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scrumptiousglitterlady · 2 years

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Chapter 2

Check-In

It was 6:30 pm, and I was standing outside the door to the hospital, trying to convince myself that, one, this was real, and two, it was what I really wanted to do. After all, I had no real guarantee that I’d be treated as I preferred, and that my preferences would be respected. On the other hand, I had no reason to suspect that I’d be mistreated. Aww, the hell with it. I stepped inside ….

… and was greeted my Nurse Lori, who was guiding a wheelchair towards me. A younger girl, in a candystriper’s outfit, followed her, and took my suitcase from my hand with a smile. I sat down in the chair, and was wheeled down the hall, to the office where I’d originally filled out the questionnaire. Ms. Lori handed me a clipboard, and asked me to carefully read over the documents on it. On top were printed versions of the questionnaire I’d filled out before, with all my answers inked in by the printer. I signed it, then went to the next document – “Contract for Mutual Servitude – Quid Pro Quo”. This document explained that I’d be letting the staff make all decisions concerning my treatment during my stay, and that in exchange for not having to pay, I was donating the use of my body towards medical research, within the limitations of Form 1203-B7. (I looked, and noted that was the form number of the questionnaire I’d just signed.). I signed that one, then the Waiver of Personal Liability that followed. That was it.

Nurse Lori collected the forms, made a couple of notations on them, and sealed them in an envelope before putting them in a file cabinet in one corner of the room. “Time to start”, she said.

She took control of the wheelchair and guided me out through a side door, down a short hallway (definitely late 50’s or early 60’s – all the tile was aqua green), and into a simple exam room. I was instructed to completely disrobe and wait for the doctor on the table. Once I was completely naked (“Underpants also, please”), Nurse Lori took the wheelchair, along with my clothes, out of the room and closed the door.

I’m sure it wasn’t five minutes, though it seemed longer, when the door opened and a woman in her late forties walked in. The tag on her coat identified her as Doctor W.E. Beckham. Doctor Beckham asked me quite a few questions concerning my physical history, then proceeded to examine me. I’d experienced physical exams before, but never one this thorough. Pulse, temperature, blood pressure, eyes, ears, throat, nose, listened to my heart, listened to my lungs, listened to my stomach, listened to my abdomen, thumped my chest and back, checked my joints for range of motion, checked my pulse at the wrist with my arm in various positions (I found out later that this is a good method for determining if muscle spasm exists in the neck and shoulders – if the muscle is in spasm, the pulse is cut off when the arm is raised). I lay on my back and my groin was looked at carefully. I rolled onto my stomach and my anus was examined. I stood up, bent over, and had my prostrate checked. Straightening up again, I was asked to turn my head and cough. Etc, etc.

Finally, after what seemed like two hours, the Doctor stated that it was time for me to be taken to the Prep Room. She then turned and exited through the door. I sat on the table, looking at the walls, trying to imagine what I’d gotten myself into, when the door opened, and in stepped Nurse Lori, guiding another wheelchair, only this one had a high back and adjustable leg rests, and every surface was covered in sheepskin. It also had somewhat formidable-looking leather restraints for the wrists, ankles and chest. I was gently but firmly guided into the chair, and the different straps were secured. Once I was belted in, a thick blanket was spread out over the top of me, covering all of my body except my head and neck.

“You will now be taken to the Prep Room. Here you will be prepared for a long hospital stay, with particular attention paid to those things which will benefit your treatment.”

“It has been determined that your initial course of treatment will consist of enforced spinal traction using the Cotrel method, that is, using a heavily-padded pelvic harness and head halter. Initially the traction weight will be five pounds on the head halter, and twelve pounds on the pelvic harness. These weights will be increased daily, with 3 daily periods, spanning 30 minutes each, of intermittent increased traction, accomplished by a mechanical traction machine. Traction will also be applied to both legs, to remove the effects their weight on your back. This will be done using skin traction on both your upper and lower legs. The initial treatment period is ten days, which may be extended, depending on your response.”

“To maximize the effect of the traction, you will be given large doses of muscle relaxers and tranquilizers. These doses will be increased at night, and decreased during the day, so that normal sleep-and-wake periods may be maintained. However, because of the doses you will be given, and to eliminate your need to spend time out of bed, you will be intubated with both an endotracheal tube for breathing, and a nasogastric tube for feeding. You will be on strict liquid-protein diet during this time, to minimize the necessity to void your bowels. To further minimize that need, you are going to undergo colonic therapy, to empty your intestines as completely as possible before being placed in traction.”

I felt a sudden rush of anxiety, which was apparent when I said, “Intubated?”

Nurse Lori stopped, looked into my eyes and smiled warmly. “Please don’t worry about it. You will be completely asleep when the procedure is performed, and you will be given pain-relieving drugs to minimize the discomfort. Trust me, I’ve done it several times, and it’s not bad at all, if you just relax.” She wheeled me out the door and down the hall.

“You will also be catheterized, though mostly only at night. One of the other doctors wants to use you for something during the day, and I understand a catheter would get in the way.” She actually sounded amused at that. My mind started swimming with the possibilities. “To help keep you clean, and to prepare you for the traction and other treatment regimes, we are going to apply a depilatory solution to you which will remove all your body hair. This includes your head, too, I’m afraid, but it’s been found that the traction, and what comes after the traction, are actually more comfortable against bare skin.”

We turned several corners (more than I’d have thought there would be in a building this size), and bumped through a swinging door into a room labeled “Patient Prep”. A fairly large room, it had a circular shower in one corner, and a stainless-steel table near a sink. I was wheeled to the shower, and my restraints were removed. “Stand in the shower, please.” I did as asked, and was handed a pair of swimmer’s goggles. “Please put these on, and make sure they’re snug. You don’t want to get any of this in your eyes.” I did as instructed. “Hold out your arms.” I did this also, and was rewarded with rubber wrist cuffs being placed on each arm. These were then attached to rails at each side of the shower. I was then presented with what looked like a scuba mouthpiece; I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and it was shoved in between my teeth and gums. Finally a clamp was placed on my nose. “Just relax, this will take a little bit.”

Nurse Lori left the room, and was replaced with a woman (I assume it was a woman – she protruded in all the right places) dressed completely in black rubber, head to toe, with a gas mask-looking thing on her face. She walked to the wall next to the shower and started working controls. I braced myself for the usual shot of cold water that comes out when any shower is first turned on – but was greeted by nothing but a warm, soothing stream.

I was “soaped-up” several times, and each time was scrubbed down firmly but gently by the rubber-clad woman. For the most part I stood still with my eyes closed – it actually felt good. When the water stopped, I opened my eyes and looked down. A large mass of dark hair covered the drain. The clamp was removed from my nose, and the mouthpiece from my mouth. After thoroughly drying me off, the rubber lady removed my goggles and wrist restraints. “Lay on that table”, came a muffled order, and she pointed to the table near the sink.

I did as I was told, with my head on the pillow. A blanket was spread over me, and the rubber lady left the room. After watching her leave, I turned my head back, and noticed a large mirror on the ceiling. Apparently I was to see whatever was going to be done to me. I also saw that I was completely bald, and that even my eyebrows were gone. I moved one hand to my groin, and noted that it, too, was bare as a baby’s butt.

The door opened, and two women came in, both dressed in white rubber outfits which covered everything except their faces. They moved immediately to my table, and started positioning metal troughs at the foot of the table. Once in place, they lift each of my legs and placed them in these “troughs”, and secured them there with rubber straps. The result was that my legs were spread wide apart, and raised up, so that my genital and anus were clearly exposed and presented. Next, each of my wrists was secured to the table with a rubber strap, and a wide strap was placed across my chest.

One of the women then walked to the head of the table, and presented what looked like a large football mouth guard. “Open wide”, she commanded, and I did as I was told. She then gently but firmly pushed the piece into my mouth. Once in position, it held my jaw slightly open, but effectively sealed my mouth. She then walked to the wall behind my head, and after a moment returned with a nasal gas mask. “Nitrous oxide”, she said, “it will help you relax during the procedure, and will minimize any discomfort you might feel.” The mask was placed snugly over my nose, and I noted the cool, slightly sweet gas inside. Within just a couple of minutes I started feeling a tingling sensation all over.

Both women had retreated to one of the cabinets against the wall, and returned with a covered tray and a rolling IV pole. A large, fully inflated, red rubber bag hung from the pole, with a hose attached to the bottom of it. Attached to the end of the hose was what I recognized to be a double Bardex enema nozzle. One of the women held the nozzle up, while the other liberally spread lubricant on it, then the first turned to me and without hesitation inserted it into my rectum. As it happened so quickly, I was surprised when it was inserted, and jumped a little. The second woman looked at me for a second, then walked to the wall behind the head of the table. She must have increased the nitrous mixture, for the effects I was feeling from the gas suddenly increased. The first woman started inflating the two balloons on the Bardex nozzle, and although I felt the pressure, I felt no discomfort. Once it was inflated, she released a clamp on the hose, and the enema solution flowed into me.

The mirror over my head gave me an unobstructed view of the procedure. Once the enema was started, the towel over the tray was removed, and I got an overhead view of what it contained; several rods of different diameters, slightly curved at one end with a rounded tip; three-pronged dilators of different sizes; different-shaped items made from a black rubber with wires attached to them; and what looked like a large, stainless-steel test tube with a rubber sleeve on the inside with two hoses attached.

The taller of the two women now spoke. “It is the doctor’s orders that, in addition to being intestinally evacuated (I supposed that’s what the enema was for), you will be given a rectal and urological assessment. This will involve dilating your urethra and rectum, and collection of specimens for analysis. While your digestive tract is being cleansed, we will proceed with the urological tract.” She then donned fresh gloves, and picked up the smallest of the slightly-curved rods. The other woman, who also donned fresh gloves, proceeded to apply liberal amounts of lubricant to the curved, rounded end of the rod.

It suddenly hit me what was about to happen, though the nitrous was doing a wonderful job of relaxing me. Since there was nothing I could do to stop it, I just took several deep breaths in quick succession. The tall woman heard this, turned and looked at me, and simply smiled. She then turned back to the foot of the table. Grasping my penis in one hand, she pulled it straight up, and holding it in that position, introduced the rounded end of the rod into my urethra. She slowly inserted it as far as she could, and then held it there for a moment.

I’d always wondered what it was like to be catheterized, and I’d read different accounts that described it as everything from absolute torture to the next best thing to heaven. I guess I’d expected there to be some pain from the rod being inserted into my penis and most of the way to my bladder, but there was none. I felt the metal enter, and I felt it’s progress the entire way down, and I felt it as it was being held in place, but I never felt pain, or even discomfort. If I had to describe the feeling, it was like I was in the process of urinating.

The rod was removed as slowly and carefully as it was inserted, and the next size rod was picked up, lubricated, and inserted. Again, there was no pain, though I felt as though I was pissing a stream a little larger than the one before.

About this time I realized a fullness in my abdomen, and noted that the enema bag was mostly deflated. As it emptied completely, the clamp on the hose was closed once more by the shorter woman. She then went back to assisting the first .

A total of ten different-sized rods were inserted into my urethra. The last, and largest, looked to be almost a quarter of an inch in diameter. Due to the slow expansion of the passage by the previous rods, and also, no doubt, to the effects of the nitrous, I felt only the slightest of discomforts, a stretching sensation, while it was being inserted. Once it was in, an elastic strap was placed around the shaft of my penis, and an attached strap was clipped to the rod, to hold it in place. The two women then stripped off their gloves, donned a fresh pair, and turned to the enema-in-progress.

A basin was moved to the foot of the table, obviously to catch what was about to come out. The double-Bardex nozzle was deflated and removed, and I was allowed to expel everything. Once it was all out, a second bag was hung on the IV pole, and the process was started all over again.

With the second enema started, the elastic strap was removed from my penis, and the final rod was withdrawn. A ring of black rubber was then placed around the base of my penis, underneath the scrotum, which had a wire attached to it. A second piece was inserted into my rectum alongside the Bardex nozzle – it, too, had a wire attached. Both of these wires were attached to a box with button and dials on it. The short woman flipped a switch and turned one of the dials, and my eyes rolled back into my head. I felt a sudden surge in my groin, and my penis immediately launched into an erection bigger than any I had ever known. The electric current must have been going straight through my prostrate, as I felt a rush of sexual excitement more intense than any I had ever known.

Lubricant was smeared over my now-rigid member, and the metal test tube was slipped down over it. One of the hoses was attached to a sealed jar, and the other to a metal device mounted on what I recognized as a vacuum pump. Another hose was connected between the pump and the collection jar, and the pump was turned on. As the vacuum built up, my penis was drawn even further into the tube, until it was entirely encased by the metal. Then, I heard a clicking sound from metal device on the pump, and the rubber sleeve started squeezing my penis. After a few seconds it stopped, then a few seconds later it repeated. I realized then that I was attached to an honest-to-god milking machine, and that the next specimen they were going to collect was my semen. The woman with the control box adjusted one of the dials, and the current going through my prostrate increased. I tried to move, but the straps held me firmly. I felt the climax coming for what seemed several minutes, and when it finally arrived, my eyes again rolled back into my head and I lost consciousness as my body convulsed with the most intense orgasm I’d ever known.

I must have regained consciousness a moment or two later, for everything was still attached to me and running. I glanced at the collection jar, and noted with some satisfaction that a fairly large amount of milky-white liquid was in the bottom. I felt smugly satisfied with myself for being such a good patient when I was jolted with another increase in current from the electrodes. Surely one of these women had seen my orgasm? Both of them then looked at the collection jar, then back at me. Apparently the sample collected wasn’t enough.

After my second orgasm, the Bardex nozzle was removed and I was allowed to expel again. Since this also meant the rectal electrode was removed, the current was turned off, though the milking machine was left in place. Once I was finished expelling the second enema, the tall woman rolled a stool up to the foot of the table, and sat down. Donning yet another pair of gloves (it made me wonder how many boxes of latex gloves this place went through in a month), she examined my rectum, even pushing one finger into it and moving it around. She then turned to the cart, and selected the largest of the three-pronged dilators, and once the assistant had smeared it with lubricant, proceeded to insert it into my rectum.

The dilator was slowly opened, and just as it was getting uncomfortable, it stopped. It was held in place for a few moments, then was opened a little more. A few moments there, and it was opened a little more. This was repeated several times, until apparently the dilator reached its limit, for it was retracted and removed, then a second, larger dilator was inserted. This one, too, was slowly opened, and when it was finally opened as far as it would go, the tall woman turned to the cart and retrieved a stainless rod with a small pad on one end, and a wooden handle on the other, with a wire exiting the handle. The wire was connected to the box which the electrodes were attached to, and using an exam light, she peered into my now-opened anus, and skillfully placed the padded end of the rod against my prostrate. “There it is”, she said.

The other woman turned a dial on the box, and instantly I was aroused again. The milking machine still had a firm grip on my penis, and now I was swelling up again to fill up the tube. After a moment, the tall nurse turned to the other one, smiled, and said “Now”.

The jolt of electricity that was applied to my prostrate was unlike any I’d ever felt before, and that included the time I’d touched the live wire inside my television set. If not for the mouth guard, I might have cracked some teeth from suddenly clenching my jaw. Even the effects of the nitrous weren’t enough to dull the pain I felt. Although there was only a single jolt, I twitched for several moments. When I finally settled down, I looked at the jar, and the sperm content seemed to have doubled. I was hoping the amount was sufficient, but my heart sank when the tall one turned to the other and said, “Twice more ought to do it”. The next time had me trying to scream through the mouth guard, and trying to rip the restraints from the table. On the third jolt, I simply passed out.

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