fear and struggle
I rubbed my throbbing temples, forcing my eyes open with effort. The room was thick with the acrid stench of disinfectant, mingled with faint hints of rubber and plastic that made my stomach churn faintly. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed incessantly, casting a cold white glow that illuminated the quartz clock on the wall—the hands pointing to 6:30 p.m. Outside the window, dusk had fallen, and the light blue curtains swayed gently, as if a breeze seeped in from some hidden vent. I tried to sit up, only to find my body pinned to the bed like it was nailed down. The blanket weighed heavily on me, covering from my toes all the way to my chin, leaving only my face exposed. The dark green sheets were cool against my back and buttocks; I was completely naked beneath them, without a shred of fabric for cover.The steady beeping of the ECG monitor rang out rhythmically, like a countdown of heartbeats. Thin wires snaked from my chest, abdomen, and limbs, their cold circular electrodes taped to my skin, tugging slightly with every breath and delivering a faint itch. I glanced down to see a transparent IV catheter inserted into the back of my hand, the silver needle buried beneath the skin, connected to a slender tube that wound upward to a half-empty IV bag. Liquid dripped steadily into my vein, a cool sensation crawling up my arm along the blood vessels, making me shiver. What panicked me most were my hands and feet—my wrists and ankles were secured to the bed rails with soft yet unyielding restraint straps, the leather-like material not too tight, but firm enough to prevent any escape. They weren't crude shackles, but hospital-standard "safety belts," padded with foam at the edges for humane design, yet radiating an air of inescapable authority.
"Where am I? Where are my clothes? My phone!" I muttered to myself, my voice hoarse as if squeezed from my throat. With my right hand restrained, I could only twist my fingers awkwardly, groping along the bedside. The nightstand was bare, save for a single call button. My heart raced, and the monitor's waveform spiked immediately, emitting a more frantic beep. Panic surged like a tidal wave—I remembered the check-up, the nurse handing me that bottle of mineral water, signing those dense stacks of consent forms... and then, everything went black.The door clicked open with a "ka-thud," and my heart plummeted. Leading the way was the attending physician, the woman I'd met in the exam room that afternoon—early forties, with sharp short hair, gold-rimmed glasses, and a crisp light gray shirt under her white coat. Trailing her were three female nurses: one tall and poised, about twenty-five or twenty-six, with a ponytail and a badge reading "Nurse Li"; another shorter, round-faced, in her early thirties, "Nurse Wang"; and the third a newbie, early twenties, head slightly bowed, badge "Nurse Zhang." They wheeled in a silver medical cart piled with equipment: gloves, catheters, syringes, and several bottles of clear fluids. The air grew taut instantly, like a bowstring drawn tight.
"Mr. Wang, you're awake." The doctor's voice was calm, yet laced with unquestionable authority. She approached the bedside, pulling back a corner of the blanket to check the ECG leads. Her fingers were cool, and when they brushed my chest, I stiffened involuntarily. "Don't be nervous; we're here to update your treatment plan. Based on the initial exams, you have clear epileptic symptoms—the afternoon EEG showed abnormal discharge patterns, along with arrhythmia. We need to initiate monitoring and treatment immediately.""Epilepsy? What epilepsy!" I roared suddenly, straining against the restraints, but they only made a faint frictional sound, the foam padding on my wrists cushioning the struggle yet leaving me feeling even more powerless. "This is impossible! I was just here for a check-up! Let me go—I want to discharge! Where's my phone? Let me call my family!"The doctor didn't flinch; she adjusted her glasses, her gaze steady as a lake surface, hiding depths of resolve. "Mr. Wang, you signed the consents, including voluntary acceptance of emergency monitoring and treatment in abnormal cases. Your condition is unstable right now—discharge could endanger your life. We'll keep you safe." She paused, turning to the nurses. "Nurse Li, prepare records. Nurse Wang, check restraints. Nurse Zhang, ready the new orders."The three nurses nodded, moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Nurse Li donned gloves and stood at the foot of the bed, tapping keys on the recorder; Nurse Wang bent to inspect my ankle restraints, her rough palm grazing my calf skin and raising goosebumps; Nurse Zhang wheeled the cart closer, its wheels rumbling lowly on the floor. She seemed the most tense, cheeks faintly flushed, avoiding my eyes."I don't believe it! This has to be a misdiagnosis!" I gasped, my chest heaving, the monitor's alarm blaring again. The doctor silenced it, leaning in close, her breath carrying a minty coolness. "Mr. Wang, listen to me. Cost isn't an issue—the sponsoring company for this free check-up, a biotech firm—has commercial insurance that covers everything, including hospitalization and follow-up rehab. What you need now is to trust us." Her tone softened a bit, like soothing a frightened child, but her eyes gleamed with irrefutable edge. "Cooperate, and treatment ends faster. Resistance will only prolong the restraints."
I swallowed hard, my Adam's apple bobbing. Her proximity let me catch her perfume—a faint jasmine mingled with hospital antiseptic, oddly soothing in its strangeness. But the panic lingered—I was 37, living alone, no family, and this place felt like quarantine; I didn't even know the suburban C City hospital had such a private ICU room. "Fine... at least tell me the treatment plan? What's MECT tomorrow?""ECT, electroconvulsive therapy," the doctor corrected, her lips curving slightly, like instructing a student. "The most effective initial intervention for your seizure pattern. Tomorrow morning, we'll use short-pulse current to stimulate the brain, resetting the abnormal discharges. Tonight, we stabilize first: no getting out of bed, full bed rest monitoring. New orders include enhanced sedation, IV nutrition, a foot vein access, and evening care—indwelling urinary catheter and rectal tube to minimize nighttime disruptions and ensure accurate data."My face burned instantly. "Catheter? Rectal tube? You're insane! This isn't a check-up—this is... invasion!" I twisted, the blanket slipping to expose the lead on my shoulder. The monitor screeched again; Nurse Wang quickly pinned my leg. "Sir, don't move—it'll tug the wires."The doctor sighed, signaling Nurse Li for a printed order sheet. She read aloud: "IV sedative, midazolam 0.05mg/kg, every 4 hours push; total parenteral nutrition, TPN solution with amino acids, lipid emulsion, and electrolytes, at 50ml/h; add right dorsal foot IV catheter for backup..." She paused, eyeing me. "These are standard procedures, Mr. Wang. Your initial kidney function showed mild abnormality; we need precise fluid control. The catheter and rectal tube monitor urine output and bowel gases to prevent complications."
Nurse Zhang finally spoke, her voice thin like a novice probing: "Sir, we'll be as gentle as possible. You... just relax, okay?" She grabbed a bottle of lubricant from the cart, squeezing it onto her glove with a sticky "squelch." My heart pounded like a drum, sweat beading on my forehead and trickling down my temple."Start with sedation," the doctor ordered. Nurse Li deftly connected a syringe to my hand IV, pushing a small dose. The liquid was cool, like icy threads into my veins; soon, my limbs softened, eyelids heavy, but my mind stayed alert—enough to feel everything, yet powerless to resist. "Will... this knock me out?" I murmured."No, just relaxes the muscles," the doctor reassured, pulling the blanket back up, exposing only my lower body. "Nurse Wang, check restraints. Nurse Zhang, prepare catheter."Nurse Wang nodded, her palms broad and strong. She loosened my right ankle restraint—not fully, just enough for access—rolling up the blanket hem to bare my legs and groin. Cool air brushed the exposed skin; I instinctively tried to clamp my knees, but the left wrist restraint held me fast. "Sir, deep breaths," she murmured, her tone professionally gentle yet chilling my spine. She swabbed above my pubic bone with an alcohol pad, the icy sting making me gasp.Nurse Zhang knelt at the bedside, gloved hands trembling slightly. She held a slender Foley catheter—clear silicone, rounded tip, linked to a drainage bag. "I... this is my first time leading this. Bear with me," she admitted softly, cheeks apple-red. The doctor guided: "Advance slowly, full lube. Target urethra, 5 cm depth."I clenched my jaw, staring at ceiling cracks. "Don't... please, don't do this." But the sedative dulled my protests to whispers. Nurse Zhang inhaled deeply, parting my skin gently; the catheter tip touched, cold lube sending a shiver through me. She advanced slowly, the intrusion like a tide—first mild burn, then bloating pressure, like an icy thread snaking inside. Halfway, I groaned involuntarily, sweat rolling, the monitor's waveform haywire. "Hurts? Deep breaths," the doctor said, gripping my hand—not comfort, but pulse check. "Nurse Zhang, rotate to avoid bends."Finally, a "click"—it seated, urine dripping into the bag with faint "drips." Nurse Zhang exhaled, taping it secure in my groin. "Done, sir. Uncomfortable, but you'll adjust." She ducked her gaze; I caught a flicker of sympathy—or pity—in her eyes.
"Next, rectal tube," the doctor said evenly. Nurse Wang took over, seasoned hands swift. She grabbed a thicker rectal tube, perforated tip for venting and enema monitoring. "Side-lying, sir." She and Nurse Li rolled me—restraints limiting motion, I flopped like a rag doll. The blanket flew off, back exposed to chill air drilling marrow-deep. Nurse Wang gloved up, slathering lube on the tube with a slick "schlick." "Relax the sphincter—don't clench."Her fingers probed first, gentle but firm on the anal verge, alcohol swab's chill tensing me rigid. "Stay still, deep breaths," she commanded, then inserted—slow, inexorable invasion. The sensation intensified, a warm retrograde flow with mild bloating and slippery drag. My breaths ragged, throat emitting a low whimper, monitor alarming wildly. "Heart rate 150, doctor!" Nurse Li reported."Add sedation, 0.02mg," the doctor snapped, another push into my vein. The world blurred at edges, senses paradoxically sharpening: the tube's seated fullness, bag's sway, rubber glove scent... Nurse Wang secured it, taping around my thigh root. "Venting normal, sir. Feels weird, but it's for bowel rest."Next, foot vein access. Nurse Li handled it, loosening the right ankle, lifting my sole—sensitive skin pale under lights. Tourniquet on calf, she tapped the dorsum for veins. "Small vessels, sir—brace for sting." The needle pierced like ant bites, blood flashback confirming, then taped catheter, new line connected. TPN dripped in, chemical sweetness seeming to ooze from pores. "Full nutrition, sir. No dinner tonight." She smiled, eyes grave.
The ordeal lasted nearly an hour; I faded from fierce resistance to feeble murmurs, sweat soaking the pillow. The doctor oversaw, noting data, fielding my fragments: "Why me?" "Who's the insurance company?" She repeated: "Trust the process, Mr. Wang. ECT tomorrow—you'll improve."As nurses packed, Nurse Zhang mustered courage: "Sir, what do you need? Water? Music?" Her voice quavered, like atonement. I forced a smile: "Phone. At least... to know the time."The doctor shook her head: "Not yet—interferes with monitoring. Good night, Mr. Wang. 8 a.m. rounds." Door shut, silence returned. Only drips, ECG beeps, and my body's secret tubes heralded the "treatment's" start. Outside, night deepened; my heart tossed in the storm—fear, humiliation, helplessness entwined with a perverse thrill. Tomorrow, ECT... salvation or deeper abyss?Night deepened; sedation kept me half-dreaming. Drainage bag filled with liquid patters; rectal fullness shadowed every peristalsis tug. At 2 a.m., Nurse Wang checked, lifting blanket, flashlight sweeping my groin—cold beam shaming me to shut eyes. "All normal—sleep." She patted my shoulder, motherly gentle, drawing tears.Dawn: clock at 7:30. Door opened; doctor with team, plus technician wheeling ECT machine—a silver-gray box of electrode wires and screens. "Ready, Mr. Wang?" she asked, eyes resolute. "Today, we reboot your brainwaves."I swallowed fear, nodding. Current loomed—the story's new pivot: pain, hallucinations, or rebirth? All, behind the ICU's blue curtain, surged onward.