#tw:epilepsy

[jinqki]

taemin super m teaser.

[dryadalismagicae]

It is Time to Tell You   ||   @endtablefororphans

Colder weather always offered up further strains to those of whom lingered in refuge within the vast expanse of the wilderness. Those who had senses beyond the average five had known for a time that chills were on the way; the nights had been drawing in earlier and the terrain beneath their feet hardened with plummeting temperatures. Unfortunately, with colder weather came illnesses and with less folk to help around the encampment, things would begin to dwindle somewhat. Was it not paramount that all was kept running smoothly? Yes, it was. And Lyrian would do his best to make certain of it. So he had spent almost two days solid brewing healing draughts of varying strengths, stocking them ready for the inevitable; not sleeping, not settling, barely taking a break to eat or drink. Most importantly their stocks were now ready and as such dwindled, he would add to it. But oh – it truly had taken a strain on him and already being stressed from various attacks and movements, Lyrian was just about ready for a damn long nap. One more task was at hand, however, and that was tending to his Hart of whom still lingered near to them; aiding those of whom could not walk well or were injured and often playing with the children; Ava was a soft-hearted animal and the elf did all he could to be sure she too was cared for. With a few treats and a good brush did he tend to the creature, chatting to her as if she could understand and reply like any other being. Exhaustion, stress, overwork – it all struck him rather quickly and Lyrian found himself bizarrely confused for a moment as he stared toward his hand brushing the animal’s coat; a rather uncomfortable headache beginning to form in the back of his mind. Had he not been massively confused, the elf would have noted the symptoms straight away and acted accordingly. Instead, he merely slipped down to his knees and fell into a terrible seizure lasting just short of a minute. It took him a moment or so afterward to regain his consciousness, ears vaguely able to pick up on the chatter from the camp nearby but not well enough to ascertain who was talking or what was being said. Confusion stretched on for a short time longer and then did it register within his consciousness just what had happened. In truth, it had been the worst seizure he had suffered since being a member of the caravan – the others had been smaller, he hadn’t lost consciousness with them; at least not entirely, and he had been perfectly alone when dealing with them. Nobody knew. Why did he not tell anyone? Easy; some had accused him of being possessed by a demon in the past and given that he was a mage they had called for him to be killed simply for safety; he was not possessed… Obviously. Others thought he had been blessed by a goddess and in seizing he saw into the ether and witnessed a better world, could speak to the dead – also wrong. It was something wrong with his body; nothing more. After a few deeper breaths did Lyrian force himself to sit up slowly; his head reeling, every muscle in his body hideously sore and no doubt he would bruise from where he had just fallen to the ground. He felt terribly lethargic, slow to stand onto wobbling legs. It was getting late; thankfully, but he feared he did not have the strength to walk to the other side of the camp where his tent had been pitched. Fenris’ was the closest.

A shuddered breath was released, a decision poised within his consciousness; was he to go in there, explain his state, reveal his supposed darkest secret? Or was he to struggle to the other side of camp and potentially collapse again? Then the entire camp would know. Exhaling heavily did he walk toward the other elf’s tent and called his name prior to entering. Certainly he was exceedingly unsteady on his legs, his mind had not entirely come back to him as of yet and he was still very much confused, feeling somewhat sick and he couldn’t quite get his words out perfectly; “Can… can… I talk to… you…?”          

[yeonxe-blog]

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tw: flashing colors

[kittykatmaniac]

I also have a project im doin with my fantrolls along with @fireandshellamari‘s characters!

owo homestuck has influenced a lot of the art ive done over the years.

also I.... REALLY hate fruit salad.

--

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[tumblingwinds]

@mestrophis‘ characters, Drew (albeit possessed), Mestrophis, and Morpheus, drawn in a Homestuck-like style. I used outside assets for the second drawing - credits to @raibys for the runic alphabet used on Morpheus’ scroll-arms. >[S]Drew?: Ascend. >[S]Mestrophis: Tear apart your scroll.

[titan-fodder]

tw seizures but I’m joking about it

there’s a special sort of irony that comes with forgetting to take my meds for too long then having simple partial seizures while sitting in a literal epilepsy monitoring unit control room waiting for patients to have events kfbdjfbdjd

[chaosclimber]

You know, I get the whole 'adopt, don't shop' thing. And most of the dogs I have had over my life have been rescues. But we just had the most wonderful experience with the breeder we got our Portuguese Water Dog from, and I feel like I need to share it.

Ellis is about eight months old. He is adventurous, energetic, and am absolute lovebug. He's everything our breeder thought he would be, and he's honestly been such a comfort in our house, with dad gone.

Last Saturday, he had a grand mal seizure.

Now, this isn't the result of bad breeding. Both Ellis's parents are very healthy digs, and the other ten pups in his litter are happy and healthy. Unfortunately, sometimes there is no cause. Canine epilepsy tends to develop between 6 months and a year, and El is right in that age range.

So, of course, our first call is to our usual vet, and mom and I decide we can handle it. A dog we'd had previously was also epileptic, and she lived happy and healthy, if medicated, until she was fourteen. When we put her down, it was because of old age.

Next was our groomer, Nevada's he had an appointment next week, and this is something they need to know to do their job well. Except it turns out Petco will not from a dog unless they've been seizure-free for six months. Which, honestly, I can't blame them for--it is a liability thing.

But PWD's are not the easiest breed for someone who isn't a professional groomer. Mom and I have enough trouble combing all his fluff, if we tried trimming, it would come up an absolute mess.

We're a bit more hesitant calling our breeder. We really shouldn't have been. Deb was apologetic, and maybe blamed herself a little bit, even though she shouldn't have. But she also offered without missing a beat to come over next week with her grooming bench and clippers. She's willing to groom Ellis. Even knowing he's only been seizure free for a week. (He's on meds now, of course, and we haven't been setting any signs since he got in them, but it's still a concern). There was no hesitation. No expectation of paying her for this. Just unquestioning support of one of her pups,too the point where, if we weren't equipt to deal with this and had to rehome him, I have no doubt she'd take him home with her in a heartbeat.

You can't get that with a shelter pup. And while we probably will go back to shelters first next time we want a pet, I get it now. I get why going through a responsible breeder is so popular. There's just a safety net when you find someone that passionate about the breed. They live your pup almost as much as you do.

[dryadalismagicae]

OPEN STARTER

He was confused - every step his bare feet took poised as unsteady and uncomfortable, boots having been forgotten, left behind in his unknowing state. Idly did he wander, brows partially furrowed, unable to remember where he had left his bag so he could access some of the willow bark he carried with him to battle the undoubtedly fierce headache he was experiencing. All around him felt so very loud; the chirping of birds felt as if it were directly within his pointed ears, the crunch of leaves beneath his bare feet almost unbearable. Nausea bubbled in his throat, an anxiety rippling within his chest; Lyrian scarcely knew where to step, where to go, what to do with himself. He was frightened, he was so confused; and thus he just stood, and he stared. He just stared; outward, toward nothing. Still.