private, mutuals only Michael 'Dr Robby' Robinavitch from HBO's The Pitt. Under construction. written by tiger, 25+, it/its.
This blog runs on a queue; currently posting 5 times a day. Approx. wait for replies: 3 days.
blog is wip, please stand by whilst I sort out icons, carrd, etc.
I do not do exclusives. I want to enjoy everyone on the dash. I don't see the joy in locking myself out of interacting with people just because I already write with the same character elsewhere.
mobile rules ;; disclaimer ;; tag guide.
This is a mutuals only blog, which means I will only interact with individuals who I follow and follow me back. If you break mutuals with me, please block me. I respect your decision, but I am not psychic.
Treat me the way you wish to be treated. Open, clear communication.
I am over 18, as is Robby.
I love original characters, although I may need some time to get to know them. Interaction from first meeting preferred. I have no issue with duplicates! I love other Robbys.
This blog will feature; suicidal themes, including suicide ideation, dissociative issues, panic attacks, abusive or aggressive behaviour, self harm in a variety of forms, etc.
Be aware that the muse and the writer are not the same person. I have personally endured a lifetime of suicidality and self harm. I am not someone who works in healthcare but I have reached the point of making plans, like Robby have. I have said goodbye. I have gotten to a point that I don't want anyone else to get to. But that means my exploration of Robby will come from a very real place. I don't want to hide that. But that also means I am fully aware that being depressed makes you an asshole, and that behaviour isn't okay, but it's also very understandable.
I write Robby as autistic but unaware of it. He has stims, he has sensory overloads, but he is a functional adult man and his autism is as managed as someone can manage whilst still being entirely unaware of it.
If you think Robby is an unfixable asshole or deserves to follow through with his plans, don't fucking bother talking to me.
I do not use discord. This is a personal preference; it may change in future, but for my mental health I'm trying to have a stricter line between interaction here and elsewhere. I know tumblr IMs are clunky, I'm sorry, but this is something I am firm on. I am an adult and I need to have a dividing line for my own mental health.
I am staunchly anti generative AI. I would rather you write badly than use AI.
tag guide
team meeting || psa / announcements/blog info/etc
thanks for the advice || reference /images of robby/references/etc
buzz buzz || text thread / text only threads. these can be rapidfire so you might want to block this tag if that's annoying.
you paged? || answered / ask tag
something to say to me? || ooc / out of character posts
consult called || meme / memes.
please report to the ED || open / open rps.
what room is open? || starter call / starter calls.
doordash on the roof || crack / silly/crack/dash commentary
unprofessional behaviour || usfw / my nsfw tag. block this to avoid smut/horny thoughts/etc.
verse tags
forgive me || dr robby / default universe, canon compliant
old flask new wine || tricare / ship tag with @tri-care's Langdon!
"caucasian male, early sixties," nealie starts, struggling to look directly at the man being wheeled into the room even as she moves with him. "family said they found him unresponsive and gasping. been baggin' him about thirty minutes now." it was a long ride and she's still pumping oxygen into his lungs, even as others start to evaluate him for a trach. "pulse is strong though, he's--" her voice shakes just barely as blue eyes dart to the physician, nodding with confirmation. "he's still with us."
"Thirty minutes?" he said, voice low, shaking his head with a low huff, puffing out his cheeks. "That's a long time to be bagging..." but if he was fighting, he was fighting, and they weren't going to give up until he gave up on himself.
"Still with us, then we get to work. Thanks, Nealie." he paused, halfway to the body, eyes lingering on her. "You... okay? Doing okay?" he asked, glancing away and then back again, moving to help with the transfer.
"Don't be a kiss-ass." Duke laughs, extending an arm, and letting Squid hop off him. He places his hands on his knees and stands with a groan, then steps away from the bike.
Leaning against the work bench, Duke pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and presses a cigarette between his lips.
"I'm 72 this year." He explains, ducking his head to light his cigarette. "That's plenty older than you."
Duke tilts his head back, and takes a long drag, then pulls the cigarette from his lips, and blows out a long stream of smoke before speaking again, "Ol' Bonnie should be up and runnin' again by t'morrow. You wanna finish that up and call it for the night? I got some beers in the fridge and about three dozen takeout menus to pick from. I'm fine with whatever, long as we can watch antiques roadshow"
"Alright, alright, you're at least a bit older than me," he snorted, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender as he sat back. He looked at the cat, which seemed to love Duke more than anything else in the world. He was almost jealous, to be loved so very much. He watched as the other smoked, tilting his head just slightly away, unbothered but also not seeking out extra smoke.
"Mmmm," he looked at the Bonnie, pondering. He liked this, liked getting his hands dirty, doing this kind of work… "Yeah, sounds like a plan," he snorted, "I'm down with antiques roadshow, but if you see me noddin' off, don't be surprised." he shook his head, chuckling low and deep, getting up to his feet and dusting himself off. "Cold beer sounds good, though, yeah, I'll take you up on that."
~ Fuck. It HURTS to hear that, sent an a c h e under his ribs. even though he had expected it in some ways. Frank wasn't stupid nor as BLIND as some might think however....he noticed the way Robby's eyes would sometimes LINGER on him for a split second longer when his back flared up. Concerned. That handsome dark gaze watching him with the INTENSITY of someone trying to draw out a prediction and jump in before it happens.
It made Frank feel desperate in a way that he knew probably wasn't helping him. A desperation fuelled by the FRUSTRATION of knowing he might never shake his past mistakes, no matter how much he worked. Might never stop causing anxiety in the people he cared about.
' I know. I'm...I'm sorry....that I make you worry. ' Frank's fingers never stopped toying with Robby's hair. Hand eventually sliding down to curve fingers, WARM and present on the back of the Attending's neck. Langdon CHEWING at the inside of his cheek for a moment before tilting his head to catch those warm troubled eyes with his own blue ones. ' But I'm....I'm not gonna, Robby. Guess it might not help just SAYING it, but I'm not gonna relapse. ' ~
He hated that he was clearly making Frank question himself, he hated that he could never truly trust him to not fall back into bad paths, he hated that he wasn't half the man Frank so urgently needed him to be and arguably he wasn't even a quarter of that man. Days like today were always hard, but it was so much worse when he knew he had a boyfriend who was in recovery who was always going to be in recovery or…
"It's not your fault. It's not, it's me," he cleared his throat and shook his head, swallowing hard, brows drawing in. "Frank…" he looked up as the hand rested, warm and strong and soft on the back of his neck. On how he made sure to maintain eye contact, to push sincerity. Soft and slow and calm, not the wild frantic begging once upon a time as Robby had cast him out of the ED.
"I trust you." he insisted, voice lower, now. "I do. I trust you. I just… think I will always worry, Frank." he mumbled. "pain… makes people do insane things."
Once upon a time, Samira would let that tone get under her skin, make her feel like she was a burden even for asking -- but she knows it’s deflection. Avoidance. It’s Robby being perceived and having someone see a weakness, a flaw. It’s Samira noticing something because she’s a doctor and that’s what she does is observe and notice things like this.
The strange gait, the irritability, the obvious tension in the set of his jaw and the brusque attempt at brushing her off while also admitting that he was fucking jaywalking and got hit. She sighs at him and shakes her head.
“And how many times have we seen people come through those doors claiming they just got clipped and it was just a bruise, then come to find out they’re bleeding internally?” Samira states plainly, brow arched as she tries to press back. “I’m just trying to help. Why not rule out the possibility, let me do a quick ultrasound, and then you can get back to work as long as you actually are fine.”
He took a moment to eye her, to judge her. He knew her, or at least, he thought he did. An incredibly capable doctor but her inability to move on, to not resist the elderly patients pulling her into conversation… she could do a lot of good, but in an ED, he needed fast doctors, not gentle ones. His arms folded over his chest. But, actually… he was somewhat proud of her. It was hard to stand up against an attending, after all.
"… Fine." he said, sighing, conceding. He raised a hand, rubbing it over the back of his neck, "But I need you to show me how fast you can be, Dr Mohan, because you know as damn well as I do that I cannot get off the floor for long. We all have to be quick, not just you," his eyes flickered around the room, to check if they had the tools to hand or, more likely… they were going to have to go to the trauma bay. Visible…
The shove back into the mattress jars more than he'd expected. Pain tears sharply across his ribs and through his abdomen, forcing a strained breath from him before he can stop it. His arm instinctively tightens around his side as he lies still, waiting for the worst of it to pass. Beside him, the monitor picks up the change immediately, its steady rhythm climbing another few beats.
He doesn't say a word. Not while Robby yells. Not while his voice cracks. Not while every reason behind the anger finally comes spilling out.
By the time the room falls quiet again, Jack's breathing is still shallow. His eyes have dropped to the blanket gathered beneath one hand, his thumb dragging absently across the fabric before he finally looks back up.
"I know," he says quietly. The words sit between them for a moment.
"I kept telling myself I was protecting you." His voice is tired, stripped of the certainty it'd held only minutes earlier. "I never stopped to think what taking your name off that form would actually feel like." He swallows against the tightness in his throat. "You didn't deserve that."
Another careful breath.
"I'm sorry, Robby." He doesn't look away this time.
He can feel it more than see it, the way Jack shrinks, the awareness that the man is in a hospital bed and he's lashing out like a toddler over his toys. The other half of him fights back; he's a big boy, he's handled worse, he can take a little aching. The guilt, of course, wins out, it always does, but the anger is strong and so he lets the tirade carry him. When he runs out of steam, breathing roughly, he turned his head to look at Jack proper. Weak, hurt, limited and trapped in a bed.
He felt like shit.
"Okay." he said, finally. "Okay. I forgive you." he took a low, slow breath, walking back. "You asshole." he added, slumping back down into the visitor's seat, closing his eyes and rubbing rough at his eyes. Some part of him wants to apologise for the shove. He didn't say it, though, still just a little bit too stubborn to let that desire win out. Trying, oh so hard, to convince himself that Jack had deserved it.
The corner of Carter’s mouth quirked into a smile that bordered along complete scorn, and bobbing his head, he folded his arms before taking a step forward. “There seems to be a lot of that going around,” he replied. “The whole not remembering thing.”
Perhaps that hadn’t been fair. Whenever they’d taken that damned DNA test to shut everyone up, neither had expected a match. Carter certainly hadn’t, but Robby appeared equally bemused by the news, and ever since, he could never quite get a read on the man. Was he happy? Horrified? All of the above?
“Look…” Carter shifted from side-to-side. “I know you’re not big on vulnerability — I can’t really say I am either — but no one here’s going to think any less of you for asking for a bit of help.”
Was he even talking about the wounds anymore? In all honesty, Carter didn’t know, and with a soft huff, he turned and leaned against the wall, mirroring Robby with a sudden weariness in his posture. “Have you called my mom?” he asked. “I haven’t. Ah…that is to say, I don’t think I can ask. Our relationship’s always been tenuous at best, so I know if I came swinging at her with a bunch of questions, I’d lose what little connection I already have. But…I am curious.” His eyes lifted then, low-lashed, sorrowful. “Was she…happy before me? Even a little?”
Perhaps that wasn't a question he wanted answered. Because if Eleanor had been joyful without him, with only Bobby, then that affirmed all of his late night doubts and grievances.
Swallowing around the growing knot in his throat, Carter shook his head. “Sorry,” he rasped. “You don’t have to answer that. Not if you don’t want to.”
His features darkened as Carter called him out, although some part of Robby chafed, arms crossing over his chest again. No, he didn't remember. He'd slept with a lot of people back then and, sure, he wasn't much proud of what he'd done. He'd been a cocky upstart, overly proud of being a doctor, disconnected from any sort of parental guidance and, yeah. He'd drunk too much. He'd slept around. Been extremely lucky he'd not caught anything and he wouldn't be shocked if there weren't more kids out there because God knew he hadn't been careful.
The other now seemed to be backtracking, but Robby said nothing, letting him talk. He huffed a laugh between his teeth, at the idea that this was really about the injury and nothing else. Yes. He knew. He knew he was a coward. He knew he was too afraid to follow up on the information Carter had given him, speak to his mother, figure out there history and lay it out clean… he didn't… want to. It was so much, so much energy, so much effort, when none of this had to happen.
When he'd wanted to be a father, so badly, he had never imagined gaining a son in his fuckin' twenties.
"I don't know, Carter. I don't." his voice came out surprisingly soft as he shook his head, gesturing with hands wide spread, "I barely knew her, I'm sorry. She was just… one of… several… that ended up going to bed with me. Mardis Gras and… well." he cleared his throat, "I'm just glad you seem to be more intelligent than me when it comes to that side of things, okay?" and times had changed, young doctors most certainly less… glamorized. And Pittsburgh missed the murky heat haze that New Orleans had thrown over him… "It's fine, don't worry about it."
she doesn't know robby all that well. mostly alex has seen him in passing on the occasions she's popped into the er. normally she's dropping something off, not staying for long because there's rarely ever a quiet moment where her mom works. she may stick around for a short while, sit behind the desk as she waits for her mom to finish with a patient, but her visits are never for that long.
still, she can listen. normally her mom keeps it all in, or at least away from her and her sisters. however, over the years she's developed the knack for knowing a good day from a not so good day and even if she's not all too familiar with robby, she knows today wasn't a good one.
"you lost?..." her voice is soft when she speaks, tilting her head as she looks over at him. "you weren't the asshole who did that to them. you did everything you coulda done for them. you and mom. i know she wouldn't let someone go without a fight."
even if alex doesn't know the full situation, exactly what had gone down that night and to who, there's that soft conviction still in her voice when she speaks. she shakes her head at his apology, taking a sip of her drink as she does so. "nope, no apologies allowed. you had a shit day. you can be in a shit mood tonight, if you want." at the mention of home, she looks at him a little more closely. "you eaten? god knows mom doesn't eat at work on the best of days. you should have something."
It gets caught on all of them, in the end. It seemed part and parcel of the job. Doctors, nurses, shit, even the janitors. You spend all that time, all that existence trying to save people, to do good, and you just… see loss. Over and over again. Death. Sometimes the disabilities were worse than death. Good people reduced to shells for their families to grieve every single day, a loved one becoming a… responsibility. God, help him do what was right if he ever became like that. He stared into the glass, closing his eyes, inhaling slow and blowing it out steady.
"It's different. In a mass casualty. You don't have… time." Leah's body under his hands, breaking, already lost, already too far gone, "You can't dedicate teams to people, you can't save people, you just… go for the best possible case and hope." his throat bobbed. "And half the time you lose them anyway, you…" he broke off, cleared his throat with a soft groan, shook his head and rubbed hard at his eyes. "I… not yet." he admitted. "Thought I'd have something here but… missed the window. Hence…" he gestured at the abandoned pretzels.
The monitoring did not allow for Robby to hide that he was awake. The acceleration of his heartbeat because of the spike of fear or panic he must be feeling. Yet, despite it, Jack did not stop his reading. He finished the page he was reading on the same steady voice and only then did he set the book down.
The change would alert the ICU, someone would eventually come check on Robby. Protocols here were like an oiled machine, exact and precise. For now however, Jack set the book down and sat straighter and closer to Robby. His eyes trailed on the monitors, nothing alarming really, just change in vitals and the drip of morphine going off.
Jack put a hand on Robby's. "Hello brother." Jack greeted him. " you know, if you wanted a full night sleep, there were other options ..." he joked. He gave his hand a squeeze. All plans to go after the person responsible were put on halt, right now Jack's attention was entirely on Robby and what he would need.
Jack was relieved to see him conscious, even if it would be for a few minutes. It was encouraging and steps to get him out of ICU to a room. "Anything you need Robby, I'm here, just ask or point. "
There was no anger in his tone, and Robby found that fear starting to settle back a little as he blinked towards Jack, big dark eyes still foggy but more recognition than one might expect, given the medication he was currently being fed. Lids flickered, with difficulty, struggling to stay more than half mast. The mask on his face dug in against the padding where they'd set his broken nose, held tight, supplemental oxygen to help him. His ribs plated, now; chest still faintly feeling wrong, although the painkillers had muted it significantly.
"Jack?" his voice was a low croak, barely audible over the humming, clicking, beeping machines that made up the background melody of this place. Slightly dimmed lights, for comfort of those who rested here. He had been given a room, he noticed. High honour, in a place like this. Must mean it was bad. It felt bad.
"Why're… y'here?" it was difficult to find the energy to talk, and yet he managed to carry guilt, bubbling out of his very marrow to flood his body. "S'okay… s'okay." his eyelids were already heavier, and despite himself, he sighed softly and dropped off again. The monitors ticked slowly back down. Not uncommon, after all, under the amount of drugs and exhaustion his body was currently being subjected to. It was some time again before the monitors gave away his slow stirring and those eyelids shifted again, opening narrower, now. Just a slip of dark brown, a hint of awareness.
Something is wrong, and Forrest knows he should go, but his fight or flight is not working. Actually, his body has decided to stay frozen. Feet will not move, and he doesn’t know why. He’s always been kind of terrible in a crisis.
(Or at least, he feels that he is.)
“What’s going on?” There’s a bit more urgency in his tone this time around. Voice shakes more, despite the attempt to steady it. “It’s… I don’t know what’s going on, but if… If you do need to talk, or something? I can listen. And I… I keep secrets. I promise.”
"You need to get the fuck out of here." he slammed his hands down on the bar, leaving them ringing, and it was so, so fucking hard to keep control over his shape right now. The fact the other was refusing to back down, and when Robby turned, there was more yellow in his eyes than brown, breathing hitching. His heart was racing, but he knew if he shifted here, now, he would lose control entirely. It was too close to the full moon, too close to the monster, and he had to get out. He had to leave. He had to get home.
He'd just wanted to make it to the end of his fuckin' shift, to not have to dip out early. His jaw was aching and he could taste the blood, his teeth were moving and he was sure, when he barred them at Forrest, that the other was going to see sharp rather than flat and blunt. His breathing hitched.
She hadnt quite realized there was a light tremble to her hands until he was holding them, and the simple touch alone felt like a welcomed anchor for her to grasp to. Emerald gaze flickers up to meet his own sight, and it takes just a brief moment before she finally does as he says - slow, calm breath taken in through the nose, and released out through her lips.
"What kind of attending would I be if I didn't?" he pointed out, keeping his voice low and as calm as he could. He didn't want her freaking out, either, but he was doing his very best to help how he could.
Resting his warm hands against hers, he took a moment to look at her properly.
"Marie," he murmured, "Take a moment, it's okay. I got you."
the lines in science were rarely simple. she wasn't a medical doctor, and yet her phds so often overlapped other fields, often enough that it wasn't her first time in a hospital to offer an opinion. "you know I'll only be able to make sense of so much, right?" most of it, probably, but she didn't want expectations to be too high when she was already outside of her usual wheelhouse. still clever eyes focussed on screen, taking her time to process what she was reading, "dextrocardia is rare though. but mixed with heterotaxy syndrome, that's some really bad luck. has she had a pacemaker yet?"
"Yeah, I know," his arms folded over his chest and he rocked onto his heels, eyes drifting between the patient and hers. "But honestly, right now we feel like we're floating in the dark with her. Any insight you can give us... is very, very useful." he cleared his throat, "No. Nothing on record, anyway, but I'm fairly sure we're missing quite a lot from her. She's not really lucid enough to give us much information, and she didn't have an emergency contact on her phone that we could access, so we are... in the dark."
A quiet snort escapes before he can stop it, the corner of his mouth lifting as he takes in Robby's expression. "You look terrible," he observes, not unkindly. "Which is saying something, because you usually make exhausted look effortless." His eyes drift to the coffee before settling back on Robby. "I'm guessing that third, fourth, and fifth drink are all filing formal complaints right about now."
He climbs another step before settling onto one nearby. "Drink some water before you pound more coffee," he says, slipping into doctor mode almost automatically. "And eat something before you take the Advil. I'd rather not have two attendings out of commission today."
His smile returns as he nods toward the stairwell door. "You've probably got another thirty seconds before Walsh starts checking in here." He shrugs lightly. "Enjoy the head start while you've got it."
"I will take that as a compliment," he groused, but nodded, then grimaced, rubbing at his head. "I don't know why I keep doing this. Well… no, I do." he chuckled, lowly. He'd been showing off, posturing, and he'd gone home with a soft warm body with big dark eyes and gorgeous blonde hair… he was fairly sure, anyway, because there were blonde hairs on his pillow when he had woken up and the faint smell of perfume on his sheets.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Jack," he muttered, churlishly, getting slowly to his feet and sstretching until he back popped. "Thanks for the heads up, I'll hit up the lounge and then sneak back onto the floor. Might be able to pretend he just missed me…"
a soft shake of her head follows robby's worry about her tears. "not you... was gonna happen at some point tonight. just managed to sneak in early." she's sniffing, attempting to pull herself together to get through to the end of the shift. blinking rapidly in an attempt to get rid of the tears entirely, she's letting out a non-committal sound at the mention of lena. "haven't seen her yet. i'm fine, i can stay. just need a minute to get over this and i'll be right as rain." maybe that wasn't exactly the whole truth, but she could see it through until 7 at least. after that, there were plenty of doubts about it in her mind, but for at least a short while longer she could keep herself together. "what about you? you good to stay?"
"You... know you don't have to, right now?" he said, uncertainly, bad at this. He cleared his throat. "You don't have to be right as rain, Dana, you're allowed to, y'know. Feel an emotion." he cleared his throat slightly, "Not that I'm known to do it myself, but, for those of you who like to indulge in such things..." it was a weak attempt at a joke, but an attempt at least. "Oh, you know me, Dana. Tough as old boots, didn't you say?"
It was late. Dark. Time to go home. Time to leave behind this place. Back to his empty house that doesn't feel like home; back to a bed that feels cold; a place that tastes like dust. Robby was... lingering, tonight. Lingering maybe a little too long. Eyes drifting over photos on the wall, heroes of their past, here.
I wonder if they'll put my picture on that wall, too. Will Dana come by to look at my face? Langdon? Jack?
It wouldn't matter, really. His backpack had slid down his arm. As he turned he yanked it up, not realising a pocket had opened. The faint shuffling noise caught his attention, as a handful of envelopes escaped; floating down with surprising gentleness, featherlight. He froze and then jolted, realising just what was now falling to the ground, the names scrawled on the front of them.
Of course it's not hard to recognize her, given her stature and constant love for leather jackets. There was one particular style that she couldn't stay away from. It was her favourite and, yeah, she couldn't help but wear it. Which made her an easy target to be remembered. Lips press together and she offers a little smile. "Jewish, huh? That's cool."
Delanie lifts her arm, to show off the light scrape that drags across her arm. It's barely a flesh wound, it's really not that serious but being injured on duty requires her to be cleared by medical. It's annoying as all hell but, there we go. "It's really not that bad. I don't think it even broke the skin, not really." (Never mind the fact that she is actively bleeding down her own arm).
"Not… always the response I get, but yeah. Not the most uh… orthodox, I'm somewhat lapsed, but it's always in your blood." he murmured, as he takes a look at the injury. He frowned, reaching out his gloved hands in order to see it more clearly, tilting her arm ever so carefully as he does so.
"Okay, I'm going to get this cleaned up for you and then see what we're actually dealing with, but it looks mostly superficial." he murmured, turning away to grab ahold of the wipes and saline, and a bowl to catch the wash off. "With any luck we'll be able to just use steri strips, but this miiiight need a few stitches."
He washed it off and then took another look, tilting her arm again.
"Yuuuup. Okay, grab me the lidocaine, please," he addressed the nurse, who provided it, "We're going to numb you up and get this stitched. Shouldn't take long, you only need a few."
hi folks, sorry for the radio silence. i've come to gather up all my drafts. nothing is abandoned. I will hopefully be back soon. Robby's head has been a... weird place for me the last week or two. i would love to say it's because i've been feeling too good to be in his brain, but like... I can't quantify it but i think it's been too close to my brain and i've been getting this weird nausea trying to write him.
I got a blood test today which should hopefully show some ideas towards what the hell is going wrong with my body, both lately and tbh my whole life. I really would like solutions to this constant exhaustion I feel. If there are any.
I am going to try to do a rewatch and I'm hoping that will spark Robby back up for me. Thank you all for being patient and reaching out. I'm ok, I promise.
I'm still running slow but my queue is up again.
Blood test results are in, also.
So, some expected things.
High cholesterol, pre diabetic, although I put little faith in that last one bc afaik pre diabetes has proven repeatedly to have no actual connection between developing diabetes, the rates remain the same.
My testosterone is at uh double what it is meant to be, which is not a massive shock, so they've said I have pmos. I am reminded of when I sought treatment for this in my early twenties and was dismissed out of hand, but at least they're paying attention now. They're scheduling me for a pelvis exam to follow that up, although afaik there's no treatment for it.
The surprising one is I have a b12 deficiency, but funnily enough, that explains a lot of my symptoms. However, considering the amount of fish and dairy I eat, I am... surprised. BUT fun fact, my mum is currently having b12 injections because she has chronically low b12, so I'm wondering if that's a genetic component?? Anyway I've been told to get a supplement so I will. do that.
