Hospitalcore Emojis & Text

Bluescreen CobaltTheFox https://archiveofourown.org/works/14973044/chapters/83344819#workskin Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Going into Hospital When you are suddenly needing to go into hospital it can be scary, and the last thing people want to do is think about what they need to take with them. For this reason we have compiled this list to help you prepare. Comfortable/ Loose fitting clothing Several pairs of underwear Thick socks Ipad/Tablet/ Ipod w/ earphones Money Sanitary pads Mobile phone and charger Food to snack on Books/ CD’s/ Magazines Toiletries/ face wipes/hairbrush Own Pillow Clothing for going home Dressing gown and slippers An overnight bag is a good idea (although you may not need this) Heating pad

"Hi, my boss Mr. Krabs told me I need to work on my people skills and to volunteer.." SpongeBob says in the surgery room before recognizing Plankton and Karen. Plankton lay on the operating table, a small tube delivering medicine that kept him asleep. Karen sat by him. "Plankton‽" "Plankton's had his wisdom teeth removed." She glanced at the sleeping Plankton with affection. Sponge Bob leaned closer. He poked Plankton gently. "Hey, Plankton; wake up, buddy!" No response. Plankton's breathing remained slow and even, the rhythm unchanged by Sponge Bob's nudges. Karen's robotic hand shot up to stop Sponge Bob's poking. "He's not going to wake up anytime soon, Sponge Bob. The anesthesia will wear off in a couple of hours," she explained in her usual monotone. Sponge Bob's bubbly demeanor deflated a bit. He had never seen Plankton so... peaceful. Usually the tiny villain was full of mischief and plotting his next Krabby Patty heist. But the sight of his arch-nemesis helpless and snoring? "Karen, do you think a little light chat would help him wake up?" "Sponge Bob, the purpose of anesthesia is to keep him unconscious during surgery and ensure a painless recovery. Your efforts are futile." Undeterred, Sponge Bob leaned in closer. "Come on, Plankton. Time to wakey-wakey!" He waved his hands in front of Plankton's face, creating a gentle breeze that tickled his antennae. Still, Plankton remained steadfast in his slumber, oblivious to the world around him. Karen sighed again, the closest she ever got to expressing exasperation. "As I said, Sponge Bob, he's under the effects of anesthesia. There's nothing you can do to wake him up." She went back to reading her magazine, the glow from her screen casting a soft blue light on her metallic features. Sponge Bob studied Plankton's sleeping features. His mouth was open just enough to reveal his top row of teeth, and Sponge Bob had to stifle a giggle when a small bubble of drool formed at the corner of his mouth. "You know," he mused aloud, "I never realized Plankton had such a... cute snoring sound." The statement hung in the air, and even the normally stoic Karen couldn't resist cracking a smile. "Cute is hardly the word I'd use," she murmured, but the warmth in her voice belied the affection she had for her partner. Sponge Bob's curiosity grew as he continued to gaze at the unconscious Plankton. He'd seen him in various states before—angry, plotting and occasionally defeated—but never so vulnerable. The sight was strange yet fascinating. He reached out and carefully wiped away the drool. Plankton's head lolled to the side, but he remained asleep. SpongeBob put his head back up on a pillow. Plankton's snores grew quieter as his head settled into the cushioned embrace. "Don't worry, Plankton," he whispered, patting the villain's arm gently. "I'll watch over you." Sponge Bob's curiosity grew stronger as he watched the drool form at the side of Plankton's mouth. He leaned in closer, studying the phenomenon. He'd never noticed Plankton drool before. "It's like a tiny river," he said to himself. What would happen if he tried to touch it? He tapped it lightly. It wobbled, bulging slightly before collapsing back into its original state. He poked the drool again. This time, it grew slightly larger before popping, leaving a tiny, wet splatter on the pillow. Plankton's snores grew louder for a moment, but didn't stir. Sponge Bob couldn't resist a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like he's enjoying his nap," he whispered to Karen who remained engrossed in her magazine. The drool was fascinating—like a living organism, pulsating with every one of Plankton's breaths. He poked it again, gently this time. The drool grew larger, stretching out like a bubble of gum. It was almost mesmerizing. "I wonder if I can make it pop," he thought, eyes gleaming with child-like excitement. Slowly, Sponge Bob poked the drool bubble once more. It grew to the size of a marble before it burst with a tiny splat, splattering on to the pillow. Plankton's snoring remained undisturbed. Sponge Bob could see the light from the ceiling reflecting off the droplet's surface. He waited, the anticipation building, eyes fixed on the wobbling mass. At the last second, he poked it. The bubble popped with a sound that echoed through the quiet room. Plankton's snore caught in his throat for a split second, then resumed with renewed vigor. The splatter was more substantial this time, leaving a wet spot on the pillow. The sudden noise made Karen look up from her magazine. "What on earth are you doing, Sponge Bob?" she asked, voice a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Just... science," Sponge Bob said, his grin unabated. "I'm studying Plankton's snoring pattern... and drool." Karen rolled her digital eyes. "Fine. Just don't wake him. And for the love of Krabby Patties, please don't make a mess." She returned her focus to her magazine, seemingly unfazed by the sight of her arch-enemy playing with drool. Sponge Bob nodded solemnly, his eyes lighting up with newfound purpose. He decided to be more strategic in his scientific endeavor. He would need precision and timing. The drool bubble grew again, this time larger and more robust. Sponge Bob waited, his heart beating faster with every pulse of Plankton's snore. He took a deep breath, held it, and at the peak of the snore's crescendo, poked the bubble with a controlled flick. It exploded with a sound like a miniature water balloon, splattering across Plankton's cheek. The pillow was now a Jackson Pollock canvas of drool. Plankton's snoring hitched but he didn't wake. "Oops," Sponge Bob whispered, giggling quietly. He reached for a near by tissue to clean up the mess, his eyes glancing nervously at Karen. She peeked over her magazine, the corners of her robotic mouth curving upward slightly. "If you're going to play, at least be tidy," she said, voice a blend of reprimand and amusement. Sponge Bob nodded, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course, Karen," he whispered back, dabbing at Plankton's cheek with the tissue. The drool was sticky and clung to the fabric but Sponge Bob managed to clean when Plankton's snoring hitched. This time, Plankton's eyes opened a crack, his single eyelid revealing a sliver of his iris before dropping shut again. "What's going on?" he mumbled sleepily. Sponge Bob froze, tissue in mid-air. "Oh nothing," he said quickly, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just admiring your snoring." Plankton's eyelid quivered but remained shut. "Mmph." His mouth moved around the word. "Don't worry, buddy," Sponge Bob said softly patting Plankton's arm. "You're just resting. Nothing to worry about." The half-awake Plankton mumbled something unintelligible, and Sponge Bob took it as a sign to back off. He retreated to his chair, watching as Karen put down her magazine and began to fuss over Plankton, checking his vitals and making sure he was comfortable. For once, he wasn't at odds with Plankton.

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ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷.𝟶𝟼ᴋ At the Neptune Medical Center, Karen parks the car and goes with her husband Plankton into the building after an injury to his antenna. "I still don't see why you didn't press charges against Krabs, Sheldon," Karen sighs, as they walk through the gleaming, sterile corridors of the medical center. "Karen I'm not gonna give him the satisfaction." Plankton's antenna now hangs limp and damaged. The doctor had assured him it was a simple repair job, yet Plankton's nerves were as frayed as the antenna itself. They enter the reception area, the automatic doors whispering shut behind them, as if sealing off the outside world's chaos. The smell of antiseptic fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of fear and hope. The receptionist, a young squid with a friendly smile, looks up from her computer screen. "Mr. Plankton, your appointment is with Dr. Marlin, the antenna specialist," she says, her tentacles typing efficiently. "You can go straight to the third floor, room 304." The elevator ride is silent, save for the rhythmic ding of each passing floor. Karen notices his distant gaze and squeezes his arm reassuringly. "You'll be fine, Sheldon," she whispers. Plankton nods. They arrive at room 304, and Karen opens the door, revealing a state-of-the-art examination room. Dr. Marlin, an octopus with a gleaming scalpel in one tentacle and a clipboard in another, looks up from his notes. "Ah, Mr. Sheldon Plankton, right on time," he says, his eight eyes blinking in unison. "I understand you've had a bit of an injury?" Plankton nods, his voice tight. "Krabs... he... snapped it." Dr. Marlin's tentacles twitch in concern. "Mr. Eugene Krabs, eh? He's had his share of accidents around here." He scribbles something on the clipboard. "Well, let's get you fixed up. I've seen worse, and you're in good hands." The doctor leads Plankton to the examination chair, which is surprisingly comfortable for someone so tiny. He adjusts the chair's height and angles the light to shine on the antenna. Plankton winces as the doctor gently prods the damaged area. "It's definitely snapped," Dr. Marlin says, his voice calm and professional. "But the good news is, it's not to far gone. We can repair it with a simple procedure." "You'll need to be under for this," he explains. "It's nothing to worry about. You'll be out Before you know it." Plankton's heart races as he lies back in the chair, the cold metal pressing against his back. He glances at Karen, who gives him a forced smile, her screen filled with concern. The doctor notices and pats his shoulder reassuringly. "It's just a little sleep," he says. "You'll be back in no time." Karen reaches for his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. The anesthesiologist, a bluefish with a gentle demeanor, enters the room, pushing a trolley with a variety of bottles and tubes. She introduces herself as Nurse Bella and explains that she'll be administering the anesthesia for the surgery. Plankton swallows hard, eye darting from her to Karen's screen and back again. Karen's gaze follows the anesthesiologist, Nurse Bella, as she meticulously prepares. "Ready? Count as high as you can," she asks, her voice as soft as a lullaby. Plankton nods, his grip on Karen's hand tightening. "One... two... three..." Plankton's voice starts strong, but the medicine's effect begins to take hold. His eyelid grow heavy, and the numbers begin to slur. Karen watches as Plankton's count descends into a whisper. "Five... six... sev..." His tiny hand relaxes in hers, and his body goes slack. She watches the rise and fall of his chest slow as he succumbs to the anesthesia. Karen squeezes his hand one last time. The door to the exam room opens again, and Dr. Marlin's head pokes out. "Everything's gone well," Dr. Marlin says, peering over his mask. "We're to halt anesthesia." "You're okay," Karen whispers, her voice cracking. "You're okay." "He's doing great," the nurse whispers. "You can talk to him if you'd like. Sometimes they can hear you." Karen leans closer, her voice low and soothing. "Hey, Plankton, it's Karen. You're safe now. They've fixed your antenna. No more pain, okay?" Her thoughts are interrupted by a soft groan from the bed. Karen's screen snap to Plankton, who's beginning to stir under the blankets. "Shh," she whispers, stroking his arm. "You're safe." "K...Karen?" His eye opens. "Yes, it's me. You're okay, you're in the hospital. They've fixed your antenna." "Karen... antenna... Krabby Patty... wait, what?" He giggles, the words jumbling together in a way that makes no sense. Plankton's eye widen with childlike excitement. "Oh, right! The antenna!" He tries to touch the bandage but ends up nearly slapping himself in the face with his own arm. "Oops!" He giggles again, the sound echoing through the quiet room. He tries to sit up, but cannot. "Whoa, Nelly!" "Easy," Karen laughs. "I'm the king of the jellyfish prom! They got no flair!" Once in the car, Karen buckles him in with care, double-checking the seatbelt. "Remember, no funny business," she warns. Plankton's eye droop, and his head lolls to the side. "You're going to sleep, aren't you?" she says, her voice a mix of amusement and exhaustion. "M'not sleeping," Plankton mumbles, his eyelid fluttering, his voice fading into a snore. The drive home is peaceful, with Plankton snoring lightly beside her. As they approach their place, she gently shakes him awake. "We're home, Sheldon," she says, her voice gentle. "Can you wake up for me?" Plankton's eye blink open, and he looks around in confusion. "Home?" he mumbles. "Already?" Karen nods with a smirk. "Yeah, you slept through the whole drive. Came out of it just in time." They get out of the car, and Plankton wobbles slightly on his legs, the after-effects of the anesthesia still lingering. Karen wraps an arm around his waist, supporting him as they make their way to the front door. With a chuckle, Karen helps him inside, the warm light of their living room washing over them. Plankton's snores become more pronounced as they move through the hallway. "Come on, you need to get to bed," she says, leading him to their bedroom. The room is cozy, with a large bed that seems to swallow Plankton whole as he collapses into it. Karen carefully pulls the covers up to his chin. "Rest now," she whispers, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

https://www.rcoa.ac.uk/sites/default/files/documents/2022-06/12-SedationExp2021web.pdf

BRITAIN'S YOUNGEST VICTIM OF TAMPON-RELATED TOXIC SHOCK SYNDROME On Monday 13th August 2001 the Inquest into the death of 13-year-old Kayleigh Ann Jones of Middlesbrough, revealed that she died of tampon-related Toxic Shock Syndrome, the very first time that she had used tampons throughout her period. The Coroner, Michael Sheffield, was so affected by this tragic loss of a very bright young teenager that he decided to use his special powers to write to the Department of Health to enlist its support to highlight the dangers of tampons, to the medical profession and in schools. Kayleigh died in September 1999. Thursday was the first day back to school and it was the last day of her period. But Kayleigh became ill with sickness and diarrhoea shortly after arriving at school, and by the afternoon, the school had to call her stepfather, Terry Martell, to pick her up and take her home. She went straight to bed, and her mother Carol nursed her through the night. The next day there was no change so Carol phoned the GP. The Doctor advised giving plenty of fluids as it was probably a viral infection. But this didn't improve the situation, and as Kayleigh's temperature rose markedly, she began to ramble and became delirious, so the doctor was called again. The doctor could not find a blood pressure and immediately gave Kayleigh penicillin as he thought that she had meningitis He called the ambulance and put her on a drip. Kayleigh was stabilised in hospital and TSS was diagnosed. On Saturday there were more tests and treatment and she had a peaceful night. However, the following day Kayleigh's temperature went up again, her lungs filled with fluid and she suffered a fatal heart attack just four days after the initial symptoms. The Inquest found that the medical staff at the hospital and the GP did all that they could to save Kayleigh, leaving no doubt that Kayleigh died as a result of TSS caused by tampons. A verdict of Misadventure was recorded. The tampons used were Morrison's Supermarket own brand manufactured by Inbrand UK that have now gone out of business. Morrison's are currently supplied by Childwood Ltd. As a result of the Inquest, Kayleigh's mother, Carol Martell, has now been able to tell the world that the life of her loving and talented daughter has been tragically cut short by a tampon. She has received front page news and an in-depth report in the Northern Echo, followed up with news items in the Sun, Mirror Mail, Telegraph and the Express. Kayleigh's father, David Jones, was interviewed on GMTV and appeared in his local Crawley News, and Jenny Kilvert was interviewed on BBC Radio One. The media coverage prompted Discovery Channel to include a programme on Toxic Shock Syndrome in their series "Doctor in the House". The programme included TSS survivor Angela Smith of Norwich, who had TSS in November 1992 when she was 19 years old. Posted 19/8/2001

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░░░░░▓░░░░░░▓▓▒▒▓█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓█▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░▓░░░░░░▒█▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▓▓████████▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒█▓▒▓████▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▓▒▒▒█▒▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

Finola's Story 16-year-old Finola Tyson of Preston On Tuesday afternoon, 15 June 2005, 16-year-old Finola Tyson of Preston, complained of headache and stomach pains and asked her mother, Ange, to ring work, to say that she would not be attending that evening shift. It was the third day of her period and she had been using tampons. Around 10pm Fin said she was tired and wanted to go to bed. During the night she was sick and the next morning still complained of a headache and stomach ache. Her mother gave her Paracetamol and rang the doctor. He prescribed some Mefanamic Acid (Ponstans 40) for her period pains, (at mother's request), and also prescribed some tablets to stop her being sick. Ange collected the prescription, administered it, gave Finola a jug of water asking her to drink plenty and left her in bed to sleep. A little later, Ange. asked Fin how she felt and she said she had not been sick anymore and that her stomache ache had improved. She just wanted to sleep. The next day, Fin had an exam at school, so she was awoken at 7am. She came down stairs in her pyjamas, looking very lethargic. She had a red rash under her arms and was breathing faster than normal. Ange. asked Fin to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. It was at this point that Ange's partner John, noticed Fin's tongue. It was red with white spots, like a strawberry. She asked Fin. if she had a sore throat to which she replied she had. Ange. phoned the NHS Help-line and spoke at length with one of the Advisers who said "take her to her GP and don't worry". The doctor examined Fin., took her temperature, checked her throat, confirmed that she had a red raw throat, and diagnosed viral infection. He said that as she was taking her exams, that would account for her panic breathing. The rash was put down to eczema for which she had only recently been diagnosed. Fin was prescribed Amoxicillin for her throat, gel for her tongue (anti fungal), steroid cream for the rash and more Paracetamol tablets. Ange. monitored her daughter through the day, making sure she drank plenty of water and took all her medication. On Friday, there was still no change, no better, but no worse. Her "strawberry tongue" had gone down slightly and the white spots had subsided. On the Saturday morning, Ange. ran a bath for Fin. She went to her room to say that she would feel better if she had a bath and washed her hair, as she had not had one since Tuesday morning. Fin. agreed, but couldn't get up. She complained that her bones were aching and started to shout at her mother that she couldn't get up. Ange. managed to swing her out of bed and with help and support they got to the bathroom. Putting her into the bath was OK. She left her there for 5 minutes and returned to find she had not moved. Ange. knelt down to wash Fin's hair and then her body. She kept complaining of hurting and being tired. Getting Fin out of the bath was a nightmare, she felt so heavy and kept apologising all the time. Ange. managed to get her dry and back into bed. Ange. suspected meningitis and did the glass test on her rash, it stayed white. After 3 days on penicillin Fin was worse than ever, so Ange. phoned the doctor again. Being Saturday the calls were redirected to the hospital Primary Care Centre. The nurse on duty said get Fin to hospital as soon as possible. Ange's sister volunteered to take them to hospital and they drove straight there. The doctor called her in straight away. He checked her stomach and phoned someone straight away. There was a definite panic in the air as Fin had drips put into her. Ange. was asked to describe Fin's symptoms and history leading up to this day over and over again. They all kept saying what a good mum she had been and that she had done everything she could have. Then the bombshell, they confirmed they thought Fin had Toxic Shock Syndrome. She was taken to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) around 5.30pm. There was a lot of activity, putting in more lines for drips, etc. The staff where brilliant right from the start, although one nurse was increasingly concerned that Fin was only on Oxygen and needed ventilating as she appeared to be weakening. At 8.30pm whilst a doctor was explaining the severity of the illness, Fin had a cardiac arrest. It felt like an eternity for Ange and John, but then the nurse came to say that they could go and see her. She was alive, but was now on a ventilator. The doctors explained the serious nature of Fin's condition and that they were doing everything possible. They were told that the best thing they could do, would be to go home and get some rest, Fin was going to be in hospital for a long time. They got a taxi back home and after a lot of tears and disbelief that something as horrific as this could happen to a beautiful girl they all tried to get some rest. The telephone rang around 2.30pm. It was the ICU and they said it would be better if Fin's parents came back to the hospital as her blood pressure had dropped dangerously low. Fin spent four weeks in ICU and after seven operations, lost her fight for life on Sunday 18 July 2004, just three weeks after her 16th birthday. Posted 27/6/2006

"You're going to be okay," Karen assured Plankton. He clutched her hand. "I'm right here." The receptionist's voice echoed through the large waiting room. "Plankton?" Karen's heart jumped. She squeezed her husband's hand. They walked down the hallway, Plankton's breaths shallow, eye darting around the white, sterile walls. The nurse led them to a small room. "Just a few questions," the nurse smiled, her voice soothing as she helped him in the recliner. The nurse, noticing his agitation, spoke slowly and clearly. "We're just going to take your blood pressure, okay?" The nurse wrapped the cuff around his bicep, her movements gentle. The hiss of the air pump filled the tense silence. "Look at me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her calming gaze meeting his. "Take deep breaths." He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm. The nurse waited patiently, giving them space. As the cuff tightened, Plankton's eye squeezed shut. The nurse completed her task quickly, her voice steady. "Good job," she said, patting his hand. Karen felt his fear spike, but his grip on her hand remained firm as the oral surgeon walked in. Dr. Marquez nodded at them, his demeanor calm and professional. "Hello, Plankton. I see we're getting ready for your wisdom teeth." He noticed Plankton's tension and turned to Karen. "You earlier mentioned his neurodisability. Is there anything special we can do to help make him comfortable?" Karen's screen lit up with gratitude. "Yes, thank you." She explained his need for calm and his sensory sensitivities. Dr. Marquez nodded thoughtfully. "We can use a weighted blanket to help with that. It provides a gentle pressure that can be quite comforting for some of my patients." He turned to the nurse. "Could you please bring one?" The nurse nodded and left the room. When she returned, she carried a soft, blue weighted blanket they warmed. They placed the blanket over Plankton, the weight evenly distributed. His body visibly relaxed under its soothing embrace. "It's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae. "This will help." Plankton felt the warmth of the blanket, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and chest. But it did little to ease his dread. "Thank you, Dr. Marquez," Karen managed a smile, relief washing over her. She knew how important these accommodations were for her husband. The doctor explained the procedure, using simple terms that Plankton could understand. Karen noted how he tailored his explanation to avoid overwhelming details that might trigger anxiety. The anesthesiologist entered, her smile kind. "We're going to give you some medicine to help you sleep," she said gently, "and then you'll wake up without feeling a thing." Plankton nodded, his eye wide. Karen leaned in, her voice low. "You can hold my hand as you fall asleep." The anesthesiologist prepared the IV, but Plankton's grip on Karen's hand grew tighter. Dr. Marquez noticed his distress and suggested a different approach. "How about some laughing gas first?" he offered. "And perhaps a topical numbing agent.." The nurse quickly set up the gas mask, explaining each step. "This will help you relax," she said, placing it over him. "Just breathe normally." The sweet smell of the nitrous oxide filled him, yet he still remained awake. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said soothingly. "Just keep breathing." He took a tentative breath, feeling the gas fill his lungs. The room began to spin, but not in the scary way he'd feared. It was more like floating. The weight of the blanket now felt like a gentle hug from the ocean depths, a warm embrace from his childhood home. Dr. Marquez waited until Plankton's breathing steadied, each gesture carefully calculated to avoid any sudden movements that might startle his patient. "You're doing great," he assured Plankton, his voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. "You're almost there." Plankton inhaled another lungful of gas, his eye fluttering closed. The nurse gently began applying the topical numbing agent, her movements carefully choreographed to avoid any sudden jolts. Karen held his other hand, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm. "You're safe," she whispered. "I'm here." The gas grew heavier, his mind drifted further from the cold reality of the room. He felt himself sinking into the chair, the weighted blanket now a warm sea of comfort. His grip on Karen's hand grew looser, his breaths deepening. The doctor nodded to the anesthesiologist, who began the IV drip after using the topical numbing agent. Plankton's fear didn't vanish, but it became manageable, a distant thunderstorm rather than a hurricane in his face. His eye closed completely, his body going limp under the blanket. Karen watched as the surgical team moved with precision, their masks and caps dancing in her peripheral vision. The beeping of machines and the murmur of medical jargon filled her ears, but all she focused on was the rhythm of Plankton's breathing. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors and gave a nod. "He's ready," she said quietly. Dr. Marquez took his position, his gloved hands poised over Plankton's now open mouth after removing the gas mask. Karen's gaze was steady, her love and support unwavering as the surgical team moved in unison. The whirring of the instruments began, a soft mechanical lullaby to the background of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The surgery itself was a dance of precision, each gesture a step carefully choreographed to minimize discomfort. The doctor's hands were steady as he removed the wisdom teeth. Karen could see the tense lines in Plankton's face soften under the influence of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors continuously, ensuring his vital signs remained steady. The nurse offered Karen a chair, but she chose to stand, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. As the surgery progressed, Karen felt the tension in the room ease. The surgical team worked with efficiency, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Dr. Marquez spoke in hushed tones with his assistants, each word a gentle whisper in the symphony of medical sounds. Plankton's breaths steadied, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a soothing reminder that he was still with her, that his anxiety had been replaced by the peacefulness of deep sedation. The doctor's instruments continued to dance, a silent ballet of precision and care. The nurse occasionally glanced at Karen, offering a reassuring smile as they suture his gums with dissolving stitches. "Alright, we're all done," Dr. Marquez announced, his voice a gentle interruption to the symphony of beeps and whirs. "Let's wake him up slowly." Karen felt her own heart rate spike as the anesthesiologist began reversing the medication. They removed the IV drip and the nurse wiped Plankton's mouth with a soft cloth, her touch as gentle as a sea anemone caressing his skin. His eye flickered open, unfocused and hazy. He blinked slowly, taking in the surroundings. Karen's screen was the first thing he saw, a beacon in the medical fog. "You're okay," she murmured, her voice the gentle hum of a distant lighthouse guiding his consciousness back to shore. Plankton blinked again, his vision swimming into focus. The weighted blanket was still wrapped around him, the comforting pressure now a grounding reminder of her presence. His mouth felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. The nurse offered him water, and he sipped it slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his throat. "How do you feel?" Dr. Marquez asked, his voice a soft wave breaking over the shore of Plankton's awareness. Plankton nodded, his grip on Karen's hand firm. "Good," he managed to murmur, his voice thick with the aftermath of the anesthesia. Karen could see the relief in his eye, the storm of fear now a distant memory. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/105246894#workskin A Cry For Kelp DiscardMyHeart Fandom: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon) Characters: Squidward Tentacles, Sheldon J. Plankton, Karen (SpongeBob)Sandy Cheeks, Eugene Krabs https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/104866263#workskin Language: English Stats: Published:2022 https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/105246894#workskin

May 19th, 2010 My boyfriend died about a year ago. I was in the hospital for kidney problems and he was driving to visit me on a rainy day. The police said his car flipped over due to the rain. He died an hour later in the same hospital I stayed at. Before he died, he told the doctors to give me his kidney. His love GMH.

The Red Wristband A doctor was working at a hospital, a hospital where the patients were tagged with coloured bands. Green: alive. Red: deceased. One night, the doctor was instructed to get a few supplies from the basement of the hospital, and so he headed to the lift. The lift doors opened and there was a patient inside, minding her own business. Patients were allowed to roam around the hospital to stretch, especially those who have stayed long. The rule was to be back in their rooms before ten. The doctor smiled at the patient before pressing the number for the basement. He found it unusual that the woman didn’t have a button already pressed. He wondered if she was heading to the basement too. The lift finally reached the floor where the doors opened. In the distance a man was limping towards the elevator, and in a panic the doctor slammed the elevator button to close. It finally did and the lift began to ascend back up, the doctor’s heart pounding. “Why did you do that? He was trying to use the lift.” The woman stated, annoyed. “Did you see his wrist?” The doctor asked, “It was red. He died last night. I would know because I did his surgery.” The woman lifted her wrist. He saw red. She smiled. “Like this one?”

😷 https://lifehacker.com/what-your-pediatrician-should-and-shouldnt-do-during-a-1822524179 😷

MAR 08 When you are admitted to a hospital, they place on your wrist a white wristband with your name on it. But there are other different colored wristbands which symbolize other things. The red wristbands are placed on dead people. There was one surgeon who worked on night shift in a school hospital. He had just finished an operation and was on his way down to the basement. He entered the elevator and there was just one other person there. He casually chatted with the woman while the elevator descended. When the elevator door opened, another woman was about to enter when the doctor slammed the close button and punched the button to the highest floor. Surprised, the woman reprimanded the doctor for being rude and asked why he did not let the other woman in. The doctor said, “That was the woman I just operated on. She died while I was doing the operation. Didn’t you see the red wristband she was wearing?” The woman smiled, raised her arm, and said, “Something like this?”