You're too far into labor for a c-section now, but the overdue monster ripping its way through your cervix is just too large to be squeezed through your stubborn hips. The only option your doctors have now is to force your pelvic bones to separate...
I distinctly remember looking at the clock at 12:46am on Tuesday, realizing I’d been in labor for a full 48 hours, and bursting into full on ugly sobs. I’d read enough books to know I was in transition, my body shaking so hard my teeth were chattering, nausea roiling in my gut each time a contraction gripped my straining middle.
“Oh God, how long can this last?"
The pressure had been building for hours. Every contraction was like a fist squeezing my entire pelvis into powder. The nurse kept saying, “You’re doing great, almost there,” but I wasn’t sure what “there” even meant anymore.
Finally, the OB told me they had no other choice but to use the vacuum extractor to pry him out.
I shrieked as I felt the deep, crushing pressure of the vacuum being applied. The OB barked something—more urgency in his voice this time. The baby was still stuck.
I screamed as I pushed again, every ounce of strength I had left, and then...
SNAP.
A brutal, sharp pop tore through my pelvis. It was a sickening, internal sound, followed by something even worse: agonizing, tearing, white-hot pain. It was like my core snapped and my legs, up in stirrups, were no longer attached correctly.
Then came the splay.
My legs flew open, grotesquely wide, far beyond what my hips or pelvis should have allowed. I heard someone gasp. One of the nurses moved instinctively to catch my leg before it flopped off the table.
The other one shouted, “Her pelvis gave!”
She grabbed the other leg and I made the mistake of looking down, over my swollen belly, to see myself being held froglegged in a way no human body should with a bulge the size of a bowling ball sitting firmly at the rim of my rapidly bruising and grotesquely tilted pelvis.
I sobbed, clutching the rails, unable to catch my breath from the sheer agony. “It hurts,” I choked, “Oh God—I blew, my pussy blew!” My voice broke into a wail as another contraction crushed through me, this time with the added agony of my shattered pelvis screaming and shifting with every tremor.
“There’s no time,” someone muttered. They kept the vacuum attached. The OB was firm now, working quickly. “Push again. We have to get the baby out now.”
I barely heard him. My hips felt like they were detaching from my body, everything ruined down there, nerves howling with every movement. But I pushed, howling, crying, feeling like my body was giving way entirely.
And then the pressure changed.
Suddenly, there was a gush of fluid, blood, and then the incredible relief of weight leaving my body. A tiny cry rose through the fog. I blinked against the tears and pain, barely registering them lifting the baby away from my ruined lap.
But I couldn’t focus on that.
I couldn’t move my legs. They were still splayed wide, and the pain between them had gone from unbearable to unthinkable. My pelvis felt like it was shattered glass, like it would fall apart if someone so much as breathed on me.
“We'll get an X-ray but call the OR and ortho, she's gonna need the works.”
“She’s hemorrhaging. We need to start packing her.”
“She can’t close her legs, her pelvis is totally unstable.”
I heard it all but couldn’t answer. Every inch of my body throbbed. My thighs trembled with effort, my tailbone burned, and the center of my pelvis felt like it had been blown apart from the inside.
Hands were on me again—compressing my belly, pressing on my still swollen and trembling fundus, drawing blood and more tissue out. I screamed, the pain in my pubic bone so sharp it made my vision tunnel.
“She’s got separation. Symphysis pubis rupture. We need to stabilize her now.”
Someone held my hand. A nurse tried to keep me calm while others quickly bundled me into pads, bracing my legs gently but firmly in place.
They packed towels and surgical pads between my thighs where I could still feel myself gushing blood. I sobbed harder when they lifted my pelvis to check the damage and felt everything grind inside me.
"Good God, put me out, please! I can’t take the pain," I begged, my eyes rolling back as an involuntary twitch of my hips sent a bolt so sharp through my ravaged pelvis I almost blacked out. Unfortunately I did not and could only trail off with a pitiful moan.
"We can't quite yet, honey, I'm so sorry. It would tank your pressure. We're gonna get you stable and up to surgery and they'll give you the good stuff."
My face crumpled and I sobbed as another well meaning nurse shoved another pad into the gushing wound that used to be my pussy and ground the broken bones in my pelvis.
I drifted in and out, alternating between moaning and begging for pain meds, while they rushed me to the OR. The agony of the jostling combined with the ceiling tiles and bright lights flying past above me made me suddenly nauseous.
The head nurse, expecting me to puke, swiftly turned my head to the side and at that moment I caught sight of myself in the reflection of the glass.
I could never have imagined my first birth would end with me splayed like a broken rag doll, pelvis shattered, with blood sluicing through soaked pads between my legs with every bounce of the gurney. My eyes are wide and glassy and my deflated bump and straining tits look out of place on the trauma patient I clearly am.
I have a suddenly flash of clarity about just how bad of shape I'm in.
"Oh fuck, I'm ruined."
The bed hits a bump, hard, and I buck up, screaming and twitching, before my eyes roll back in my head and everything goes black.
Author's Note: This is medfet fiction in which a character does not survive. It's got fatphobia & fetishizing a heart attack. Not interested, don't read!
Kayleigh thought the burn in her chest was indigestion from the fancy Mexican and margaritas her john of the night bought her. He'd been delighted when she jiggled out of her 4X dress back at his hotel and her lingerie was a perfect match to the cocktails they'd been sipping at the bar.
She'd had a pretty rough time getting from his Escalade up to his room, if she was honest. Her throat was burning and she had to pause to lean on the wall and rub between her massive tits at the elevator bank. She'd been short of breath for the last few days, a side effect she'd attributed to the additional 30lbs she'd put on during the last few months.
Her date, Jonathan, found her struggle to catch her breath incredibly arousing. He told her so in a deep growl into her ear as he rubbed her swollen belly through the silky fabric of her dress.
It was the Catch-22 of doing sex work with a clientele of feeders and other men who fetishize super fat women. The more weight she put on, the further down the shitter her health went. But the more visible side of effects of obesity she showed, the more these sick fucks were willing to pay.
She knew she'd have to pay the piper for her lifestyle one day. She'd vowed to herself she would do this debasing work for one more year, sock away as much money as she could, and then invest some of it in a new body and a new life far, far away from this one.
But right now, she just wanted to get Jonathan off, lever herself to an Uber, and fall asleep in the bathtub. It was the only thing that had been helping with the heartburn enough to let her sleep these last few days.
She'd barely gotten her dress off when he was forcing her massive bulk to her knees to suck his admittedly rather large cock. She had to focus all her energy on sucking in air around his length to keep her vision from blacking out around the edges as he bobbed her up and down on his cock with his hand in a fistful of her hair.
She sucked him for a good five minutes before she had to stop because breathing became near impossible. Jonathan, still hard as a rock and dripping pre-cum already, rubbed her back with a leer on his face.
She accepted his help up and stumbled to the bed rubbing in between her breasts unconsciously. She has just enough strength to perch on the side of the bed and fall backward, breathing heavily.
She tried to make a joke of it. "Oh goodness, my heart is racing!" She has to pause to suck in a sharp breath. "I'm just so excited to have you in me, baby."
Jonathan seems to know its a line but a man that hard couldn't care less. He moved forward and cupped her massive left titty in his hand and found her pounding heartbeat underneath to stroke.
"Oh honey, your ticker's having to work overtime. Does it hurt?"
She nodded before she could stop herself, then bit her lip in embrassment and looked off to the side.
"It's ok, sweetheart," he said, reaching under the fabric of her bra to stroke her nipple between his forefinger and his thumb, "I think chest pains are incredibly sexy. You think that poor little heart of yours is gonna be able to take me?"
She actually looks a little unsure but she nods and tries weakly to prop herself up on the bed.
"You're gonna have to do most of the work but I'm ready for you baby. She slaps her own fat titty hard, a look of determination on her face. "My ticker can take it, hasn't failed me yet."
Jonathan seems to take that as a challenge and makes quick work of her lime green panties. He doesn’t even bother to take off her bra, he likes watching her heart visibly pound against the fabric. He dips a finger into her, finds her ready enough, and slams inside without a hint of gentleness.
Kayleigh yelps, her bulbous belly bouncing as she takes the brutal pounding. Her weighty titties frantically slamming up and down on her sternum seems to activate something in her chest and suddenly all she can feel is her heartbeat pulsing through what feels like every nerve in her body.
Jonathan keeps up his punishing pace, taking the wide eyed look on Kayleigh's face as she endures the rough fuck as pleasure at best, sexual exertion at worst.
But he sees it in her eyes the very second her heart, in fact, cannot take him. The green orbs widen and her mouth opens in a rictus of silent agony. A strangled, suffocating breath croaks out of her lips and her massive body goes rigid, hips arching off the bed involuntarily.
He will later tell his friends he has no idea how he had the wherewithal not come when she had a heart attack seizure on his dick but somehow he kept plowing, fucking her through her Widowmaker.
Kayleigh was in an amount of pain she didn’t know was actually possible. It felt like her chest, jaw, and left arm had been put under one of those crusher machines and it was just pushing down until she snapped. She could feel her chest filling with fluid, like she was drowning, and the only breaths she could get out made a weird groaning sound and gave her no relief. Every one of Johnathan's thrusts magnified the agony tenfold and she used the last of her dying brains cells to be humiliated she was gonna die having a massive cardiac infarction on the throbbing dick of a man who was getting off on said incredibly painful, demeaning death.
The last thing she felt was the sickening tearing sensation of her coronary artery giving way followed by what could only be described as the sensation of a grenade going off in her chest cavity.
She made a final, haunting, animalistic noise -- half agonal breath, half wronged cry of a woman dying robbed of all her dignity -- before loosing her bowels and bladder on the man fucking her through her death throes.
Before her hearing went, the last thing she heard was her last chubby chaser having the most intense orgasm of his entire life.
"Oh my God, I popped her heart on my dick, I'm cumming, God, I'm cumming so hard!!"
I had the wildest experience recovering a woman today from a total colectomy. She was 26 – we’re seeing more and more young colon cancer patients – and had a pretty unremarkable medical history before the cancer diagnosis. She had the open surgery and the notes looked pretty unremarkable but she was conscious, agitated, and in significant pain when they rolled her into recovery.
She was definitely feeling the incision pain of being transported and then being settled in the PACU. Her baseline on the gas discomfort was pretty high from the start too. She was complaining of pressure and sharp pangs as well as bracing her abdomen and grimacing anytime she inadvertantly pulled her laparotomy incision.
She had a hard time surfacing. She was extremely nauseated, disoriented, and was exhibiting signs of worsening breakthrough pain. By the time we were on Plan B for pain relief she was as curled up and writhing in agony as a patient recovering from open total colectomy could possibly be.
“I feel like my belly is gonna pop,” she moaned, rubbing her bloated gut near her incision as the gas pains wracked her. “Please, you gotta do something before I burst, it hurts so bad!”
The attending agreed and ordered a rectal tube to relieve some of the gas pressure over the coming hours. It was clear she was headed for a pain crisis if something wasn’t done.
She almost sobbed in relief when we told her what we were gonna do. She could only moan as we carefully moved her into a position we could perform the procedure. I held one thick thigh and my colleague the other as the attending lubed up the tube and prepared her asshole by rimming one fat, slick digit around her opening.
She gasped when the finger went in but she was clearly too desperate for relief to complain. “Please hurry, please get it up there, I’m so full, I feel like I’m gonna pop!”
Taking that as permission the attending went for it with gusto, sticking the tube roughly up her ass. She yelped as he continued until about 5 inches of the tube were inside of her.
I don’t really know how to respectfully describe what happened next. I’ve never seen anything like it.
The tube seemed to hit some sort of magic spot and there we an audible gus of air as the gas expelled from her bloated, lacerated tummy. As it did, well. The noise she made, the look on her face, the way her eyes crossed and rolled into the back of her head as that air came out…she was cumming.
There was no denying it. She was bucking her pelvis – my colleague and I had to move to protect her abdominal incision – moaning “Oh God yes,” and having the most obvious orgasmic seizure that we were all blushing. As if it couldn’t get any more obvious, she squirted – swear to God – all over the rectal tube she was practically fucking as she yelled “I’m cumming!”
None of us really knew what to say as she came down from it. She was still pretty groggy from the drugs and the aftershocks were clearly hurting her incision as she jumped involuntarily, her eyes rolling back in her head. She wasn’t forming coherent sentences but rather moaning weakly about the pain in her belly.
Not really sure what to do, the attending nodded to my colleague to push a bolus into her IV as I stroked her hair, encouraging her to give into the drugs and slip into unconsciousness.
She was just about to black out when her eyes opened, glassy with pain and exhaustion, and she smiled weakly at me.
“Thank you. It hurt so bad, thank you for the tube.”
She lost her battle with consciousness still moaning. We all looked at each other, a little shell shocked, as she lay sprawled there, her squirt covered beloved tube saluting the air from her asshole, her fresh laparotomy incision an angry red againt the pale expanse of her soft belly.
Was this just a weird, one in a million anesthesia reaction? Anyone else ever had a patient involuntarily orgasm in the PACU? Or what the heck was going on here? Would love thoughts.
What do you even say to her when you're putting her out to cut half her body off? "Night, night, sleep tight, see half of you in 14 hours?"
The medical team knows and she is going to find out, there is no "comfortable" after this surgery. They'll keep her out for as long as they can but eventually she's gonna wake up in a world of hurt and very little is going to be able to touch her pain.
Imagine the look on her face when she feels it for the first time. Her teary eyes will be haunted with the dawning realization that this is the level of her agony and there is no end in sight.
Content: this is medical fetish fiction about labor, birth, and hysterectomy.
One of the interesting things about recovering women from hysterectomy is that, due to the nature of the procedures, it’s not uncommon for them to wake up feeling sensations like those of labor and birth.
We get a lot of “it feels like back labor!” and “I feel like I am having contractions” from laparoscopic hysterectomy patients as they ride through the gas pains pressing on their new internal incisions.
Vaginal hysterectomy patients are more likely to compare it to delivery. “I feel so heavy down there, like I just gave birth” is a common one. I had a very groggy lady ask me the other day if she ripped more pushing out the second twin because it felt like her butthole had torn. She was 61 and her 36 year old twins were in the waiting room. (Later, when she was only slightly less groggy, she told me it was her son who'd ripped her so bad it made it extremely painful to push his sister through the damage. He looked like he wanted to puke when, as I had her legs spread to remove her catheter, she said I could probably show him the scars from where he tore her up.)
What's fascinating is the sensations of labor and birth are so intense and primal that even women who had their last baby 60 years ago can be thrown right back to that place in the right circumstances, like a little anesthesia and having their insides rearranged with a scalpel.
We had an 88 year-old lady the other day who’d had a radical hysterectomy and she was super out of it. Nothing could convince her the severe bladder spasms weren't contractions and, when her epidural started failing, she told everyone she saw she was in transition. You really haven't seen anything until you've seen an ancient looking lady, who somehow managed to get her legs in the delivery position because she was so convinced a baby was going to be coming out, screaming “I'm crowning, oh God it's too big, pull it out of me!”
That's the nature of the uterus. Whether you use it or lose it, you end up the same way: laid out in a hospital bed, bleeding out of your pussy, and moaning about the pain.
The Hips That Launched 1000 Orgasms: A Medical Fetish Fiction
Content warning: this is a medical and surgical fetish fiction in which characters derive sexual pleasure from a surgical patient undergoing bilateral hip replacement and experiencing a difficult post-operative period. Those characters have sex, the patient is never involved or aware they are being fetishized. There is no useful medical information about hip replacement here. This is 18+ fetish fiction, minors DNI, otherwise read at your own risk.
Author’s note: I have a sudden huge thing for hip replacement surgery now? I don’t know. This is 3000 words of my latest hyperfixation, which is evidently women screaming about the pain in their broken hips. Truly dead dove territory here.
***
My grandfather's wife needed double hip replacement surgery and he asked me to help him get her to the hospital, wait while she was in surgery, and be there to see her with him when she got out.
I didn't really want to do it, frankly, because I have a raging medical and surgical fetish and, when he asked me to do it, I got off the phone, got hard when I immediately imagined the look on her face when she woke up and felt the pain of what had just been done to her, and then got soft real fast when I felt like a creep for sexualizing my step-grandma's surgical pain. Even though he's only been with the woman for a few years -- she's wife number six, we don't get attached -- and we've met a grand total of two times. It still felt...icky...to do what they would consider a kind favor if I wasn't going to be able to keep my dick down. Considering how many times I got hard thinking of that look on her face when my brain wandered toward the request, I wasn't going to be able to.
But it was icy the morning of the surgery, he's 78, and she's suffering so badly from the arthritis that's necessitating the hip replacements that he was going to have to transfer her from her wheelchair into their van in the ice. So, I'm not a total asshole....I said I'd come pick them up and gave my dick a talking to for the whole half hour drive to their house, insisting that we were not, under any circumstances, going to sexualize any part of my step-grandma's surgery experience.
We got there, they said a lovey, dovey goodbye -- they're disgustingly into PDA for septuagenarians -- then she was wheeled in for surgery, already a little loopy from the drugs they came her to keep her calm before the procedure. My dick did so well, only a teeny tiny jump, when they placed her central line and told her she'd really want that to deliver her pain medication once the nerve block placed during surgery wore off.
The surgery took about six hours, a little long for a bilateral hip replacement, and I tried valiantly not to look at the clock and imagine what they were doing to her at that point during the surgery. Were they prying her lips open to place the endotracheal tube? Using the saw to remove the arthritic joint? Or hammering the second new one in? Maybe there had been an unexpectedly tragic complication and right that very moment a surgeon was breaking her ribs as she coded on the table. It was a long six hours and Grandpa thought I had a weak bladder I had to go to the bathroom so many times to talk down my erection.
The doctor who came out to tell us the surgery had been a little difficult but she would recover normally told us a nurse would come back shortly and let us come see her in the post-anesthesia care unit once she was a little more awake. I had to excuse myself to the restroom again to have another talk with my dick because it was already getting traitorous at the thought of seeing her in the PACU, when her pain was most likely to be uncontrolled.
We didn't get to see her in the PACU, though. They came, said she was stable but needed a little more time. I figured she was either really groggy, really nauseous, or she was in so much pain it would freak us out and they were trying to control it before we saw her.
Unfortunately for me, my traitorous dick, and step granny, it was the latter. Two hours later they told us to meet her in her regular room because she was being wheeled down to be settled for the night, and to prepare ourselves because they were "struggling to keep her comfortable." We started hearing her pitiful groans when she was still halfway down the hall.
The semi I sprung the second I heard her keening cry after being jostled as the bed hit the door making the turn into the room turned into a rock hard erection when I saw her for the first time. She was lying flat on the bed, her head thrown back in agony, with her legs strapped around a blue triangular hip abductor pillow at her knees and mid-calf. The top of the triangle ended about one inch under her vagina, a hint of which I could see in the form of coarse gray hair partially obscuring a yellow catheter tube that snaked down to a half full bag of light yellow fluid hanging on the side of the bed.
Her face was beet red, streaked with tears, and her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She was crying so hard she seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating and the involuntary spasms of her struggle for breath and the heaving sobs were jerking her aching hips, sending slices of agony through her entire pelvis and down the bloody bandage covered incisions down the sides of her legs, which only made her struggle harder.
The cute, muscled twink nurse who introduced himself as Marco, her night nurse, said her nerve block was wearing off and he would give her another dose of pain meds once he plugged in the monitors. He was making quick work of getting her settled when grandpa and I approached her bed.
I was so fucking hard I could barely move for fear my erection, which was twitching enough in my boxers to make me tremble, would hit the thick, dark denim of the jeans I wore specifically so I could hide this problem if it, um, popped up. I was in such a state that any friction would absolutely have been game over for me.
[If you've gotten this far and are fucking horrified by me, well, I was fucking horrified with myself to be leaking pre-cum at an old lady's obvious agony. Trust me, I get it. I didn't want my fetish to turn me on in a real life hospital. But holy shit she was lying there, screaming "my hips, my hips!" while strapped down immobile to that pillow like she was out of central casting in a surgical fetish fiction film and there were no number of thoughts of hellfire and damnation that could talk my penis down at that point. Why did it have to be hips?! I've had a hard on for this particular surgery since I was like 10 and I saw an old lady on Rescue 911 with a badly dislocated hip beg the paramedics to let her die rather than taking her to the hospital to have hip replacement for the second time because she didn't think she could endure the pain of waking up from that surgery again. I must have had 3000 orgasms since then watching the exact part of the video where she woke up from anesthesia and screamed, "my hip, oh God, why, I can't take the pain in my hip!" So, actually. I was doing insanely fucking well for what this was doing to me, thank you very much.]
Step granny saw grandpa and let out a wail. She tried to reach for him and groaned when it shot white sharp sparks through her surgical wounds again. She was visibly struggling to put words together through the haze of pain and the drugs in her system but she looked at him plaintively and began to beg, her voice raspy from the trach tube.
"Please, make the pain stop, I feel like I'm gonna die I'm in so much pain! It feels like someone's drilling into my hips! This was a mistake, I didn't know it would hurt this much, I don't want to die in this much pain!"
I had to turn around at that to pinch the base of my cock to keep myself from busting. I grunted when I was just barely successful but couldn't rein in a few involuntary thrusts of my own hips into the air that I hoped, if anyone was paying attention, would look like me trying to hold in my vomit of horror at seeing step granny in this condition.
But I turned around and it didn't seem like anyone was paying attention because Marco was putting a bolus of morphine into step granny's IV and she was pleading for him to hurry because it felt like a grenade had gone off in her pelvis.
I almost moaned at the pressure in the base of my cock as heard that and then had to push so fucking hard on my base again I almost squealed as I watched it take effect in less than a minute. Her eyes practically crossed before going wide with what looked like surprise. Her mouth dropped open and her tongue lolled around her lips as the drugs hit her.
She made a few noises that sent shivers through my erection before her whole body seemed to deflate with a long, breathy sigh. Her head fell to the side, her eyes and mouth locked open in a rictus of what could have been agony, bliss, or was more likely some combination of the two.
I don't know how I didn't bust right then. It was like she'd been written as a character in a kink fic to hit all my surgical fetish buttons. She was just splayed there, drugged out of her gourd, with a dumb look of utter shock on her face, like she never could have imagined having her arthritic hip joints sawed off and metal balls hammered into their place would hurt this bad.
She lay there like that for five minutes, emitting weak groans but otherwise completely catatonic. I didn't even know if she was conscious but grandpa stroked her cheek, rubbing a knuckle near her slack mouth.
"How are those hips feeling, honey?"
It didn't look like she was able to hear us for about 30 seconds but then her eyes went to half lidded, then rolled back in her head, and then she let out a long throaty moan that could only be described as pornographic.
"Ooooooooooh they feel so good, oh God it feels so good."
She let out another long moan and it looked like she was going to go catatonic again but this time with her eyes rolled back in her head and a mask of pure bliss on her pale features.
My grandpa turned to me and shot me an unexpectedly dirty smile for the situation.
"That's what she said last night. And that was the look she had on her face when she said it too."
My cock jumped in my pants so hard I was sure my grandpa had to see it. It was only that thought -- explaining to my grandpa why I was cumming all over his wife's hospital bed -- that kept me from nutting because...holy shit. I never ever thought I'd find my grandpa having sex with his wife hot but the idea of him pounding her mangled hips hours before they sliced them out just about sent me over the edge after everything else I'd endured over the last few hours.
I was thanking fuck I managed to hold it together when step granny emitted a strained chuckle and commanded her drugged features into what might pass as a smile. She let out another one of those long moans and I almost joined her as it sent a bolt of heat to my length.
"Give me a few hours and my hips can take you," she slurred. "They feel so good I'll take all of it, the whole thing, just give me a few hours."
It was a drugged old lady thing to say and, I can attest, would become a family favorite story of step granny's hip replacement tale once she was far enough from it for anything about it to be funny.
It was also the last fucking straw for my poor, aching cock. I didn't even have a chance to stop it. I was cumming, untouched, for the first time in my life, in the middle of relative's hospital room. And I wasn't cumming delicately or demurely, I was cumming like a fucking freight train, moaning, bucking into the air, and practically having a seizure as every fucking hot thing about the fucking hottest day of my life - which had basically been 10 hours of edging to a 15 year-old fantasy -- spilled over into the best and most embarrassing orgasm I had ever had, coating my boxers with a measure of cum I didn't know was possible to shoot out of me or anyone.
I was still jerking from the aftershocks when Marco, the nurse who I’d barely noticed before, put his shoulder under mine and held me up as I bucked involuntarily, spilling the last of my load. I had no idea what I was going to say to anyone but, for whatever reason, he was leading me out of the room, telling my bewildered grandpa I might be in shock from seeing step granny in so much pain.
Just as we were about to leave the room Marco looked at me knowingly, flashed a sick smile, and called back into the room, "now take it easy now, you two love birds. Wouldn't want to take those new hips out for a spin too soon!"
I groan as my poor, throbbing cock perks back up at the general implications of that and he grins like the cat that got the canary, clearly confirming to himself that I'm getting sexual pleasure out of this, as if cumming myself stupid in the middle of her hospital room didn't give enough of a clue.
He directed me into a nearby closet and I am about to open my mouth to explain why I'm not the worst person in the world for getting off to my grandmother's agonizing surgery recovery when Marco whipped his cock out and gave it a few fast, desperate strokes before pulling a face of relief that almost reminded me of step granny when she got the morphine.
"I'm sorry," he said, continuing to rut his massive cock desperately into his hand, "it's just she's so fucking hot, she's like a god damn fetish porno, and I've been hard as a fucking rock since she woke up and screamed "my hips, oh my god, someone put a gun up my vagina and exploded my hips!"
I heard that and for the second time in my life, and that day, I nutted my brains out without so much as stroke to my cock. He kept tugging on me through the aftershocks as he told about what she was like to recover.
He said it was like she could feel everything from the moment she was brought around on the table and that she started screaming for pain meds the instant she was extubated, while they were still suctioning out of her throat even. Marco started bucking into his own hand, his voice becoming uneven with arousal, as he told me the doctor kept insisting she had a nerve block and she was just being dramatic or was maybe even med seeking while she was laying in the bed, trembling, on the verge of going into shock from the pain.
His voice became uneven as he stroked himself harder and began to imitate step granny as she lay there screaming, groggy and deeply confused from the effects of the anesthesia.
“I feel where they broke my hip!”
“Why is this happening to me? Please make it stop”
“Am I dying? I’m in so much pain I feel like I’m dying!”
By this point Marco had jerked himself into a frenzy reliving how she looked and sounded in the depths of her agony but he blew his load when he relayed the look on her face when she was moved from the operating table to the bed. She was evidently a little more aware than she should have been and, well, he was cumming too hard to tell me exactly what happened but it must have been brutal because he came screaming “my hips are shattering, my hips are shattering.”
It was remarkably chill between me and Marco after we both came down from fucking ourselves silly to our medfet dreams made real life. He was asking me about my favorite surgeries, how I realized medical stuff turned me on, if my granny was always so dramatic. I was telling him I knew her about as well as he did when he got a text that made his jaw drop.
“Holy shit. Fuck dude. She wasn’t being dramatic. They just caught her anesthesiologist high in the parking lot. He was diverting during her fucking surgery.”
I look at him with a blank look. “What does that mean?”
He winced. “It means instead of giving her the drugs he took them himself. Everything she was supposed to get after and, holy shit from the way she was when she woke up, maybe from during the surgery too. Holy shit. I hope she had enough during the surgery. She did keep saying she felt everything.”
I felt my heart start to race as I thought I understood what he was saying but I asked him to clarify just to make sure I was understanding.
“No wonder we were nutting over how hot she was being. She didn’t have any pain meds after the surgery and she may not have even had enough during the surgery. She wasn’t being dramatic, she was raw dogging a double hip replacement.”
For the third time in my life, and that day, I busted absolutely untouched in my pants. That was the single fucking hottest thing I'd ever heard up until that moment.
That is until three days later when I held Marco's cock and step granny's hand as she strained on a bedpan to take the dreaded first post-surgery shit.
"Oh God, I need an enema, I feel like it's breaking my hips!"
I quit counting how many times I came, untouched and otherwise, during her recovery as Marco and I got to know each other.
There's a reason we still refer to step granny's now long healed, ballroom dancing hips as "the hips that launched 1000 orgasms."
The rapid advance of Katie's rectal cancer was marked by a series of life altering indignities. She went to the doctor because she noticed she was bleeding out of her butt and, after the diagnosis of Stage IV rectal cancer with limited metastases was confirmed, spent the next 7 months with a team of oncologists waging, as she darkly called it, "the war on ass cancer."
She started concurrent radiation and chemo while still working her job as a receptionist, which in reality meant showing up to her job wearing a Depends and struggling with the alternating side effects of agonizing constipation and never ending diarrhea on the company toilet.
By the time she checked herself into the hospital for intrarectal brachytherapy she could feel the tumor burning almost constantly and was having to use heavy duty opioids to control her pain enough to get out of bed. That lovely treatment involved a really painful prep enema -- because definitely what you want in your irradiated anus is enema solution! -- followed by the insertion of a catheter directly into the tumor to deliver a low dose of radiation over several days. She had to lie there, immobile and too drug resistant at this point for the PCA to do much more than take the edge off, and feel the tumor in her butt being burned with radiation.
[Because America sucks she had to go back to work two days later. Her boss found her unconscious on the bathroom floor, face down with her bloody, swollen, shit covered ass mooning him, after she'd fainted from the pain of trying to take a bowel movement. That was the day the prick finally approved her long term medical leave.]
Through it all -- and all of it was terrible -- the thing that drove Katie absolutely up the wall was what she later learned was called tenesmus, a common rectal cancer symptom.
From about 3 weeks before her diagnosis through her entire treatment regimen, every single minute, she felt like she needed to shit. It caused a few accidents, of course, because she never knew when she truly truly needed to empty her bowels, but shitting herself had become an almost daily occurrence and she employed her dark humor to cope by buying all new brown towels, bathroom rugs, and underwear. But the psychological effect of needing to poop every single second of every day for seven months felt like one of those "would you rather games." Would you rather have your toenails ripped out every day or feel like you need to shit every second of every day? Katie thought, with that she knew now, she'd definitely choose the toenails.
Two months after the intrarectal brachytherapy her oncologist sat her down and told her the less aggressive treatments hadn't worked as they had hoped. Her only hope for beating the cancer was a posterior pelvic exenteration. She sat, shell shocked, as he explained how her rectum would be removed and a colostomy created to remove waste into a bag. He wants to excise her vagina too, just to be safe, but thinks he'll be able to spare her bladder. The surgery will take about 12 hours and she'll be in the hospital for up to a month after to begin the arduous recovery.
She walks out of the office with a date on a card to have her ass and vagina removed. She and her wife, Violet, sit in the car in silence for a long time, pondering the future. They clutch hands, both crying silently. Finally Katie clears her throat and smiles, a hint of dark humor in her eyes.
"Well, at least without an ass I won't feel like I need to shit all the time!"
Katie spends the next several weeks going to imaging appointments, meeting with counselors, and preparing for the major surgery. On the big day she is nervous, of course, but so worn down from the months of pain and fatigue from the cancer and the treatments that she's ready for it to just happen. Go to sleep and let the doctors take care of her for a while. Her main fear is waking up in uncontrollable pain but they reassure her she will have an epidural and the anesthesia team will aggressively control her post-surgical pain.
After 13 hours the lead surgeon comes to find Violet in the waiting room to brief her about her wife's condition.
"Katie made it through the surgery. She's stable and being monitored in the ICU. It was grueling but we accomplished what we needed to in order to give her the best shot possible to beat the cancer. She's still on the ventilator, which is not uncommon after such a long procedure. She’s conscious and aware, but we’re managing some significant pain, which is also expected after a surgery of this magnitude. Right now, her pain is not as well-controlled as we’d like, but we’re actively working to get her some relief. It’s going to take some time to fine-tune her medications and ensure she’s as comfortable as possible.”
It's clear when Violet is finally allowed to see her wife that "comfortable" is a very long way off at this point. Katie's wrists are restrained -- a nurse tells her she was trying to pull out the endotracheal tube -- and she's naked and exposed from the waist down, showing off the horror show of her drains and incisions. Violet lets out a cry as she looks to where her wife's vagina and ass used to be and sees the lines of staples that have made her null. There's a bag of fecal matter resting on her bloated belly, attached to a swollen stoma.
But the most heartbreaking thing to see if Katie's red, puffed face crunched up in agony, tears streaming down her cheeks, a thick endotracheal tube down her throat secured by medical tape on her lips. Violet approaches and Katie's dull, glassy eyes follow her. She can see clearly she's pleading for her wife to do something about the excruciating pain in her abdomen and pelvis.
Violet looks up, alarmed, at the ICU nurse. "She's supposed to have an epidural. Why is she in this much pain? You have to do something!"
The nurse nods somberly. "I assure you we're working on it. Your wife was already on very heavy pain killers to deal with the effects of cancer treatment so she's become pretty resistant. We're doing everything we can to get her pain under control."
Violet is loathe to accept that but the anesthesia team is in and out, clearly trying to address her wife's pain. All she can do is stroke Katie's hair, wipe her tears, and reassure her she's not alone as she endures the most painful and terrifying hours of her life.
Finally a cocktail of fentanyl and ketamine are able to provide Katie enough relief that she is able to be extubated. Even will the strong drugs coursing through her system she's incoherent for hours, still in enough pain that she groans under her breath almost constantly, occasionally crying out "my belly" or "oh God I hurt!"
Violet stops Katie's doctor at one point and asks him what her wife is feeling as she writhes in the bed. He explains she's likely experiencing sharp burning sensations from the incisions and a deep, aching pressure radiating through her pelvis and abdomen from the trauma of the cavity clearance. From the way she keeps grabbing her belly, he thinks she's likely experiencing cramps in her stoma and, from the way she keeps trying to move her hips and then screaming from the pain it causes, extreme soreness from the way she was positioned for so long.
Sixteen hours after surgery Katie opens her eyes and Violet can tell she's really there, groggy and trembling in excruciating pain but, at last, coherent. She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again before letting out a pained sob. Suddenly she's crying again and Violet braces herself for whatever her wife is about to say.
Violet's been preparing for this moment, has a big speech planned that will reassure her beloved wife she loves her no matter what her lower body looks like and they will get through this together. She just needs Katie to give her an opening.
Katie's still sputtering, trying to get words out of her pain and anesthesia addled brain. She looks so miserable and affronted, tears running down her red, bloated face.
"They cut my ass off and I still feel like I need to shit!"
You were a mess when they brought you in. Your hips were clearly dislocated and askew at a disgusting inward angle. You were bleeding internally into your belly and pelvis from the crush trauma . You were gaped from the birth and lying in a puddle of your own birth fluids. You were in absolute agony screaming "my hips, oh God my hips! oh God it hurts so bad!" and "ow ow oh God I'm still contracting, it's killing me, I think I'm gonna die!" We didn't sedate you before moving you to the operating table and you yelled out "OH MY GOD I FEEL MY BONES GRINDING TOGETHER" before your eyes rolled back in your head and you passed out.
You begin to truly wake up from the anesthesia about four hours after surgery when the nerve block started to wear off and you started to feel the the deep grinding ache in your hips from the bilateral hip replacement and the stinging fire of the pelvic fixator staked through your skin and bone. Your eyes roll back in your head in agony when your new hip is manipulated by the nurse for the first time, fire shooting up your back and down your thigh as the injured muscles object.
"Oh God please don't move me, it hurts so bad. Oh God please give me something for the pain!"
Of course me being me, I imagine the stress of coming round and being manipulated has you clutching your chest before long. Or going from essentially choking on the pain, crying growing incoherent and falling into cardiac distress. Or even a seizure, your writhing and shaking rattling the bed and hardware screwed into your body. They'll medicate you and keep your among the living, barely.
You'll wake up after more time, this time with endotracheal tube still deep in your throat. Quite unable to groan at additional pain of deeply bruised chest and fractured ribs from the battle to save your life.
We struggle mightily to keep your pain under control but the first few hours after you wake up from surgery are a haze of unrelenting agony from the deep, crushing ache in your hips and pelvis and the burn of the incisions on your legs and belly. You lie there, face pale and tight, with your legs propped up under the knees to keep your new joints level, groaning and trembling from the pain as you drift in and out of consciousness.
You've been through a lot but it's normal practice to mobilize hip replacement patients early to aid in joint healing. So we didn't pay you much mind when you started screaming and begging the nurse not to gently lift and manipulate your right leg. But something may have already been wrong because, when we did, everyone in the room heard the sickening pop as your new right hip dislocated. Your eyes went crossed immediately as the pain of the new joint dislocating, tearing all of the recently operated on muscles and tendons surrounding it, ripped through your leg and shot up through your back and down your injured pelvis. The muscle spasm as the joint dislocated was so intense it bucked your entire body forward in the bed and your blood curdling scream could be heard 3 floors down as the involuntary movement pulled your hip further out of place and ripped one of the screws in your pelvic fixator out of the bone in your pelvic girdle.
A wave of nausea hits you. You're lightheaded, quickly going into shock from the trauma. We rush to your aid as you lay stricken, tears streaming down your red, blotchy face as you start to hyperventilate from the pain. "OH GOD MY HIP, HELP ME, I CAN"T TAKE THE PAIN!"
We're getting ready to push sedation but I see it in your eyes the moment the crushing chest pain hits. They go wide with disbelief as a crushing weight settles in your ribs and you feel a white hot burn shooting from your heart as it sputters to a stop, the stress of the accident and the birth and finally the dislocation just too much to handle. You have just enough strength to weakly grab at your chest, trying to massage away the pain of your massive cardiac arrest. You're gasping for breath, feeling yourself suffocating. You take one last agonal breath and fall on to the pillow without a pulse, your mouth lolled open and your eyes fixed and dilated.
You stare lifelessly at the ceiling as we run the code for 40 minutes, your battered body forced to endure a brutal fight for your life along with your devastating injuries. The LUCAS breaks 4 ribs and cracks your sternum and it's sickening for even the most seasoned medical professionals amongst us to watch your right hip bounce at an inward angle, audibly popping around in the socket, in time with the compressions as we work to save you.
We breathe a sigh of relief when we get you back. Your chest is visibly concave and already bruised a sickening shade of purple from the force of the long resuscitation. Your white lips are squeezed around an endotracheal tube and, even deeply unconscious, your face is marred with the pain of what you've just endured.
We transport you up to the OR and you undergo a reduction on your right hip to repair the soft tissure damage and secure it back in the socket. We have to open your pelvic incision back up to repair the fixator. In total it's another five hours on the table in the lithotomy position.
You wake up intubated in the surgical ICU. It feels like an elephant is sitting on your pelvis and your right hip is throbbing in time with your heartbeat, the ache deep in the bone. You don't understand why your chest is hurting so bad. Every mechanical breath the ventilator takes for you pushes air up against your broken ribs and cracked sternum and the sharp slicing burn of it is almost too much to bear. You try to groan but there is a tube down your throat and all you manage is to make yourself feel like you are choking on the ventilator.
You struggle to open your eyes and, somewhere in the haze of the anesthesia and the pain, you realize you can't move. You wonder when the medical staff is going to notice you are in so much pain and give you some relief.
It becomes horrifyingly clear they have no idea how much you are suffering when you overhear two nurses checking the drains on your hips discussing your condition.
"Poor dear's got an epidural and is deeply sedated. She's not feeling anything right now. And lucky thing, too, they really had to do a number on her to repair her."
You try to force open your eyes or move your hand to tell them you are aware and feeling everything but all it does is shoot a wave of nausea and dizziness through you, making you gag on the tube in your throat again.
A sense of dread fills you as the pain spikes and you feel a familiar crushing ache blooming in your bruised, busted chest...
Stuck on the idea of surgery resuscitation. The staff suddenly changing focus as the monitors alert the whole OR, draping urgently moved, the table shaking ever so slightly under compressions, positioned limbs swaying in rhythm. The ventilator is paused and replaced with the bag, the staff mutters as she squeezes "come back to us, it was supposed to be a simple one..." Compressions resume, meds are pushed, gazes meet the failing line on the monitor. Will they leave the operation alive?
I'm stuck on a code happening deep into a really complex surgical procedure at a sensitive moment and the surgeons having to abandon what they were doing to start resuscitation:
Granny's having her hip replaced and they're hammering her new joint into the socket when her old heart gives out. They start doing compressions and her open hip joint is just popping in and out of the socket in time with the compressions, ripping the sensitive muscles and tendons.
Or a patient undergoing total pelvic exenteration codes just as the surgeons are removing her vagina and anus. She's just a bloody gaping hole between her legs as the LUCAS device starts pumping her chest, the open laparotomy incision bouncing as they work on her.
You were a mess when they brought you in. Your hips were clearly dislocated and askew at a disgusting inward angle. You were bleeding internally into your belly and pelvis from the crush trauma . You were gaped from the birth and lying in a puddle of your own birth fluids. You were in absolute agony screaming "my hips, oh God my hips! oh God it hurts so bad!" and "ow ow oh God I'm still contracting, it's killing me, I think I'm gonna die!" We didn't sedate you before moving you to the operating table and you yelled out "OH MY GOD I FEEL MY BONES GRINDING TOGETHER" before your eyes rolled back in your head and you passed out.
You begin to truly wake up from the anesthesia about four hours after surgery when the nerve block started to wear off and you started to feel the the deep grinding ache in your hips from the bilateral hip replacement and the stinging fire of the pelvic fixator staked through your skin and bone. Your eyes roll back in your head in agony when your new hip is manipulated by the nurse for the first time, fire shooting up your back and down your thigh as the injured muscles object.
"Oh God please don't move me, it hurts so bad. Oh God please give me something for the pain!"
You'll never forget the look of dumb shock and absolute agony on your mommy's face when she was struck down by a massive cardiac infarction while getting ready for Thanksgiving. Her eyes crossed as the crushing pain hit & she fell immediately to the floor, weakly grasping an uncoordinated hand at the agony in her chest. She made a gurgling sound in the back of her throat as she tried and failed to call out, whether for help or to express the extent of her pain, you don't know.
You call for your cousin John, a paramedic, who rushes in, yelling over his shoulder at the rest of the family gathered outside her bedroom door for someone to call 911. Your mommy's eyes are rolled back and her mouth has fallen open. John checks for breath and a pulse and, finding none, starts to perform CPR.
As you watch your cousin brutally pump her chest, her tits flopping lewdly with each blow, you realize the sickly snapping sound every third thrust or so are your mommy's ribs breaking under the pressure. A sharp, putrid scent fills the air and you gag and have to swallow back vomit when you realize your mommy has released her bladder and bowels and the squishing sound is the shit and pee oozing out of her leggings as her body is slammed up and down in time to the life saving thrusts.
John gratefully lets his fellow paramedics take over when they arrive. The whole family, gathered for what they thought was to be a family filled day of food and gratitude, is ushered outside the room but you are permitted to stay. One medics bags her and starts IV's while the other cuts her bra off, freeing her soft, fat titties, and places pads strategically on her chest. Watching them call clear and shock your mommy's greying, lifeless body feels like something out of a nightmare, especially when it takes multiple shocks to get a heartbeat. Each shock jiggles her lard filled limbs lewdly and her eyes remain firmly rolled back in her head.
She's still got a medic breathing for her with a bag but her heart is beating weakly on its own when she is rolled out of the house on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance. Your neighbors stare and give silent gratitude up to the sky it wasn't their Thanksgiving that ended in tragedy.
No one is allowed to ride in the ambulance with her and, by the time you and the rest of the family arrive at the hospital, she has been rushed into emergency bypass surgery. You try not to think of a tube being roughly shoved down her throat, her arms spread as her chest is swabbed with iodine in preparation for the bone saw to cut through her sternum. You remember the sound of her ribs breaking and wince when you imagine what it must sound like when her whole breastbone is being cracked.
Seven hours later the surgeon comes into the waiting room and gently informs the family that mommy now has multiple stents in her heart and, while she will need to be on a strict diet to keep her heart healthy for the rest of her life, she should make a full recovery.
He pulls you aside as the rest of the family breaks to text updates and leave to get food to tell you your mommy is awake and extubated in the cardiac post anesthesia care unit but is disoriented and in a lot of pain. He suggests you try to calm her as they work on getting her pain under control.
When you walk into her area in the PACU you think the doctor was perhaps understating the situation. Mommy is writhing in the bed, clutching near her gravely wounded chest and making a pitiful moaning sound. She's wearing a hospital gown but nothing underneath it. She has clearly forgotten her modesty in her haze of pain and confusion. Her legs are splayed in the scissor position and her fat, hairy, catheterized pussy is on full display as she bucks from the burning in her chest. The pale expanse of her gut, the problem at the root of this predicament, wobbles as she jerks her body deeper into the bed to fight the pain.
You try to soothe her and, in her more lucid moments, explain why her chest is hurting so bad but she's too disoriented to understand.
Finally the nurses decide to push something much stronger into mommy's IV. Her face softens when the edges of the agony dull the minute the magical drug hits her blood stream. As she passes out, she's able to utter her first coherent sentence since her almost fatal heart attack.
"I can’t wait to eat turkey and dressing and sweet potato and haaaaam..."
Mommy slips into unconciousness with one hand laying over the staples that now hold her chest together, the other stroking her fat gut, dreaming about giving herself the next massive heart attack.
Thelma, a 57 year-old laparascopic hysterectomy patient, lies intubated and exposed on an operating table prior to surgery. Soon her abdominal cavity will be pumped full of air so the doctor can jam a camera through her belly button and visualize her gynecologic organs. Her uterus will be manipulated into place and then surgically removed, along with her ovaries, fallopian tubes, and cervix. It will be pulled out through her vaginal cavity and then a cuff will be sewn at the top of her vagina to serve as a closure.
She's not gonna wake up from the anesthesia feeling very good. Her belly incisions are deep due to her size and the surgery turned out more intensive than expected due to the discovery of a large fibroid and extensive endometriosis. Her uterus was so enlarged it ripped her perineum when it was pulled out, just like her third son had when his head blew through her tender tissues fifteen years prior.
She moans a lot as she's waking up in recovery. Her usually rotund belly has swollen grotesquely and the gas pains in her poor, aching belly prove too much for her. Soon she's crying out for more pain meds, which they give her, but also want her to get up and walk.
When they finally heave her groggy body up from the bed, her blood soaked mesh panties flashing out of her open backed hospital gown, she grabs at her distended abdomen with a cry of shock and pain.
"Ow, it feels like my intestines are gonna fall out of my twat!"
