Close call
Apr. 3rd, 2026 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cornerofmadnessI show up for my echocardiogram and I see the techs in the back in red scrubs. MY students' red scrubs. This will be awkward because I would not be okay with an active student of mine seeing me shirtless. The student in question is not one of mine (he is my coworkers) so fine. I'm good with this.
I don't know what was wrong with this exam table. I mean I'm just lying on my side so they can press the sound transducer to my chest and all four limbs go painfully numb for the entire exam. Did you know looking down from the top the tricuspid valve looks a lot like the mouth of Tremors worms.
I already have the report back. I have grade 1 diastolic dysfunction and mild tricuspid regurgitation which can lead to breathlessness with exertion (yes that's true) But that's exactly what the report said 9 years ago so I guess the good news is my heart is in relatively good shape and my ejection fraction is where you want it to be.
I wrote a thing forspikesgirl58's 6 word challenge
Title: In the Garden of Memory
Summary: Alone in the circus, Kinger retreats to the one place he still feels whole but is that enough?
Rating: teen
Notes:Written for the allbingo prompt of golden bells and for spikesgirl58’s six word challenge. The six words were Damaging, Male, Special, Rain, Gentle, & Mark
“In the garden of memory, in the palace of dreams… that is where you and I shall meet.” – Lewis Carroll
Kinger could no longer remember how long he and Queenie had shared their pillow fort, or even why they had abandoned their rooms for the most part to live within the cozy dark space. There was something gentle about it, something special.
Because it’s ours and not what Caine made for us.
Queenie had conjured the first pillow and he the next, building their refuge pillow by pillow until the fort was complete. Unlike a child’s fort, this one truly was a fortress, a barricade against the brightness of the circus, the overload of color and sound. Caine tried. Kinger understood that in his more lucid moments but Caine wasn’t meant for this. He could barely remember what Caine was meant for.
Scratch, he had been doing code that I barely understood. Was this a place to ‘live’ after the glioblastoma stole his life? Was he simply trying to make his mark before his early end?
Kinger couldn’t remember. So much was gone. Time had long since ceased to exist. Had Queenie abstracted a week ago? A year? A decade? He couldn’t tell. He shuffled back toward his pillow fort where he kept a photo of Queenie. Caine did try to give them comforts back when there were more of them. He honestly seemed to want them to be happy and Kinger forgave some of Caine’s stumbles because of that. Caine didn’t mean to hurt them. Photos were one way Caine offered comfort.
His adventures were another. Maybe Kinger, Scratch and the others hadn’t had time to fully feed their AI data before…whatever happened, happened. Caine was like a child desperately wanting to be an adult, without an adult’s understanding of the world. Caine didn’t understand how a gentle rainstorm might be romantic where a deluge like the one in his last adventure wasn’t nice. Worst, maybe he did understand and this was a punishment for Kinger. Caine seemed confused and upset every time someone abstracted. Was it an act? That would be a sign of a developing AI, after all. Did he blame Kinger for helping to give him a meaningless ‘life?’ Was he trying to impress his father or destroy him?
Kinger had no answers. None existed. They were all gone now, Scratch going first. Had his body died? Were they all in a coma awaiting their own death? Kinger curled up in his fort at the thought. Maybe only a part of their consciousness was trapped here and they were all out there living their best lives, wandering about with a hole in their memories where that bit of brain had been. That was vaguely comforting as he traced the outline of Queenie in the picture, more by rote than by the fact he could actually see her clearly in the dark.
He closed his eyes and pictured the fields of flowers Caine had gifted him and Queenie. She had hung in longer than any of the others. They clung to each other until she just couldn’t anymore. But if he let his mind wander, he was back with her lying on a blanket in the flowers, sweet scent all around them. Golden bells were her favorite, roses his. Queenie imagined butterflies and fireflies all around them depending on the time of day until it sank in that in this unreality glow in the dark butterflies could exist. Those nights were the best. They could just let go and simply be, surrounded by soft bioluminescence and the heady floral scents.
It didn’t last. Things never did. Queenie had slipped from his fingers, pain in her abstracted eyes. What happened to the Abstracted after Caine chucked them into the pit? Kinger couldn’t even let himself imagine it. The heartrending agony would undo him too. How long had it been just him and Caine he thought again, thought so often because what else was there?
Sometimes Kinger thought maybe he had imagined Queenie, Scratch, and the others. Maybe this was all there had ever been and working at C&A was the fever dream. Kinger snapped his eyes open with that thought. He didn’t technically need sleep but he slept, nonetheless. If he were lucky, he had dreams he couldn’t remember but far too often he was back there in the cube farm. His dreams were more damaging than anything Caine could concoct. Things from C& A haunted Kinger. He hadn’t cared much about his surroundings then, his mind turned inward, laser focused on his computer and the code he wove like Arachne challenging Athena. Maybe Caine was punishment for their hubris? Maybe Caine was their collective son and he should treat him as such.
A shudder rolled Kinger around in his pillow fort, his cylindrical body not made for shuddering. He stopped himself but couldn’t halt his mind. Like a wonky projector from his elementary school days, it flickered images in his mind’s eye. There it was again, the chess set, the white king and the black queen. He sighed softly, tears forming in his huge eyes. Queenie….
If it were just her loss, maybe his mind wouldn’t be in such tatters but, in times like this, he remembered the three pawns. Queenie had as well and they’d fold into each other and cry. They couldn’t remember their children’s name, one male and two female; he could recall that much. His son had a face so like his own. Kinger could no longer picture either face but deep to his core he knew his boy had looked like him. The twins favored their mother, eyes bright, smiles brighter and intellect sharp as knives, all three of them.
Kinger panted, trying to hold himself together when he wanted to fly apart. Because here in the quiet, in the dark, alone, he was sane enough to think ‘if Queenie and I are in comas, who is caring for our children?’ Three kids on the cusp of adulthood left alone in that tumultuous time of life. “Where are my children?” he whispered.
No answers would ever be found, not here in the circus. Dashing tears away, Kinger did the only thing he could do; he crawled out of his fort, letting the light steal his memories away, taking the pain with them.
Staring into the riot of color, Kinger breathed easier as his mind smoothed out.
“Caine, do you think I could go into the field again?” he asked, not quite sure why he wanted that. He simple knew he liked it and that was enough.
forget the hangover, skip straight to the cure Hazbin Hotel
Well Met J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle-earth Legendarium & Related Fandoms/ The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth
The Visitor Torchwood
Checkmate The Amazing Digital Circus
Bigger Than Expected FAKE
Love Potion The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Kitten Conundrum Torchwood
Complex Problems The Fantastic Journey
Episode 5: Playback — anomaly_2004 UglyDolls
An Alternative Arrangement The Owl House
Five Times They Didn’t Share A Bed, and One Time They Did Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson (TV 1980)/ Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
who cares (i'm fine) The Amazing Digital Circus
Wondering Why? The Professionals
because love can burn like a cigarette Arcane: League of Legends
turns out it was that easy, baby (or: Charlie’s post-nut clarity saves the day) Hazbin Hotel
Acquainted. Hazbin Hotel
I Vow to You the Sun and Moon Legends of Avantris
'Sex' is a Word of One Sound Cabin Pressure
Aizawa Shōta, Pro Hero: Eraserhead 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Chance Meeting Torchwood
this time, it’ll be sweeter Arcane: League of Legends
Secrets in the Shadows Hazbin Hotel
The Proper School for a Healing Witch The Owl house
Guess What? MCU
Just A Little Crush Primeval
Needs of the Many Teen Wolf
I don't know what was wrong with this exam table. I mean I'm just lying on my side so they can press the sound transducer to my chest and all four limbs go painfully numb for the entire exam. Did you know looking down from the top the tricuspid valve looks a lot like the mouth of Tremors worms.
I already have the report back. I have grade 1 diastolic dysfunction and mild tricuspid regurgitation which can lead to breathlessness with exertion (yes that's true) But that's exactly what the report said 9 years ago so I guess the good news is my heart is in relatively good shape and my ejection fraction is where you want it to be.
I wrote a thing for
spikesgirl58's 6 word challengeTitle: In the Garden of Memory
Summary: Alone in the circus, Kinger retreats to the one place he still feels whole but is that enough?
Rating: teen
Notes:Written for the allbingo prompt of golden bells and for spikesgirl58’s six word challenge. The six words were Damaging, Male, Special, Rain, Gentle, & Mark
“In the garden of memory, in the palace of dreams… that is where you and I shall meet.” – Lewis Carroll
Kinger could no longer remember how long he and Queenie had shared their pillow fort, or even why they had abandoned their rooms for the most part to live within the cozy dark space. There was something gentle about it, something special.
Because it’s ours and not what Caine made for us.
Queenie had conjured the first pillow and he the next, building their refuge pillow by pillow until the fort was complete. Unlike a child’s fort, this one truly was a fortress, a barricade against the brightness of the circus, the overload of color and sound. Caine tried. Kinger understood that in his more lucid moments but Caine wasn’t meant for this. He could barely remember what Caine was meant for.
Scratch, he had been doing code that I barely understood. Was this a place to ‘live’ after the glioblastoma stole his life? Was he simply trying to make his mark before his early end?
Kinger couldn’t remember. So much was gone. Time had long since ceased to exist. Had Queenie abstracted a week ago? A year? A decade? He couldn’t tell. He shuffled back toward his pillow fort where he kept a photo of Queenie. Caine did try to give them comforts back when there were more of them. He honestly seemed to want them to be happy and Kinger forgave some of Caine’s stumbles because of that. Caine didn’t mean to hurt them. Photos were one way Caine offered comfort.
His adventures were another. Maybe Kinger, Scratch and the others hadn’t had time to fully feed their AI data before…whatever happened, happened. Caine was like a child desperately wanting to be an adult, without an adult’s understanding of the world. Caine didn’t understand how a gentle rainstorm might be romantic where a deluge like the one in his last adventure wasn’t nice. Worst, maybe he did understand and this was a punishment for Kinger. Caine seemed confused and upset every time someone abstracted. Was it an act? That would be a sign of a developing AI, after all. Did he blame Kinger for helping to give him a meaningless ‘life?’ Was he trying to impress his father or destroy him?
Kinger had no answers. None existed. They were all gone now, Scratch going first. Had his body died? Were they all in a coma awaiting their own death? Kinger curled up in his fort at the thought. Maybe only a part of their consciousness was trapped here and they were all out there living their best lives, wandering about with a hole in their memories where that bit of brain had been. That was vaguely comforting as he traced the outline of Queenie in the picture, more by rote than by the fact he could actually see her clearly in the dark.
He closed his eyes and pictured the fields of flowers Caine had gifted him and Queenie. She had hung in longer than any of the others. They clung to each other until she just couldn’t anymore. But if he let his mind wander, he was back with her lying on a blanket in the flowers, sweet scent all around them. Golden bells were her favorite, roses his. Queenie imagined butterflies and fireflies all around them depending on the time of day until it sank in that in this unreality glow in the dark butterflies could exist. Those nights were the best. They could just let go and simply be, surrounded by soft bioluminescence and the heady floral scents.
It didn’t last. Things never did. Queenie had slipped from his fingers, pain in her abstracted eyes. What happened to the Abstracted after Caine chucked them into the pit? Kinger couldn’t even let himself imagine it. The heartrending agony would undo him too. How long had it been just him and Caine he thought again, thought so often because what else was there?
Sometimes Kinger thought maybe he had imagined Queenie, Scratch, and the others. Maybe this was all there had ever been and working at C&A was the fever dream. Kinger snapped his eyes open with that thought. He didn’t technically need sleep but he slept, nonetheless. If he were lucky, he had dreams he couldn’t remember but far too often he was back there in the cube farm. His dreams were more damaging than anything Caine could concoct. Things from C& A haunted Kinger. He hadn’t cared much about his surroundings then, his mind turned inward, laser focused on his computer and the code he wove like Arachne challenging Athena. Maybe Caine was punishment for their hubris? Maybe Caine was their collective son and he should treat him as such.
A shudder rolled Kinger around in his pillow fort, his cylindrical body not made for shuddering. He stopped himself but couldn’t halt his mind. Like a wonky projector from his elementary school days, it flickered images in his mind’s eye. There it was again, the chess set, the white king and the black queen. He sighed softly, tears forming in his huge eyes. Queenie….
If it were just her loss, maybe his mind wouldn’t be in such tatters but, in times like this, he remembered the three pawns. Queenie had as well and they’d fold into each other and cry. They couldn’t remember their children’s name, one male and two female; he could recall that much. His son had a face so like his own. Kinger could no longer picture either face but deep to his core he knew his boy had looked like him. The twins favored their mother, eyes bright, smiles brighter and intellect sharp as knives, all three of them.
Kinger panted, trying to hold himself together when he wanted to fly apart. Because here in the quiet, in the dark, alone, he was sane enough to think ‘if Queenie and I are in comas, who is caring for our children?’ Three kids on the cusp of adulthood left alone in that tumultuous time of life. “Where are my children?” he whispered.
No answers would ever be found, not here in the circus. Dashing tears away, Kinger did the only thing he could do; he crawled out of his fort, letting the light steal his memories away, taking the pain with them.
Staring into the riot of color, Kinger breathed easier as his mind smoothed out.
“Caine, do you think I could go into the field again?” he asked, not quite sure why he wanted that. He simple knew he liked it and that was enough.
forget the hangover, skip straight to the cure Hazbin Hotel
Well Met J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle-earth Legendarium & Related Fandoms/ The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth
The Visitor Torchwood
Checkmate The Amazing Digital Circus
Bigger Than Expected FAKE
Love Potion The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Kitten Conundrum Torchwood
Complex Problems The Fantastic Journey
Episode 5: Playback — anomaly_2004 UglyDolls
An Alternative Arrangement The Owl House
Five Times They Didn’t Share A Bed, and One Time They Did Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson (TV 1980)/ Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
who cares (i'm fine) The Amazing Digital Circus
Wondering Why? The Professionals
because love can burn like a cigarette Arcane: League of Legends
turns out it was that easy, baby (or: Charlie’s post-nut clarity saves the day) Hazbin Hotel
Acquainted. Hazbin Hotel
I Vow to You the Sun and Moon Legends of Avantris
'Sex' is a Word of One Sound Cabin Pressure
Aizawa Shōta, Pro Hero: Eraserhead 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Chance Meeting Torchwood
this time, it’ll be sweeter Arcane: League of Legends
Secrets in the Shadows Hazbin Hotel
The Proper School for a Healing Witch The Owl house
Guess What? MCU
Just A Little Crush Primeval
Needs of the Many Teen Wolf
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no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 05:48 am (UTC)Just had to say it aloud to someone who would appreciate it...
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 02:39 pm (UTC)I'll be back in a week with a question to see if you do better on it than my students will.
But I can see why he made that mistake. Most of the time docs are talking about injecting something into you
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 06:44 pm (UTC)eta sorry for all the edits. omg autocorrect
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 08:55 am (UTC)I'm glad your heart is relatively good and you didn't have to see your own student! Luckily when I had students I only met them in the supermarket! lol.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 10:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 01:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 02:26 pm (UTC)Thanks.Yeah since I train MOST of the healthcare students in this area (either me or my friend DM) I tend to run into them down the road naked
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 05:31 pm (UTC)Oh dear, that's a disaster waiting to happen with the students!
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 06:43 pm (UTC)I'm fine if they're graduated but not if they're still in school with me
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 09:38 pm (UTC)Oh god that is annoying when you meet students still in school.
The British Primeval has the characters Nick Cutter, Connor Temple, Abby Maitland, if that helps.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 11:02 pm (UTC)this is a tiny area so I meet them a lot
sadly no it didn't. I looked at pictures, didn't help. I keep thinking it has something to do with dinosaurs
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Date: 2026-04-04 12:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 02:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-04 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-05 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-05 03:41 pm (UTC)