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Victor Markhoff / Ana Victoria Markhoff / vvictorman_uel - Powerchair faker pooner, has every illness, allergic to Krebs cycle, bed mayo enjoyer, kicked out of house and mental hospital, constant ebeggar, applesauce heiress paid to yeet her teets
Victoria likes to do this, according to recent reddit posting, to watch a show on streaming service Nebula. Sure. By "make myself a nice dinner" I wonder what Doordashed slop she means.
Vicki tells everyone how she gloms onto the LGBT community because it makes it okay to be "friends" with someone you have a massive crush on and are praying will someday find you attractive. Yes, Vicki, we know that's how this all started, with your crush on your gay high school buddy.
Women who wanted to have any profession besides "simpering waif" in the Victorian era all desperately wanted their masculinity recognized in death. And Victoria of course has always, always been a pooner.
Vicki tells everyone how she gloms onto the LGBT community because it makes it okay to be "friends" with someone you have a massive crush on and are praying will someday find you attractive. Yes, Vicki, we know that's how this all started, with your crush on your gay high school buddy.
LOL. I don't understand why this Vivian thinks remaining friends after confessing/ hooking up is exclusive to the LGBT, as if the "cishet" will never ever share the same opinion. Not to mention that the gays and troons on the net seem to have far more drama due to lack of boundaries between friendship/ hooking up, leading to consent accidents and whatnot.
Women who wanted to have any profession besides "simpering waif" in the Victorian era all desperately wanted their masculinity recognized in death. And Victoria of course has always, always been a pooner.
She's also forgetting that she claimed textbook rapid-onset gender dysphoria, and that she only knew she was trans at age 16. Now she's claiming that people should've known she was trans as early as age 7? Notwithstanding the fact that it's doubtful that a 7 year old would actually say that...
This is the tweet that Vicky quoted.
This post ironically misses a crucial point of why trans-identified women in the past might claim a male identity, despite giving an actual instance of the particular reason why. I know I'm preaching to the choir here but I already typed it up anyway.
Historically, women did not have the right to work, let alone autonomy. Even without applying a feminist lens, it's pretty easy to understand why a woman might want to escape what was inevitable fate at the time (e.g., being a homemaker, having kids, servicing your husband, having your intelligence and talent discredited, no opportunities for education/ career, expectations to serve the man -- all thankless work). Tackling the entire system would be a huge undertaking at the time, so the other way to do this was -- you guessed it -- by claiming the identity of a man.
That is to say, historians aren't stupid. They call these male-identified women of the past women, not necessarily because they're #Based, but because it would be inappropriate to understand these women's lives through the modern lens. Just because they'd taxonomically fit the definition of a transgender man today, it doesn't mean that we can reach a faithful understanding of their experiences through that lens. That's like watching through the entirety of Mulan and coming away with the conclusion that she must've been transgender because she dressed, lived, and assumed the identity of a man for a period of time.
Rather than assuming that the women of the past who became doctors, scientists, etc. by identifying as male, were actually transgender men, a more interesting question would actually be, do these women in the past actually desire to be the male sex, or did they desire the identity of a man because of what the male social identity afforded for them? Had these women enjoyed the same "freedom" men did at the time, would they still attempt to claim they were men?
Obviously we can only speculate because these women are no longer with us, but that's besides the point. It's outrageous that these pooners claim to understand the lives of these women and reduce their experiences to "being transgender", when there's a likelier possibility that these women did all they can to have their life and achievements preserved under a male identity so they could be respected after death. Even as women's rights advanced, the reasons why a woman might claim a male identity still persists today. I'll give you a well-known example: Why did Joanne Rowling choose the pen names J.K. Rowling and Robert Galbraith?
Besides, asking these pooners "are you trans because you desire to be the male sex, or because you envy what you perceive to be permissible by the male social identity?" would make their heads explode, but I'll end my sperging here before someone calls me a faggot for talking about women's rights.
there's a likelier possibility that these women did all they can to have their life and achievements preserved under a male identity so they could be respected after death.
‘Oh they still wanted to be known as men and didn’t want to be revealed as a woman even after death so they must be trans!’ No idiot pooner, they knew that even after death, if they were revealed to be a woman, their achievements would’ve been posthumously stripped from them and knowledge about them intentionally buried by men in the profession who didn’t want it to be known that they were ‘bested’ by a woman in disguise. This isn’t trans stuff, this is being shitty to women stuff.
Hey pooners, find historical women who, not for any personal/professional benefit or outside force, chose to live life as a man - you can claim them as trans. Because what are the chances that every historical woman they try to claim as a transman ALSO just happened to have professional goals or personal needs (needing to support her family or lesbian wanting to marry a woman) that could only be achieved at the time by men? Occam’s Razor - far more likely that women chose to fake being men to allow themselves access to things outside the reach of their gender. Not to mention we have personal writings from some of these women stating exactly that, with never any mention of any gender feels being a contributing factor.
These women dedicated their lives to the masquerade. It was incredibly risky, challenging, and most likely isolating and lonely. There certainly weren’t any social media applause for being so brave! They typically had to leave their female friends behind and you can’t get buddy buddy with your male peer group lest they find out you’re a woman. And forget any desire to have kids or get married to the man you love. It didn’t matter if there were aspects of a woman’s life they still desired - it all had to go. They didn’t do it for the gender feels, they did it because they had a strong calling to make a positive difference or they felt they had no other choice.
I wouldn’t consider myself MOTI on the subject, but having been part of several efforts in the last couple decades to unearth and disseminate information from history to credit women that were intentionally written out by the men around them who claimed the women’s achievements as their own, I get grumpy when I see the trans contingent ignore historical context and the amazing bravery of these women just to have a twitter gotcha of ‘trans existed in history too!!!’ Oh look, women still being erased
I’ll be generous - if they want proof that ‘trans always existed!!’, they can have all the historical men (including serial killers, unethical men in business and politics, and generally awful guys) who secretly crossdressed in their personal time. It certainly fits with all the current day trannies. Far more similarities there than between the modern pooner and the hard working, selfless historical women who disguised themselves as men.
Vicki tells everyone how she gloms onto the LGBT community because it makes it okay to be "friends" with someone you have a massive crush on and are praying will someday find you attractive. Yes, Vicki, we know that's how this all started, with your crush on your gay high school buddy.
Love how this @suchnerve person frames it all around "consent", as if the only reason that a man and a woman might decide to cool a friendship is because they're afraid of raping each other (and not because of say, thoughtfulness towards a partner).
They have no idea how heterosexual relationships actually work, they're purely on the outside looking in. But they are also on the outside looking in when it comes to "LGBT" relationships: they haven't actually absorbed any real knowledge from real friendships with lesbians and gays, because if they had they would know that these relationships come with all the same drama (and usually more).
They are two straight women whose only "LGBT friendships" were with other deluded straight women, and whose "knowledge" of LGBT people comes almost entirely from Tumblr fanfiction and corporate Pride branding. Sad!
Rather than assuming that the women of the past who became doctors, scientists, etc. by identifying as male, were actually transgender men, a more interesting question would actually be, do these women in the past actually desire to be the male sex, or did they desire the identity of a man because of what the male social identity afforded for them? Had these women enjoyed the same "freedom" men did at the time, would they still attempt to claim they were men?
Obviously we can only speculate because these women are no longer with us, but that's besides the point. It's outrageous that these pooners claim to understand the lives of these women and reduce their experiences to "being transgender", when there's a likelier possibility that these women did all they can to have their life and achievements preserved under a male identity so they could be respected after death.
That sort of thinking is dangerous territory for the pooners, though. After all, if you were to acknowledge that some women who historically claimed to be men did so not because they actually wanted to be male, but for some other reason, then that leaves the door open for the notion that maybe some modern women might also be doing the same thing.
And that’s really the core argument at the heart of the modern trans fad: That every claim people make about themselves is 100% legitimate, and needs to be recognized as such.
That OP is almost certainly referring to Dr. James Barry, a British military doctor in the 1800s, who was revealed to be female during her autopsy. She had a ton of stipulations that she was to be buried right away, with no examination. Obviously this didn't happen, and they found out she was a woman, and the British Army immediately buried all of her accomplishments and sealed her service record, which was exactly what she was afraid of happening, and why she was so insistent on being perceived as a man. She literally lost her life's work when she died—it wasn't because of gender feelings. I swear, Vicky and her ilk can't fathom a woman who puts her career ahead of her emotions. They're nearly worse than ultra conservative tradwives.
After all, if you were to acknowledge that some women who historically claimed to be men did so not because they actually wanted to be male, but for some other reason, then that leaves the door open for the notion that maybe some modern women might also be doing the same thing.
This got me thinking about pooners that say they're trying to "break gender roles" when they dress femininely after transitioning. Obviously it's all for attention because young women have been fawning about men in makeup for centuries, so they also want to cop that spotlight in a strange roundabout way, but it's also not difficult to understand why they only want to do this once they transition. Women wearing makeup = nothing special, that's what a woman might do. Men wearing makeup? It's theatrical, shocking, revolutionary, it's a man wearing makeup! For young tomboy women who desire to explore makeup and fashion, but abhor the idea that this act will only be perceived as them embracing gender norms, some of them think transitioning will finally afford them to do the things they always wanted to do without it all being perceived as a "woman thing" to do. Ditto with pooners obsessing about and transitioning because of gay porn, because being obsessed with men and sex as a woman is soooo gross because women definitely never ever have any sexual thoughts (and if they do that's disgusting and gross because women shouldn't have them), but if you're a man doing the same thing that's obviously totes different.
I'm obviously not talking about anyone in particular.
[...] You see, I've always liked women. But for you, I starting becoming so comfortable with your personality and your character that it stopped mattering that you're a guy. It just sort of...fell out of view. It didn't matter because I felt connected. Unlike my other crushes, my love for you isn't based on physical looks. Not that you aren't cute. You're very cute. But that's not the reason my heart is set on you. It's more like I noticed how much I loved you on the inside and then my attraction to your looks fell into place naturally. It's very confusing for me. I've never felt this kind of crush before period, and then on top of that, you're a guy! I mean, come on! And the only guy I fall for is gay... [...] (Link)
I hope everyone's MCAS will be okay with me double posting.
In the absence of her regular torturrreeeposting, I thought I'd fill in the gap -- both in thread content and a couple details on Vicky's timeline -- by providing some of Vicky's own account of things, which I've discovered by chance on an entirely different website. Enjoy.
I've been combing through her past tweets, and stumbled upon this particular post where she provides a link to another website.
CaringBridge as I understand is a website dedicated to posting blog-style updates for people with difficult health journeys. Since I'm on Kiwifarms, to me that just sounds like a goldmine for the munchie thread, but that's another story. Here's Vicky's (Link)
As I said before it requires an account to view the page, but after that you'll be treated to a handful of Vicky's health updates dating back from 2020. For the sake of not posting what is essentially the same thing twice, I'll copy/paste the entire post in text, but only post a screenshot of the title and first passage to prove its existence. Below is everything in her account, in chronological order.
Nothing in particular, just what looks like to be a template first post and a pre-bald selfie.
Victor Markhoff
Jun 9, 2020
June 09, 2020 — An Introduction
Quite frankly, I’m not sure where to even start.
If I start from the beginning, it’s too much pressure. The reality is, if I try to tell myself my first post on here will be a summary of all my health history, heck, even of one condition, it will never get written. So let’s just start with the here and now, and we’ll work from here.
I can’t walk. Not anymore. Not like I used to. I can’t feel my feet very well, so I trip easily. My muscles cramp in an attempt to hold my joints together. The soles of my feet burn like I’m walking on sharp hot coals. My right hip buckles and screams. I’ve had a few falls, and way too many close calls.
I’ve gone downhill in the past 3 years, but the last year has been the most dramatic. When I first moved to nyc, I had days where I walked more than 12 miles. Now, I can’t get around the block, and I wobble while I walk around the apartment.
When I was diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS) in 2017 I knew there was a distinct possibility that I may one day end up in a wheelchair. And that time has come. To be blunt, I’m way overdue.
Getting a wheelchair is not as straightforward as you might imagine. 90% of wheelchair users are ambulatory—meaning they can walk at least a bit. Maybe just a few steps to transfer. Maybe miles one day and absolutely nothing the next. But the line of when it’s necessary gets blurry. It’s a tough call to make. Unfortunately, this call is complicated because finding doctors who are compassionate and knowledgeable on your condition (especially EDS) is a rare feat. Admitting you need a wheelchair is another hurdle. I’ve found that it’s not so much like the movies where you dramatically cry in denial as you sit in your magically procured chair. There exists a crossroads where one day your desperation for mobility overtakes your mourning over needing a chair. This is why I hate the phrase “confined to a wheelchair.” A chair is freedom.
I first confronted my physiatrist over getting a wheelchair in the summer of 2019—if you count frightened mumbling as confronting. I knew I needed it—I felt my lack of presence in the world like never before—but as I sat in the office I froze. When he questioned my lack of conviction over getting a chair and interpreted it as a sign that it was not time, I was gutted. I returned frequently for various problems, but I could never muster the courage. Eventually, those visits dried up too. I couldn’t physically get to the office anymore.
(continuing tomorrow. this is all I could muster for tonight)
Now either there was nothing in-between and she'd forgotten all about the website 'til 2025 or she scrapped stuff, there's no telling. It seems to be the former.
Around September she makes updates back-to-back, and we get some rare Victorias.
Victor Markhoff
Sep 16, 2025
So It's Come To This: A CaringBridge
I don't know how to start this post, or finish it, or really, write any of it. So let's just jump into it and make things up as we go.
5 years ago, I created a CaringBridge to generally keep people in the loop about my health. I made a total of one post before abandoning the project. It almost hurts to see how much better my health was back then and just how much 21 year old Victor still had to withstand.
Since 2020, a lot has happened, enough that I can't begin to summarize all the events in a paragraph. But particularly in the last year, my body has really fallen apart. I've had multiple extended hospitalizations. Over the last 12 months, in total, I have spent more than 2 months at the hospital. That's 18% of my time.
Loved ones have had to learn things about me through others, very serious things, and it has sucked for everyone involved. Right now, my strategy to tell people important information has either been complete avoidance or outright ambushing.
And, well, you know shit has hit the fan when you need to disseminate timely and serious updates on health to multiple people and CaringBridge is the best choice.
I'm still avoiding the topic at hand here.
Everyone here knows about the myasthenia gravis, right? How in trying to treat my gastroparesis we discovered it by complete coincidence? How doctors have accused me of conversion disorder and malingering despite me being seropositive and reacting to mestinon? We're all on the same page about me nearly dying in July with my NIF at near 0 and my oxygen saturation at times dipping as low as 61%, right? How I received no respiratory support except a nasal cannula despite endless lobbying from respiratory therapists and nurses? How my lungs got heavy atelectasis as a result and some areas even scarred? How I had a near death experience? How I met death? How staying alive was barbaric torture?
Okay, glad to know we all know about this.
I had another respiratory crisis after this one, in mid August, this time from being prescribed antibiotics you cannot prescribe someone with myasthenia, and sure enough, I wasn't believed again. The affair stayed fairly short because I was on the same floor as last time, and nurses knew immediately how brittle I was, and they prescribed oxygen early and aggressively--as is appropriate for MG!
Look, the reason why myasthenia gravis went from a nearly universally fatal disease to one that kills "only" five to ten percent of those afflicted is because of aggressive treatment. And to be clear, it is aggressive. The handful of other people who were diagnosed around the same time and had symptoms equal to, or honestly lesser than me, have required ports and regular infusions, along with occasional plasmapheresis.
I am not being treated. My immune system is running wild, and nothing is being done to rein it in. I understand that the first line of treatment for myasthenia, strong steroids, is contraindicated for me, as strong steroids are what caused my most severe crisis. This means that treating me is already a complicated affair.
This is before we even dive into how my other conditions interact with my myasthenia, like how my vascular connective tissue issues make any vascular interventions inherently more dangerous, or how my severe mast cell issues involve the use of multiple anticholinergic medications.
I understand I am chronically decompensated. My left lower lobe is still not able to inflate. I have areas around the middle of my right lung that are scarred. I cannot tolerate bifold masks anymore because the small addition of resistance is too much for my weak diaphragm. I also still cannot sleep lying down.
I understand it is only a matter of time until I have another crisis, and due to the history of doctors doubting me and therefore compounding previous errors, it is unlikely anyone will take timely action.
I understand that one of the most dangerous and fatal periods for people with myasthenia is during that short period before diagnosis, as this leads to late intervention, which then leads to cascading complications.
Bottom line is, I am not confident in my ability to stay alive until the end of the calendar year if I am unable to access treatment.
That's still quite euphemistic. If I am unable to access to access the treatment I require, I truly don't think I'm making it to the end of the year.
I am, without a doubt, the sickest I've ever been.
And no matter whether or not I am able to access treatment, the path forward is absolutely brutal.
Secretly, in my head, I am terrified. Getting doctors to listen to me is this puzzle I'm working on every single waking moment. I can't escape the clutches of my own mortality.
When severely ill, there are all these expectations about who should take what role, and all of these expectations are thrown into the air because I don't have a relationship with my nuclear family.
I have no idea how to ask for support, or what I can even ask of people.
Some guidelines:
It's easier for me when people express their emotions than when they stifle them. I can feel when y'all are walking on eggshells or trying to hide your emotions. I can feel the seriousness of the situation in the undercurrent of our conversations. It's palpable. I really hate it. Just please, be emotional. I'd rather see you cry.
Offer specific help. You are almost definitely not an intrusion in my life, and if you are being an intrusion, it's probably just momentarily while I'm dealing with the fun that is autistic overstimulation, and I will let you know accordingly.
I am difficult to get through to, and I don't always respond. Persistence is key.
Fuck it, I will say it, I want attention. I have really tried to avoid attention, believe it or not, because so much of both in person and online harassment has been based on this idea that I'm faking being ill for the attention. But really, fuck that! This is serious shit! I need support! I want your attention! Be extra nice to me! Let me be the apple of your eye!
I need help remembering what to do. I need help with direction. I'm freaked out and frozen. It might be literally pointing out the obvious, but it actually helps.
Some more thoughts: My number one goal right now is to escape homelessness, because that is incompatible with life. Once I'm housed, I need help with cooking. I want more music in my life, both in creating and receiving. If--let's face it, when--I end up in the hospital again, I would really like more plushies, and blankets, and cards! I've never gotten cards while in the hospital. And at least one balloon. I've also never gotten a balloon. I have gotten lego flowers once, and I vote them very cool.
You are always free to ask how I'm doing regarding my health. It's not like you're going to remind me I'm dying, and my day will be ruined! Trust me, I was already thinking about it.
I need people to talk to when I'm low key freaking out.
Also: I get very irate when anyone tries to suggest what I should be doing with my life right now. I made the decision to continue school knowing the gravity of my situation, and I need people to respect that decision. Right now, I am focused on doing what makes me happy.
Victor Markhoff
Sep 21, 2025
Things Are About to Get Interesting
I’m very glad I’ve created this page and written as much as I have. I also haven’t distributed this to anyone yet (oops), which is a problem considering what’s coming up.
Things are getting interesting.
On Thursday, I noticed my eyes were drooping even on mestinon. I couldn’t push open doors. I felt like I just couldn’t catch my breath—like it was just out of reach. I couldn’t lift my heavy bags. My legs felt almost metallically heavy.
I got a gut feeling to go to the ER, but I decided to go uptown to another hospital system.
I ended up with a dedicated neuro resident who did all kinds of tests nobody had bothered to do before. I was very matter of fact with what happened. No judgments on my previous care. Just, this is how I stumbled onto mestinon. This is how low my NIF got. My oxygen got this low. I was in the hospital for this long, and this many times. I’m not being treated. I had a low positive LRP4+. I had a negative SFEMG. It was at 9 AM. My muscles were not weak that day. No matter what the exact diagnosis is, I’m having something causing massive muscle weakness to the point I can’t oxygenate myself.
He had me do these very long tests that made me move vigorously and repeated the standard strength tests over and over, until I got so weak I couldn’t even open a water bottle. He had me walk and observed how it made me out of breath.
Initially the ER was insistent they don’t do NIFs unless someone is inpatient, but he advocated. I’m at -30, the cusp of severe respiratory muscle weakness. They did things NYU didn’t do, like clip my nose shut.
They determined I was safe enough to do immediate urgent follow up outside the hospital.
But now, there is the question looming among professionals: did they rule out myasthenia too quickly? And I’m not being treated like I’m faking. Progress!!
Then I got a phone call in the morning from the specialist I was hoping to see rebooking me for Monday afternoon.
I am now on the path towards a crisis. It will get worse from here no matter what I do.
I have another SFEMG on Monday. It is critical I test positive.
I have a rule of never putting myself in danger for the sake of a doctor. But this is unavoidable no matter what, and my life depends on proving my illness.
If I go too hard, my crisis will lead me to the ER before the appointment. This means it will take months to get another appointment, and I might not be believed at the ER. Therefore, I might get worse to the point of respiratory arrest before anyone does anything.
If I don’t go hard enough, I might test negative. Two negative SFEMGs would seal my fate. I would not be believed. And my crisis will progress regardless. I might again not get help until complete respiratory arrest.
Then, the goldilocks zone: tire myself out juuuuust enough to present severely at the appointment and test positive with the SFEMG. Maybe even (since analysis takes time) get diagnosed on the spot. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, straight to actually getting my condition treated and saving my life.
Making myself worse, by the way, doesn’t involve doing anything artificial. It just means tiring myself out. Doing things like a normal person.
I’m one day in and this is already a challenge. I slept a lot at night and then automatically took a 3 hour nap. Now I have lots of energy. I found that I naturally pace without even thinking about it. I wanted to shower at the gym and I thought, I’m too tired. I’ll wait until tomorrow. I can’t open a door, I automatically push it open with my legs. My head gets heavy, I rest it on my headrest.
The plan is to sleep poorly tonight at the library, then take my last mestinon tomorrow morning, without vyvanse. I will then stay up all day and all night until my appointment.
I’m reading an article on best SFEMG practices, which I know weren’t followed for me previously. I will advocate for these best practices so we get a real result.
I don’t know how much taking mestinon up until 24 hours before will fuck with the test, but also, the last time I decided not to take mestinon before the test, it backfired and I rested aggressively the 5 days before.
Agitating my illness will either kill me or save my life. Either way, things are about to get very interesting.
This better be a good story in the future.
P.S. I’m highly considering slutting around tonight because hey, it’s physical activity, and also being homeless means very few opportunities to be sexual, which SUCKS. but also everyone lives in inaccessible buildings. booooo
Victor Markhoff
Sep 22, 2025
I Hate This
Stopped my mestinon, which means I also can’t eat. Walking around as much as possible while lifting my feet and simultaneously moving my shoulders, elbows, wrists, and fingers. Having trouble holding up my head this is all so much work. Out of breath very easily.
I have to pull an all nighter. It exacerbates my symptoms. No caffeine whatsoever (including coke or tea ). took lower dose vyvanse in the morning, will not be taking it this morning.
This is torture but it’s life or death, so I have to do it.
Silence in October, then up again November.
Victor Markhoff
Nov 15, 2025
General Update
I am very exhausted so I can only say so much.
I was in the hospital for a week earlier because I couldn’t breathe. I (very embarrassingly) needed someone to call EMS for me at school. I had bad atelectasis once again and pneumonia in my right lung. Langone would once again not have neurology examine me, but they did put me on bipap and it was fucking heavenly. Luxury air.
The hospital took me seriously until I had one of the doctors I had at a previous admission, and she released me. I lasted out of the hospital for a grand hour before being in the ER at Mount Sinai with a NIF of -10, my oxygen dipping, and neurological symptoms up the wazoo. I got thoroughly examined by 4 neurologists, who told me if I hadn’t had a negative SFEMG they would have treated this as a myasthenic crisis. Still, I got admitted because they determined it was not safe for me to be out and about. I got more sweet sweet bipap. It’s so weird, all of my muscles grow stronger with it. I got released on the 3rd with a NIF more negative that -40, my own NIFoMeter, directly to a neuromuscular specialist appointment.
I would just like to say I fuck with the neuromuscular specialist heavy. He knows his shit, and as one of the best in the country where everyone from all over is flocking to see him, he is very used to doctors being clueless. He understood how hard it is for me just to get a NIF, and how impossible it can be to get a neurological exam at the ER. He says I need to go to the ER *every time* I can’t breathe, which I’m already not following. He also says if I’m at the ER and they won’t exam me, I’m to insist they call him. Hopefully, next time I get shunted to neuro. Get one of the fancy rooms in Kimmel.
He says mestinon can help several conditions, but if it is helping, I should be on it, and he is making sure I have a script. We’re now testing for all the differential diagnoses for myasthenia gravis. Which, FINALLY. I hate all these doctors saying, “you don’t have it” and immediately concluding I must have nothing. Or they come to my bedside like, “If not myasthenia why myasthenia shaped???? Why????”
So now I’ve sent in my genetic testing.
From what I understand, if we eliminate everything else, we are in myasthenia territory.
There’s one more specialist both my neuromuscular doc and my neuro-ophthalmologist want me to see, but I can’t get an appointment until January. My neuromuscular doctor immediately responded I can’t wait that long, and he’s been advocating for me to get in sooner and that…concerns me, ngl. What do you mean I can’t wait that long???
Anyway, on the topic of not being able to wait that long, I am once again too weak to get out of bed, even on mestinon, and I have trouble breathing with any exertion. I haven’t been able to go to class at all. I’m willing to call this semester a wash as long as I get my incompletes done which, btw, completed one of them last week. Clap for me please.
I feel so fucking awful. I can’t do laundry and I’m out of clothes and nah-ked. My guess is I’ll be bad enough to need to be inpatient in a week, and it feels ridiculous that I have to wait.
Victor Markhoff
Nov 17, 2025
Keeping everything up to date
I know since I post sporadically I don’t update on shit, so here’s some housekeeping.
Got housed at the beginning of October in unaffiliated housing.
When I went to the mount sinai neurology appointment in September, while I was incredibly symptomatic, I didn’t get to have a conversation with the neurologist. I only had one muscle tested, and it was clear to me the doctor from the first SFEMG is much more skilled. I swear if I’d had my eye tested, it would have been positive.
This result did affect my treatment at Mount Sinai at the end of October, since the neurologists said my presentation was exactly consistent with a myasthenic crisis but if this doctor didn’t think I have myasthenia, then they don’t want to overstep.
NYU wise, this SFEMG has had no effect on me not being listened to as they are so finicky everyone basically only trust a couple of people to do it accurately.
I am getting genetic testing to check if anything else can explain what is going on. Every other diagnosis needs to be eliminated.
At this point, myasthenia is a good result.
Continuing onto December shenanigans. To jog your memory, this is when she turned up at her doctor's office and got shooed away because she was late.
That's the entire post above.
Victor Markhoff
Dec 21, 2025
Sunday, December 21, 2025
My genetic testing is clear.
We are waiting on one more doctor to clear me from this being FND, which is extremely unlikely given my blood test results and lung scans. Despite urging from both my neuromuscular specialist and my neuro-ophthalmologist, he hasn't moved my appointment up. I had an appointment set for months and nothing. I finally got moved up by literally begging, only to arrive late (despite leaving on time!!!) since he's well into Long Island. Even though the appointment had 60 minutes left, he cancelled. I cried outside the clinic and then travelled 4 miles on the icy sidewalk to the nearest LIRR station. The office *still* hasn't contacted me for a new appointment.
The vote seems to be myasthenia—I asked for my mestinon refill and my neuromuscular specialist refilled me in minutes with not one but FIVE refills.
I'm doing very poorly. I've been beating myself up because I had to very late withdraw from two classes I loved (with my favorite professor no less) and almost got the work done for because I was juuuuuust too late, and it crushed me. I tried so so so so so hard. I really wanted it. I let myself down. I let my professor down. Like, I actually feel awful about this. I know I've been dying and all of that but it still crushed me like I'm a paper cup. I couldn't even bear to check my email. I've been Tina Belcher groaning into a pillow for at least 2 days. I now have to have a semester course load of 4 classes a semester in order to graduate, and that seems impossible.
The good news is the experience taught me more about writing research papers and I have now gained the ability to use a screenreader from all my effort. I now also know *everything* has to be requested in advance when you're visually impaired, and you must organize everything linearly for ease with a screenreader. This is very much at odds with my learning disabilities where I had to learn how to plan nonlinearly to work best with my brain. Having conflicting disabilities sucks!!! Why am I disabled by my disabilities!!!
I have to use an eyepatch. I couldn't navigate Penn Station because I couldn't read the boards. I am in bed constantly. My eyes are never not drooped. I'm starting to really have breathing trouble. All of this is a fucking mess.
The more faith I have now that doctors will listen to me and I'm right around the corner of treatment, the more I'm like, oh shit, I'm going to live. And now I have to plan for my future. And I have to think ahead. Arghhhhh.
Dying is easy, young man, living is harder.
No updates in-between, but the next ones are in March 2026, closer to her current situation. She fucking loses it entirely.
Victor Markhoff
Mar 19, 2026
Today's update
One, it’s so weird seeing my last post be 2 days before I almost died. And it turned out I had been dying the whole time, and I was right. It’s not FND. Did not like the specialist at first. Getting along with him better now.
I’m writing because I want to keep my cards close to me but I need to vent and ideally save how I am. The thing is, the whole myasthenia thing SHOULD be official now, but I’m still being treated like psych because I do have an input neuropsychiatric disorder (meaning my observable symptoms are in fact real symptoms. I shouldn’t delineate between real and not real because neuropsych is very real). It means for me feeling is difficult, and sense. Think how lights are brighter and sound is louder when you’re autistic. Literally that. It also explains why for example I broke both my elbows and went without help for 24 hours because I didn’t process pain like everyone else. Very autism stuff.
I’ve gotten steadily worse. As of last week I can’t breathe. My NIF is -30, which the ER insisted is normal (it’s not). The neuro on call also accused me of faking with my severe weakness and told me I didn’t have myasthenia for sure (despite *gestures broadly*). Neuropsych is telling me, it’s physical, go back. Neuro is treating me like psych just because of my input neuropsychiatric disorder which is not FND!!! which is not interfering with how my symptoms look!! I can’t do anything without sending myself right back to the ER. I can’t see. I can’t hold my head up. I can’t talk. Hell. Hell. Hell. I can’t advocate for myself when I can’t talk. AHHHHHHHHHHH
I obviously need to go again, to experience hell bc again I have to get ready (hell), I have to go over (hell), I have to be treated as subhuman (hell). Helly hell hell. Hellllll
Victor Markhoff
Mar 20, 2026
Today's update
I have no words. I have no words. I have no fucking words. I haven’t been able to really express what I’ve gone through over the last month and a half. I haven’t said online. I’m saying here to try to remember. I don’t want to say anything to anyone or explain. Words. Where are they?
I feel like there in a dark void beneath me, a drain, and my cold limp body is circling down it. I have a cotton mouth as I try to express anything but it’s all just muffled.
I just failed a class because I couldn’t explain.
I’m in bed with the effects and I’ve been throwing up and retaining water and my joints are swollen and I feel like someone has roundhouse kicked me on both sides of my back. I’m mad that I tried to power through a project when I couldn’t. I’m mad my professor didn’t understand what I was saying, or didn’t care. I’m mad at myself for not expressing what I needed to express.
All these years. The whole time? The whole time?? The whole time?
Told I was hysterical. Learned to minimize my feelings and ignore my body. And my body was tearing itself apart with a disease that’s already very rare and only known for the last 15 years, and that has only ever had a few pediatric cases. And I started as a pediatric case. It attacked my nerves. It attacked my brain. My spine. My eyes. My lungs. My kidneys. My GI tract. My pancreas. Maybe even my bone marrow?? We tested because a component of my immune system was entirely missing two years ago, and now I have normal levels. And that just doesn’t happen. That’s the immune system attacking itself.
The idea that I might need B cell therapy? Okay. But then potentially chemotherapy??? CHEMO????????? Like chemo chemo??? Oh fuck that. Fuck that shit I’m ouuut
We gotta do a PET scan?? A surgical biopsy?? If we can’t find a place in my body my pituitary gland which was almost definitely destroyed by this disease (also worldwide only 75 cases of this) might be the place to biopsy? My pituitary gland is in my BRAIN. Don’t touch that shit!!!
And all these symptoms while my one doctor with experience in the disease is like we need to MOVE IT this is a dangerous condition we cannot wait around and no other fucking doctors doing shit. Especially because I don’t look like the 60 year olds having the disease! Pediatric disease looks different!
So basically I’m potentially one of the youngest and most severe cases of this condition ever, it has absolutely been a part of the team trying to kill me and likely made my mg symptoms look inconsistent, at all points in my hospitalizations over the past 1.5 years you can see evidence of it…and the whole time I got gaslit to hell.
I’m gonna go eat a chicken sandwich I know will make me violently ill. I just can’t
The blogs mostly provide more detail of what we already knew, but here's the interesting new tidbits:
- Vicky comes short of admitting that she tried to doctor shop by going to another hospital
- Tried to game the SFEMG test and described in detail exactly what she was going to do
- Her docs concluded her symptoms are psychiatric in nature
- She had to late withdraw 2 classes from her favourite professor and she felt real awful about it
- She failed a class. [LAUGHTRACK]
Those CaringBridge posts are a goldmine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so shamelessly self-absorbed. She really thinks she’s the greatest person on Earth.
Also she’s very fat and ugly. From the one shot of her thighs you can tell she’s pear shaped which is peak pooner fat distribution.
May I remind you of the late, great Chelsea Lawrence (PBUH)? Her Caring Bridge posts were some of the most self indulgent shite I've ever read.
I will rep her forever, she was the greatest munchie there ever was.
There's so many little bits in those Caring Bridge posts.
"I was diagnosed with EDS in 2017" - she wasn't, her brother and sister were. She was assessed and did not have it. As she has stated multiple times.
Telling people to come around and cook for her! Bring her grapes and cards and a balloon in hospital. "I've never gotten a card" well bitch who's gonna materialise out of the ether to bring them now?
The photo of that fat hand, gently caressing her fat hand.
That'll be hardtokillIrishwolf, some twitter reply guy, the only cunt she could lure along.
Her fat leg displaying the fact that for some reason she's sitting airing out her poon's-own.
The makeup which she's shit at. Fake freckles looks even grosser than usual on grody skin.
She looks like shit, but I maintain, msot people struggle to understand just how bad true deconditioning can get you feeling.
Kek her disappearing "immune system section" somehow showing back up. Her pituitary gland, "surely destroyed".
The latest post where's she's talking about "chemo - chemo!!, surgical biopsy???" as if anyone else on planet earth has suggested these things to her to treat this illness that exists only between her and Wikipedia.
Calling herself a pediatric case, that's doesn't fit in with the 60 year old male regular demographic. Ped-o'something, that's for sure.
Oh! And talking about showering at the gym and sleeping at the library, to make it sound like she was at any point during her "homelessness" NOT sleeping in a hotel, of a certain standard no less.
Oh oh! Hahaha and the little addition at the end of one of her dying posts, that she fancies and is considering "slutting it up" tonight. As if anyone feeling any kinda way sick would want, or be physically capable of that. As if anyone, who saldy, lives in an inaccessible building thus rendering victoria unable to bang'em, would in fact be up for a fat bald red poon dalek rolling up to them and engaging in any sort of sex act.
Oh gross actually I wonder if she maybe fucks other gross munchies? Hardtokillirish wolf collecting his dues after papping her grift shots.
Jesus. Excellent work @hey god it's me again
I saw the website ages ago but was put off by the measly hurdle of making an account. Fool! What gold ye have plundered. The whole website is doubtless a mine.
It's easier for me when people express their emotions than when they stifle them. I can feel when y'all are walking on eggshells or trying to hide your emotions. I can feel the seriousness of the situation in the undercurrent of our conversations. It's palpable. I really hate it. Just please, be emotional. I'd rather see you cry.
Oh Vicki, they aren’t walking on eggshells because they’re worried about you. They think you’re absolutely batshit crazy but they’re trying to avoid letting you know that.
Making myself worse, by the way, doesn’t involve doing anything artificial. It just means tiring myself out. Doing things like a normal person.
The plan is to sleep poorly tonight at the library, then take my last mestinon tomorrow morning, without vyvanse. I will then stay up all day and all night until my appointment.
Directly contradicting herself here. Normal person things doesn’t involve not sleeping for 24+ hours. I too can induce all sorts of unpleasant symptoms by staying up all night.
P.S. I’m highly considering slutting around tonight because hey, it’s physical activity, and also being homeless means very few opportunities to be sexual, which SUCKS. but also everyone lives in inaccessible buildings. booooo
If only it wasn’t for that pesky ‘homelessness’ (you can’t invite ppl to your fancy hotel room?) and those dang inaccessible buildings people live in. Otherwise Vicki would be slutting it up all the time with a line of suitors down the block!
So basically I’m potentially one of the youngest and most severe cases of this condition ever, it has absolutely been a part of the team trying to kill me and likely made my mg symptoms look inconsistent,
Vicky's getting into a little scuffle, this time with an Ariana Grande fan. I don't really care for the initial quote-retweet but it's truly fascinating how Vicky immediately makes it all about her. Also shouted out her "doxxers". C'mon, don't be shy, you can say "Kiwi Farms"!
In fact she got so huffy about this post she gave it a other quote retweet.
And a little omg haha guys did you know I have da illness pick me pick meeee post as a treat.
Yeah, she's absolutely fawning over that neuro-opthalmologist. Unfortunately for her, nobody else is buying it.
Not directly Vicky related, but I just realized her bestie @suchnerve is the original author of this semi-famous tweet which is now being posted everywhere next to a picture of a Saxon mask in favor of action against migrants.
Kind of problematic to be friends with the creator of racist dogwhistles, Vicky. Your Jewish ancestors would be ashamed, if they weren't made up.
It's funny that Vicky glazes Halsey so much, considering that while in the ten years since Vicky pooned out, Halsey sold a ton of albums, had a baby, and is engaged to a hottie - all while dealing with a shit-ton of health issues, while Vicki sits around all day in bed mayo and tricks nurses into pulling sex toys out of her diseased snatch.
If you're reading this Vicki (and we know you are), You Should Be Sad, and i'm glad no one is having a baby with you.
>be me, mom to three kids
>oldest moved back in after getting kicked out of college
>didn't want her back because she pooned out and is larping being a cripple on a power wheelchair
>stupid pushover husband begs me to change my mind because he wasn't around much when she was a kid so he's trying to make it up this time
>give up and reluctantly agree to have her back, maybe we can make amends after all this time
>she moves back in and i have to spend all day looking after her while she pretends to be a spastic
>quickly find out she is still an ungrateful little shit but i try to be patient
>husband is still regularly away for work and not here to help around so the only free time i get is in the evening when everyone has settled down
>read the news before bed and find out kissinger died a couple hours ago
>go to sleep
>hours later at midnight sleep paralysis demon stephen hawkins barges through my bedroom door and approaches me
>freak out
>"MOM KISSINGER IS DEAD"
>wtf.jpg
>"MOM DID YOU KNOW KISSINGER IS DEAD"
>realize it's my stupid fucking retard daughter and this isn't sleep paralysis
>"yes i know..."
>turn over to go back to sleep thinking she'll leave me alone
>"YOU KNEW? OMG WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME EARLIER"
>curse myself for letting my stupid pushover husband give this piece of shit one more chance
>"daughter i mean son you were asleep"
>"YOU SHOULD'VE WOKEN ME UP"
>almost fucking lose it because she's been complaining all day that everyone in the house has been making too much noise and it's triggering "muh autism" so i've been making sure the family is quiet to let her rest
>"btw can you go downstairs to get some champagne for me"
>ok that's it
>"ana victoria markhoff. i don't appreciate that you woke me up all because you want to drink and celebrate some stranger's death. you can get the champagne yourself. leave me alone."
>throw the covers over me and hope she gets the fucking hint
>hear her mutter
>"did you just imply i'm an alcoholic?"
>ignore her
>"you know i'm literally in a wheelchair and i can't go downstairs because it's inaccessible right? you know as my caregiver you're supposed to help me out with my access needs right?"
>ignore her again
>"wow, ok. i see. you refuse to help disabled people with their access needs. what kind of mom are you?"
>really mad now but i try to keep my temper and ignore her again
>hear her back out in her wheelchair
>"woooooow. such an ableist. wowwwwwww. also deadnamed me. what a good trans ally. wowwww. wait till my internet friends hear this..."
>she leaves
>reach for the phone and dial her dumbass fucking father abroad on his work trip who got guilted into letting her back into the house but left me to deal with this shit by myself
>"hi honey, it's late. everything ok?!"
>"henrich. i can't fucking do this anymore"
). took lower dose vyvanse in the morning, will not be taking it this morning.
