๐ฌ 0ย ย ๐ 6ย ย โค๏ธ 37ย ยทย First time posting medical fetish "erotica". Whump maybe? Medically inaccurate choices by the hospital staff and half AI w
Awake Intubation - Patient POV
Part 2
Hands move across your bodyโnot harsh, but quick, practiced. The alarms keep chiming, and the ambu bag continues forcing air into your lungs in sharp, mechanical rhythm.
A nurse leans into your field of view, her voice steady but urgent.
โ(your name), we need to intubate you soon. Before that, we need to get you fully set up for ICU care. Youโre very sick. Stay as calm as you can. Try not to move.โ
You try to nod, but another breath is pushed into you and your head lifts slightly with the pressure.
โWe need two more IV sites. Sheโs going to need drips.โ
โIโll take right arm. You take left.โ
Your arms are gently positioned outward. Alcohol swabs. Gloves. The sting of needles. You flinch, but your body is too exhausted to pull away.
โGood job, (your name). Hold still, sweetheart. Iโm almost done.โ
Your oxygen mask is lifted briefly so they can pass tubing for the NGT suction. A sudden cold sensation blooms deep in your throat and stomach as they connect it to suction.
A nurse explains softly, as if noticing your panic:
โWeโre draining your stomach, okay? For the intubation. Itโll help prevent vomiting and help us see. Youโll feel the suction, but itโs normal.โ
You feel itโlike something tugging, pulling hollow inside your chest and abdomen. Itโs uncomfortable, unnatural, but you can barely focus before another forced breath from the ambu bag fills your lungs.
A different nurse crouches close to your face while taping your new IV.
โWeโre giving you some medication nowโjust enough to relax you. You wonโt be fully asleep, but itโll help you tolerate the procedure.โ
Your vision slows around the edges. Not gone. Not even blurry. Justโฆ heavier.
Someone changes the Foley bag. You feel the tug, the shift, the click of plastic. More hands adjusting you, lifting the sheet, pulling new tubing into place.
โVitals?โ
โHeart rate 138. Sats 85 on bagging.โ
โKeep bagging. We need her as oxygenated as possible.โ
A soft hand rests on your shoulder.
โ(your name), weโre almost ready to place the breathing tube. Try to keep your body still. Youโre doing really well.โ
You donโt feel like youโre doing wel, not with the way your chest keeps fighting the rhythm of the bag. But you keep trying.
---
The ambu bag forces deeper breaths into you, one after another, faster than you can naturally take. They tilt your chin up. Someone else fits a mask tightly, the seal perfect, and the air comes harder.
โGive her full volumes.โ
โI am. Hold that head position.โ
Your heart pounds under your ribs. The room feels too bright.
The nurse who will intubate you steps into your line of sight, gloved, eyes focused.
โOkay, (your name). Weโve given you a light sedative. Youโre still breathing on your own, which is good. Weโre going to put the breathing tube in. Try your best not to fight it. Donโt bite. Donโt grab anything. Just breathe and follow the bag.โ
Her hand rests briefly on your cheek, grounding you.
โYouโre safe. Iโm right here.โ
Then she picks up the laryngoscope.
---
Your head is tilted further back. A hand supports it, keeping you still.
โOpen your mouth for me, (your name). Thatโs itโฆ goodโฆโ
The laryngoscope slides in. Cold metal. Your tongue is pushed down. Your throat spasms instantly.
You gag hard.
Your whole body jerks.
A nurse at your side whispers urgently:
โItโs okay, itโs okay, we're breathing for you.โ
The intubating nurse peers inside, voice tight with concentration.
โThereโs a lot of mucus. Suction.โ
A suction catheter slips in alongside the metal blade. A harsh slurping noise fills your throat. You retch again, harder.
Your fingers grip the bed sheets so tightly your knuckles ache. Tears spill from your eyes. The sedative keeps you from panicking outwardly, but your body trembles helplessly.
The laryngoscope tilts. The nurse guides the endotracheal tube in.
Your throat closes reflexively, gagging so violently you gag up spit, stomach acid, then nothingโyour stomach is nearly empty from suctioning.
Your muscles shake with the effort. The nurse continues threading the tube deeper.
Someone calls out:
โCheck placement.โ
The bagging pauses. A stethoscope presses to your chest.
โIโm hearing stomach. Not lungs.โ
โTubeโs in the esophagus. Pull it.โ
The tube slides out. The motion triggers another intense gag. You vomit - nothing comes out but saliva and a thin trickle of yellow.
You cough, dry-heave, gasp.
Hands move quickly.
โMask back on. Bagging.โ
The ambu bag seals over your face again. Air is forced in harder this time. You choke against it, but you canโt stop it. Youโre too weak to resist.
A nurse wipes your mouth gently, voice quiet and urgent.
โYou did so well. I know that was awful. Weโre going to try again, okay? Weโre giving you a little more oxygen first. Just breathe with the bag for us.โ
You start to cry, but suddenly the ambu bag forces more air into your lungs.
You hear the staff regrouping:
โSats 82. Preoxygenate again.โ
โReset equipment. More suction ready.โ
โLetโs give her a minute to recover.โ
Hands stroke your forehead, your arm.
โYouโre okay. Keep breathing. Weโre not leaving you.โ
The ambu bag rises and falls steadily above you. Your body feels cold. Your throat is burning. Your body is shaking knowing that theyโre about to try again.
Iโm bored and nobody is giving me the kind of attention I want. Hereโs the start to a Pride month story I would be open to a collab on. Iโll work with anyone but for obvious reasons transmasc collaborators preferred.
Dating men is, by far, the most self-injurious behavior I have ever engaged in. Sure, Iโve starved myself, hurt myself, and listened to the Boygenius album straight through on a rainy day. But none of these compared to the harm I put myself in when meeting strangers that you met on the internet in a bar.
I was engaging in this ritual, or better yet escaping from when we met. You promised me that being eaten out by a trans man was a transformative experience. Up to this point the only cure for my suicidal ideation had been transformative experiences.
It was shockingly easy to get you to come to mine, usually it takes some convincing, but you were actually more worried about my personal comfort with the situation than anything. When I told you I felt safer in my own space you just said โcoolโ and went along with it.
You graciously smoked a cigarette before coming up so I could rush-clean my apartment and get myself ready. By the time you buzzed up I was not only ready but eager to get started. You suggested we start with a shower, I giddily agreed. This was a convenient time to tell you about my failing heart, when you noticed the scars and small monitor that continuously kept track of my cardiac activity. You played it shockingly cool, which is how we ended up here, with you gently massaging my neck and shoulders and asking if I was ready for you to keep your promise, and I very much was.
Andโฆ you did, it wasโฆ transformative. I lost track of how long I was lost in my mind, wondering if Iโd ever actually experienced an orgasm, before a familiar tightness took over my chestโฆ fuck.
The episode hit fast. I managed to roll myself onto my left side and tell you that you had to leave before the small monitor on my chest sent a panic signal to the alarm system in my apartment. A gentle, kind recorded voice says to you; โHello, this patient is currently experiencing a cardiac event. You may leave immediately and emergency services will be dispatched, however, if you are able to stay and help please say yes out loudโฆโ
Breathing was becoming very difficult, this had happened twice before, and both times the dude left before the system even finished the first sentence. I honestly had forgotten about you because my few remaining brain cells were focused on getting as much oxygen into myself as possible before an emergency response team can arrive and help me.
I weakly reach over and open a drawer on the side table, I pull out an oxygen mask that is connected to an oxygen compressor hidden under the table that has switched on. Iโve never lost consciousness this fast, I only have the strength to weakly put the mask near my face with the elastic strap bunched up in the middle, itโs not enough but maybe I can get enough strength to put the mask on correctly, or at least more correctly.
โOut system has detected that another individual is present, are you able to assist the patient?โ
โIf you are able to assist the patient please say โYESโ clearly to be connected to an operatorโ
I found you on the bed, prone, with your arms and legs out in a starfish type of position. Your white lacy bra and matching panties seemed out of place to the situation; it's like you were waiting for me. The pill bottle was next to you, empty and I knew I had just picked those meds up this morning. The defibrillator was placed on the bedside table next to you... I knew you were a gift for me to play with so I did....
I place my ear on your chest and feel no movement of breath and no sound beneath your buxom breast. I straddle your lean waist and lift your neck as I pinch your nose and seal my lips around yours. I feel your breasts rise into mine as I exhale into your mouth, your cheeks puffing out. I take off my shirt so I can feel the sensation of your breasts on mine better before giving you a second breath. Your white bra against my red, our nipples meeting briefly as your chest rises and falls with my oxygen sending electricity down my spine and hopefully yours too.
Next, I place my hands between your breasts and push down as hard as I can. Your chest caves inward and your stomach rises up into my pelvis. I feel it graze me swollen clit through my shorts. I count outloud to thirty as each compression causes the same stimulation before I lean down and breathe for you again. My pelvis becomes wetter with this second round of breaths of life and I rock back and forth to get more stimulation on my own breasts as yours rise and fall.
"Come on baby! Stay with me!" I say with conviction and a smile on my face. This is our greatest game and I am loving every second of it.
After five minutes I reach underneath you and unclasp your bra and allow you to spill out and rip it off you entirely. I kiss each breast generously before I grab the defibrillator and place the pads on your chest gently. I continue compressions while the machine warms up counting loudly, hoping that you can hear me. "Baby, you gotta stay with me!" I beg.
"Shock advised!" I climb off of you and stand next to the bed, pulling off my shorts as I do so. I slip my fingers down my panties as I press the shock button with the other hand. You jump off the bed and slam back down. I press it again as I rub myself deeply and moan loudly. You jump again and I keep my eyes on your breasts the entire time watching each and every jiggle and sway that they make as a shock goes across your chest electrifying your heart.
Now I stand next to you and pull you closer to the edge and do proper compression in a standing position. My hands rest differently on your chest at this angle and I push harder and harder. Your nipples are hard and erect between my fingers as my palm presses deeply into your sternum. I stop to give you two more breath and watch your chest out of the corner of my eye. I continue on for another minute before the machine advises another shock. "Shocking! Clear!" I yell and watch as your whole back arches, your nipples peaks of high mountains as they reach to the ceiling. "Shocking again. Come back to my baby!"
As you land back on the bed, you take a deep, gasping breath after this second one and turn your head and smile. Breathlessly you say, "I hope you had a good birthday my love..." . I smile as I continue rubbing my clit watching your chest move on its own now.
You have difficulty moving, presumably because of the pain in your chest, but you grab me by the bra and pull me down to kiss me. I climb on top of you and kiss you deeply using your upper leg as a post to grind against. Your hands undo the clasp in the back and my breasts pour out, hanging down onto yours. You grab my breast as I rub back and forth and moan loudly as I climax right on top of you.
Young Mother to be Morgan strains on the delivery table,a sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead as the medical staff urge her to push.
The stress is beginning to tell on the monitors as her heart races with the effort and her Oxygen levels start to sag.Shes put on Oxygen to try and help her cope.
A she strains through another contraction,her eyes roll and she falls limp on the delivery table,the doctor rushes to check her pulse.
She has suffered a cardiac arrest,the table is dropped flat and the resuscitation effort begins,starting with bagging.
Her gown is pulled down exposing her bump and swollen breasts,and causing her arm to fall limply off the side of the table.
Chest compressions are started,Her legs rock gently in the stirrups as a result of the force being pressed through her chest.She has a shockable rhythm so the paddles are gelled and charged.
The paddles are applied to her and the electrical current causes her to twitch as the shock is delivered.
The defibrillation fails and she converts to asytole,Shes intubated and the compressions continue while they await a surgeon to perform the Emergency C-Section.
My stills taken from the brilliant one life one death by Digital02.com I'd love to see this remastered into higher definition one day.
There's a green botchy glaze overlaid to my vision, changing the texture and hue of the world like I'm being forced to exist at one end of a child's kaleidoscope. The patterns moving and shifting, being rotated around my awareness in a funhouse of reality. My ears have tuned half way into a radio station that shouldnโt exist, garbled voices in the distance shadowed by static that extends half way inside of me and manifests as pins and needles filling up the insides of my limbs.
"nnng" something has stolen my voice, or perhaps I gave it and don't remember - I don't remember where I am. I don't remember what it was that held my attention just mere moments ago but it feels important. It feels like walking into a room with purpose and forgetting what you came for except I've also forgotten where I came from and where I'm going to.
I can taste pennies.
________
"baby?" you keep your voice low, gentle, the attempted taming of a wild animal inside of my mind. A creature out of control, unable to be domesticated or soothed. Epilepsy is the feral cat that showed up in our lives and never seems to leave for long.
You stroke your warm fingers down my cheek, over barely twitching muscles and past unfocused wide eyes deviated off to my right. A second of hesitation and then you decide the doctors don't know what they're asking of you, you refuse to leave me floating in space when I'm like this; you'll anchor me into your arms - risk of small flailing hands be damned. Making sure my little medical cart is within reaching distance you sit yourself down on the couch next to me and slip an arm around the back of my limp form, lifting me off the arm of the sofa I've slumped over and laying me up against your chest.
"There we are, angel" You know the likelihood of me hearing you let alone understanding your words is low right now but It calms you to keep communication open, just in case. A soft flannel is folded and you slide it between my cheek and your chest, keeping my face tilted to the side as I always drool during my episodes and one of the most vital aspects of my care is ensuring I can't choke or aspirate any of it while I'm unable to swallow. Strands of hair are laying over my pale face so you brush them aside tenderly, taking a quick glance to the side at your phone that has been running a timer for the duration of this episode. 2 Minutes, not bad just yet.
But even my 'not bad' comes with struggle, from where it's pressed between us you feel my smart watch buzz and it prompts you to reach to the cart and clip a small oximeter onto the index finger of my free hand that you have a view of, limp and twitching every second or so. There's a pause while the little device reads my vitals and then flashes them on screen, it starts beeping, a shrill unmissable regular alarm in time with each quickened beat of my heart. 110bpm 87%O2. It's worrying but it's also expected, this is how it goes.
You follow the clear thin tubing of my nasal cannula down to the oxygen concentrator next to where you've settled with me and with the practice of someone who has done this countless times before take the end tubing of an oxygen mask and swap the two out. You don't bother to remove my cannula, instead dropping the end and focusing on the mask. You use the now damp flannel to wipe the wetness from my cheek and press the mask to my face, stretching the elastic over the back of my head and bringing your now free hand to my back. You start rubbing soothing circles over my lungs and trying to encourage my weak sporadic little gasps of air.
"there we are" eyes glued to the little digital display attached to my finger, watching my O2 climb back over 90%.
Four minutes.
"mmmmnnn" another little moan, lashes fluttering as short spastic movements have me shuddering in your arms for a moment. The end of my NG tube becomes dislodged from where I tend to tuck it behind my ear and you quickly move it back for me and then reach for my case of rescue medication doses, opening the pack calmly and sitting it on the arm of the couch within grasping distance.
"You're okay baby, come back to me" you press a kiss to my forehead, "it's nearly over..."
And it is, the episode blessedly stops short of five minutes and you're able to let out a sigh of relief as the tension in my muscles releases, the spasms stop and my eyes roll back to centre even if they're unfocused and I'm clearly not conscious. You wait a few seconds for me to breathe again and when I donโt, pull my shoulder back so my chest is exposed and you're able to bring your knuckles to the bony centre of my sternum. You rub purposefully there for no more than two or three seconds, observing the reflexive spasm I have. It works, it always does when I'm apenic after episodes, my drool covered lips part further and my weary body drags in a deep breath that gurgles just a little.
"Good girl" you hum, rocking me slowly back and forth in your arms, "you did it, baby. It's over, you can rest now"
You wonder how many more times we will have to endure this routine todayโฆ but itโs alright, no matter the frequency, you know you'll never leave my side.
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