examined the edges of the canvas.
“Painted by his girlfriend alright.” Moonhorse muttered.
“His girlfriend?” Asked the cop.
“Someone must know who painted this picture.”
The patrolman scratched his head and regarded the painting like he’d never seen art before.
“Maybe his wife?”
Moonhorse snapped his fingers.
“She wasn’t much help before, but maybe I can shake something loose with this,” Moonhorse said as he snatched up the painting and dashed back out the door leaving a befuddled police officer standing alone in the apartment with his stale bread roll.
Chas-Chas opened the door herself when Moonhorse rang. She had changed into a cocktail dress and a pair of heels, the lingering scent of cannabis replaced with classy perfume.
“I was just passing by, and I thought I’d take you up on that drink,” said Moonhorse as he pushed past her down the hall. Intending to make a power play, he suddenly stopped short as he realized the widow Delapore had company.
“Chuck Hold, this is Moonhorse.” She said as she came up behind him.
“Afternoon, good sir. Let me get you that drink,” he said in a voice choked by post-nasal drip.
Pouring a cocktail for Moonhorse, he passed a glass marked with greasy fingerprints to the new arrival.
“And me,” said Chas-Chas.
Hold smiled and turned his attention back to the bar. Moonhorse resigned himself to whatever social hell this would turn into and plopped the painting down on the love seat.
“Oh. What’s this?” inquired Chas-Chas.
Moonhorse swirled his drink thoughtfully before responding, “Oh this? Just a little something I picked up. You like it?”
“If you like that sort of thing,” came her reply. She did nothing to hide the disdain in her voice.
“Why, what’s the matter with it?”
“It’s…pretty. And that’s just it; pretty.” She glanced around the room to her other works of art, painting and sculptures of master quality. She turned back to address her other guest. “Moonhorse is looking into Frank’s death.”
“That so? Having any luck with…” He trailed off as his eyes came to rest on the painting resting on the couch.
“Well, it seems my acquisition has caught the eye of Mr. Hold. Do you know the artist?”
Hold took a gulp of his drink before responding. “No. No, but I know the picture. Frank used to have one in his study here. You remember, Chas-Chas.”
Chas-Chas looked back and forth between the men before evaluating the picture again.
“Oh yeah. I think I remember something like that. An old riverboat.” She sipped her drink. “I didn’t like it. I wouldn’t have it in the apartment.”
“Well,” said Moonhorse with a faint smirk, “it’s a shame you don’t like it.”
“Um, another drink, Mr. Horse?” asked Chuck nervously.
“No, thank you,” replied Moonhorse as he whipped the painting back up and tucked it neatly under his arm. “It’s a pity, I still like it. Good evening Mr. Hold, Mrs. Delapore.”
He tipped his hat and hurried back out of the apartment. The smell of pickled eggs was growing overpowering.
“Do come again,” said Chas-Chas. “I do enjoy your visits…”
Once the door was firmly shut, she turned back to her guest who was shakily topping off his own glass.
“What was all that about? That picture was never in Frank’s study.”
“That Moonhorse never bought it either. That painting came from Frank’s other apartment. That’s where I saw it.”
“Hmph,” she huffed. “The last time he was here, he grilled me about dresses.”
“He’s trying to answer the sixty-four thousand dollar question: who was Frank’s girlfriend?”
Angela held the door open for her employer before locking up for the night. The two women had been chatting about something when they were interrupted by the sudden arrival of Moonhorse.
“Good evening, Ms. Ceratti.”
“Oh! Mr. Moonhorse, I’m sorry, but we were just leaving.”
Moonhorse flashed a disarming smile.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need some advice.”
She exchanged a look with Angela.
“Well, I suppose you could walk me to my car.”
They started down the sidewalk, unaware of a car with two shadowy figures across the street.
“Well, my friend Moonhorse, what luck have you had? Did you find her?”
“Afraid not.”
“Maybe that’s not bad luck.” She smiled as she stole a glance at him.
“I’ve found out a good deal about her, but it’s all pretty confusing.”
“Oh? You seem like the sharp mind and keen eye sort.”
“Well, its some of the things you told me. Like how she was a blonde, but everyone I’ve talked to said she was a brunette.”
“I’m afraid I can’t guarantee she never changed her hair color.”
“And then there’s the fact that everyone I’ve talked to, who knows her, likes her. When you speak about her, people light up, they’re warm. They remember her fondly.”
The pair stopped alongside a parked car.
“You speak as though you knew her.”
He looked into her deep brown eyes and replied, “I’m beginning to.”
She turned away and circled around the hood of her car.
“You should tread carefully, Mr. Moonhorse.”
Moonhorse stuck his tongue in his cheek and his hands in his pockets.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little prejudiced against her, Ms. Ceratti?”
She paused in the open door to her car.
“Aren’t you worried you’re falling for this dream girl, Moonhorse?”
“Anything’s possible,” he said as he tipped his hat and watched her drive away.
The next morning at the Capital Park Museum, Moonhorse bent over a table covered in diagrams and photos. Raymond Young of the historical society had pulled all the information they had on riverboats throughout the state. The two were systematically comparing the details of the painting with the records of big paddle-wheelers.
“You may be on a wild goose chase, Moonhorse. This may not be a real riverboat at all. Just a figment of some artist’s imagination.”
“This artist has an eye for detail and a style that emphasizes the real world.”
He pointed at a diagram. “How about this one?”
“The Ferry to Ithica? That burnt down years ago.”
He went back to turning pages of diagrams.
“Here! What about this one?” He jabbed a finger into the center of a glossy color print.
“Hmm. The smoke stacks and ‘scape pipes. The swinging stages. The hurricane roof and paddle box. I think you’ve found your ship.”
“The Treasure Chest, converted into a floating casino on Lake Pontchartrain.” Moonhorse pounded his fist into his palm. “Now I have a place to start.Thanks Ray.”
“Don’t mention it, Moonhorse.”
The weather was fine as Moonhorse pulled off the I-10 into Kenner. He parked near the waterfront and held up the painting again, judging his rough position to match the perspective of the original artist. The lakefront house looked open and inviting, and Moonhorse could see an older woman working on the patio. Stepping out onto the street, he straightened his tie and took off his hat as he approached her.
“Excuse me,” he said with a big smile and a little wave of his hat. “I’m so sorry, but I’m a bit lost. Could you help me? Which road gets back toward Laplace?”
The old woman smiled and pointed along the shore.
“That way. Up the ten ‘til you see the Waffle House.”
Moonhorse smiled appreciatively and thanked her. He stretched his back and looked out over the water.
“What a beautiful day.”
She smiled and nodded in agreement, following his gaze. “We have many days like this.”
The peel of bells across the water drew their attention to the docked riverboat. Moonhorse folded his arms, then placed a hand on his chin.
“You know, I think I’ve been here before.” He gestured out toward the lake. “This view, that boat. I could have sworn I’d stood right here on this spot.”
The old woman grinned and looked him over.
“I’ve lived here all my life, and I’m sure I’d remember if we’d met before.”
He snapped his fingers.
“No, I’ve got it! I’ve seen it in a picture! I own a painting of just that spot.”
She chuckled at the sound of his enthusiasm.
“That’s very possible. My lady, she’s painted it many many times.”
“The painter, she lives here?” Moonhorse asked with rising excitement in his voice.
“Oh yes, she lives here part of the time. And part of the time in Baton Rouge.”
Clapping his hand together, Moonhorse laughed out loud.
“Does she still sign all of her paintings the same, with a big capital G?”
The old woman nodded vigorously.
“That’s our little Gabriella,” she said as she broke into a big smile. “Everyone just loves sweet Gabriella.”
“Do you think it would be alright if I were to wait and meet her? I’d be very honored.”
“Of course,” she said, leading him back to the patio table. “Please, sit down. I’m expecting her for lunch.”
Moonhorse kept smiling as she hurried off into the house, but as soon as she was out of sight, his smile fell. Giving her a few moments to recede deeper into the house, he slipped inside the patio doors and began to snoop around. The room was tastefully decorated with a bit of old world class and new world charm. He peeked around the corner and made his way into the hall, spotting another painting with the familiar G signature. That confirmed it.
With his ears perked up for signs of movement, he crept through the cool shadowed interior until the sound of tires on gravel nearly made him jump. A car door slammed and the sounds of dress shoes on flagstones told him someone was about to come through the front door. One hand slid silently into his coat, making reassuring contact with the grip of his pistol. The door swung open, and for a moment the hallway was flooded with dazzling sunlight from outside. Only their silhouette was visible against the harsh backlighting until they closed the door and started down the hall.
“Don’t move,” said Moonhorse in a low voice.
The figure gasped, standing still and silent until their eyes adjusted to the darkened interior. Moonhorse withdrew his empty hand from his coat and stepped further into the hallway.
“Good morning…Moonhorse.”
“Good morning, Miss Gabriella Ceratti.”
Gabriella’s heart was beating so hard, she was sure the equine could hear it. Moonhorse kept his eyes on her as she took a ginger step forward, her hands gripping her small purse in front of her.
Her eyes told him everything.
The moment was interrupted by the return of the old woman who immediately went to embrace her lady.
“Oh, Miss Gabriella, it’s so good to have you back home!” She took Gabriella by the arms and led her down the hall. “This is Mr. Moonhorse, he’s an admirer of your work.”
“Charmed…” She managed to stammer out. “Anna Maria, would you do me a favor? I’m awfully tired after the long drive, would you mind popping down to Lucky’s?”
“Of course, dear. There’s iced tea in the kitchen. I’ll bring back some of your favorite chicken,” she said as she hurried to pick up her oversized bag and headed out the door.
Once her house keeper was out of earshot Gabriella stepped closer to Moonhorse and asked, “This is about Frank isn’t it? I didn’t kill him.”
“I know you didn’t,” replied the unicorn, “but Delapore stole something very valuable from some very important people, and this seems like the perfect, out-of-the-way spot to hide it.”
He inched closer, never taking his eyes off hers.
“Now, where’s the gold?”
Her lips quivered and a faint gasp escaped her lips.
“Gold? What gold?”
“Would it have been too suspicious if you left town right after he was murdered? Is that why you stayed? You thought you could shake any suspicion by acting perfectly ordinary.” He leaned in a hair closer. “You gave me the run-around. It might have worked on the local homicide detective, but not with me. No, where is it?”
Her forehead creased and her eyes grew watery, on the verge of tears.
“You don’t understand. I was going to marry Frankie. We had a future together. I didn’t want any gold. I didn’t want any part of his crazy plan. All I wanted was him.”
“It is here.” Moonhorse stated, firmly. “You’re going to take me to…”
He was interrupted by the sound of tires on gravel and the bang of car doors outside.
“Damn,” cursed Moonhorse softly. “You were followed.”
“What?” she gasped.
“I wasn’t the only one on your trail.”
“You mean, the man who killed Frank?!” she cried. “They know I saw them; if they find me, they’ll kill me!”
Moonhorse pushed her out of the way as he drew his pistol and took aim at the front door. The door swung open and a pair of figures walked inside. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust and recognize the imposing form of a unicorn with a gun.
“Come in, Mrs. Delapore, but I must say, I’m disappointed in your taste in men,” said Moonhorse in an even tone. “Ms. Ceratti, take a good look, is this the man you saw?”
“Yes.”
Chuck Hold made no move, but sneered. Moon’s eyes darted back and forth between them. Trying to decide if Chuck’s company was welcome now that Chas-Chas had sobered up.
“You had your chance, Moonhorse. She’s my weed-smoking girlfriend now.” Chas-Chas looked uneasy, but remained silent. He wiped his finger under his nose, brushing a few dried flakes from the mustache of his goatee, then asked. “Alright horse, where is it?”
“I’ll ask the questions, you…”
The sound of a hammer being cocked cut off Moonhorse before he could finish. The second man emerged from the patio entrance, gun aimed at Moonhorse’s head. He slowly reached out and took the unicorn’s pistol and tucked it into his pocket.
“Very good, Vigo,” said Chuck.
With the gun pointed at Moon’s ribs, he reached a hand across his chest and let loose a heavy back-handed slap.
“I asked you a question, horse,” sneered Hold.
“It's, uh, in here,” responded Moonhorse, swaying slightly from the blow.
He reached back and grasped the handle on a door and pulled it open. Vigo stepped up to glance inside before giving the nod to his employer. Chuck gripped Chas-Chas’ arm and guided her into the room. Vigo started to turn to Moonhorse when the unicorn slammed his body against the door as hard as he could, catching the thug’s gun hand in the door jam.
The pistol clattered to the floor. Moonhorse hauled off and threw a haymaker, catching Vigo on the chin. The big man stumbled, but quickly recovered and ducked the next punch, landing a pair of solid body-blows on his opponent. Charging forward like a line-backer, he sought to sweep the unicorn off his feet, but Moonhorse parried and got him into a headlock, using the momentum to flip him on his back.
Swinging his leg high into the air, he brought the heel of his boot down solidly on the big man’s gut. Vigo wheezed and turned bright red, curling up into a ball at Gabriella’s feet.
Gabriella cried, “Watch out!” and pointed at Hold who was scrambling for the gun on the floor.
Moonhorse dove towards him, arm outstretched, but he was mere inches short as the smaller man snatched up the pistol and pointed it at him.
“Goodbye, gentlesir. You were a worthy opponent, but now you die!” He said, taking aim directly at Moonhorse’s horn.
A shot rang out, and Chuck Hold crumpled to the floor. Moonhorse glanced over his shoulder at Gabriella crouched next to Vigo, holding Moon’s gun. Her eyes were wide in fear as Moonhorse checked Hold’s prone form.
“It’s alright, Gabriella, he’ll live.” Moon said as he wiped sweat from his brow. “But he’ll need a doctor. Call the police, tell them we need an ambulance.”
Moonhorse took the gun from Chuck’s limp hand and collected his pistol from Gabriella. Chas-Chas half-heartedly raised her hands, but Moonhorse shook his head and she relaxed. He kept the three conspirators covered until the police arrived. Then, the lot of them were carted down to the station to do some explaining, all except Chuck Hold who went to the hospital under police guard. Fortunately, Mr. Fitch at the bank could vouch for Moonhorse’s role as investigator, and a few words straight from the horse’s mouth cleared Chas-Chas and Gabriella.
The gold was hidden in a series of crates marked “Antiques - Fragile” that had been delivered to the lake house, which Anna Maria had forgotten to tell her employer about. Moonhorse signed his name with a flourish on the police report, then collected an envelope from Mr. Fitch. Case closed. They could all go home.
​
Epilogue
Moonhorse flicked the wadded paper of his popcorn bag into the dark water. After all was said and done, he had made a trip down to the Treasure Chest Casino. Gambling didn’t excite him, the atmosphere was a bore, the patrons were a joke, and mostly, he found himself leaning on the railing of the hurricane deck looking out across the water at the lakehouse. It was dark and shuttered, no signs of life. Gabriella had cleared out, put the property up for sale, and left no forwarding address. Ceratti’s Customs was shuttered and empty as well.
Sometimes, a place felt used up, spent. Baton Rouge felt like that some nights. Maybe tomorrow he’d rent a red convertible, point it south, and put the pedal to the metal until he hit New Orleans. Then again, maybe tomorrow he’d walk into his office and there would be a new assignment waiting for him. Another day, another adventure.
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2023.04.02 09:17 AnaWolfbay1412 Some unknown culprits for Seasonal Allergies

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2023.03.31 22:49 veerbahadur9083 Some unknown culprits for Seasonal Allergies

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