The book takes place in a creepy old clinic/hospital on a knoll in either Scotland or Whales.
The main character was an Indian man who had a picture similar to that building and was looking for it. He was searching for a venerated religious figure/incarnation of some kind, and got a job as a maintenance guy at the clinic. The job was also somehow related to the morgue of the clinic.
The other characters were the doctor of the clinic and some other Indian guy he had angst with because he was part of a different group with contrasting dietary restrictions, and who he called a "filthy fish eater''.
The plot gets going when the doctor palpates a man's cancerous prostate gland and parts of the tumor disappear in the shape of fingers. A fuss starts up because the doctor is healing people; the doctor's wife's leg cancer goes away, more people start showing up to be healed.
It turns out the doctor is eating the flesh of cadavers in the morgue to maintain his powers. The doctor either dies or takes off and the powers start to fade.
The book ends with the doctor's wife feeling pain in her leg, and the resolution is that all the healing power held up by the cannibalism is going to start to fade away.
Fiction, probably written pre-2000s, read in English, and was a book my mom read a good long time ago but could never find again, and I'm hoping to be able to find it to give to her as a birthday gift.

, l've been having soreness on my the right side of my neck right where you would check your pulse. Not constant only when I turn my head left and swallow when my head is turned I feel pain there and near my jaw.
If i push my fingers right where I would check my pulse it hurts worse in that spot too and feel pain near my jaw. Is this serious ? I am going on holiday tomorrow so I can’t go to the doctor
26M 5.11, 79kg smoker and not on any medication

Original Prompt

Chapter 27
"And you say this starry field consumes your entire form?" Kher's attention - like everyone else's - was on Cass's arm. As they rode forward at the head of the caravan, colorful bands and flecks of distant starlight moved through her limb. Like glittering lights in a stream, never did the same pattern repeat.
"When I want it to, yeah." Cass flexed her night-black fingers. Her arm was pain-free in the dark, so long as the others kept their torches away. The flames had been put out after a stray flicker of light gave her a jolt; the sudden, involuntary twitch nearly caused her to remove Charis's hand.
"Why does your arm seem so much smaller during the day?" Nuu asked. "I've seen you in battle, you are not a withered husk of a person."
"Part of the curse. Fire weakens me." Cass looked up at the night sky, imagining the great ball of flame hanging over her head as it did all day, every day. She did not need to explain to them that the Sun was the greatest source of fire in the world. Their religion was built around that.
"But that's only when I'm not immersed in it it," she continued, "when I'm trying to be me. When I use it to fight I sort of..." She rolled her right hand in front of her as she looked for words. The feeling she'd never been able to verbalize continued to elude her. "I sort of...jump into it. Like into a pool of water, but it's not water, it's something else."
"Darkness," Nuu said, quietly.
"Stars!" Kher was more enthusiastic.
"Maybe? I don't know another way to describe it, but-"
"What is going on here!?" The icy whiplash of Kebb's tongue cut through the night. Cass looked over her shoulder and saw him riding up with his torch in hand and quickly covered her arm with her robe.
"Careful!" Charis said, holding out a hand toward Kebb, "Put out your torch or-"
"Put out my torch?" Kebb, who had always been so calm and peaceful, looked like he was caught between the desire to vomit or to strike Charis for what he'd said. "You all know the Tenets. Putting out your flames in the dark is...is..."
"I'm sorry," Cass spoke up, waving her good hand to take Kebb's attention, "I was just-"
"Cassandra, I do not blame you for any of this." Kebb didn't yell, but he was terse. "You are not a Disciple, you are not obligated to follow the Light. Please, take my position at the rear of the caravan so that I may remind these wayward Flames of their oaths."
"But-"
"Please." Kebb leveled a stare at her. Cass was undaunted, but Charis touched her shoulder. She looked their way and they smiled at her.
"We'll be fine," they said.
Cass reigned in Cassiopeia, her camel, and they waited off to the side of the sandstone road for the others to pass. Mica and Iuven both gave her a nod while Nuut ignored her. Anatu - riding near the back with the water cart - asked what she was doing.
"Kebb wants me to ride in the rear," she answered. That was enough for the Captain and they continued on.
Cass followed well behind the caravan for a time, lamenting the silence and the loss of interesting conversation. She thought Nuu was starting to come around, too. Having them and their sister not give her a death stare every time they looked her way would be nice.
With a tug on the reigns, Cass picked up the pace and got closer to the water cart. Her swordspear was there and, if she was going to be protecting from any raiders sneaking up from behind, she wanted it on hand. As she grabbed it she heard Kebb return to ride along with Anatu.
"I took care of the Light," he said, "since you wouldn't."
"It's advantageous to keep to the dark at night." Anatu sounded tired.
"It goes against every Tenet of-"
"I know the Tenets, Kebb. I'm not saying I agree with their...'poor' choices. I just wish you wouldn't get upset at them for being logical."
"Hmph. You give them too much slack. They were all huddled around Cassandra and looking at her...affliction."
"The curse? Did she look like she was losing control?"
"Helen assured me that Cassandra is in full control of her beastial nature."
"Hmph. Is that supposed to be comforting? That she chooses to become that creature? To rip people in half?"
"As long as she does it on our command-"
"On my command."
Cass wanted to tell them both to fuck off in the silence that followed but waited just a moment longer. Cit always told her to count to ten before acting whenever she had an advantage or was ready to spring an ambush. Taking a deep, slow breath, Cass counted backward and within seconds they continued talking.
"I'll put Cassandra on lookout duty tomorrow," Anatu said.
"I already told you, no. The light makes her vulnerable. Helen would not want it."
"Fine, write Helen then." Anatu's tone was light and daring. "Oh wait, you didn't think bringing a hawk was a good idea. I guess you'll have to wait for Helen to write you so you can ask."
"Careful, Anatu, you-"
"You can both just fuck off, you know." Cass was tired of being talked about like a tool. She gave her camel's reigns a tug to stop her and let the water cart pull further ahead. Kebb leaned around the cart while riding and looked back at her. She held up her swordspear in a mocking salute until she could no longer hear the clatter of camel feet and wagon wheels on sandstone.
With a smirk, she clicked her tongue and Cassiopeia continued forward. Letting Kebb and Anatu think she might ride up behind them and eavesdrop any moment was a nice consolation prize for losing out on a night of gossip.

The pressure builds
I have held on too long
My teeth bared
My heart flayed
The pain boils
As my fingers dig into my palms
I think of the years
It is a small salve
The lack of your light makes me less
You burned bright
A brilliant, silly torch
In this crazy night
I miss your smile
I miss your warmth
I miss your shit
The best and the worst of me
I howl at the loss
You were the last part of my soul

Would you have a concluding word to such world's setting?

Absolutely! Here are a few closing word options for your high-tech, low-life world, depending on the tone you want to achieve:
Hopeful:

In the flickering neon glow of the lower districts, a spark of rebellion ignites. Despite the hardships, the human spirit endures, seeking connection, hope, and a chance to build a better future.

Bittersweet:

The high towers of the elite cast long shadows over the bustling streets below. In this world of stark contrasts, the lines between survival and prosperity blur. But even in the darkest corners, love, ingenuity, and a flicker of defiance persist.

Grim:

The gears of progress grind on, leaving a trail of waste and despair. In this high-tech dystopia, the gap between the haves and have-nots grows ever wider. Will the lower districts rise up, or will they be forever locked in the underbelly of a world they can only glimpse from below?

Open-Ended:

Beneath the neon sky, stories unfold. Tales of hardship and hope, of rebellion and resilience. The future of this high-tech world hangs in the balance, waiting to be written by the choices of those who inhabit it.

Choose the closing word that best captures the essence of your story or setting. Remember, the world you've created is rich with possibilities, and the ending doesn't have to be definitive. It can leave your readers pondering the fate of its characters and the future of this complex and ever-evolving society.

If you should pick an item or an object that would clearly and cleverly symbolized such world, what would that be?

Here are two options for an item that symbolically represents the high-tech, low-life world:

1. The Glimmering Shard:

• Description: Imagine a small, jagged shard of metal or glass. One side is smooth and polished, reflecting the wealth and technology of the upper city. The other side is rough and chipped, etched with the grime and harsh realities of the lower districts.
• Symbolism: This shard represents the stark contrast between the upper and lower classes. The smooth side reflects the shiny veneer of technology and luxury enjoyed by the wealthy. The rough side reflects the brokenness and struggle of those living on the fringes.
• Additional Details: This shard could be a salvaged piece of technology, a remnant of a shattered building, or even a shard of a mirrored window that once divided the social classes.

1. The Glitching Holographic Ring:

• Description: Imagine a holographic ring that projects a constantly shifting image. On one hand, it might display a luxurious symbol of wealth and status. But as it flickers, the image might glitch and distort, revealing a hidden message or a glimpse of the harsh realities beneath the surface.
• Symbolism: This ring symbolizes the unreliability and instability of the world. The glitching hologram represents the way technology promises a utopian future but constantly fails to deliver. It also reflects the hidden messages of dissent and rebellion that exist beneath the surface of a seemingly controlled society.
• Additional Details: This ring could be a common fashion statement or a black-market tool used to spread forbidden information. The glitching image could be a coded message, a symbol of rebellion, or a reminder of the past that the upper class tries to suppress.

Both of these items are small, versatile, and can be interpreted in multiple ways, making them powerful symbols of the high-tech, low-life world. The choice ultimately depends on the specific tone and message you want to convey in your story.

Try something bit more distinct and specific.

How about the "Hacked Heart"?
Here's the breakdown:

• Description: A small, ornately decorated locket or pendant. Upon opening, it reveals not a picture, but a series of flickering LEDs embedded within a clear casing.
• Functionality: This locket is a bio-hacked implant worn externally. It interfaces with the wearer's nervous system, displaying a visual representation of their emotional state through the shifting colors and patterns of the LEDs.
• Symbolism: The Hacked Heart represents the constant clash between technology and humanity in this world. The ornate decoration speaks to a desire for beauty and connection, while the exposed circuitry highlights the invasive nature of technology and the commodification of even emotions.
• Distinction: This item is specific to this world because it combines high-tech bio-hacking with a sentimental object like a locket. It's a reminder that while technology can be used to manipulate and control, people still yearn for genuine emotional connection.
• Additional Details:
  • The Hacked Heart could be a status symbol among the wealthy, a way to display their emotional control or volatility.
  • In the lower districts, it might be a black-market modification, a way to express emotions freely or even manipulate others.
  • The LEDs could display a limited range of emotions, a commentary on how this world suppresses or simplifies human experience.

This Hacked Heart offers a unique and distinct symbol of the high-tech, low-life world. It captures the struggle for authenticity, the desire for connection, and the pervasive influence of technology in every aspect of life.

How about straight up hacksawed hearth?

The "hacksawed hearth" is a very evocative image, but on its own, it might be a little too literal. Here are a few ways we can build on this concept to create a more symbolic and distinct object for your high-tech, low-life world:

1. The Hacksawed Hearth Relic:

• Description: This is a piece of a broken fireplace grate, crudely hacksawed from a larger structure. It could be made of cast iron, bearing the ornate detailing of a once grand fireplace from the upper city.
• Symbolism: The hacksawed hearth represents the loss of a sense of community and warmth. It's a reminder of a bygone era where people gathered around fireplaces for warmth, comfort, and storytelling. In the high-tech world, these connections are fragmented, replaced by cold technology.
• Use: The relic could be a prized possession, passed down through generations in the lower districts. It might be used as a makeshift heating element, a symbol of resilience, or even a weapon in desperate situations.
• Additional Details: Engravings or markings on the relic could hint at the origin of the fireplace, perhaps a symbol of rebellion or a reminder of a specific historical event.

1. The Hacksawed Hearth Stove:

• Description: This is a makeshift stove cobbled together from scrap metal and scavenged parts. The centerpiece is a prominent, jagged piece of metal, clearly cut with a hacksaw, forming the base or firebox.
• Symbolism: The hacksawed hearth stove represents resourcefulness and defiance. It's a testament to the ingenuity of the lower classes, who repurpose the remnants of the upper world to survive and build a sense of home.
• Use: This stove provides heat and a place to cook for those in the lower districts. The exposed hacksaw mark could serve as a constant reminder of the struggle and the societal divide.
• Additional Details: The stove might be decorated with scavenged trinkets or symbols of rebellion, reflecting the personality of its creator.

1. The Hacksawed Hearth Hologram:

• Description: This is a portable holographic projector that displays a flickering image of a crackling fireplace. The image might be distorted or glitching, hinting at the artificiality of the technology.
• Symbolism: The hacksawed hearth hologram represents a yearning for a lost sense of comfort and togetherness. It's a reminder of something they can't fully possess, a ghost of a simpler life.
• Use: The hologram could be used for warmth (a psychological comfort), storytelling (creating a sense of community), or even bartering (a valuable commodity in the lower districts).
• Additional Details: The projector might be a salvaged piece of high-tech, repurposed by the lower classes. The flickering image could project not just fire, but also forgotten stories or historical events.

These are just a few ideas to build upon the "hacksawed hearth" concept. Each option creates a distinct symbol for your world, capturing the struggle, resourcefulness, and yearning for connection within a high-tech, low-life society.

Apologies, i meant hacksawed heart.

Ah, a "hacksawed heart" takes the concept a whole new level! Here are some potential interpretations for this unique symbol in your high-tech, low-life world:

1. The Literal Hacksawed Heart:

• Description: This is a gruesome yet intriguing object. Imagine a metallic heart-shaped locket, but instead of opening smoothly, it has a jagged, clearly "hacksawed" opening revealing a beating, pulsating red light within.
• Symbolism: It bluntly represents the harsh realities of this world. The exposed, almost violated heart symbolizes emotional vulnerability in a society that prioritizes survival and control.
• Use: This could be a black-market modification used by criminals to suppress or amplify emotions depending on their needs. It could also be a symbol of rebellion, worn by those who refuse to have their emotions controlled by technology.
• Additional Details: The exposed heart could change color or intensity depending on the wearer's emotional state. It could also be a painful reminder of past trauma or a forced emotional manipulation.

1. The Hacksawed Heart Pendant (Metaphorical):

• Description: This is a more subtle pendant, crafted from metal and shaped like a stylized heart. However, the heart shape is not solid, but rather consists of a series of interlocking gears or circuits.
• Symbolism: It represents the struggle between technology and human emotions. The gears represent the cold logic of technology, while the overall heart shape represents the desire for connection and love.
• Use: This could be a widely worn piece of jewelry, a reminder of the delicate balance between technology and humanity.
• Additional Details: The gears could turn or click subtly, representing the constant hum of technology in the background. The design could be simple yet elegant, appealing to people from all social classes.

1. The Hacksawed Heart Hologram:

• Description: This is a holographic projection of a broken heart, pulsating with a faint light. The cracks and breaks seem to have been repaired crudely, with rough stitches or patches.
• Symbolism: It represents the brokenness and resilience of the people in this world. The repaired heart shows their ability to mend emotional wounds and keep fighting despite hardships.
• Use: This could be a symbol used by resistance groups, a reminder that even though their hearts are broken by the system, they refuse to give up hope.
• Additional Details: The hologram could flicker and distort, highlighting the instability of the world and the struggle for emotional stability. It could also project messages of hope or defiance.

These are just a few interpretations of the "hacksawed heart" symbol. Each one offers a unique perspective on the world, highlighting different aspects of the struggle between technology and humanity, vulnerability and resilience, and the fight for emotional connection in a harsh environment.

And how about hacksawed earth?

The "hacksawed earth" is a powerful and evocative image for your high-tech, low-life world. Here are a few interpretations that capture different aspects of this society:

1. The Broken Globe:

• Description: Imagine a metallic globe, the size of a person's head. One side is smooth and polished, depicting a pristine Earth with lush continents and oceans. The other side is brutally "hacksawed" open, revealing a desolate wasteland beneath.
• Symbolism: This broken globe represents the stark contrast between the idealized world presented by technology and the harsh realities of the lower districts. The smooth side shows the world as it could be, while the hacksawed side shows the damage caused by progress and a focus on the elite.
• Use: This could be a symbol used by rebels or environmentalists, a reminder of the true cost of unchecked technological advancement. It could also be a prized artifact kept by scavengers, a testament to a lost world.
• Additional Details: The hacksawed side could reveal specific details like polluted oceans, ravaged landscapes, or scars representing ecological disasters.

1. The Cracked Terrain Model:

• Description: Imagine a detailed, three-dimensional model of the city and surrounding area. The model is crafted from metal and shows buildings, streets, and even the natural landscape. However, the model is cracked and broken in several places, revealing a dark, hollow space beneath.
• Symbolism: This cracked model represents the instability and fragility of the world. The surface world may appear organized, but it's built on a shaky foundation. The hollow space could represent the neglected lower districts or the potential for social upheaval.
• Use: This could be used by city planners to highlight potential areas of weakness or by rebels to show the vulnerability of the upper city. It could also be a symbol of the constant struggle between order and chaos.
• Additional Details: The cracks could be filled with glowing red lights, symbolizing the simmering anger and frustration of the lower classes.

1. The Fractured Hologram:

• Description: Imagine a holographic projection of the Earth that constantly fractures and reforms. It shows a beautiful planet struggling to maintain its integrity, with cracks appearing and disappearing over continents and oceans.
• Symbolism: This fractured hologram represents the constant environmental degradation and the fragility of the planet itself. It's a reminder that the consequences of unchecked technology and environmental damage will affect everyone, not just the lower districts.
• Use: This could be a warning displayed in public spaces, a constant reminder of the need for sustainability. It could also be used by rebels to spread awareness of the environmental cost of their society.
• Additional Details: The fractured Earth could pulse with a red glow, symbolizing the danger of inaction. The projection could also display messages or statistics about environmental threats.

These interpretations of the "hacksawed earth" symbol each offer a compelling way to visualize the societal and environmental consequences of the high-tech, low-life world. They highlight the impact on the environment, the fragility of the system, and the call for change.

What would be the very best thing in such world?

The "best thing" in a high-tech, low-life world depends on perspective and what holds the most value for different people. Here are a few contenders:
For the Struggling Masses:

• True Connection: In a world rife with social isolation and control, genuine connection with others – love, friendship, community – could be the most valuable thing. Sharing stories, offering support, and building a sense of belonging in the face of hardship could be a beacon of hope.
• Freedom from Oppression: The ability to escape the harsh realities of the lower districts, whether through rebellion, ingenuity, or a lucky break, could be considered the ultimate prize. Freedom could mean access to clean water, medical care, or a life free from fear and exploitation.
• Knowledge and Power: Unrestricted access to knowledge, either through scavenged books, hacked data, or forbidden information, could be a powerful tool for change. This knowledge could empower individuals to understand their world, resist control, or even find a path to a better future.

For the Elite:

• Absolute Security: In a world filled with danger and uncertainty, complete security could be a luxury only the wealthy could afford. It could involve advanced security systems, fortified enclaves, or even enhanced bodies that ensure their safety from threats in the lower districts.
• Unlimited Luxury: Unfettered access to the latest technology, exotic pleasures, and the ability to indulge in every whim could be the ultimate goal for some. However, such a luxurious life might feel hollow in a world so divided.
• Power and Control: Maintaining absolute control over society and ensuring their dominance could be the ultimate prize for some in the elite. This control could involve advanced technology, manipulation of information, or even a form of social engineering that keeps the lower districts docile.

A Different Perspective:

• A Spark of Change: Perhaps the most valuable thing wouldn't be a physical object or individual benefit, but the hope for a better future. It could be a growing sense of defiance, a technological breakthrough that could benefit everyone, or a leader who inspires change. Even in a harsh world, the potential for a brighter future could be the most valuable thing of all.

Ultimately, the best thing in this world depends on your story and the characters' values. What are they fighting for? What would make their lives better? By exploring these questions, you can create a compelling world where the "best thing" is a powerful motivator for your characters and a reflection of the themes you want to explore.

What would be the best possible symbol for high-tech-based dominance?

Here are a few options for a symbol of high-tech dominance in your world, each capturing a different aspect of technological control:

1. The Augmented Eye:

• Description: Imagine a stylized eye, perhaps metallic or with glowing circuitry. This symbol could be worn as a piece of jewelry, incorporated into clothing, or even projected as a hologram.
• Symbolism: The Augmented Eye represents the constant surveillance and monitoring of the population by the elite. It signifies the loss of privacy and the ability of the ruling class to see and control everything.
• Additional Details: The eye could have multiple pupils or flicker with different colors, representing the vast amount of data being collected and analyzed. It could also be embedded with a tiny camera, blurring the line between symbol and surveillance tool.

1. The Neural Network Spire:

• Description: A towering structure, resembling a branching network of wires or organic neural pathways, reaching towards the sky. This spire could be located in the heart of the elite district, a visible symbol of their technological prowess.
• Symbolism: The Neural Network Spire represents the vast computational power and interconnectedness of the elite's technology. It suggests their ability to access information, control communication, and manipulate minds.
• Additional Details: The spire could emit a faint hum or glow, hinting at the constant processing power it represents. Its intricate design could be both awe-inspiring and intimidating, reflecting the duality of technology.

1. The Glimmering Hand (Data Hand):

• Description: A stylized metallic hand, outstretched with its fingers spread wide. Each fingertip could have a different symbol or icon, representing different forms of data (statistics, surveillance footage, code).
• Symbolism: The Glimmering Hand represents the elite's ability to manipulate and control data. It signifies their power to shape information, influence perception, and control resources through technology.
• Additional Details: The hand could be made of a smooth, reflective metal, symbolizing the cold logic of data analysis. It could also emit faint streams of data or project holographic information, further emphasizing its control over information flow.

These symbols all offer a distinct way to represent the dominance of high-tech in your world. Consider the specific aspects of technology you want to highlight and the message you want to convey. These options provide a starting point to create a powerful symbol that embodies the oppressive yet awe-inspiring nature of technology in a high-tech, low-life society.

What would be the best set of symbols for resistance movements within such high-tech low-life settings?

In a high-tech, low-life world, symbols for a resistance movement need to be subtle, easily hidden, and adaptable to a world saturated with technology. Here are a few options that capture the spirit of rebellion in this unique setting:

1. The Flickering Flame:

• Description: A simple flickering flame, either a physical lighter or a stylized image. This could be a tattoo, a graffiti tag, or a hidden symbol incorporated into clothing or tools.
• Symbolism: The flickering flame represents hope and defiance against the cold, sterile control of the high-tech world. It symbolizes a yearning for a simpler life and the potential for change.
• Additional Details: The flame could be accompanied by a simple inscription or code that only members of the resistance understand. It could also be a specific color, like blue or orange, that signifies defiance.

1. The Glitching Gear:

• Description: A stylized gear symbol, but with a section that appears to glitch or malfunction. This could be displayed on a data pad, worn as a pendant, or even etched onto tools or scavenged materials.
• Symbolism: The glitching gear represents the disruption of the established order. It signifies the resistance's ability to exploit the flaws in the high-tech system and their fight for a more organic, less controlled society.
• Additional Details: The glitching portion of the gear could flicker or change colors, representing the unpredictable nature of the resistance and their ability to adapt to new situations.

1. The Broken Wing:

• Description: An image of a bird's wing, either broken or only partially formed. This could be a symbol of freedom yearning to be achieved, or the struggle of the resistance against the oppressive technological cage that confines them.
• Symbolism: The broken wing represents the desire for liberation and the belief that the people can rise above the control of the elite. It signifies the hope for a better future where freedom and autonomy are attainable.
• Additional Details: The broken wing could be depicted with feathers falling away, symbolizing the sacrifices made by the resistance. It could also be paired with an image of a rising sun, symbolizing a new dawn for society.

1. The Hacked Flower:

• Description: A simple flower image, but with its petals made of circuit boards or technological components. This symbol represents the fusion of nature and technology, hinting at the resistance's fight for a more balanced future.
• Symbolism: The hacked flower represents the reclamation of beauty and nature in a world dominated by technology. It signifies the hope for a future where technology serves humanity, not the other way around.
• Additional Details: The flower could be a specific species native to the area before the rise of high-tech dominance. It could also be a symbol of a specific leader or movement within the resistance.

These symbols are just a starting point – get creative and consider the specific values and goals of your resistance movement. Remember, the best symbols are those that resonate with the characters and the audience, conveying the essence of rebellion in a way that is both meaningful and visually striking.

she's a little over four years old. I'm starting to suspect that she may be autistic? probably high-functioning, though, because she isn't developmentally delayed or anything. she began walking at 13mo which isn't late and said her first word early, at 9mo.
some things that I think are unusual:
• limited facial expression
• not particularly poor eye contact, but much less than other kids, especially when she is paying attention to something else. she will not look at me when I say her name, but she answers by talking.
• she lines things up like bears, she will also only paint dots in straight lines
• only plays games in one way
she plays this game where she is 'walking to school' and finds a cat, she will do this several times over around the room. she lines up bricks and lays on them every single time, not really playing with them. She is also preoccupied with the sound of these bricks hitting each other. At home, she will always tell me about that sound.
• she obsesses over little things that characters on TV do.
on a show, she once saw a boy pack his bag to go hang out with his friends. afterwards she completely forgot what the boy actually did, she just cared about the toy robot he brought with him. for days after, she would build the same robot out of Duplos and pretend to pack her bag as well. she also kept replaying that part of the episode without watching the rest.
• she repeatedly watches a select few Lego videos on YouTube because she likes the sound. she also loves the sound of shoes on wood, and will happily run around the house making that sound.
• she has a meltdown whenever we go to parties or turn on the vacuum. She starts screaming and crying and won't stop till I take her somewhere quiet. This has been happening since she was a few months old. It's strange because other than that, she is a very timid and quiet child.
• every night, I see her moving her fingers strangely over her eyes like puppets. her teachers see the same behavior during naps.
• whenever she sees her younger brother sitting down, she pushes him over on his face. she laughs whenever she does this. but she's generally not mean or anything?
• she seems overwhelmed in bright areas. constantly squinting, talking less. she also falls asleep very quickly after i take her somewhere less bright, like she's tired from all the stimulation or something?
• she has trouble following instructions or picking up a new skill without repeatedly seeing someone else do it. once someone shows her what to do, she understands very quickly, however.
• she is obsessed with this one book about rain. she has read it hundreds of times, but refuses to throw it away or anything. It's in pretty bad shape, but she refuses to leave it alone.
• she is strangely attached to her stuffed dog, creatively named "puppy". she takes it to school every day and sleeps with it every night. if she loses it, she refuses to sleep without it. once, her older sister cut a hole into it. the stuffing was coming out, but she still continued to bring it around everywhere.
• she is obsessed with metal locks. she draws them, she carries them around. she also really likes over-ear headphones. these are in almost all of the cards she makes for me.
• she doesn't react much to pain. she runs, she falls, she scrapes her knee or something, then she gets back up like nothing happened. she skinned her hand once pretty badly and barely cried. she
• her teachers have told me that she is very quiet at school. she doesn't play with other kids unless prompted to.
• she is very controlling of her younger brother, like she's trying to be a second mother.
• she is strangely fascinated with checklists and schedules. I can't even tell you how many times I stumble upon a paper that says "daily routine" or "scedhul" (she can't spell that word yet.) with a checklist underneath. this is really strange for a 4 year old, but it would make a little sense if she was autistic? I know many kids with autism care a lot about routines.
that's pretty much everything. does my little one seem autistic? my other kiddos don't act like this at all.

EXT. CAMELOT - CASTLE DAY
(The castle of Camelot stands over grassy hills and crystal clear rolling rivers and seas. Gray clouds cover the sky and hundreds of soldiers and knights can be seen riding toward the castle. Text appears on the screen reading “CAMELOT” and then “CENTURIES AGO”.)
INT. CASTLE - THRONE ROOM - DAY
(MORGANA LE FAY (Centuries-Old), a beautiful middle aged appearing woman with sharp features and long flowing black hair, sits on the throne and holds Excalibur, the Crown of Camelot sits upon her head. Knights and soldiers march in linear motions through the hall. DEWIN (30s), a scruffily charming magician, enters in handcuffs, with guards behind him. Dewin marches up and presents himself to Morgana. Everyone in the room halts.)
MORGANA: State your name.
DEWIN: You know my name, Morgana.
MORGANA: State your name.
DEWIN: Dewinson of Merlin.
MORGANA: You are being tried with treason and conspiracy against the crown. Do you plead guilty to these crimes?
DEWIN: That depends.
MORGANA: On what?
DEWIN: Who you consider the crown to be.
(Dewin slips his handcuffs off and as he does three Blue Jays come flying out of his sleeve and begin to fly around the room.)
MORGANA: Enough foolishness. I find you guilty of the accusations placed upon you.
DEWIN: Then kill me.
MORGANA: Hm?
DEWIN: Let’s skip past the chatter and get my head on a platter. You see what I did there? Chatter platter.
MORGANA: Silence! Death is far too good for you.
DEWIN: Do your worst, no matter what Camelot will fall.
MORGANA: Is that a threat?
DEWIN: A threat would be something I plan on doing to you myself, the fall of Camelot, well that will be purely your doing.
(Morgana gets off the throne and draws a glowing circle around Dewin with Excalibur, as she does so Dewin lets out a small laugh.)
DEWIN: Binding me? My imprisonment shall not halter the winds of time.
MORGANA: I banish you.
DEWIN: What?
MORGANA: From this plane of time and place I banish you.
DEWIN: Not even you have the power to do that. Banishment spells have been hidden away for ages.
MORGANA: Hidden away in scrolls buried in this very castle. Dilflannu o’r awyren hon.
DEWIN: No.
MORGANA: Dilflannu o’r amser hwn.
DEWIN: No, no, stop.
MORGANA: Dilflannu o’r meddwl. Rwy’n eich gwahardd!
(Morgana’s eyes turn purple and electricity sparks all around Dewin and seems to be sucking the energy out of him.)
EXT. LONDON - FOREST - DAY
(A plain and put together autumnal forest. Text appears over the screen reading “LONDON” and then “EIGHTEEN EIGHTY FIVE”. Electricity sparks and Dewin appears in the forest dazed and confused. He is covered in scars and almost immediately passes out face forward into the ground.)
EXT. LONDON - FOREST - DAY
(As night begins to dawn Dewin is still incapacitated. A carriage led by a horse named, Sally, comes through the forest and halts at Dewin. ALDEN SMITH (Early 40s), a plump and posh man with a defining bushy mustache, cautiously hops out of the carriage. Alden looks around for a moment before spotting Dewin. Alden approaches Dewin and checks his pulse through his arm. Alden’s eyes linger on Dewin for a moment before looking up.)
ALDEN: Hello!? Is anybody there!?
(Alden waits for a moment before looking back down at Dewin. Alden sighs and then lifts Dewin up and into the carriage before hopping in himself. Alden pulls on the horse’s reins and it begins to march forward.)
EXT. LONDON - WICING DRIVE - NIGHT
(Alden drives his carriage down Wicing Drive and parks in front of a townhome, Twenty Six Wicing Drive. Alden gets out of the carriage, carrying Dewin, and walks up the steps. MINERVA SMITH (Early 40s), a stern yet radiant woman, opens the door in shock.)
ALDEN: It’s a long story.
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
(A stereotypical Victorian living room made primarily of oak and illuminated by two small oil lamps and a burning fireplace. Dewin is still incapacitated and lies on the table covered in bandages, Alden and Minerva hover over him. Bottles of ointment sit next to Dewin.)
MINERVA: What were you doing in the woods?
ALDEN: It’s the fastest cut home.
MINERVA: And you just-
(Minerva is interrupted by Dewin’s sighing as he wakes up.)
DEWIN: Ah! Where am I? Who are you?
MINERVA: My name is Minnie, and this is my husband, Alden.
DEWIN: What’s happening?
ALDEN: I found you all bruised in the middle of the forest. Do you know what happened to you?
DEWIN: Morgana le Fay banished me.
(Alden and Minerva glance at each other.)
MINERVA: Oh lord, I think you're a bit confused.
DEWIN: I am not confused. I am Dewin, son of Merlin. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask if you could take me to a sage or healer?
MINERVA: Of course, Alden can take you tomorrow morning, but for the night you can stay here.
DEWIN: Why, thank you.
ALDEN: Minnie, may I speak to you in the other room?
MINERVA: Of course.
(Alden and Minerva step into the kitchen.)
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - KITCHEN - NIGHT
ALDEN: We can not keep this man in our home. He is mentally insane.
MINERVA: Which means we must watch over him.
ALDEN: I am looking out for our safety.
MINERVA: And where would we take him?
ALDEN: I don’t know. He is as mad as the Doeth man!
MINERVA: Then that’s where we’ll take him.
ALDEN: Stick to nuts together?
MINERVA: The man has some common sense and he’s very compassionate.
ALDEN: Perfect.
EXT. LONDON - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva Dewin sit in their carriage with Dewin outside of a small house that is slightly separated from the other homes on the street.)
DEWIN: So this is the home of a healer?
ALDEN: According to him. I will go to the door alone, I do not want to scare him.
(Alden gets out of the carriage and starts heading towards the home.)
MINERVA: So you really do believe that you are the son of Merlin.
DEWIN: I know who my father was. Why is this such a puzzle for you and your husband to wrap your heads around?
MINERVA: Why I’ve only heard stories of Camelot, myths of ancient pasts.
DEWIN: So Morgana not only shifted my place but also the time.
(Alden knocks on the home's door and is greeted by ALDRICH DOETH (Hundreds Of Years Old), an older looking man with crystals strapped around his neck.)
ALDRICH: Doctor Smith, have they finally sent someone to take me away to a nuthouse?
ALDEN: On the exact contrary, I’ve found a wounded man who claims to have been sent here by Morgana le Fay.
ALDRICH: That’s what the shift was!
ALDEN: What? You know what it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re willing to take this man.
ALDRICH: Yes, yes, bring him to me.
ALDEN: Minerva, send him up!
(Dewin comes up to the door.)
DEWIN: Hello.
ALDRICH: My goodness, the energy pulsates off of you.
DEWIN (TO ALDEN): This is the healer?
ALDEN: Yes. Now if you two don’t mind I think I will be headed back on my way.
ALDRICH: Are you sure, Doctor? It’s getting rather late, you and your wife are welcome to stay here.
ALDEN: Thank you, but there’s no need.
(Rain starts pouring out of the sky out of nowhere and thunder and lighting begin.)
ALDRICH: What about now, Doctor?
ALDEN: Minnie! We’re staying here tonight!
INT. ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - DAY
(A cluttered mess of books, candles, and potions. Aldrich, Alden, Minerva, and Dewin sit on Aldrich’s circular array of couches and chairs.)
ALDRICH: Before we dive in I suggest you go wash off, Dewin. The washroom is that small one to your left.
DEWIN: Thank you, Aldrich.
(Dewin gets up and goes into the washroom.)
ALDRICH: I know what you two think of me, the neighborhood’s resident crazy.
MINERVA: Not at all, Mister Doeth.
ALDRICH: Don’t lie, Minerva, our actions all come back to bite us.
ALDEN: So we think you're mental, what of it?
ALDRICH: There are dark forces amongst us, Mister and Misses Smith. I believe that Dewin is here to save us.
ALDEN: I appreciate you letting us stay here, but I think it’s time we leave.
ALDRICH: I will change this storm into an earthquake to keep you here if I must.
ALDEN: Come on, Minnie.
(Alden and Minerva get up and go to leave when the whole room begins to shake.)
ALDEN: What’s happening!?
ALDRICH: I warned you.
(Aldrich makes silencing symbols with his hands and the storm and the shaking stops.)
ALDRICH: Now will you listen to me?
(Alden and Minerva both sit back down.)
ALDEN: What are you?
AlDRICH: A magician, a clairvoyant, a healer, I am all of those things and more.
ALDEN: Why do you want us here so badly?
ALDRICH: I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you are the one who found Dewin, Doctor Smith. He needs a guide in this vast new world. Prophecy states that when the second coming of the Camelot war comes, the savior will have a protector.
ALDEN: And why me?
ALDRICH: There are questions that only we can answer ourselves.
(Dewin comes out of the washroom and sits back down.)
ALDRICH: Dewin, please tell me exactly how you arrived here.
DEWIN: Morgana le Fay used an ancient banishing spell on me.
ALDRICH: The fall of Camelot.
(Suddenly a wind sweeps through the room that blows out all the candles.)
MINERVA: Mister Doeth, are you doing this?
ALDRICH: No.
(A match is lit in the center of the room to reveal GWENWYN LIGHTWOOD (Centuries-Old), a green draconic humanoid woman in black robes and a hood.)
GWENWYN: Aldrich.
ALDRICH: Lady Lightwood.
GWENWYN: I’ve tracked a shift in magic to your home.
ALDRICH: It is this boy, he was banished here from Camelot.
(Gwenwyn goes up to Dewin and takes her hood off to reveal her scaly appearance. Alden gasps in disbelief. Gwenwyn runs her finger down Dewin’s cheek.)
GWENWYN (TO ALDRICH): Hm. I presume you wish to let him roam freely?
ALDRICH: With guidance, yes.
GWENWYN: If one thing goes wrong you will be punished.
ALDRICH: I know.
DEWIN (TO GWENWYN): Who are you?
GWENWYN: The last of the dragons. Just as Aldrich is the last descendent of the Family Merlin.
DEWIN (TO ALDRICH): You're a descendant of my father?
ALDRICH: Of his sister, I have many of her poems and spell tombs still intact here.
GWENWYN: Magic is rare these days, endangered, most people don’t even know it exists. So are we under agreement on the boy, Aldrich?
ALDRICH: Yes, but something is still troubling. If you and I both felt Dewin’s presence then-
GWENWYN: Benjamin did too.
DEWIN: Who is Benjamin?
ALDRICH: A descendant of Morgana who wishes to rule the earth under her ideals.
GWENWYN: A very very dangerous man who will certainly kill me if he finds me here.
(Gwenwyn’s match extinguishes and after a moment the candles all reignite but Gwenwyn is gone.)
ALDEN: By Jove!
ALDRICH: So do you all accept this challenge?
DEWIN: What challenge?
ALDRICH: Defeating Benjamin Fayle.
DEWIN: Of course!
ALDEN: Absolutely not.
ALDRICH: Are you that repulsed by compassion?
ALDEN: I can’t risk Minerva of I’s life on what could all be me hallucinating.
ALDRICH: You're risking the world for a craven excuse.
ALDEN: Goodbye.
(Alden gets up.)
ALDEN: Let’s leave, Minnie.
MINERVA: Thank you for your hospitality, Mister Doeth, and good luck.
(Alden leaves, followed by Minerva.)
EXT. LONDON - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva ride through the street in their carriage.)
MINERVA: We were definitely drugged.
ALDEN: Absolutely.
EXT. LONDON - WICING DRIVE - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva hop out of their carriage.)
ALDEN: I’m going to bring Sally back to the stables.
MINERVA: Goodnight, love you.
ALDEN: I love you most.
(Minerva goes up and enters Twenty Six Wicing Drive as Alden detaches Sally from the carriage and begins to guide her down the cobbled sidewalk with one of his hands on her reins.)
EXT. LONDON - FOREST - NIGHT
(Alden guides Sally through the forest to a set of stables. Sally suddenly rears up and neighs in terror.)
ALDEN: What is it Sally?
(Sally suddenly breaks off her reins and runs towards the stables. A figure in a dark purple hood and robe sweeps past Alden and their eyes glow purple. Alden screams.)
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - BEDROOM- DAY
(Alden and Minerva lay next to each other asleep in bed. Alden wakes up screaming which awakens Minerva.)
MINERVA: What’s the matter?
ALDEN: Just a night terror.
MINERVA: We did the right thing with Dewin, he’s with someone like him now.
ALDEN: Is that really a good thing? I think I’m going to go to the pub.
MINERVA: This early in the morning?
ALDEN: I need to clear my head after yesterday.
INT. GRIFFIN’S TAIL PUB - DAY
(A traditional Victorian pub. Dewin sits at the bar and is served by BRYNN CROWING (Early 30s), a charming bartender.)
BRYNN: What can I get you, Mate?
DEWIN: Just a pint of mead, please.
(Brynn goes and pours Dewin a pint of mead that she brings back to him and he begins drinking.)
BRYNN: I like your outfit, it’s very medieval.
DEWIN: It was made by the tailor of Sir Gawain.
(Brynn gives a light chuckle.)
BRYNN: What’s your name?
DEWIN: Dewin, and yours?
BRYNN: Brynn.
(Alden enters and sees Dewin. Alden leaves, but as he does he spots another person in a dark purple robe and hood with glowing purple eyes.)
DEWIN: You're very beautiful.
BRYNN: Why, thank you.
DEWIN: Would you like to go for a stroll?
BRYNN: My shift here doesn’t end till six.
DEWIN: Then I’ll see you then.
BRYNN: I guess you will.
(Dewin finishes his mead and drops two silver coins with dragons etched into them on the bar before swiftly leaving. Brynn picks up the coins and looks at them with confusion and yearning.)
EXT. LONDON - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - DAY
(Alden knocks on the door and Aldrich opens it.)
ALDRICH: I’ve been expecting you, come in.
(Alden follows Aldrich into the home.)
INT. - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - DAY
(Alden and Aldrich sit across from each other.)
ALDRICH: Can I offer you some tea?
ALDEN: No thank you, I want to be in the clearest state of mind possible here.
ALDRICH: So what ignited your appearance here?
ALDEN: I’ve been seeing these people.
ALDRICH: Who are “these people”?
ALDEN: They wear these dark robes and their eyes glow purple.
ALDRICH: Faley’s society.
ALDEN: What?
ALDRICH: Benjamin Faley, the evil man I mentioned last night. Is this what caused you to believe?
ALDEN: What are you saying?
ALDRICH: That you believe in magic.
ALDEN: You're mad.
ALDRICH: Exactly, so the fact that you came to me shows that there’s at least one lingering thought in your mind that magic is reality and reality is magic.
(There’s a moment of silence between Alden and Aldrich.)
ALDRICH: Where have you been seeing the people you mentioned?
ALDEN: Everywhere that Dewin has been.
ALDRICH: Oh no, oh no, no, no.
ALDEN: What is it?
ALDRICH: Dewin is going out with a woman tonight.
ALDEN: Already? He’s only been here for a day.
ALDRICH: He's charming but also so foolish. You must watch them, in case Faley strikes or even worse this woman is working for him.
ALDEN: What could I even do to stop that?
ALDRICH: You are destined to protect Dewin, and at this point your logic for denying all of this is purely irrational. You're not hesitating because you think it’s not real, you're hesitating because you know it is. He is meeting her at six outside of the “Griffin’s Tail”.
ALDEN: I’m not going.
ALDRICH: We both know that you will.
ALDEN: Farewell, Mister Doeth.
ALDRICH: May the spirit of Merlin be with you, Doctor Smith.
(Alden gets up and leaves.)
EXT. LONDON - GRIFFIN’S TAIL PUB - NIGHT
(Dewin stands outside of the pub when Brynn comes out of the side door and walks towards him.)
BRYNN: I wasn’t expecting you to show.
DEWIN: Why wouldn’t I?
BRYNN: Most men flirt and then leave, half of them are married.
DEWIN: They are not true gentlemen then.
BRYNN: I suppose not.
DEWIN: Shall we begin walking?
BRYNN: Sure.
EXT. LONDON - STREETS - NIGHT
(Dewin and Brynn stroll down the streets of London. Alden follows them from a distance.)
DEWIN: This world is so beautiful.
BRYNN: Compared to all the other worlds you’ve been to?
DEWIN: Well Camelot obviously has a better scenic view.
BRYNN: Camelot?
DEWIN: My home land.
BRYNN: You're full of jokes.
DEWIN: I’m not joking.
BRYNN: What?
(Suddenly someone grabs Brynn into an alleyway and she screams. Dewin quickly turns to see no one beside him and runs after her, followed by Alden.)
EXT. LONDON - ROOFTOP - NIGHT
(The clear skies suddenly turn gray and ominous as Dewin arrives on the roof of a building to see three people with glowing purple eyes in the dark purple robes and hoods with one standing in the center holding Brynn with a dagger to her neck. Alden arrives on the rooftop.)
ALDEN: Bloody hell!
DEWIN: Let go of her!
(The three people take off their hoods and their eyes go to normal shades. The person holding Brynn is revealed to be DABRIA (30s), a menacing looking woman.)
DABRIA: Dim mynd i mewn dim dianc.
(A purple hazy force field appears around the edges of the rooftop.)
DABRIA: So you are the one sent to stop us.
DEWIN: What do you connote?
DABRIA: We are the Citadel of le Fay.
DEWIN: Oh no.
DABRIA: Who are you?
DEWIN: My name is Dewin, I am the son of Merlin, and I demand that you let Brynn go.
DABRIA: Why? Is she your protector?
BRYNN: Dewin, what are they talking about!?
(Dewin starts to move his hands around and a wispy blue energy begins to come out of them.)
DABRIA: Get him!
(The two other people with Dabria rush towards Dewin to attack him, but he uses the energy he created to push them around and drop them both to the ground. Dabria drops Brynn and her dagger and Alden rushes to pick up the dagger and succeeds.)
DABRIA: You are foolish, Dewin.
(Dabria pulls a gun out of her robes and shoots it at Dewin but he turns the bullet into a flower. Dabria shoots more but each time Dewin does the same thing until Dabria is out of bullets. Alden sneaks up behind Dabria and stabs her in the back. Dabria shrieks in pain and then disappears in a cloud of black smoke. Brynn gets up off of the ground.)
BRYNN: What the hell just happened?
DEWIN: Are you okay?
BRYNN: Not mentally. What in the world is going on here? How did you turn bullets into flowers!?
DEWIN: I told you I’m from Camelot.
(Alden drops the dagger.)
ALDEN: Did I just kill that woman?
DEWIN: Most likely not, you didn’t stab deep enough to hit any organs.
BRYNN: What do we do now?
DEWIN: Go home and call it a night.
BRYNN: I can’t forget about this.
DEWIN: I’m not asking you to.
ALDEN: If any of us speak of this people think we’re insane.
DEWIN: Then don’t speak of it.
BRYNN: Will I see you again, Dewin?
DEWIN: Did you enjoy tonight?
BRYNN: I was almost killed.
DEWIN: That doesn’t answer my question.
BRYNN: Meet at the pub on Friday after my shift.
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva lay next to each other.)
MINERVA: Do you think the Citadel will return?
ALDEN: Unequivocally.
MINERVA: What have we gotten into?
INT. BENJAMIN’S LAIR - NIGHT
(A cavern full of crystals and magical runes. BENJAMIN FALEY (30s or 40s), an attractive but uptight looking man, sits on his throne. Dabria enters and walks to face the throne, she bows and then gets back up.)
BENJAMIN: Did you find him?
DABRIA: Yes, Master Faley.
BENJAMIN: And did you find his protector?
DABRIA: Yes, but it’s not the girl.
BENJAMIN: Then who?
DABRIA: A Doctor Alden Smith.
BENJAMIN: Did you kill the doctor?
DABRIA: He deeply wounded me.
BENJAMIN: Then the battle goes on.
DABRIA: For Morgana.
BENJAMIN: For Morgana.
INT. ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - NIGHT
(Aldrich and Dewin sit across from each other drinking tea.)
ALDRICH: There are many things in this world, Dewin…
INT. GWENWYN’S CAVE - NIGHT
(Gwenwyn stands in the middle of a circle of candles. She stretches out her hands and forms magic blue charts and graphs with a picture of Dewin.)
ALDRICH (VOICE OVER): Forces we can’t explain…
EXT. LONDON - ALLEYWAY- NIGHT
(Brynn wears only her undergarments and takes a few coins from a man.)
ALDRICH (VOICE OVER): Secrets we hide…
INT. BENJAMIN’S LAIR - NIGHT
(Benjamin sits on his throne.)
ALDRICH (VOICE OVER): And villains we must defeat.
INT. ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - NIGHT
ALDRICH: You are the key to this all, Dewin, you are the son of Merlin.

20 year old male.
I have been in the same subluxation for many years now. It started with my shoulder and arm sliding when I was playing video games. It progressed to my hands, legs, hands and feet. I am now in a subluxation on my left side. I don't have any pain when I bend my arm but when I stretch my leg my arm goes tingly. I can see veins in my leg and my arm and I can feel them when I bend. I am a bit worried because I have not experienced any of this before and I am not on any meds. I can see veins in my arm but it is difficult to feel them. I have also noticed a slight dull pain when I put my fingers together. I also have some concern about my feet as they are slightly tingly to the touch. I have tried massaging my feet but I am not doing anything.
I have tried many treatments and there is nothing that helps. I have had doctors try to do xrays and they show no problems. I am at a loss.

I (28F) have had numbness and tingling in my left and right pointer finger and pinky for the last two years. EMG was normal but cervical MRI had minimal to mild degeneration findings (attached below). I did a round of Prednisone and the numbness has completely gone away and have been on meloxicam for the last month since. Things were feeling great until last Sunday I tweaked my neck by looking up and now I am having major right side rhomboid pain and neck pain as well. I have an appointment with the orthopedic in 2 weeks but in the meantime is there anything I can do to get this pain in the rhomboid and neck to calm down? Rolling out on a tennis ball and the normal recommended PT exercises did not help and i’m desperate at this point. Thanks in advance!
The C2-3 level demonstrates minimal disc bulging with slight impress upon the thecal sac. No central canal stenosis or neural foraminal narrowing.
The C3-4 level demonstrates very minimal disc bulging. No central canal stenosis or neural foraminal narrowing.
The C4-5 level demonstrates a small disc protrusion with endplate spurring slightly to the right of midline with an associated annular fissure. No noteworthy central canal stenosis is appreciated. No neural foraminal narrowing.
The C5-6 level demonstrates minimal disc bulging and endplate spurring. No central canal stenosis. There is perhaps a very tiny annular fissure along the posterior midline margin of the disc. No central canal stenosis. No noteworthy neural foraminal narrowing.
The C6-7 level is unremarkable for disc herniation or central canal stenosis. No right neural foraminal narrowing. Mild left neural foraminal narrowing secondary to left uncovertebral spurring.
The C7-1 level is unremarkable for disc herniation, central canal stenosis, or right neural foraminal narrowing. Minimal left neural foraminal narrowing secondary to minimal left uncovertebral spurring spurring.

Hey I am trying to decide between browns or silent pinks. Trying to decide between with the best switch that will cause the least amount of strain. I got the glove80 with white clickies (60g force) and the actuation force plus always bottoming out due to low profile destroyed my hands. Pain I never felt on my fingers/palms ever in my life. And I come from MX Blues full size keyboards...
Would very much appreciate a response to these question: 1. How have the Pink Silents felt in term of the 35g Actuation Force (to light, just right, annoying?)? 2. Have you been pressing the keys constantly by accident by laying hands on keyboard? 3. Do you find yourself bottoming out more often (hitting thr key till it hits the the bottom) and feeling the impacts cause any strain? (GLOVE80 DID THIS TO ME A LOT) 4. Do you feel it doesnt affect you typing fast? (Does the key come up again fast enough?) 5. Do you feel the 35g have reduced any strain you might have had before? (I know not everybody suffers from switch actuation force)

EXT. CAMELOT - CASTLE DAY
(The castle of Camelot stands over grassy hills and crystal clear rolling rivers and seas. Gray clouds cover the sky and hundreds of soldiers and knights can be seen riding toward the castle. Text appears on the screen reading “CAMELOT” and then “CENTURIES AGO”.)
INT. CASTLE - THRONE ROOM - DAY
(MORGANA LE FAY (Centuries-Old), a beautiful middle aged appearing woman with sharp features and long flowing black hair, sits on the throne and holds Excalibur, the Crown of Camelot sits upon her head. Knights and soldiers march in linear motions through the hall. DEWIN (30s), a scruffily charming magician, enters in handcuffs, with guards behind him. Dewin marches up and presents himself to Morgana. Everyone in the room halts.)
MORGANA: State your name.
DEWIN: You know my name, Morgana.
MORGANA: State your name.
DEWIN: Dewinson of Merlin.
MORGANA: You are being tried with treason and conspiracy against the crown. Do you plead guilty to these crimes?
DEWIN: That depends.
MORGANA: On what?
DEWIN: Who you consider the crown to be.
(Dewin slips his handcuffs off and as he does three Blue Jays come flying out of his sleeve and begin to fly around the room.)
MORGANA: Enough foolishness. I find you guilty of the accusations placed upon you.
DEWIN: Then kill me.
MORGANA: Hm?
DEWIN: Let’s skip past the chatter and get my head on a platter. You see what I did there? Chatter platter.
MORGANA: Silence! Death is far too good for you.
DEWIN: Do your worst, no matter what Camelot will fall.
MORGANA: Is that a threat?
DEWIN: A threat would be something I plan on doing to you myself, the fall of Camelot, well that will be purely your doing.
(Morgana gets off the throne and draws a glowing circle around Dewin with Excalibur, as she does so Dewin lets out a small laugh.)
DEWIN: Binding me? My imprisonment shall not halter the winds of time.
MORGANA: I banish you.
DEWIN: What?
MORGANA: From this plane of time and place I banish you.
DEWIN: Not even you have the power to do that. Banishment spells have been hidden away for ages.
MORGANA: Hidden away in scrolls buried in this very castle. Dilflannu o’r awyren hon.
DEWIN: No.
MORGANA: Dilflannu o’r amser hwn.
DEWIN: No, no, stop.
MORGANA: Dilflannu o’r meddwl. Rwy’n eich gwahardd!
(Morgana’s eyes turn purple and electricity sparks all around Dewin and seems to be sucking the energy out of him.)
EXT. LONDON - FOREST - DAY
(A plain and put together autumnal forest. Text appears over the screen reading “LONDON” and then “EIGHTEEN EIGHTY FIVE”. Electricity sparks and Dewin appears in the forest dazed and confused. He is covered in scars and almost immediately passes out face forward into the ground.)
EXT. LONDON - FOREST - DAY
(As night begins to dawn Dewin is still incapacitated. A carriage led by a horse named, Sally, comes through the forest and halts at Dewin. ALDEN SMITH (Early 40s), a plump and posh man with a defining bushy mustache, cautiously hops out of the carriage. Alden looks around for a moment before spotting Dewin. Alden approaches Dewin and checks his pulse through his arm. Alden’s eyes linger on Dewin for a moment before looking up.)
ALDEN: Hello!? Is anybody there!?
(Alden waits for a moment before looking back down at Dewin. Alden sighs and then lifts Dewin up and into the carriage before hopping in himself. Alden pulls on the horse’s reins and it begins to march forward.)
EXT. LONDON - WICING DRIVE - NIGHT
(Alden drives his carriage down Wicing Drive and parks in front of a townhome, Twenty Six Wicing Drive. Alden gets out of the carriage, carrying Dewin, and walks up the steps. MINERVA SMITH (Early 40s), a stern yet radiant woman, opens the door in shock.)
ALDEN: It’s a long story.
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
(A stereotypical Victorian living room made primarily of oak and illuminated by two small oil lamps and a burning fireplace. Dewin is still incapacitated and lies on the table covered in bandages, Alden and Minerva hover over him. Bottles of ointment sit next to Dewin.)
MINERVA: What were you doing in the woods?
ALDEN: It’s the fastest cut home.
MINERVA: And you just-
(Minerva is interrupted by Dewin’s sighing as he wakes up.)
DEWIN: Ah! Where am I? Who are you?
MINERVA: My name is Minnie, and this is my husband, Alden.
DEWIN: What’s happening?
ALDEN: I found you all bruised in the middle of the forest. Do you know what happened to you?
DEWIN: Morgana le Fay banished me.
(Alden and Minerva glance at each other.)
MINERVA: Oh lord, I think you're a bit confused.
DEWIN: I am not confused. I am Dewin, son of Merlin. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask if you could take me to a sage or healer?
MINERVA: Of course, Alden can take you tomorrow morning, but for the night you can stay here.
DEWIN: Why, thank you.
ALDEN: Minnie, may I speak to you in the other room?
MINERVA: Of course.
(Alden and Minerva step into the kitchen.)
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - KITCHEN - NIGHT
ALDEN: We can not keep this man in our home. He is mentally insane.
MINERVA: Which means we must watch over him.
ALDEN: I am looking out for our safety.
MINERVA: And where would we take him?
ALDEN: I don’t know. He is as mad as the Doeth man!
MINERVA: Then that’s where we’ll take him.
ALDEN: Stick to nuts together?
MINERVA: The man has some common sense and he’s very compassionate.
ALDEN: Perfect.
EXT. LONDON - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva Dewin sit in their carriage with Dewin outside of a small house that is slightly separated from the other homes on the street.)
DEWIN: So this is the home of a healer?
ALDEN: According to him. I will go to the door alone, I do not want to scare him.
(Alden gets out of the carriage and starts heading towards the home.)
MINERVA: So you really do believe that you are the son of Merlin.
DEWIN: I know who my father was. Why is this such a puzzle for you and your husband to wrap your heads around?
MINERVA: Why I’ve only heard stories of Camelot, myths of ancient pasts.
DEWIN: So Morgana not only shifted my place but also the time.
(Alden knocks on the home's door and is greeted by ALDRICH DOETH (Hundreds Of Years Old), an older looking man with crystals strapped around his neck.)
ALDRICH: Doctor Smith, have they finally sent someone to take me away to a nuthouse?
ALDEN: On the exact contrary, I’ve found a wounded man who claims to have been sent here by Morgana le Fay.
ALDRICH: That’s what the shift was!
ALDEN: What? You know what it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re willing to take this man.
ALDRICH: Yes, yes, bring him to me.
ALDEN: Minerva, send him up!
(Dewin comes up to the door.)
DEWIN: Hello.
ALDRICH: My goodness, the energy pulsates off of you.
DEWIN (TO ALDEN): This is the healer?
ALDEN: Yes. Now if you two don’t mind I think I will be headed back on my way.
ALDRICH: Are you sure, Doctor? It’s getting rather late, you and your wife are welcome to stay here.
ALDEN: Thank you, but there’s no need.
(Rain starts pouring out of the sky out of nowhere and thunder and lighting begin.)
ALDRICH: What about now, Doctor?
ALDEN: Minnie! We’re staying here tonight!
INT. ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - DAY
(A cluttered mess of books, candles, and potions. Aldrich, Alden, Minerva, and Dewin sit on Aldrich’s circular array of couches and chairs.)
ALDRICH: Before we dive in I suggest you go wash off, Dewin. The washroom is that small one to your left.
DEWIN: Thank you, Aldrich.
(Dewin gets up and goes into the washroom.)
ALDRICH: I know what you two think of me, the neighborhood’s resident crazy.
MINERVA: Not at all, Mister Doeth.
ALDRICH: Don’t lie, Minerva, our actions all come back to bite us.
ALDEN: So we think you're mental, what of it?
ALDRICH: There are dark forces amongst us, Mister and Misses Smith. I believe that Dewin is here to save us.
ALDEN: I appreciate you letting us stay here, but I think it’s time we leave.
ALDRICH: I will change this storm into an earthquake to keep you here if I must.
ALDEN: Come on, Minnie.
(Alden and Minerva get up and go to leave when the whole room begins to shake.)
ALDEN: What’s happening!?
ALDRICH: I warned you.
(Aldrich makes silencing symbols with his hands and the storm and the shaking stops.)
ALDRICH: Now will you listen to me?
(Alden and Minerva both sit back down.)
ALDEN: What are you?
AlDRICH: A magician, a clairvoyant, a healer, I am all of those things and more.
ALDEN: Why do you want us here so badly?
ALDRICH: I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you are the one who found Dewin, Doctor Smith. He needs a guide in this vast new world. Prophecy states that when the second coming of the Camelot war comes, the savior will have a protector.
ALDEN: And why me?
ALDRICH: There are questions that only we can answer ourselves.
(Dewin comes out of the washroom and sits back down.)
ALDRICH: Dewin, please tell me exactly how you arrived here.
DEWIN: Morgana le Fay used an ancient banishing spell on me.
ALDRICH: The fall of Camelot.
(Suddenly a wind sweeps through the room that blows out all the candles.)
MINERVA: Mister Doeth, are you doing this?
ALDRICH: No.
(A match is lit in the center of the room to reveal GWENWYN LIGHTWOOD (Centuries-Old), a green draconic humanoid woman in black robes and a hood.)
GWENWYN: Aldrich.
ALDRICH: Lady Lightwood.
GWENWYN: I’ve tracked a shift in magic to your home.
ALDRICH: It is this boy, he was banished here from Camelot.
(Gwenwyn goes up to Dewin and takes her hood off to reveal her scaly appearance. Alden gasps in disbelief. Gwenwyn runs her finger down Dewin’s cheek.)
GWENWYN (TO ALDRICH): Hm. I presume you wish to let him roam freely?
ALDRICH: With guidance, yes.
GWENWYN: If one thing goes wrong you will be punished.
ALDRICH: I know.
DEWIN (TO GWENWYN): Who are you?
GWENWYN: The last of the dragons. Just as Aldrich is the last descendent of the Family Merlin.
DEWIN (TO ALDRICH): You're a descendant of my father?
ALDRICH: Of his sister, I have many of her poems and spell tombs still intact here.
GWENWYN: Magic is rare these days, endangered, most people don’t even know it exists. So are we under agreement on the boy, Aldrich?
ALDRICH: Yes, but something is still troubling. If you and I both felt Dewin’s presence then-
GWENWYN: Benjamin did too.
DEWIN: Who is Benjamin?
ALDRICH: A descendant of Morgana who wishes to rule the earth under her ideals.
GWENWYN: A very very dangerous man who will certainly kill me if he finds me here.
(Gwenwyn’s match extinguishes and after a moment the candles all reignite but Gwenwyn is gone.)
ALDEN: By Jove!
ALDRICH: So do you all accept this challenge?
DEWIN: What challenge?
ALDRICH: Defeating Benjamin Fayle.
DEWIN: Of course!
ALDEN: Absolutely not.
ALDRICH: Are you that repulsed by compassion?
ALDEN: I can’t risk Minerva of I’s life on what could all be me hallucinating.
ALDRICH: You're risking the world for a craven excuse.
ALDEN: Goodbye.
(Alden gets up.)
ALDEN: Let’s leave, Minnie.
MINERVA: Thank you for your hospitality, Mister Doeth, and good luck.
(Alden leaves, followed by Minerva.)
EXT. LONDON - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva ride through the street in their carriage.)
MINERVA: We were definitely drugged.
ALDEN: Absolutely.
EXT. LONDON - WICING DRIVE - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva hop out of their carriage.)
ALDEN: I’m going to bring Sally back to the stables.
MINERVA: Goodnight, love you.
ALDEN: I love you most.
(Minerva goes up and enters Twenty Six Wicing Drive as Alden detaches Sally from the carriage and begins to guide her down the cobbled sidewalk with one of his hands on her reins.)
EXT. LONDON - FOREST - NIGHT
(Alden guides Sally through the forest to a set of stables. Sally suddenly rears up and neighs in terror.)
ALDEN: What is it Sally?
(Sally suddenly breaks off her reins and runs towards the stables. A figure in a dark purple hood and robe sweeps past Alden and their eyes glow purple. Alden screams.)
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - BEDROOM- DAY
(Alden and Minerva lay next to each other asleep in bed. Alden wakes up screaming which awakens Minerva.)
MINERVA: What’s the matter?
ALDEN: Just a night terror.
MINERVA: We did the right thing with Dewin, he’s with someone like him now.
ALDEN: Is that really a good thing? I think I’m going to go to the pub.
MINERVA: This early in the morning?
ALDEN: I need to clear my head after yesterday.
INT. GRIFFIN’S TAIL PUB - DAY
(A traditional Victorian pub. Dewin sits at the bar and is served by BRYNN CROWING (Early 30s), a charming bartender.)
BRYNN: What can I get you, Mate?
DEWIN: Just a pint of mead, please.
(Brynn goes and pours Dewin a pint of mead that she brings back to him and he begins drinking.)
BRYNN: I like your outfit, it’s very medieval.
DEWIN: It was made by the tailor of Sir Gawain.
(Brynn gives a light chuckle.)
BRYNN: What’s your name?
DEWIN: Dewin, and yours?
BRYNN: Brynn.
(Alden enters and sees Dewin. Alden leaves, but as he does he spots another person in a dark purple robe and hood with glowing purple eyes.)
DEWIN: You're very beautiful.
BRYNN: Why, thank you.
DEWIN: Would you like to go for a stroll?
BRYNN: My shift here doesn’t end till six.
DEWIN: Then I’ll see you then.
BRYNN: I guess you will.
(Dewin finishes his mead and drops two silver coins with dragons etched into them on the bar before swiftly leaving. Brynn picks up the coins and looks at them with confusion and yearning.)
EXT. LONDON - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - DAY
(Alden knocks on the door and Aldrich opens it.)
ALDRICH: I’ve been expecting you, come in.
(Alden follows Aldrich into the home.)
INT. - ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - DAY
(Alden and Aldrich sit across from each other.)
ALDRICH: Can I offer you some tea?
ALDEN: No thank you, I want to be in the clearest state of mind possible here.
ALDRICH: So what ignited your appearance here?
ALDEN: I’ve been seeing these people.
ALDRICH: Who are “these people”?
ALDEN: They wear these dark robes and their eyes glow purple.
ALDRICH: Faley’s society.
ALDEN: What?
ALDRICH: Benjamin Faley, the evil man I mentioned last night. Is this what caused you to believe?
ALDEN: What are you saying?
ALDRICH: That you believe in magic.
ALDEN: You're mad.
ALDRICH: Exactly, so the fact that you came to me shows that there’s at least one lingering thought in your mind that magic is reality and reality is magic.
(There’s a moment of silence between Alden and Aldrich.)
ALDRICH: Where have you been seeing the people you mentioned?
ALDEN: Everywhere that Dewin has been.
ALDRICH: Oh no, oh no, no, no.
ALDEN: What is it?
ALDRICH: Dewin is going out with a woman tonight.
ALDEN: Already? He’s only been here for a day.
ALDRICH: He's charming but also so foolish. You must watch them, in case Faley strikes or even worse this woman is working for him.
ALDEN: What could I even do to stop that?
ALDRICH: You are destined to protect Dewin, and at this point your logic for denying all of this is purely irrational. You're not hesitating because you think it’s not real, you're hesitating because you know it is. He is meeting her at six outside of the “Griffin’s Tail”.
ALDEN: I’m not going.
ALDRICH: We both know that you will.
ALDEN: Farewell, Mister Doeth.
ALDRICH: May the spirit of Merlin be with you, Doctor Smith.
(Alden gets up and leaves.)
EXT. LONDON - GRIFFIN’S TAIL PUB - NIGHT
(Dewin stands outside of the pub when Brynn comes out of the side door and walks towards him.)
BRYNN: I wasn’t expecting you to show.
DEWIN: Why wouldn’t I?
BRYNN: Most men flirt and then leave, half of them are married.
DEWIN: They are not true gentlemen then.
BRYNN: I suppose not.
DEWIN: Shall we begin walking?
BRYNN: Sure.
EXT. LONDON - STREETS - NIGHT
(Dewin and Brynn stroll down the streets of London. Alden follows them from a distance.)
DEWIN: This world is so beautiful.
BRYNN: Compared to all the other worlds you’ve been to?
DEWIN: Well Camelot obviously has a better scenic view.
BRYNN: Camelot?
DEWIN: My home land.
BRYNN: You're full of jokes.
DEWIN: I’m not joking.
BRYNN: What?
(Suddenly someone grabs Brynn into an alleyway and she screams. Dewin quickly turns to see no one beside him and runs after her, followed by Alden.)
EXT. LONDON - ROOFTOP - NIGHT
(The clear skies suddenly turn gray and ominous as Dewin arrives on the roof of a building to see three people with glowing purple eyes in the dark purple robes and hoods with one standing in the center holding Brynn with a dagger to her neck. Alden arrives on the rooftop.)
ALDEN: Bloody hell!
DEWIN: Let go of her!
(The three people take off their hoods and their eyes go to normal shades. The person holding Brynn is revealed to be DABRIA (30s), a menacing looking woman.)
DABRIA: Dim mynd i mewn dim dianc.
(A purple hazy force field appears around the edges of the rooftop.)
DABRIA: So you are the one sent to stop us.
DEWIN: What do you connote?
DABRIA: We are the Citadel of le Fay.
DEWIN: Oh no.
DABRIA: Who are you?
DEWIN: My name is Dewin, I am the son of Merlin, and I demand that you let Brynn go.
DABRIA: Why? Is she your protector?
BRYNN: Dewin, what are they talking about!?
(Dewin starts to move his hands around and a wispy blue energy begins to come out of them.)
DABRIA: Get him!
(The two other people with Dabria rush towards Dewin to attack him, but he uses the energy he created to push them around and drop them both to the ground. Dabria drops Brynn and her dagger and Alden rushes to pick up the dagger and succeeds.)
DABRIA: You are foolish, Dewin.
(Dabria pulls a gun out of her robes and shoots it at Dewin but he turns the bullet into a flower. Dabria shoots more but each time Dewin does the same thing until Dabria is out of bullets. Alden sneaks up behind Dabria and stabs her in the back. Dabria shrieks in pain and then disappears in a cloud of black smoke. Brynn gets up off of the ground.)
BRYNN: What the hell just happened?
DEWIN: Are you okay?
BRYNN: Not mentally. What in the world is going on here? How did you turn bullets into flowers!?
DEWIN: I told you I’m from Camelot.
(Alden drops the dagger.)
ALDEN: Did I just kill that woman?
DEWIN: Most likely not, you didn’t stab deep enough to hit any organs.
BRYNN: What do we do now?
DEWIN: Go home and call it a night.
BRYNN: I can’t forget about this.
DEWIN: I’m not asking you to.
ALDEN: If any of us speak of this people think we’re insane.
DEWIN: Then don’t speak of it.
BRYNN: Will I see you again, Dewin?
DEWIN: Did you enjoy tonight?
BRYNN: I was almost killed.
DEWIN: That doesn’t answer my question.
BRYNN: Meet at the pub on Friday after my shift.
INT. TWENTY SIX WICING DRIVE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
(Alden and Minerva lay next to each other.)
MINERVA: Do you think the Citadel will return?
ALDEN: Unequivocally.
MINERVA: What have we gotten into?
INT. BENJAMIN’S LAIR - NIGHT
(A cavern full of crystals and magical runes. BENJAMIN FALEY (30s or 40s), an attractive but uptight looking man, sits on his throne. Dabria enters and walks to face the throne, she bows and then gets back up.)
BENJAMIN: Did you find him?
DABRIA: Yes, Master Faley.
BENJAMIN: And did you find his protector?
DABRIA: Yes, but it’s not the girl.
BENJAMIN: Then who?
DABRIA: A Doctor Alden Smith.
BENJAMIN: Did you kill the doctor?
DABRIA: He deeply wounded me.
BENJAMIN: Then the battle goes on.
DABRIA: For Morgana.
BENJAMIN: For Morgana.
INT. ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - NIGHT
(Aldrich and Dewin sit across from each other drinking tea.)
ALDRICH: There are many things in this world, Dewin…
INT. GWENWYN’S CAVE - NIGHT
(Gwenwyn stands in the middle of a circle of candles. She stretches out her hands and forms magic blue charts and graphs with a picture of Dewin.)
ALDRICH (VOICE OVER): Forces we can’t explain…
EXT. LONDON - ALLEYWAY- NIGHT
(Brynn wears only her undergarments and takes a few coins from a man.)
ALDRICH (VOICE OVER): Secrets we hide…
INT. BENJAMIN’S LAIR - NIGHT
(Benjamin sits on his throne.)
ALDRICH (VOICE OVER): And villains we must defeat.
INT. ALDRICH’S HOUSE - LIVING SPACE - NIGHT
ALDRICH: You are the key to this all, Dewin, you are the son of Merlin.

A soldier of a reptilian-analog race lays in his makeshift cot, in a M*A*S*H* tent not terribly far from the front lines. He's lost too much blood, from far too many extraneous holes in his body, and the veins have withdrawn to where doctors can't get an IV into him. They can't save him- they don't even have spare painkillers, so he can feel himself dying the whole while.
It's cold. So very, very cold. His eyes are swollen shut from a godawful mix of biochem weapons that the enemy loves spraying before a banzai charge. This was his first real battle, and it will be his last. He is alone, and he is absolutely terrified, being a young man barely the equivalent of eighteen by human reckoning. Panic starts to set in as he feels himself slipping further and further away. He fidgets and strains against the bedding he's half-swaddled into, emitting shrill noises of distress.
"No.. Not yet.. I don't wanna go yet.. Please..!" Begging to whatever or whoever might hear him, his one still functional arm reaches out and gropes blindly for anything, anyone. He can't stand it anymore. Despair has almost sent him into a full on tantrum when a soft, warm hand grabs his and clutches it tightly. A familiar hand.
"Mama's here, sweetie.. It's okay now. Shh.. Just lay back.. Here, drink this." A cup of something warm is brought to his lips. He immediately relaxes when he hears the voice, and carefully sips at the delicious herbal tea. The slightly savory, slightly fruity flavor and natural chemicals help further calm him. He gasps a bit after the cup is brought away, trying to force his eyes open to look at the familiar, loving voice.
Fatima 'Mama' Basu, one of the human auxiliaries that provided civilian services like treats and gaming to the soldiery. She shouldn't be here, she wasn't even a nurse. But he was glad she was, all the same.
"Mama.. I'm scared, Mama.." His grip on her hand tightened, the shivering growing worse even as he felt her place a heated blanket over him. The warmth was welcome, even if it was just putting ointment on a sucking chest wound.
Another hand began brushing itself over his forehead and the frill that stuck up in the middle, trying to calm his nerves. "I know, sweetie.. And I'm sorry.. Mama will stay right here until the end, I promise." The woman looks at the scales that are coming off of her son's head as she tries to provide gentle physical contact to ease his passing, knowing full well that it means he's close. Tears stream down her cheeks and fall onto his, eliciting a smile from the dying soldier.
"Thank.. Thank you.. Mama.. I just.. Didn't want.. To be.. Alone.." He feels a brief tinge of pain- and then intense relief. A morphine syrette. Where did she get that? It didn't matter. She put it right into a major artery. The pain relief was swift, as fast as his heart was beating. Breathing that had previously been severely labored began to slow and relax, his grip on her hand slowly going slack, and eventually completely limp.
Basu resisted the urge to burst into a full on fit as another one of her precious sons left her. There were still others that needed someone beside them, that needed a nice cup of tea or a decent minced pie or just someone to hold their hand before the lights shut off. She picked up her heavy purse, loaded to the brim with all the little comforts and carefully hidden drugs she could fit into it- almost twenty kilograms- and began looking around the disheveled excuse for a M*A*S*H* tent for the next soul in need.
A bear-like doctor who'd been triaging another patient finished his work and let out a frustrated sigh, looking up and trying not to scream. He saw Basu as she carefully walked around the tent, keeping out of the way of the other medical personnel. "Praise the Forgotten Wood. Mama! Over here!" The human perked up at being called out and scurried over quickly.
She looked down at the soldier the doctor had been treating, most of him was.. Gone. He was some kind of arthropod-analog whose species name she couldn't pronounce, but he was still one of her beloved sons- Srixxir, if she recalled his name correctly. One compound eye twisted itself to look up at her, gently reaching out toward her with a crooked arm that terminated in half as many bristle-haired fingers as it should have normally had. The doctor moved on to the next patient while Basu sat down beside the dying insectoid. She carefully took his hand, ignoring the pain of the bristle-hairs digging into her flesh. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Mama's here.."
"Mama.. Basu.." Srixxir buzzed out, his remaining eye twitching. "Could I.. Could I trouble you for.. One last bite.. Of a.." He didn't even have time to finish making his request before she had one of her minced pies near his triangular mandibles, which began picking at the treat. His absolute favorite food, because she laced his with the nuts from his homeworld that he so loved. Almost as much as he loved this human who followed their army around, providing them with comforts and kindness no matter the danger to herself.
"Tas...t...y..." There was an involuntary shudder, forcing pieces of Srixxir's internal anatomy out through the various holes in his midsection, and he began gasping and choking on his own blood, before his body locked up and went still.
Basu flinched as the bristle hairs bit deep into her skin and carefully unwrapped her hand from Srixxir's rapidly cooling corpse. She'd barely finished putting some liquid stitch on her hand when suddenly a body tackled her to the floor, "MAMA, GET DOWN!" Only then did she notice the whistling sound that was rapidly getting c loser, and she clung to the body that was covering hers. The ground shook and quaked when the artillery shell landed, but when she opened her eyes, everything looked to still be intact.
A pseudo-vulpine with almost absurdly long ears looked down at her with a bit of a grin. "It's okay, Mama. We won't let anything happen to you." He wasn't too badly injured, one of the walking wounded, and he helped her to her feet once the danger had passed.
She ran a hand along the dirty, bloodstained fur of his cheek, smiling back at him, and then proceeded to straighten out his uniform a bit. He might be a junior officer, but he was still an officer, and it wouldn't be proper if he didn't look the part. "Thank you, Krybel. Here.. I made a pork cutlet hand pie, just for you."
The vulpine's eyes gleamed as he resisted the urge to tear into it like a starving pup . After three weeks of shit MREs, one of Basu's hand pies was like a gift from the Gods themselves. He savored every last crumb of it while watching her walk off, looking for the next soul in need.
"Mama.. Mama, where are you??" Came another frightened voice that was starting to crack, making Basu turn toward it on reflex, heart breaking all over again. She hefted up her purse and adjusted the strap.
"Mama's coming, dear, I'll be right there!" She patted Krybel's cheek again, "Take care of yourself sweetie, will you? I'll see you later." And then she began trotting off, moving on to provide the care that only she could.
A senior officer frowned while watching as Basu wandered around his M*A*S*H* unit, providing palliative care. "Lieutenant." He said with a bit of a growl in his voice, looking at Krybel. "Pray tell, who authorized a civilian in my thrice-damned abattoir? Why has she not been removed? Why are you eating one of those damned.. ..delicious..." the officer took a moment to wipe a little drool from his mouth, "...pies?"
Krybel looked up at the officer- a major, probably in charge of the whole camp- and cooly regarded him. "With all due respect to your rank, Major, sir- we want her here and I'm sure that the medical staff has cleared her. Though even if they haven't, I'm going to warn you now, sir- if you even think about trying to take away Mama Basu, you'll be the next one who needs her attention." His face suddenly went from soft and fluffy- if dirty- and went to the hard, stony glare of a predator. "We need her. Allow me to offer the suggestion of, instead of worrying about her, you could focus on something slightly more important. Supply forms, maybe."
The major frowned at this not so subtle threat, but he couldn't lie- at least with her around, there was a little less screaming, so that palliative care was definitely not a waste. And you know, supply forms didn't sound like such a tedious task at the moment.. It was going to be such a long day.

Hey guys, hope y'all doing great. Just came out here to ask for advice if anyone has ever faced any pain in their arm or shoulder before when playing valorant normally. Last October, i decided to change my grip from only palm gripping my mouse by using all fingers except my pinky to using my pinky aswell and raising my armrest height which caused my aim to become exceptional and i performed beautifully a couple of games until it started paining and my aim became horrendous. So i took some rest and tried a few excercises. i lowered my armrest but the pain still continued so i recently decided to see a orthopedic regarding the same cause i was so sure that i have cubital tunnel. upon consulting, i was told to get a test done but it came out all clear. my aim has never gone back to how it was when i switched and my shoulder hurts anytime i try gripping but i just tend to ignore it and it becomes stablized after a while. luckily as of now, my pinky finger doesnt hurt and ive used a few cushions to make my arm perpendicular to my table while wrist aiming (tried arm aiming but it hurts alongside other trying out other grips such as fingertip and claw). everytime i go back to my old grip i've no control over my aim now and i've tried quitting the game for almost a month and giving my hand tons of rest but nothing has helped till date. i keep fidgeting around with my posture but nothing seems to help. Please if you've faced this problem or know anyone who has and fixed it please provide your input. would be much much appreciated
TL;DR
Pain when gripping my mouse with the pinky finger

You never know the pull of a small town until you trade your entire life to live in one.
Dazzling city lights made way for grassy fields blanketed in soft sunsets, local papers filled with names I knew by heart. When the honeyed hair of the local florist came out in patches due to the stresses of life, sixty people brought steaming bowls of food to ease the ache. A singular church brought the townsfolk together, and perhaps that was the most foreign part of it all to me.
I was a kid, so I watched the entire thing unfold through the innocent lens of child, keenly watching the camaraderie of this town really peak outside the doors of that church. It didn’t look like much, a steepled dream imagined by the townsfolk of before, but it meant everything to the people. I even understood that back then, even though I didn’t quite buy the concept of a god yet.
The Sundays were a monotonous part of our week, only pedalled by my parents who desperately wanted to fit in with the town’s culture. They wore their masks well, nodding in the right places as we sat in the same pew every time, my father often discreetly checking the football scores in the sleeve of his jumper. Nothing ever happened in that tiny town, and then everything happened all at once.
It started with the miracles. Our pastor, Pastor Jon, liked to have the troubled souls of that week sitting in the front row so he could clutch their shaking hands one by one, channelling the energy of God through him in the hope that someday, hope could be brought to those lacking in it. It was a brief affair, usually just the joining of skin and a short prayer, but that Sunday was different. Rain hammered against the roof, leaving Pastor Jon’s prayers lost in the low, threatening rumble of thunder.
It meant when the sun shone through the clouds and caressed the face of a pained Wilson Brewster, it already felt a welcome intrusion.
“May your broken leg heal quickly,” Pastor Jon smiled warmly, steeling a hand on the calf of the waiting boy.
He, like me, was just a child. He didn’t feel the urgency of the situation, he was probably only grateful his throbbing leg wasn’t pulsating with pain anymore. He breathed a quiet ‘cool’ and that would have been that, had his parents not asked exactly what was cool about his leg being touched later that night. The news spread like wildfire - as per the medical centre, his parents said, Wilson Brewster no longer had a broken fibula.
There was some debate, of course. My parents mumbled in the kitchen about how clearly he’d never had a broken leg, and how odd to make him hobble around in a cast if that was the case. The sentiment was echoed tenfold, until something a little more tangible happened that changed the course of that town, and our lives, forever.
Pastor Jon didn’t mean for the glass to shatter in his hand during service, nor did he mean for a chunk of it to embed itself in his palm, gushing reams of blood racing down his arm in a bid for the floor.
“Gross!” one of the kids shouted with glee, the rest of us paling as crimson spilled from his wound. He was a deer in the headlights, utterly unprepared as we all looked on in awe. This was not how church usually went - this was quite the deviation. Several people stood to help, but they needn’t have bothered, because the divine was ready to intervene.
“Oh dear,” Pastor Jon muttered in a panic, using his bloodied hand to block the intense ray of sunlight threatening to stream through the glass into his eyes. It bathed the blood in a golden glow, and quicker than it had gone in, the chunk of glass began to slide from the wound till it smashed to the floor, exploding into a million pieces. That was not the crescendo, though, rather it was the sight of his skin tightening and knitting together - months of work in a moment - blood congealing and leaving behind nothing but memories of a wound.
“Pastor?” Mary-who-makes-the-blueberry-pies breathed, reaching out to touch him with bulging eyes. Pastor Jon could only open and close his mouth uselessly, his voice barely coming out in a whisper when he did finally speak.
“It’s a miracle,” he wheezed, and by all accounts, I suppose it seemed it was.
I was young, but I remember the bustle - the town was as I’d never seen it. The people of the church had vowed to keep it our little secret because, as Pastor Jon said, we had been given a gift and it was not appropriate to turn it into a spectacle. This gift was sporadic, though. People queued through the double doors of that church, sobbing and praying for their own slice of God, but few were to be given it. Little Laurie Lee and her dislocated jaw cleared up within the hour. Farmer Noel had a sudden epiphany about what the lottery numbers were to be.
Our town was blessed.
For two days, we marvelled. The rest of the world can have a piece later, we reasoned, but this was for us, just for now.
The church was fuller than it had ever been, people spilling out into the back and waiting with baited breath, snippets of conversations could be heard, and as they had been for the last two days, they all echoed one another.
“-a believer. I mean, Aunt Lillian said it was the light. The light closed up his wound, there and then!”
“-jaw. I saw her get hit with the cricket bat! Terrible thing, little lamb was inconsolable. And then next thing I know, she comes here and those shards are just welded back together again! Well, I told Janie-”
“-need to make the church bigger. Look at everyone! If only-”
So when Pastor Jon stood before us practically trembling with glee, it was hardly the weirdest thing that had happened all week. His voice was thick with emotion, eyes darting manically around our congregation.
“I have a message,” he breathed, and the crowd gasped at the connotation of it. I remember my father swearing, a low rumble of expletives I didn’t usually hear falling from his lips. I didn’t fully understand what this meant, but the atmosphere in that room morphed in a heartbeat.
“Tell us,” Christie Baker cried, hands clasped as tears welled in her eyes, “Oh, please tell us!”
Pastor Jon visibly shook, holding a trembling hand outstretched as if to reach us all. “He came to me last night,” a single tear raced past his cheek and made a home on his lip, “He spoke to me.”
“Praise God!” a man cried from next to me, and I shuffled closer to my father at the sudden burst of noise.
“It is… Him,” Pastor Jon uttered in a blissful exhale, sending the room bursting into chaos. Tears, cheers and prayers filled the space, but my father just clutched me tighter and my stomach churned uncomfortably. It took at least ten minutes for the room to quieten, but when it did, he had their rapt attention. “I am told that I will be His vessel. I will pass on what must be passed. We are not to spread the word, yet - only our pocket of civilization is ready. Only ours.”
You could replicate what happened a thousand times, and somebody would mess it up, sending a message of the divine to their great aunt in Auckland. But not us. That secret stayed within the confines of our town for the sixteen days hell shined upwards at us. Everybody had a thousand questions, but Pastor Jon only hushed us. “You must trust me,” he said, tone more regal than I’d ever heard it. And trust him the people did.
So on the second day when he returned to church and his eyes were dark-rimmed, nobody questioned it. He was chosen. Who knows what that does to a person’s sleep cycle? The following day when he went for his morning walk and the smile didn’t quite reach his hollow eyes, that was fine. He was a vessel, not a performer. And then that morning at church when he addressed us and kept rubbing the angry red welts on his wrists, who were we to ask questions of God’s messenger?
Nothing went terribly wrong until the baptisms. We all wanted to be part of this - even my anxious parents who signed me up to be bathed in holy water - and so we queued towards the front of the church, eager to hand ourselves over. I was second in line, right behind Mrs Awkins who had been the school nurse for the last 26 years, apparently. She was gleeful as Pastor Jon set up, speaking rhymes I barely listened to as I bounced on the balls of my feet, eager to go next. My stomach flipped at the words, knowing that my turn was only seconds away. People wouldn’t usually queue, but this was different. It was all different, now.
“I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
I didn’t expect the awful fizzing noise the liquid made as it hit Nurse Awkins’ head, nor did I expect the guttural wail that fell from her lips as she clawed at her own scalp. Smoke billowed up from her disappearing tresses and as I was yanked backwards, I caught a glimpse of her exposed skull. Most people will go their entire lives without the smell of burning flesh lingering in their nostrils, but not me.
“I- No! That wasn’t- oh!” Pastor Jon had cried, tired eyes bulging out of his head as people leapt to their feet to assist.
It was carnage, but not carnage I witnessed for long. My mother’s grip on my arm was vice-like, her eyes swimming with terror I know still plagues her to this day. I recall my father on the walk home, murmuring to my mother in low tones I wasn’t meant to hear.
“This isn’t right, Rach’. Jesus, did you see her? That was almost our son!”
My mum’s voice was shrill, the sound of her heels clacking against the pavement not quite masking her voice. “The police will be called - we don’t even know if she’ll survive! I think I’m going to throw up.”
But she was wrong on both counts. She didn’t throw up and the police weren’t called, because we rallied together. This was bigger than us and bigger than Mrs Awkins. Sure, nobody else tried to get baptised, but this was a blip. People surmised that the almighty didn’t want her as part of his flock, that she hadn’t been a believer when it mattered. Nobody was to utter a word about it, and because church was every morning now, my parents were almost too scared not to go. As a child, I didn’t understand it, but all these years later, I think I’d have bent to the fear of the almighty as well.
But it wasn’t the almighty who knocked on the door.
It became all the clearer that morning when Pastor Jon turned up with eyes so sunken and empty that we startled at his presence.
“Pastor.. Pastor, are you feeling alright?” one of our neighbours fussed, “Will you be okay for service?”
Pastor Jon didn’t answer. It was almost as though he didn’t hear her as he dragged his feet up to the front, turning so slowly towards us that it almost felt eerie. A large, jagged and bloodied cut spanned the entire back of his neck, disappearing behind him as he eyed us all, one by one.
“He’s here,” he murmured, words that on paper, should have sent the entire church reeling with joy. But you could hear a pin drop. You could hear any soul whisper in the large room, and yet his utterance only caused goosebumps to spread across my skin as a sort of icy stillness washed over me.
“He’s… here?” a woman in the front row asked, and Pastor Jon took too long to answer. An unnatural, slow smile spread across his face as he tilted his head towards the source of the noise. He didn’t respond, instead slowly lifting his hand to his lips, letting his finger linger there for a moment. When nobody spoke, he let his mouth fall open and began to chew loudly on the finger, drawing gasps from the crowd.
“Don’t look,” my mother shimmied closer to me and lifted a trembling hand to my eyes, but I could see through the cracks in her fingers. Pastor Jon continued to sloppily chew his finger, eventually snapping his head up and inhaling sharply as he spat blood out of his mouth.
“Your bodies are so fragile,” he sneered, lifting his dripping finger to the skies, causing several people to leap from their seats and make a bolt for it. My mother was one of them, and with horror, I watched as the Pastor’s eyes scanned the room and locked onto mine, tilting his head. “Stay,” he hissed with bared, bloody teeth, and we did. Not through choice, but rather, a sickening whoosh of air that skimmed past our faces and forced us all back down.
“What’s going on?” someone shrieked, but we weren’t to know, not really.
Pastor Jon only smiled blissfully, reaching his arms outwards as if to accept us. “I’ve come to bless you all,” he whispered mockingly, fingers outstretched as the sun hit the stained glass to the left of him. But it was all wrong. Sunshine streamed in and as it hit the red of a decorated sunrise, an image which had been there years before us, the colour changed. It was only moments until the church had the appearance of being bathed in blood, shimmering red bouncing off every surface to create the illusion we were all swimming in hell.
Nobody spoke.
Those who didn’t quite make it to the doors stood frozen; we who remained in our seats cowered in the heaviest kind of fear. Red drowned us and we clutched one another, eyeing Pastor Jon as though he were a wild animal. Finally, someone dared speak.
“Where is God?” he murmured, eyes swimming. Pastor Jon’s neck snapped towards him as he licked the blood from his finger, shuddering. When he spoke, his words were cold, distant. As though they were from somewhere else entirely.
“He hasn’t been around for a while.”
There was no time for his words to punch at my stomach, because in no time at all Pastor Jon was crumpled on the floor, wailing as he regarded his chewed, bloody finger. The bone was exposed and yet nobody helped him as he looked at us pleadingly, too many eyes on him as his whimpers turned to whispers. When he spoke, we listened.
“You need to keep coming to church,” he breathed, a single, bloody tear trickling down his cheek, “It will be worse if we don’t.”
So we did.
The Sunday Fair was cancelled, and pies that had been baked to share in sunny gardens went stale and grew mould. People packed duffel bags and made for their cars, arguing fiercely with those who decided to stay. My mother and father disagreed, but their argument was far more muted.
“Please, we have to go,” my father pleaded, shaking his head as I watched from the shadows, “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck that was-”
“I can’t explain it,” her voice was shaken, quiet, “But I know it will be worse if we go. I know it. Please just trust me. Trust Jon.”
So as my father always did, he believed in my mother. Each day in church was torturous, everyone sitting rigid with fear as Pastor Jon read slowly and shakily from the bible, bruises littering his gaunt body. When the holy book in his hands would launch into flames, he’d calmly drop it into the bucket of water he’d prepared and retrieve a new one. One time, every window in the church smashed and we all winced, ducking to avoid the onslaught of glass.
Darkness watched us.
We all felt it, and I know it visited members of the flock in the shadows. I was plagued by it one particularly torturous night as I lay in bed, blanketed in darkness with the covers pulled up to my chin. I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling I was being stared upon, squeezing my eyes shut as laboured, wet breaths left my body. But they weren’t my breaths.
I’d realised it straight away, that my hurried gasps for air didn’t match the gargling, strangled heaving that echoed around my head. From under the covers, I didn’t know much, but I knew one thing - the uncomfortable, heavy presence laying on my legs was my only source of comfort. Through all this, I reasoned, that if my beloved dog was with me, hell itself couldn’t come and claim me.
But I was wrong, because outside, my dog howled into the night.
Terror like that wasn’t something I’d felt before, and as my stomach bottomed out, I stopped breathing altogether. It must have sensed my fear, because those gargling breaths heaved closer and closer to my face as it dragged itself up my body, inch by inch. The smell of rot and ash burned into my nostrils, a horrific weight settling above my nose as my lungs started working again, so quickly that I would surely die then and there. If it had a face, it was twisted and pressed into mine, the thin bedcover my only source of protection.
But I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move, so I let it pant gravelly air into my face, let it lay on top of me for hour after hour, till the birdsong indicated morning had come. All night I sobbed stifled cries, chest shaking as I squeezed my eyes shut and felt it pressing into me. Felt it hating me, felt it wanting to rip its claws into my stomach and pull out my intestines. But it didn’t. And when I awoke late the next morning - I must have passed out through fear alone - it was gone.
The rest is all a bit of a trauma-soaked blur, to be honest. I know my parents couldn’t understand why I wasn’t speaking the next day, why I barely reacted when evil finally descended that morning at church. The rest of the townsfolk screamed for their lives, ran as fast as they could, but I just stared with a hollow, broken gaze. As the rivers of blood waterfalled down between the pews, I watched Pastor Jon’s eyes grow dark as midnight, empty and soulless as he bellowed inside those four walls and called upon something worse than any of us could likely ever imagine.
I recall the fire starting, remember Pastor Jon’s slack jaw as he regarded us all so horribly, moving jaggedly towards my family with a growing demonic, gleeful grin.
“I remember you from last night,” he’d uttered darkly, but his voice came out in a thousand jarring layers and I could see hell in his eyes.
“Leave us alone!” my father tried to shield us, lifting a crucifix and wielding it towards Pastor Jon as though it would protect us. He simply laughed, an awful noise of horrific dissonance that I still sometimes hear alone in my bed at night. In complete horror, my parents could only watch as this thing wrenched the crucifix from my father’s hand, grinning as his jaw split and shattered each second he opened it impossibly wider. The sound of his bones cracking reverberated as his skin split and his mouth gaped, wide enough to drop the crucifix right into his waiting, blood-soaked mouth and swallow it, right in front of us.
When he met our gaze, his broken jaw hung limply from his face, sad morsels of skin stitching a once-good man together. Whatever blur those hours were, that, I remember.
It was an anti-climax, really, because while I expected him to descend upon us all and rip us into thousands of pieces, he simply boomed his words, jaw still hanging as his evil spoke directly into our souls.
“When I return in 20 years, it is not just your small town that will bleed.”
Pastor Jon has been missing for 20 years. I’m not sure when he started his countdown, but I awoke this morning with a dread so sickening that I’ve barely stopped emptying my stomach. If it’s over and the earth turns to rubble, I hope somebody finds this and can at least piece together why it all came to a sad, premature end. We townsfolk kept our vow of quiet for this long, but there comes a point when silence is deadly.
I think today, Pastor Jon will be found.

Firstly I am NOT seeking a diagnosis. But this is high on my doctor’s differential and I want to know realistically what I can expect if it is PsA.
I’ve gone through a lot of confusion with diagnosis in the past year since my issues started. I hurt my back last year, the pain turned into a sharp enduring misery that NOTHING helped (injections, acupuncture, chiro, three different PTs, a ton of pain meds and Lyrica). Then my right knee randomly developed crippling pain and bursitis - the bursitis eventually went away but the pain has persisted with no improvement.
3 months ago I woke up one day with pain in both thumbs. The next day it had spread across other proximal finger joints. By the time a week or two had passed, I was fully disabled: pain in my right elbow, left shoulder, both feet, in addition to the hand/knee/spinal pain. My mouth erupted in apthous ulcers, the sides of certain fingernails keep developing paronychia, I had rashes on my neck that were biopsied (“nonspecific spongiotic pattern”). Normal ANAs and blood work for rheumatoid arthritis.
I continually went to the hospital because the pain is unbearable. I was told it was ME/CFS, fibromyalgia, psychosomatic (🙄), maybe bechets, maybe some post infectious issue, biotoxin illness (from a functional doctor I’m not sure I trust), and early lupus. They put me on hydroxychloroquine - I’ve been on it 10 weeks with no improvement. NSAIDs all upset my stomach.
I was eventually told there is nothing for patients like me and I needed to leave my city and fly somewhere with “better hospitals” because I was “too complex.” I managed to get across the country to Boston to a rheumatologist here. She was really good and is going to order ultrasound imaging of my affected joints.
But she is leaning away from the connective tissue disease hypothesis and thinks it may be more spondyloarthritis of some sort. I don’t have the HLAB27. All my inflammatory markers are normal. Knee and spine imaging 10 months ago showed degenerative changes, but unknown if that’s the source of the pain. She is thinking of trialing me on humira based on those results.
I am NOT looking to be diagnosed online. But I do want to know if arthritic pain from this condition is reversible? Will I always have this amount of disability now because the damage has been done? Or are biologics able to help you win back certain joints?
I’m just so scared to be this disabled the rest of my life. I’m only 30 and I have no idea what is happening to me. A year ago I was squatting, running, deadlifting, yoga, cycling, hiking… now I’m confined to the bedroom floor rolling over and crying.

Hey guys, I of course like many are afraid of the big ALS. I've been trying not to focus on it but, once you Google symptoms, it's all down hill. I had a thumb twitch in the pad for about a week. That faded away and turned into a tremor when I moved my thumb into certain positions, same with my index finger.
When I googled the ALS stuff (I hate Dr Google) it was all about how weak I'd feel, I started feeling weak in my wrist, forearm, bicep, tricep, both my legs felt tight, pain in random areas and small twitches all over my body that last no longer than a second.
This morning I stepped on a bee and it shot my adrenaline up, my thumb wouldn't stop shaking but then went back to its normal tremor rate once the adrenaline wore off. I do weird strength checks everyday to show myself I'm not losing strength which is weird.
Guess all I'm trying to ask is, are small tremors something to really worry about? Especially after it began as a twitch? I'm starting to "feel" weak all over my body and am paranoid. Thanks guys.

I've been getting B12 injections every 2 weeks since February. The first week of the injection, I feel pretty good. I still have to drag myself out of bed, but I can go to work, do a normal amount of physical activity, and still have the energy to cook and socialize.
Exactly one week after the injection, though, everything tanks. I can barely get out of bed, I'm really dizzy, and the tingling and pain returns to my fingers and toes.
Does this happen to anyone else? My neurologist said that we could do half the injection dose every week, but it's a bit of a drive to get to her office, and we're going to reassess in June when she re-tests B12 and a few other things.

28 F. 113 lbs. Chronic migraine (controlled w/ Botox & rescue nurtec), BP chronically on low side, chronic nystagmus when made to look to the side via that follow the finger test.
For the past few days I’ve had vertigo/increased tinnitus/pain in the space between where your skull meets your cervical spine that will not stop for anything 😑. (Side note, not ear crystals: neurology tried the maneuver for that)
My coworkers got to witeness me get knocked on my ass trying not to lose consciousness on Monday (I think it was Wednesday? Its blending together) and my pride will never recover. I can usually hide away until the worst passes and no one is the wiser, but man am I getting my ass kicked.
I don’t think there is a reason to seek medical attention bc there’s nothing to be done I think. And I feel like I’d know if I was dying lol.
Migraine meds are not touching pain for more than an hour. Doesn’t feel like my normal migraine either.
I don’t know what the issue is honestly. Neurology is sending me to get an MRA & MRV because of pulsitile tinnitus on top of the regular tinnitus.
Whatever the problem is, it’s annoying and I’m hoping one of yall has a tip because I almost got flattened mid dog walk, and I will have to move forever if my neighbors have to peel my ass off the sidewalk lol 😅
I need to go to work tomorrow, preferably without having to try to maintain my grip on consciousness every few minutes 🤦

It's been a feeling I've had for a long time. I know logically that it doesn't make sense and that things don't work like that, but it's happened too much. Especially on or around my birthday. I've had a friend fall and need stitches on my birthday, I've had one get accidentally set on fire going too close to a tiki torch. I was essentially kicked out of a school I went to because of my disability (long story, it was a private school so we weren't really sure what the legality of that is, and didn't want me going somewhere they died want me even if we could force them). I've had the typical experiences of being forgotten by family or friends, invited people to parties or hangouts nobody came to.
But my luck isn't only bad on my birthday, at this point things have gotten comically bad, one thing after another before I've even had time to recover. A pet recently had to be put down, his brother was showing signs of the same issues THAT DAY. And he's had to have 2 surgeries already that I really can't afford, and literally less than a day after the surgery it looks like it's back and I'm crushed that I spent a grand of money I don't have begging and pleading to help him because I can't lose another so soon, and it was all for nothing. I've had a series of failed relationships, including a long term girlfriend who started dropping L-bombs and then ghosted me completely, I went on a couple dates after that, even ones I thought went really well and poof, they ghosted me too. And one of the people who ghosted me ended up pulling some cruel prank on me a while after. I started seeing someone recently I really liked, and despite us working really well together there a re other complications that make it pretty clear we will never be a thing. A friend brought me out to distract me from the BS? I drop my phone and the screen shatters while we are out. I scheduled a tattoo as a birthday gift to myself before my second pet started having rapidly spreading health issues that I knew were going to cripple me financially, and I have someone who's helping me with that but won't be able to for a while, the day I was gonna get the tattoo it had to be canceled for unrelated reasons qnd pushed off, she already made the design and set asside a day for my appointment so I'd hate to cancel know, especially when I really really wanted this one thing for myself, but id hate to just keep chucking expenses on my card.
Oh and it gets so much better, I come to pick up some food from my mom today, who tells me my dad probably has cancer. He's getting the tests done tomorrow and they're saying that even if it is cancer it's a very slow moving one, but he's already in his 80s...
I legitimately feel cursed, I feel poisonous, like anything that makes me happy just keeps slipping through my fingers small or large, and all I do is bring suffering to the people around me, weather it's directly because seeing all this shit keep happening is causing them pain when they can't help, or honestly sometimes I feel like my luck is contagious and bad things start happening to people's who try and get close to me.
I had a confrontation with my girlfriend who ghosted me after like a month had passed to air things out and she basically admitted that she doesn't really have an excuse, that she loves me but my feelings can be catchy, and she's got too much going on in her life right now to be able to handle my pain amd need for support on top of that, and was too cowardly to tell me this and face the facts.
I couldn't even bring myself to be mad. I was just numb. I feel cold and I feel alone, like everything is on my shoulders and it's all on the verge of falling apart if not actively doing so. It's never enough. People keep telling me I'm so strong for managing all of this but I'm tired. I don't want to be strong anymore. I just want to be happy. I just want to feel at peace and have SOMETHING in my life that I don't think is going to crumble at my touch.
It's been plaguing my mind. I know it doesn't make logical sense but I just can't shake the feeling that the universe is out to get me, or that I'm being punished for something, the idea that I'm being punished for trying to be happy or thinking I deserve to be keeps coming up. I know it does make logical sense but every time I think I've reached my limit or found SOMETHING to enjoy about life some other huge curveball heads my way. I'm just so tired and I don't know how much more of it I can handle.
I know I have certain privileges and advantages others don't, I know there are people out there with far worse lives than me but that doesn't change how burnt out and empty I feel. I feel like I have nothing left in me and I just keep being squeezed for more and more, i keep pushing, keep trying, but what choice do I have?