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Injury

A 8-post collection

Challenge #02005-E181: One Line to Cross

Humans are walking biohazard to everyone and everything. Our saliva can cause several pandemics alone is unchecked. If our gut is punctuated, the bacteria (and acid) inside us will eat us alive, not to mention whoever else may come into contact with it.

What happens when the galactic community first learns about this fact?

What happens when a human is found with an open gut wound that has been left untreated? -- Anon Guest

Humans will risk their lives for the beings they have pack-bonded with. Many species abuse this fact. But not after Regulus Seven. The horror of that particular event inspired the entirety of Galactic Civilisation to care for their Humans as much as the Humans cared for them.

Because the Humans' own bodies can be their worst enemies.

The Human known as Jess had been punctured during the pirate raid, but they got all their pack-mates into an escape vessel and out of the danger zone. These pirates used spear guns against the enemy, and packed them with enough velocity to pierce even a Human battle-rated livesuit. The Roknathi had seen their human pierced before and didn't think anything of it. They followed standard piercing protocol - bandage around the foreign object and make certain that it can't be accidentally jostled, then get the human to the nearest Human Medical Expert for further treatment. The problem was, the nearest expert was some weeks away from the current situation.

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Challenge #01760-D299: Walking Wounded

“‘‘Tis but a flesh wound!”

“It’s really... not...” -- TheDragonsFlame

This human had been through a great amount of trouble to get there. They had multiples of disturbing injuries. Bruises. Cuts. Scrapes, even some breaks in their seemingly unbreakable bones. The last of these, the human had splinted with available material. The twin orifii in the middle of their face was leaking blood. The evident scabbing indicated that this had been going on for some time.

And, most disturbing to the

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Last week off my feet

It’s Wednesday of the last week I’m supposed to stay off my sore foot. Come Monday, the crutches go back to the chemist’s and I pretty much have to clean up after all of the slobs who left everything to the forces of entropy.

I’m already gnashing my teeth.

Right now, whenever I put weight on to my sore foot, it hurts like there’s something sharp stuck in the heel. It probably

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Good news, bad news

Good news: after faffing around for a fortnight, I finally know what the fuck is wrong with my foot.

Bad news: I have a spur. And it’s still going to hurt like fuck for two more weeks.

Worse news: If it’s still hurting after said two weeks, I need to see a podiatrist, which is going to co$$$$$t.

Good news: The clever people in the medical industry make shoe inserts for people with spurs.

Bad news: They&

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As the Drama Flies...

I usually name my mythical soap operas _All My [NOUN]s_, mad-lib style. But my life is definitely As the Drama Flies. And believe me, it’s flying pretty damn low, right now.

Got some expensive and some not-so-expensive stuff to try and train the hound not to chew shit he shouldn’t chew. Neither of said stuff is waterproof.

Gave selfsame stuff to Hubby and Mostly Shiftless. It hasn’t been seen since.

It rained.

Dog decided to

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89.8

That’s my weight, this morning. I’m finally down to sniffing distance of my target weight.

After my personal disaster cascade [see earlier posts about me tripping on a chair], I honestly believed I would be battling weight problems and increasing weight until such time as I could actually walk again.

What I forgot is that I would also be less inclined to get up and grab another snack.

Here’s my regime - or what passes for

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Feckin' entropy

It’s Friday. Five days into Sore Footsville. The sink is full of dirty dishes. The countertop is full of dirty dishes and filthy pots and pans.

Laundry is piling up again. Debris is starting to gather on the floor.

I am physically incapable of doing a damn thing about it.

Hubby and Shiftless are working late every night. The only person I can rely on to do anything is Mayhem.

Mayhem’s 10. He’d much rather be

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Ow times a googolplex

So I tripped over a chair last night. No big deal, you might think.

I landed on my massively bad bone-bruised heel. 92.4 kilos of me, landing on one small area [about two square inches, if you feel like doing the math. And yes, I’m completely bipolar with metric choices] and you can guess it hurt like fuck.

It still hurts like fuck today.

I’m limping everywhere, when I have to move. I prefer not to move

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