my favorite fantasy at the moment is being a medical research subject for a research study on different anaesthetic gases.
i’m not unwilling per say, i’ve signed the consent forms and i genuinely want to go through with it. i can’t back out now. but i am terrified and they can’t pre-medicate me for it because it would mess with the results.
i do my best to cooperate, but the third IV stick pushes me over the edge. i fight them and the staff have to tie my entire body down, head to ankles, almost naked except for a sheet or a flimsy gown, covering me in tubes and electrodes and monitors. they’re not unkind about it at all — all the while they’re shushing me gently, telling me to just relax, that i’m safe, that they’ll take good care of me. their gloved hands are gentle but firm on my body, professional, competent, but also relentless.
they force a soft mask over my face, one person holding it with one hand and stroking my cheek gently with the other, telling me to just relax and breathe, that it’s just oxygen for now. another person holds my hand, interlacing their fingers with mine and squeezing it gently, trying to ground me a little. and all of that and the fresh air helps a little to calm me down.
but then it isn’t just oxygen anymore, and i’m made to breathe in something unpleasantly pungent and indescribable. i struggle in the restraints, but i’m held firm by straps and tubing and hands, the monitors beeping with every quick beat of my heart. maybe i try to hold my breath, to avoid taking in the stench of the gas.
the person at my head has complete control of the mask, and they hold it tightly to my face despite my thrashing. they squeeze the rebreathing bag a few times, or maybe they just wait until i’m out of breath and am forced to breathe.
the whole time they’re reassuring me confidently that it’s okay, that i’ll be asleep soon, that i’m doing so well, being so brave, being such a good subject. to just breathe deep and relax for them, shh, that’s right.
they talk me down, their voice soft and sweet as honey, narrating how relaxed i’m getting, how heavy my eyelids are, maybe dictating some of the data points they’re seeing to the people taking notes in the corner. everyone is watching me fade away. maybe there’s the coldness of a stethoscope on my chest, gloved fingers pressed to my throat, the flash of a penlight in my glazed eyes. i can barely keep them open despite my efforts to stay awake, and they roll back a few times as i try to avoid surrender.
but there are gentle hands running through my hair, interlaced with mine, rubbing my arm or my shoulder, and their soft voices encourage me to just go to sleep for them. and i do.
and i do it again. and again, and again.
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