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!"
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."
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.
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!"
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.
I want to wake up nauseated, confused, and in a lot of pain in a post anesthesia care unit.
For a long time I drift in and out of consciousness, moaning groggily about the dawning pain in my swollen abdomen. My incoherent cries join those of ten or so other women who are waking up to the unpleasant post surgical realities of sore throats from being intubated, sharp plastic tubes up pee holes, and the start of wicked gas pains against hysterectomy incisions. I notice sort of distantly that the woman behind the curtain next to me is sobbing and begging for pain meds and hope that my own pain levels don't get that bad.
I don't take anesthesia well so I'm down for the count in recovery for a while. Every once in a while I come back to consciousness just enough to remember the hysterectomy I've been planning for months is over and that's why I'm lying here in a hospital bed, moaning about the pain in my belly and the rough feeling in my vagina. I cry when I'm jostled as they remove the catheter.
My wife later tells me that I moan and cry the entire time the medical team helps me into my mesh underwear and my street clothes to go home. It's still shocking to me that 5 hours after my gynecological organs were sliced out of my vagina guided by a camera through my belly button that my bloated and barely coherent body is being loaded into a cab to recover from major abdominal surgery from home.
I lay in my wife's arms and cry the whole excruciating way downtown. The four incisions in my abdomen have become very apparent and the ominous pain deep inside my belly is getting worse by the minute. The gas pains come so sharp I can't help but cry out "it hurts!" every couple of blocks. I'm painfully aware of every bump and when the cabbie hits a particularly bad pothole, I suddenly feel my poor, eviscerated insides slam against my belly and, inexplicably, my entire vagina alights in agony.
"BE CAREFUL, I JUST HAD A HYSTERECTOMY!"
I cry incoherently, holding my puffy, aching belly, until we get home. I feel like my insides are going to fall out of my vagina as I walk into the house.
My wife is finally able to settle me in a comfortable position and put ice packs on my swollen belly and vagina. I'm so dizzy, barely clinging to consciousness, as she tries to get me my meds and some food. I can sense she's desperate to bring me around a little bit more.
But the gas pains are SO BAD. I can feel every internal stitch on my vaginal cuff incision because of the air bloating my belly. The best solution, walking, makes me want to cry. I'm in so much pain I can't imagine moving.
When I finally do make it to the toilet to take my first of many post surgery pees, I cry out when I sit and my vagina is hanging down over the toilet. It burns inside and, frankly, feels like I just got roughly fucked. Which I did, albeit with two weighted speculums.
I'm bleeding pretty badly into the mesh panties the hospital provided but I just let my wife change the pad because I'm so groggy and in so much pain she practically has to carry me to bed. I moan in gratitude as she places a heating pad on my aching belly and an ice pack in between my legs.
My pain remains uncontrolled all night -- I'm sure the neighbors loved me screaming "oh God, the gas hurts so bad" at the top of my lungs at 2am -- and I wake in the morning bleeding heavily and so sore I'm unable to get myself out of bed. My vagina is on fire and I still feel like my organs are going to fall into my underwear. When the gas pain comes it grips me to point where all I can do is fold myself over my screaming belly and pray it passes before I pass out from the pain.
Turns out having your gynecological organs sliced out hurts, no matter which way you do it.
