Katherine Frances's Blog, page 308
September 28, 2015
Kim Shimmers and the Screech Owl
A Harry Potter Fanfiction by me
This Harry Potter fanfiction will be posted, as long as all goes well, every weekend.
Chapter 10
A Good Marauder
Kim trudged up to the castle, listening to the sounds of Gryffindor’s cheering all the way along. Their wails and chants should have been contagious. Kim wanted to be cheerful with them, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for herself. The noise only grew louder as she made it into the castle. She was halfway to the Ravenclaw Tower when the sound of running feet behind her made her slow.
“You’re a difficult woman to find!” Fred said as he slowed beside her. He was still wearing his quidditch gear, though the tips of his shaggy hair was still damp from the showers. George was there beside him in the same state, but he had a wad of fabric bundled under his arm.
“I didn’t know I needed to be found,” Kim said plainly, looking between the two of them.
“Come with us,” George said, an excited smile on his face.
“What are you two doing here? I thought you had your party to go to,” she said, a bit too sharply. She recognized the hardness in her tone, so she added, “Since you won and all. Congratulations by the way.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to congratulate us,” Fred said, taking hold of her forearm and pulling her forward.
“Where are we going?” she demanded, getting annoyed now.
“You’ll see,” George said. She had half a mind to rip her arm out of Fred’s grasp and start demanding that they tell her where they were taking her at once. But there was something calming in George’s eyes that persuaded her otherwise. In a minute they were slowing outside of the Gryffindor common room entrance. There was the Fat Lady, reinstated as portrait, and two ugly gargoyles keeping watch on either side since Sirius Black had managed to break into the common room twice now. The twins both crouched so Kim did the same, peering up the steps to the gargoyles that were now all but out of sight, the tops of their heads still just barely visible.
“Hurry, stairs won’t stay still for long,” Fred said.
“Here, take off your robes,” George said, reaching for the ball of fabric under his arm.
“What?” Kim said indignantly, her voice shooting up in octave.
“You’re not naked under there are you?” Fred asked sarcastically, because obviously her skirt and sweater were visible to the eye. She then realized they meant for her to take off just her robe, and so she reached for the clasp, glaring at Fred all the while.
“And your tie,” George added, voice hushed and hurried as he looked over his shoulder. She eyed him nervously, wondering what he was going to ask her to take off next, but she obeyed, loosening her tie and handing it over as he reached forward to swing the black fabric he’d brought with him over her shoulders. She realized it was another cloak, and before she could comment, Fred was flipping up her collar and stringing through another tie. The colors were red and gold.
“What are you doing?” she asked, thinking she was starting to catch on, but it was mad. Could they really be…
The cloak was too big, the sleeves dangling far beyond her wrists, the tails hanging on the floor. The tie was also long but it was stuffed in her shirt so it hardly mattered.
“Is this yours?” she said, holding up the dangling sleeve of the cloak to the boys, but they ignored her.
“Ready George?”
“Ready Fred,” he said with a nod, and he shifted to crouch closer to Kim, putting his hand on her back.
“Wait, ready- ready for what?” Kim asked, her whispering voice coming out high and rasping as Fred turned and stood. He marched up the stairs to the Fat Lady.
“Alright,” George whispered to her. “When I say go, we run. And stay close. Got it?” His eyes were darting up the stairs so she could only imagine that was where they were running to. It seemed obvious what they were doing now, but it was mad. It was really, really mad. Kim swallowed hard. Was it too late to back out? Did she want to?
“Oh, and just so were clear, when I say run, I mean run,” George continued. Kim could hear Fred saying the password to the Fat Lady as George spoke. She swung open, and once she was about halfway to her widest, Fred let out a mangy hoot. It was the kind of jeer she would expect from him, given the fact they had just won the Quidditch Cup.
“Gryffindor forever,” he cried at the top of his lungs, his head thrown back, and then there was a pop and a hiss.
“Now,” George grunted, pushing against Kim’s back lightly. She sprung to her feet and ran beside George who belted up the stairs. Her legs struggled to keep up with his long ones that took the steps multiple at a time. She almost tripped on the oversized cloak and tumbled to the stony sharp stairs.
“Hurry!” George hissed, as she gathered up the ends of the cloak and continued up. There was billowing smoke hissing quickly out of the entry way to the Gryffindor common room. The gargoyles were now covered from sight, and George and Kim were upon the entrance. The entrance that was closing, and fast.
September 27, 2015
putthepromptsonpaper:
“Neglecting me for 13 ½ years isn’t exactly the best way to show me I’m...
“Neglecting me for 13 ½ years isn’t exactly the best way to show me I’m important”
"There are things in the dark that only I see."
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
A doctor discovers an important question patients should be asked
This patient isn’t usually mine, but today I’m covering for my partner in our family-practice office, so he has been slipped into my schedule.
Reading his chart, I have an ominous feeling that this visit won’t be simple.
A tall, lanky man with an air of quiet dignity, he is 88. His legs are swollen, and merely talking makes him short of breath.
He suffers from both congestive heart failure and renal failure. It’s a medical Catch-22: When one condition is treated and gets better, the other condition gets worse. His past year has been an endless cycle of medication adjustments carried out by dueling specialists and punctuated by emergency-room visits and hospitalizations.
Hemodialysis would break the medical stalemate, but my patient flatly refuses it. Given his frail health, and the discomfort and inconvenience involved, I can’t blame him.
Now his cardiologist has referred him back to us, his primary-care providers. Why send him here and not to the ER? I wonder fleetingly.
With us is his daughter, who has driven from Philadelphia, an hour away. She seems dutiful but wary, awaiting the clinical wisdom of yet another doctor.
After 30 years of practice, I know that I can’t possibly solve this man’s medical conundrum.
A cardiologist and a nephrologist haven’t been able to help him, I reflect,so how can I? I’m a family doctor, not a magician. I can send him back to the ER, and they’ll admit him to the hospital. But that will just continue the cycle… .
Still, my first instinct is to do something to improve the functioning of his heart and kidneys. I start mulling over the possibilities, knowing all the while that it’s useless to try.
Then I remember a visiting palliative-care physician’s words about caring for the fragile elderly: “We forget to ask patients what they want from their care. What are their goals?”
I pause, then look this frail, dignified man in the eye.
“What are your goals for your care?” I ask. “How can I help you?”
The patient’s desire
My intuition tells me that he, like many patients in their 80s, harbors a fund of hard-won wisdom.
He won’t ask me to fix his kidneys or his heart, I think. He’ll say something noble and poignant: “I’d like to see my great-granddaughter get married next spring,” or “Help me to live long enough so that my wife and I can celebrate our 60th wedding anniversary.”
His daughter, looking tense, also faces her father and waits.
“I would like to be able to walk without falling,” he says. “Falling is horrible.”
This catches me off guard.
That’s all?
But it makes perfect sense. With challenging medical conditions commanding his caregivers’ attention, something as simple as walking is easily overlooked.
A wonderful geriatric nurse practitioner’s words come to mind: “Our goal for younger people is to help them live long and healthy lives; our goal for older patients should be to maximize their function.”
Suddenly I feel that I may be able to help, after all.
“We can order physical therapy — and there’s no need to admit you to the hospital for that,” I suggest, unsure of how this will go over.
He smiles. His daughter sighs with relief.
“He really wants to stay at home,” she says matter-of-factly.
As new as our doctor-patient relationship is, I feel emboldened to tackle the big, unspoken question looming over us.
“I know that you’ve decided against dialysis, and I can understand your decision,” I say. “And with your heart failure getting worse, your health is unlikely to improve.”
He nods.
“We have services designed to help keep you comfortable for whatever time you have left,” I venture. “And you could stay at home.”
Again, his daughter looks relieved. And he seems … well … surprisingly fine with the plan.
I call our hospice service, arranging for a nurse to visit him later today to set up physical therapy and to begin plans to help him to stay comfortable — at home.
Back home
Although I never see him again, over the next few months I sign the order forms faxed by his hospice nurses. I speak once with his granddaughter. It’s somewhat hard on his wife to have him die at home, she says, but he’s adamant that he wants to stay there.
A faxed request for sublingual morphine (used in the terminal stages of dying) prompts me to call to check up on him.
The nurse confirms that he is near death.
I feel a twinge of misgiving: Is his family happy with the process that I set in place? Does our one brief encounter qualify me to be his primary-care provider? Should I visit them all at home?
Two days later, and two months after we first met, I fill out his death certificate.
Looking back, I reflect: He didn’t go back to the hospital, he had no more falls, and he died at home, which is what he wanted. But I wonder if his wife felt the same.
Several months later, a new name appears on my patient schedule: It’s his wife.
“My family all thought I should see you,” she explains.
She, too, is in her late 80s and frail, but independent and mentally sharp. Yes, she is grieving the loss of her husband, and she’s lost some weight. No, she isn’t depressed. Her husband died peacefully at home, and it felt like the right thing for everyone.
“He liked you,” she says.She’s suffering from fatigue and anemia. About a year ago, a hematologist diagnosed her with myelodysplasia (a bone marrow failure, often terminal). But six months back, she stopped going for medical care.
I ask why.
“They were just doing more and more tests,” she says. “And I wasn’t getting any better.”
Now I know what to do. I look her in the eye and ask:
“What are your goals for your care, and how can I help you?”
-Mitch Kaminski
THE important question.
voluptuous-lady-with-freckles:
s0mewhereinthetr0pics:
rudegyalc...
voluptuous-lady-with-freckles:
Hold up
http://www.naturallyisis.com/about_isis.html
The fact that natural hair care got anyone arrested ever is sickening why is it a crime to not harm hair
Policing black women and putting them in a marginalized beauty standard that we were never built to attain ….. Mental rape another chain …… . There were laws against black women and their hair . Decades of being forced to cover our hair in some way some shape of form . This is another reason why the natural hair movement is important .
It’s trash as fuck that we are still being harassed today for natural hair styles it’s crazy.
Bruh really. Smh
rebloging this for 2 reasons. 1) this woman is a SJ hero and her cause is so important for POCs around the world, especially in cultures were natural black hair is frowned upon like European ones.
2) Her products are of real value! Checked out the link in the comments to her sight, she has shampoo and conditioner that is all natural for all hair types… I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THAT SHIT EVERYWHERE AND IT IS HARD TO FIND especially at an affordable price. Definitely going to check these products out. All natural shampoo at affordable costs that supports a noble cause. Hell yeah.
Kim Shimmers and the Screech Owl
This Harry Potter fanfiction will be posted, as long as all goes well, every weekend.
Chapter 10
A Good Marauder
Kim trudged up to the castle, listening to the sounds of Gryffindor’s cheering all the way along. Their wails and chants should have been contagious. Kim wanted to be cheerful with them, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for herself. The noise only grew louder as she made it into the castle. She was halfway to the Ravenclaw Tower when the sound of running feet behind her made her slow.
“You’re a difficult woman to find!” Fred said as he slowed beside her. He was still wearing his quidditch gear, though the tips of his shaggy hair was still damp from the showers. George was there beside him in the same state, but he had a wad of fabric bundled under his arm.
“I didn’t know I needed to be found,” Kim said plainly, looking between the two of them.
“Come with us,” George said, an excited smile on his face.
“What are you two doing here? I thought you had your party to go to,” she said, a bit too sharply. She recognized the hardness in her tone, so she added, “Since you won and all. Congratulations by the way.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to congratulate us,” Fred said, taking hold of her forearm and pulling her forward.
“Where are we going?” she demanded, getting annoyed now.
“You’ll see,” George said. She had half a mind to rip her arm out of Fred’s grasp and start demanding that they tell her where they were taking her at once. But there was something calming in George’s eyes that persuaded her otherwise. In a minute they were slowing outside of the Gryffindor common room entrance. There was the Fat Lady, reinstated as portrait, and two ugly gargoyles keeping watch on either side since Sirius Black had managed to break into the common room twice now. The twins both crouched so Kim did the same, peering up the steps to the gargoyles that were now all but out of sight, the tops of their heads still just barely visible.
“Hurry, stairs won’t stay still for long,” Fred said.
“Here, take off your robes,” George said, reaching for the ball of fabric under his arm.
“What?” Kim said indignantly, her voice shooting up in octave.
“You’re not naked under there are you?” Fred asked sarcastically, because obviously her skirt and sweater were visible to the eye. She then realized they meant for her to take off just her robe, and so she reached for the clasp, glaring at Fred all the while.
“And your tie,” George added, voice hushed and hurried as he looked over his shoulder. She eyed him nervously, wondering what he was going to ask her to take off next, but she obeyed, loosening her tie and handing it over as he reached forward to swing the black fabric he’d brought with him over her shoulders. She realized it was another cloak, and before she could comment, Fred was flipping up her collar and stringing through another tie. The colors were red and gold.
“What are you doing?” she asked, thinking she was starting to catch on, but it was mad. Could they really be…
The cloak was too big, the sleeves dangling far beyond her wrists, the tails hanging on the floor. The tie was also long but it was stuffed in her shirt so it hardly mattered.
“Is this yours?” she said, holding up the dangling sleeve of the cloak to the boys, but they ignored her.
“Ready George?”
“Ready Fred,” he said with a nod, and he shifted to crouch closer to Kim, putting his hand on her back.
“Wait, ready- ready for what?” Kim asked, her whispering voice coming out high and rasping as Fred turned and stood. He marched up the stairs to the Fat Lady.
“Alright,” George whispered to her. “When I say go, we run. And stay close. Got it?” His eyes were darting up the stairs so she could only imagine that was where they were running to. It seemed obvious what they were doing now, but it was mad. It was really, really mad. Kim swallowed hard. Was it too late to back out? Did she want to?
“Oh, and just so were clear, when I say run, I mean run,” George continued. Kim could hear Fred saying the password to the Fat Lady as George spoke. She swung open, and once she was about halfway to her widest, Fred let out a mangy hoot. It was the kind of jeer she would expect from him, given the fact they had just won the Quidditch Cup.
“Gryffindor forever,” he cried at the top of his lungs, his head thrown back, and then there was a pop and a hiss.
“Now,” George grunted, pushing against Kim’s back lightly. She sprung to her feet and ran beside George who belted up the stairs. Her legs struggled to keep up with his long ones that took the steps multiple at a time. She almost tripped on the oversized cloak and tumbled to the stony sharp stairs.
“Hurry!” George hissed, as she gathered up the ends of the cloak and continued up. There was billowing smoke hissing quickly out of the entry way to the Gryffindor common room. The gargoyles were now covered from sight, and George and Kim were upon the entrance. The entrance that was closing, and fast.
