nitch xo.

25.

i take pictures of peoples insides.

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knitmeapony:

sihayadesigns:

skooth:

this is important and more people need to understand this

This. This. I have no idea what the context here is, but this.

Twin Peaks: still holdin’ up after all these years.

(via seananmcguire)

nurse-alli:

icecreamandeviscerations:

I watched four people die this weekend, four people. Sounds horrifying right? Well, it is.
Surely these people must have been sweet little 90 year olds, who lived long happy lives, drifting quietly off into the night surrounded by family they love. Well, that is not my story, in fact, that’s never my story. My story is filled with people who woke up, got dressed, and started their day, just like you and I, having no idea that it would be their last.
The room above looks so benign, shiny and new, full of promise and cutting edge medical equipment, ready for whatever may roll through the doors. Exactly what you would want if you were the one lying in the bed. But, there is much more here than meets the eye. So many things, things that can’t be seen by those who haven’t stood in this place time and time again.
You may wonder what could hide here, what could be lurking behind the glass doors and freshly painted walls. Just what do I see when I look at this place? I see so many things. I see countless hours of hard work, sweat, and tears. I see a floor covered in blood, trash, gloves, and whatever else may land there in the middle of the mess. I hear gut wrenching screams, the indescribable sound of a weeping mother, and the words “time of death” many more times than I care to admit. I hear the pumping of the level one, the hum of a ventilator, slamming drawers, alarming monitors, and the loud sigh of relief when we “get them back.” I see gowns, trauma surgeons, confused patients, ET tubes, code carts, flushed faces, shaking hands, and countless lives, both saved and lost. You see, I have been on both sides of this bed, and I can tell you they are equally terrifying.
You may think that there is no way anyone could find peace here, or that there is any way to see beauty in this mess. To tell you the truth, some days I’m not sure either. Some days I leave defeated, I let the dark win, and I am certain there is no way I can work one more shift. Then, just when I know I can’t step back in that room, something amazing happens. We save a life, one, that’s all it takes, and you know you can pick up the pieces and carry on. I recently cared for a patient with dissecting AAA, scary shit, I don’t care how many times you’ve done it. This man drove himself to the hospital and arrested walking through the triage doors. Incredible timing right? Not only did he regain consciousness in the ED before going to the OR, he walked out of the hospital a week later, that’s right, walked out. AMAZING! How does that even happen? That shiny room worked its ass off that day and won, we won! I can’t describe the feeling. Nothing can compare to saving a life.
In the middle of the chaos it’s hard to see the significance of the work we do. We just power through whatever the task is at hand. Lines, labs, intubation, compressions, chest tubes, splints, the list goes on and on. It isn’t until after the event that we can step back and look at what we have done. What went well, what could have gone better, and come to grips with the fact that the person we just cared for was in fact a person, not a job, not a task, but a human being. Someone with a life, and a story of their own. For me, it’s in that very moment I find strength and peace in what we do. There is always something beautiful, even in the worst of situations. The pure will to fight, to live, and to carry on, even when it hurts to breathe, is what keeps me coming back for more.
So yes, that room can be a horrific place. It can be scary and lonely, but it can also be amazing and inspirational, a place of love and triumph. Each day, each patient, brings a new chance to fight, to win, and to find beauty in unthinkable circumstances. Behind those glass doors are many hidden things. Many things that most people will never see or feel. Things that have made me laugh, made me cry, built me up, and knocked me down. Most of these things can’t be shared, and that’s ok, they don’t really need to be. If you live it you understand why, and you also understand how it’s possible, to find peace here.

this gave me goosebumps.

nurse-alli:

icecreamandeviscerations:

I watched four people die this weekend, four people. Sounds horrifying right? Well, it is.

Surely these people must have been sweet little 90 year olds, who lived long happy lives, drifting quietly off into the night surrounded by family they love. Well, that is not my story, in fact, that’s never my story. My story is filled with people who woke up, got dressed, and started their day, just like you and I, having no idea that it would be their last.

The room above looks so benign, shiny and new, full of promise and cutting edge medical equipment, ready for whatever may roll through the doors. Exactly what you would want if you were the one lying in the bed. But, there is much more here than meets the eye. So many things, things that can’t be seen by those who haven’t stood in this place time and time again.

You may wonder what could hide here, what could be lurking behind the glass doors and freshly painted walls. Just what do I see when I look at this place? I see so many things. I see countless hours of hard work, sweat, and tears. I see a floor covered in blood, trash, gloves, and whatever else may land there in the middle of the mess. I hear gut wrenching screams, the indescribable sound of a weeping mother, and the words “time of death” many more times than I care to admit. I hear the pumping of the level one, the hum of a ventilator, slamming drawers, alarming monitors, and the loud sigh of relief when we “get them back.” I see gowns, trauma surgeons, confused patients, ET tubes, code carts, flushed faces, shaking hands, and countless lives, both saved and lost. You see, I have been on both sides of this bed, and I can tell you they are equally terrifying.

You may think that there is no way anyone could find peace here, or that there is any way to see beauty in this mess. To tell you the truth, some days I’m not sure either. Some days I leave defeated, I let the dark win, and I am certain there is no way I can work one more shift. Then, just when I know I can’t step back in that room, something amazing happens. We save a life, one, that’s all it takes, and you know you can pick up the pieces and carry on. I recently cared for a patient with dissecting AAA, scary shit, I don’t care how many times you’ve done it. This man drove himself to the hospital and arrested walking through the triage doors. Incredible timing right? Not only did he regain consciousness in the ED before going to the OR, he walked out of the hospital a week later, that’s right, walked out. AMAZING! How does that even happen? That shiny room worked its ass off that day and won, we won! I can’t describe the feeling. Nothing can compare to saving a life.

In the middle of the chaos it’s hard to see the significance of the work we do. We just power through whatever the task is at hand. Lines, labs, intubation, compressions, chest tubes, splints, the list goes on and on. It isn’t until after the event that we can step back and look at what we have done. What went well, what could have gone better, and come to grips with the fact that the person we just cared for was in fact a person, not a job, not a task, but a human being. Someone with a life, and a story of their own. For me, it’s in that very moment I find strength and peace in what we do. There is always something beautiful, even in the worst of situations. The pure will to fight, to live, and to carry on, even when it hurts to breathe, is what keeps me coming back for more.

So yes, that room can be a horrific place. It can be scary and lonely, but it can also be amazing and inspirational, a place of love and triumph. Each day, each patient, brings a new chance to fight, to win, and to find beauty in unthinkable circumstances. Behind those glass doors are many hidden things. Many things that most people will never see or feel. Things that have made me laugh, made me cry, built me up, and knocked me down. Most of these things can’t be shared, and that’s ok, they don’t really need to be. If you live it you understand why, and you also understand how it’s possible, to find peace here.

this gave me goosebumps.

(via ofpaperandponies)

awhitegirlwithablog:

This is me tho

(Source: sandandglass)

"Peasant"

(Source: obsessedwiththeroyals, via thedingledodies)

@byrne_tattoos got me a present 😍😍

@byrne_tattoos got me a present 😍😍

falteredandfallen:

I love these to much.

(Source: people.com, via the-claire-witch-project)

She’s the kind of girl a guy meets when he’s too young, and he fucks up because there’s too much living to do. But later he realizes she’s perfect. Californication (via thedapperproject)

(Source: , via birdiewithoutwings)

A girl and her bed on Sundays are an endless love affair. (via billiec)

(Source: c0ntemplations, via billiec)

Peanut butter cheesecake 😍😍

Peanut butter cheesecake 😍😍

emt-monster:

This is an x-ray of a 79 yo man who had lost weight and was being evaluated for swallowing difficulties. During the process of having him rapidly swallow barium (dense element that allows one to visualize structures), he aspirated the barium into his lungs. This led to respiratory failure.
The x-ray showed barium into both right and left main stem bronchi in the left upper and lower lobes. The barium spread to the smaller airways which produced the tree-in-bud appearance (arrow). This patient had the barium suctioned out (as much as possible), but he developed shock, his heart stopped beating and he suffered severe brain injury. He died a short time later.
(Source: www.anatomybox.com)

emt-monster:

This is an x-ray of a 79 yo man who had lost weight and was being evaluated for swallowing difficulties. During the process of having him rapidly swallow barium (dense element that allows one to visualize structures), he aspirated the barium into his lungs. This led to respiratory failure.

The x-ray showed barium into both right and left main stem bronchi in the left upper and lower lobes. The barium spread to the smaller airways which produced the tree-in-bud appearance (arrow).
This patient had the barium suctioned out (as much as possible), but he developed shock, his heart stopped beating and he suffered severe brain injury. He died a short time later.

(Source: www.anatomybox.com)

stablevertigo:

What I mean when I say “I can’t do that”- Anxiety Version:

  • I am unable to do that
  • I am too stressed out to do that
  • I cannot face the humiliation of attempting to do that
  • My body will physically not allow me to do that
  • I am on the verge of a panic attack
  • I cannot do that

What people hear:

  • I am unwilling to do that
  • I am just shy
  • I am overreacting
  • I am lazy
  • I need to get more experience in social situation to help my anxiety
  • I need a push
  • I don’t want to do that

Inspired by X

(via neverholdmedownxo)

pastelmorgue:

cottoncandy-dreams:


Ah Jason, he is a total legend. Yes, our first ever meeting in the lobby of a Belfast hotel did start by him rugby tackling me to the floor yelling “WIFEY!!”
- Emilia Clarke


I AM SO BEYOND FUCKING DONE

pastelmorgue:

cottoncandy-dreams:

Ah Jason, he is a total legend. Yes, our first ever meeting in the lobby of a Belfast hotel did start by him rugby tackling me to the floor yelling “WIFEY!!”

- Emilia Clarke

I AM SO BEYOND FUCKING DONE

(via old-joycomesback)

kristianxvx:

boyfriendhook:

In which Jaime required coffee in order to sit through the wedding vows. [x]

OMFG BEST MISTAKE EVER

thmsxjms

(Source: maimedlion, via sparkfiresxx)