Reposting this on here too because I need ppl to understand.
I am so infuriated at the thousands of people I'm seeing that are like "Here's how to move out of the country" I CANT MOVE. My partner and I are both disabled with three cats and own our home it's the only stable thing in our lives.
I don't want to HAVE to move either! Not to sound like a hick but this is is my fucking country. My fucking gay trans country. My fucking DEI country. ITS MINE. I was born here and I can't live anywhere else comfortably right now. And none of them want me anyway because I'm disabled.
That is why it is so important to think of and include disabled folks in your activism, in your protest, in your fight.
Not only do disabled folks typically fully rely on their state Medicaid and their federal disability payment if they're eligible, they also rely on their local communities, their caregivers, their food banks, etc.
It is hardly ever thought about in emergency situations, how to move the disabled folks. Ya know when there's a fire in a building and the elevator stops working and they say to take the stairs? And if you're a disabled person in a wheelchair you're just shit outta luck?
It's like that.
We can't just run when our rights are taken away. Or at the threat of everything else horrible going on. They could be hunting us for sport and we still can't leave.
Summary: You have a habit of forgetting to take your thyroid pill in the mornings, much to Law’s frustration. As a doctor, he knows how important it is, and he makes it his personal mission to ensure you never miss a dose,whether you like it or not.
CW: none, I think
Word count: 400 words
A/N: inspired from my own experiences 💀I always forget to take my thyroid pill
The moment you stir awake in the dim light of the submarine’s cabin, you feel Law’s steady warmth beside you. His arms are wrapped around you, holding you close beneath the blankets. You sigh contentedly, nuzzling into his chest as his fingers gently trace circles on your back.
For a while, there is only the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the soft hum of the ship around you. He presses a sleepy kiss against your forehead, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Mmm… stay like this a little longer," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.
You smile, letting the warmth of his presence lull you into a peaceful haze. Minutes pass in comfortable silence before Law shifts slightly, his fingers idly skimming over your arm. Then, his movements still. His brows furrow as his eyes slowly open, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. He stiffens just slightly.
Then, in a low but firm voice, he asks, "Did you take it yet?"
You roll your eyes and snuggle deeper into his chest. "It’s too early for this," you mumble, attempting to evade the question.
His grip tightens. "That’s not an answer."
"I’ll take it later," you huff, trying to shift away, but he doesn’t let you go.
"That’s what you said last time." His tone is strict, his patience thinning. "And the time before that."
You groan, covering your face with your hands. "It’s just one pill. Missing one day won’t kill me."
"That’s not the point." His voice sharpens, and he pulls the blanket down slightly, forcing you to look at him. "I’ve told you before how important it is. You can’t just forget. Your body relies on it."
"I’m not a kid, Law!" you snap, irritation flaring in your chest. "I can handle myself."
His golden eyes darken with frustration, but there’s something else in them, something softer. Concern. "Then prove it," he challenges. "Take it now."
You cross your arms, stubbornly refusing to move. "I’ll do it in a bit."
"No, you’ll do it now." His voice leaves no room for argument. "Or I swear, I’ll get up and shove it in your mouth myself."
You glare at him, but he doesn’t waver. The stare-down lasts a few tense seconds before you groan dramatically. "Fine!" You grab the pill bottle from the bedside table with exaggerated annoyance and pop the pill into your mouth, swallowing it without water just to prove a point.
Law watches you the entire time, only relaxing when he’s sure you’ve taken it. "Good," he murmurs, pulling you back into his arms. "Now you can go back to being a brat under the covers."
You grumble but let yourself be held, secretly enjoying the warmth of his embrace. Even when he’s strict, even when he’s scolding you, he cares. And that makes all the difference.
As some of you might know, I recently had a partial thyroidectomy, to remove a large tumour that had been growing in my throat. The tumour was thankfully benign, but because half of my thyroid came out with it, the specialist wants to put me on medication for it. I'm allergic to the synthetic kind, and the non-synthetic isn't covered by my disability insurance. My family doctor is going to try to have that appealed, but it takes a long time for the ministry of health to handle anything like that. In the meantime, I'll be out more than $100 that I wasn't prepared for. If you have a few bucks to spare, could you toss it in my little tin cup?
