"So you understand this requires the GREATEST of discretion."
Julie kept a straight face while internally rolling her eyes. Rich people more worried about their public image then their disabled relative. She responded "Sir I value your privacy but my first priority is always going to be the care of my patient. I promise that your privacy will be second only to that." So there, she thought. Julie was 25 years old, 5'-9" tall, curvy, with brown hair and honest brown eyes. She had 32D breasts and a tight wide ass. She was the embodiment of the perfect hourglass figure outside of a small belly, which was barely visible. She was currently single, and worked in healthcare first as a caregiver and now as a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) to make ends meet after she'd been kicked loose from her foster home at her 18th birthday. She had no family she knew about, although she'd been told her mother had been an alcoholic who'd abandoned her at the hospital. She had been told about this job by her boss at the Brooklyn Rehab Center.
"That's good." The man rubbed his forehead. "You see our current caregiver is leaving us in two days. It's our son." He paused again.
Julie forced herself not to roll her eyes. Did they think they were the only ones in the whole world with a disabled son?
"He's super morbidly obese, like to the point he can't walk very far, and needs assistance with just about everything. So..." Pause.
The woman stepped in. "Do you have any experience with heavier people?"
Julie said "Yes." Her mind changing gears from a severely disabled adult to one who was fat, "When I was working at Brooklyn Rehab I worked in the bariatric care section."
"Do you have any problems working alone?"
"No. Not if your son can stand and walk."
"He's extremely limited in his movements. It's a very difficult situation for us as a family."
"I understand. Are you currently working on a weight loss program?"
"NO!" The man snapped. "It's his choice."
"You see" the woman stepped in. "We don't want you to strain your relationship with the boy by pressuring him. That's our job as his parents. We just need you to help care for him since my husband and I have very full schedules."
"Not a problem." Julie said "If all I have to do is assist with personal care that makes my job much easier."
"Remember complete confidentiality. In the circles we move in our son's... condition would create many problems, including the bad publicity for my corporation."
"Not a problem" Julie answered.
"Good. Now some lifestyle questions. These have nothing to do with you getting the job or not. Do you drink alcohol?"
"Not often. Only socially and never very much."
"Do you smoke?"
"Yes."
"Did you take smoking breaks at your last job?"
"Yes."
"Fine. Have you ever tried drugs?"
"No, my family raised me very well in that regard."
"Okay. Are you married or in a relationship?"
"No."
"Religious?"
"Yes, but not often."
"Thank you for humoring me. In case you were wondering I was curious as to whether or not anything in your personal life would need... adjusting on our end. Childcare for instance. As it appears the only thing to do is to offer you the job. The hours are 8am to 6pm 5 days a week with Tuesdays and Saturdays off, although if you're in town we need you to be on call for an emergency."
*************
Madison was a heavyset African American woman in her 30s with slabs of excess poundage on her thighs and bottom giving her what would have been a majestic waddle if she didn't move so fast. Instead it was sort of a penguin looking waddle as she shuffled along rapidly, talking over her shoulder. "So Max is a very sweet guy. I really wish I could stay on but I got this great job offer with a good raise and they'll pay for my LPN license"
They were on the far wing of the mansion on the ground floor. The house, shaped like an 'L' was perched on top of a hill but then the builders had dug into the hill creating a large basement that opened onto a small gravel circle behind the main house looking over a river. They were in the bottom arm of the 'L', the part that opened onto the back of the house and a hidden driveway. It had been created, Madison explained, as a deluxe suite for either a live in servant, a temporary residence for corporation employees, or a family member who wanted to be partially separate from the rest of the family. Say an in-law. Now it was being used as the exclusive residence for Max. His bed, and indeed world, were in the living room, a massive room with floor to ceiling glass windows, his bed where he spent most of his time. To the right was a large open area. To the left of his bed was the commode he used, and next to it his oversized wheelchair. He was snoring and Madison led Julie back to the office that they had. It used to be the bedroom but now there was just a narrow bed, a small TV, a desk with PC, landline phone, and neat stacks of paper. Julie sat on the bed and Madison plopped into the chair and explained.
Max's Father owned a massive healthcare conglomeration. Everything from Medical Supply, to nursing homes, including Brooklyn Rehab, to an Ambulance/Wheelchair Van Transport company. Because of that word getting out that his son, who would have been the heir to the company, wasn't disabled, which was the unofficial story, but extremely life threatenly obese, BY CHOICE, and he'd be the laughing stock of the healthcare world. Or so he thought. Personally Madison didn't think anyone would care.
Madison showed her around the rest of the suite and told her that she should park her car on the gravel circle, (There was a wide spot specifically for the purpose), showed her the walk in closet with spare equipment, like a power wheelchair, and medical supplies, told her that deliveries came through the garage, and into the closet through a door put in specifically for the purpose. They weren't to see Max because word might get out. Inside the garage was a minivan with a wheelchair ramp. Madison explained that the vehicle's suspension had been modified to handle up to a thousand extra pounds. Madison also explained the weight limits. Max was believed to be in the neighborhood of 675-700 pounds. While the manual wheelchair next to the bed was rated up to 850lbs, the motorized one, the one he used if he went out in the van, or upstairs to spend time with his family, was rated at 650lbs which meant Max was at or above the maximum weight limit for the chair so she was to be very careful helping him into it. All this was explained to her outside, just around the corner from the top of the bottom arm of the "L." Essentially where the period is while they took a cigarette break. There was a picnic table and ashcan all set up.
As for food the kitchenette was stockpiled with snacks. Three meals a day for him were prepared by the cook in the kitchen but snacks in between and beverages were her responsibility. Madison advised her to check on the supplies and order replacements at least every other day. There was a pad of scratch paper next to a laminated list of what to have on hand.
Finally she introduced her to Max. She immediately liked him. He had a charming smile and was surprisingly clean, although he did have the smell her trained healthcare senses associated with super morbidly obese patients, the smell of old urine, feces, and sweat. He told her "you're in charge except for when I eat and when I go to the bathroom. Otherwise we do what you say."
Madison supervised her for the rest of the day. Julie handled it just fine. Max was strong enough to stand and pivoted to the commode by himself and only needed to be cleaned up afterwords, something he was incapable of doing. Julie could understand why he'd need help after number two but then she found that only the head of his penis was visible with the rest buried inside his pubic fat. Madison was going on to say "Occasionally he has... accidents..." When Max jumped in saying "Sometimes I stuff myself with so much food I can't move. Sometimes when I do that I piss or shit myself because I just can't hold it, I'm working to hard on not throwing up." And he winked at her. See what I mean about a sense of humor?
Outside as they were smoking one last cigarette together and Madison said "If you have any questions give me a call. I'll be happy to come back and cover for you on vacation or something."
"Who takes care of him on my days off?"
"I don't know. I believe his mother helps out although I don't know who cleans him."
********
Inside Max lay on his bed smiling. He couldn't believe it, he got a super hot care assistant to look after him. He couldn't wait!
Friday, June 1, 2018
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Past and Present - SSBBW
Past:
She grew up in a small cheap apartment complex in a rough neighborhood. Her life revolved around food. Her father lusted after her mother, with her wide hips and sagging gut, her painfully stiff waddle. When he came home he’d make sure she and her daughters had plenty to eat then he ate a small portion and drank himself oblivious, chainsmoking cheap cigarillos throughout. More often then not when drunk he’d become aroused, he’d come up behind her mother, with his zipper open and member posed, then pull down her pants or lift up her dress and bend her over the counter, or a table, whichever was handiest, and he’d proceed to have intercourse. Having gained release he’d stagger into the bedroom to pass out. Her mother never complained, never wearing underwear at home, and usually wearing dresses for ease of access.
Her parents were incredible chainsmokers, which contributed to the funk of the house. All her early memories feature her massively obese mother squinting through clouds of tobacco smoke from the eternal cigarette in the corner of her mouth, that only disappeared when she ate.
Her father was a good provider, food was never scarce and the girls were encouraged to eat their fill. His sons were encouraged to eat the minimum, to save more for their mother, who ate the most, and their sisters, and to “keep them in trim to be good strong providers” someday.
Her mother was a short but incredibly wide woman. Her hips, legs, butt, upper arms, belly and thighs made her practically circular. Her belly reached to her knees but her butt provided a good counterweight. As the years passed and the weight bore on her frame she began to stay in bed or sit on the couch all day snacking. The couch was never preferred as her father would come home and after drinking himself oblivious and then her father would struggle to find her holes and be unable to preform. But as she lay in bed, he could early lift one of her legs, lift her belly, or have her roll over, and then “use her as providence intended” as he always said.
Present:
She lives in a small crummy house on the edge of a bad neighborhood. Food is everything. Fast food, traditional ethnic food, homemade food, anything edible, she needs to eat. Only then can she reward her feeder with hard work, at least in a way that’s comfortable for them, as she is no longer able to get wet without a full stomach. Originally, probably like her mother, the simple touch to her privates would get her dripping. Access is a challenge now as she’s plagued by lymphoma in her legs, her stomach pools in her lap, and folds from her thighs and butt intertwine around her pussy.
Her feeder is a good provider to her with a good job, good benefits, and enough money to keep good food, medications, cigarettes and hygiene supplies well stocked, their job pays them well and her feeder can do much of it from home, allowing them to assist her as she needs them.
Like her parents she’s a heavy smoker, unlike her mother she smokes to take the edge off her incredibly strong food addiction and her health has suffered. She consumes cigarettes like food, not merely puffing on them, but dragging on them like they’re in short supply. She started much earlier then her mother too and her lungs have been subsequently trashed.
She’s beautifully pear shaped, although every surface is riddled with stretch marks and cellulite, a belly to the mid thigh level, and massive thick thighs. Her ass is huge, larger then her mothers, and would make a fine shelf if she could stand long enough. Her balance is dreadful as her belly reaches only halfway to her knees, unlike her mothers and the sheer amount of her weight leaves her breathless and gasping in pain with every step.
Past:
For as long as she can remember her mom needed help. Washing herself, wiping, and getting dressed. She was simply too fat, and too lazy to do them herself. Watching her father washing under her mom’s breasts, caressing her heavy gut as her worked, gave her her definition of true love.
Her Mothers final years were spent in bed, with her husband, who’d used her and used her, time and again, in private, in front of their children, wherever, as her primary caretaker. Food was still never scarce and her weight ballooned till her cardio-pulmonary system simply gave out from the weight and several undiagnosed medical conditions.
Present:
Getting out of bed is no longer feasible. She’s much larger then her mother was, and unlike her mother, since most of her weight is carried in her hips and butt, standing puts her dangerously off balance. Her feeder does everything for her, bathing her rolls, applying lotion to her flesh, and cleaning up her waste. Unlike her mom her medical conditions have been diagnosed and the prognosis is grime. 5-7 years left in her life if she doesn’t turn her life around, the Congestive heart failure, Emphysema, hypertension, and diabetes are killing her. But it hasn’t stopped her from lying back in her bed and stuffing her face with junk food.
Right now, as her death caused by her unhealthy lifestyle approaches, she’s completely dependent on her feeder. She’s all but immobile, capable of standing and taking a couple steps when she absolutely has too. Her feeder bathes her, powers the folds and spreads lotion across her titanic mountain of flab. Her feeder changes her chux pads and bed pan, wiping her enormous private parts with care while she lies there like a massive mountain of flab, struggling to breath so she can eat that next donut or smoke that next cigarette. It’s her definition of true love.
She grew up in a small cheap apartment complex in a rough neighborhood. Her life revolved around food. Her father lusted after her mother, with her wide hips and sagging gut, her painfully stiff waddle. When he came home he’d make sure she and her daughters had plenty to eat then he ate a small portion and drank himself oblivious, chainsmoking cheap cigarillos throughout. More often then not when drunk he’d become aroused, he’d come up behind her mother, with his zipper open and member posed, then pull down her pants or lift up her dress and bend her over the counter, or a table, whichever was handiest, and he’d proceed to have intercourse. Having gained release he’d stagger into the bedroom to pass out. Her mother never complained, never wearing underwear at home, and usually wearing dresses for ease of access.
Her parents were incredible chainsmokers, which contributed to the funk of the house. All her early memories feature her massively obese mother squinting through clouds of tobacco smoke from the eternal cigarette in the corner of her mouth, that only disappeared when she ate.
Her father was a good provider, food was never scarce and the girls were encouraged to eat their fill. His sons were encouraged to eat the minimum, to save more for their mother, who ate the most, and their sisters, and to “keep them in trim to be good strong providers” someday.
Her mother was a short but incredibly wide woman. Her hips, legs, butt, upper arms, belly and thighs made her practically circular. Her belly reached to her knees but her butt provided a good counterweight. As the years passed and the weight bore on her frame she began to stay in bed or sit on the couch all day snacking. The couch was never preferred as her father would come home and after drinking himself oblivious and then her father would struggle to find her holes and be unable to preform. But as she lay in bed, he could early lift one of her legs, lift her belly, or have her roll over, and then “use her as providence intended” as he always said.
Present:
She lives in a small crummy house on the edge of a bad neighborhood. Food is everything. Fast food, traditional ethnic food, homemade food, anything edible, she needs to eat. Only then can she reward her feeder with hard work, at least in a way that’s comfortable for them, as she is no longer able to get wet without a full stomach. Originally, probably like her mother, the simple touch to her privates would get her dripping. Access is a challenge now as she’s plagued by lymphoma in her legs, her stomach pools in her lap, and folds from her thighs and butt intertwine around her pussy.
Her feeder is a good provider to her with a good job, good benefits, and enough money to keep good food, medications, cigarettes and hygiene supplies well stocked, their job pays them well and her feeder can do much of it from home, allowing them to assist her as she needs them.
Like her parents she’s a heavy smoker, unlike her mother she smokes to take the edge off her incredibly strong food addiction and her health has suffered. She consumes cigarettes like food, not merely puffing on them, but dragging on them like they’re in short supply. She started much earlier then her mother too and her lungs have been subsequently trashed.
She’s beautifully pear shaped, although every surface is riddled with stretch marks and cellulite, a belly to the mid thigh level, and massive thick thighs. Her ass is huge, larger then her mothers, and would make a fine shelf if she could stand long enough. Her balance is dreadful as her belly reaches only halfway to her knees, unlike her mothers and the sheer amount of her weight leaves her breathless and gasping in pain with every step.
Past:
For as long as she can remember her mom needed help. Washing herself, wiping, and getting dressed. She was simply too fat, and too lazy to do them herself. Watching her father washing under her mom’s breasts, caressing her heavy gut as her worked, gave her her definition of true love.
Her Mothers final years were spent in bed, with her husband, who’d used her and used her, time and again, in private, in front of their children, wherever, as her primary caretaker. Food was still never scarce and her weight ballooned till her cardio-pulmonary system simply gave out from the weight and several undiagnosed medical conditions.
Present:
Getting out of bed is no longer feasible. She’s much larger then her mother was, and unlike her mother, since most of her weight is carried in her hips and butt, standing puts her dangerously off balance. Her feeder does everything for her, bathing her rolls, applying lotion to her flesh, and cleaning up her waste. Unlike her mom her medical conditions have been diagnosed and the prognosis is grime. 5-7 years left in her life if she doesn’t turn her life around, the Congestive heart failure, Emphysema, hypertension, and diabetes are killing her. But it hasn’t stopped her from lying back in her bed and stuffing her face with junk food.
Right now, as her death caused by her unhealthy lifestyle approaches, she’s completely dependent on her feeder. She’s all but immobile, capable of standing and taking a couple steps when she absolutely has too. Her feeder bathes her, powers the folds and spreads lotion across her titanic mountain of flab. Her feeder changes her chux pads and bed pan, wiping her enormous private parts with care while she lies there like a massive mountain of flab, struggling to breath so she can eat that next donut or smoke that next cigarette. It’s her definition of true love.
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
Past and Present - SSBHM
His younger sister was born 9 months after Mom and Dad’s 400lbs celebration sex.
He grew up watching Mom as she lusted after the way Dad moved, his arms held away from his body, belly swaying, wheezing for breath, taking it step by step, thinking “I want my wife to watch me like that.”
He “shared” some of Dad’s “Snacks” as they sat together on the couch, Dads belly jutting between his massive thighs.
He grew up breathing in his father’s smell, the smell of sweat and B.O. that couldn’t seem to get washed away.
But the scene that probably had the greatest impact on his life happened when he was 13. He was around 140lbs then and sitting in the kitchen. He glanced up as he saw his father scooting forwards on the couch. He saw his father take the plastic urinal and begin fishing around under his belly, gasping from the effort. Finally with a wheeze of success he got the urinal in place and drained his bladder before scooting back on the couch and resuming where he’d left off on a bag of Doritos. It wasn’t till years later that he realized that his father had been struggling to find his penis which was buried deep within his folds having been swallowed inside his father’s fatpad.
Present:
An overworked GI tract, leading to incredible amounts of flatulence, constant warmth, leading to constant sweating, and the simple mass of fat packed onto his frame making bodily functions difficult, leading to difficulty wiping, have given him a smell all his own.
He lives for the gentle caresses, ass smacks, and jiggles from his feeder. And when he waddled around a lot more feeling his feeder’s eyes on his massive jiggle ass could make him erect.
He eats four meals a day, with constant grazing in between. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Supper. Breakfast at 8am, Lunch at 1, Dinner at 5, supper at 8pm. Supper is usually the biggest while dinner is the lightest.
He’s much fatter then his father. At his Father’s largest he was able to walk from his bed to the bathroom in the corner of his room but for him getting from the bed to the commode next to the bed presents an almost insurmountable challenge.
At his current size reaching his penis for pleasure or relief is impossible. Even if it wasn't buried deep inside his fatpad his massive belly, which jets out in front of him, pooling around his knees would make it impossible for him to reach with his own hands leaving it to his feeder to dig around under his belly and find it. His feeder has to massage the fat to make it erect so they can find it and that’s how they change the catheter. He’s been to fat for urinals for at least 3 years.
Past:
Watching his Dad eat was like watching a man at work. Serious, dedicated, a task to be completed. That didn’t stop him from overindulging in delicious mountains of food. To him, food was work, and his work was to become incredibly fat to satisfy the insatiable appetite for massive obesity possessed by his wife.
At night, unless he was sleeping sitting up on the sofa, a more common sight the heavier he got, his father used a CPAP system to keep his airway open at night. The massive amount of weight in his body had distorted his anatomy making it easy for his airway to close.
Present:
For him food holds an almost orgasmic pleasure. Each bite lights a spark within him, a warmth, that he needs. Physically this addiction to the orgasmic pleasure he derives from food has destroyed him, with a life expectancy of less then a decade, heart problems and aggressive diabetes, but he still feels the shifting inside his immobile fatpad of his penis becoming erect as he chokes a whole cake down his maw in an effort to satisfy his insatiable addiction to feeling full
His body lies in its bed, almost too fat even for the two steps to the commode, leaving him to soil himself with the undigested remains of his food. Breathing is a struggle even at the best of times and an oxygen concentrator constantly hums, giving him a stream of life giving oxygen, compensating for the fat that is crushing his lungs making breathing without it almost impossible. He knows, daily, that his death is near, similar to his fathers, a heart attack in bed after a massive meal but inside him the knowledge, and what a scary thought it is, keeps coming up. “What if I never feel full again? I’ll go crazy and die! My feeder might leave me!” Those thoughts, and the instinct of a man born to be a Goliath of adipose drive him to food.
Monday, January 1, 2018
New Year, New You (Wilcox Farms Short Story)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I work for a pharmaceutical and medical supply company. While my employers originally planned to only provide home medical supplies when they opened shop our biggest clients are now nursing homes. We contract with several dozen nursing homes supplying their residents with prescription medication. Through this work I have met many other healthcare professionals including Nurses, CNAs, and Paramedics. Why does this matter to you? Because this next (Short) story was partially based off of a story told to me by an EMT friend of mine over a beer New Years Eve.
New Year, New You
"Where are we going?" The two EMTs from Julian Ambulance had been the last to arrive. They'd only been told they were an "Assist." The Paramedic glanced down at the mess of paperwork spread out on the counter in front of him. "Some subacute place, Wilcox Farms. Ever heard of it?"
"Isn't that the place with the bariatric vent unit?" His partner, the other paramedic, asked.
"Something like that." The original paramedic scribbled the address on a slip of paper and passed it to the second assist crew. There were now 6 EMTs and Paramedics gathered in the hallway of the hospital. The newest EMT looked around. "So... What's up?"
The original Paramedic slid a sheet of paper over to her. It was a treatment summary.
Inside the room their patient lay in the massive bed. Her body was touching the sides of the bed. She was in agony. Constantly. Three months ago she'd started having chest pain that wouldn't go away. Finally, barely able to breath, even with constant oxygen support her husband called 911. They'd found her on a filthy bed, the stench of her unwashed fat folds making their eyes water. After getting her onto the stretcher she'd died. Using an automated CPR device they'd stabilized her and gotten her to the hospital. Doctors there placed 13 stents and then discovered the true extent of the damage done to her body. Massively obese her whole life as well as a chainsmoker, with prolific cocaine and other recreational drugs use in late high school and college, then finally bed confined for 3 years by her weight, her health had been destroyed by her bad habits. Her husband, who worked full time, was also a feeder and had helped her body expand to it's current size which the hospital had measured at 830lbs or 59.3 stone.
During the heart attack she'd stopped breathing and hadn't started again so now she was on a ventilator that did the breathing for her. The hospital had discovered that her kidneys were failing, and in spite of their best efforts they had finally failed completely and she'd been placed on dialysis. Sores were all over her body from lying in her own filth for hours at a time, and several toes had to be amputated from her uncontrolled diabetes. Her liver was swollen and approaching failure, and her lungs, crushed by her weight and destroyed by her smoking, could barely supply her body with oxygen even with a machine pumping them up for her. Her legs were swollen with excess liquid and leaked onto pads placed underneath to absorb the liquid. As far as she was concerned the worst was the diet. She NEEDED food desperately. She was constantly, psychologically, hungry. The smoking hadn't been nearly as hard to quit as the food. She had to eat something and the small portions the hospital provided her didn't come close to satisfying her. It was like a heroin addict getting a low dose opoid every day and that was it. And the pain... She was constantly being moved, she was far to fat and weak to move herself, to be cleaned, probed and massaged. Her wounds were being dressed, her folds cleaned, and her urine was whisked away by a catheter. But the pain in her chest never went away. The anxiety, her heart problems, and the pressure on her lungs, left her in constant agony. Her joints were also in constant pain as the lack of use led to muscles wasting away.
Meanwhile the 6 EMS techs moved in and out of the room, preparing the XL stretcher for her, setting up their equipment, and preparing to transfer her to their ventilator, the heaviest EMT still narrower then her leg. But she didn't care about that. She only cared about getting something, ANYTHING, edible into her mouth that she could swallow. But there was nothing in reach and she was far too fat, weak, and lazy to get up and get something herself. Meanwhile, ignored by everyone, was the commercial currently playing on the TV advertising "A new year, it's time for a new you."
New Year, New You
"Where are we going?" The two EMTs from Julian Ambulance had been the last to arrive. They'd only been told they were an "Assist." The Paramedic glanced down at the mess of paperwork spread out on the counter in front of him. "Some subacute place, Wilcox Farms. Ever heard of it?"
"Isn't that the place with the bariatric vent unit?" His partner, the other paramedic, asked.
"Something like that." The original paramedic scribbled the address on a slip of paper and passed it to the second assist crew. There were now 6 EMTs and Paramedics gathered in the hallway of the hospital. The newest EMT looked around. "So... What's up?"
The original Paramedic slid a sheet of paper over to her. It was a treatment summary.
Inside the room their patient lay in the massive bed. Her body was touching the sides of the bed. She was in agony. Constantly. Three months ago she'd started having chest pain that wouldn't go away. Finally, barely able to breath, even with constant oxygen support her husband called 911. They'd found her on a filthy bed, the stench of her unwashed fat folds making their eyes water. After getting her onto the stretcher she'd died. Using an automated CPR device they'd stabilized her and gotten her to the hospital. Doctors there placed 13 stents and then discovered the true extent of the damage done to her body. Massively obese her whole life as well as a chainsmoker, with prolific cocaine and other recreational drugs use in late high school and college, then finally bed confined for 3 years by her weight, her health had been destroyed by her bad habits. Her husband, who worked full time, was also a feeder and had helped her body expand to it's current size which the hospital had measured at 830lbs or 59.3 stone.
During the heart attack she'd stopped breathing and hadn't started again so now she was on a ventilator that did the breathing for her. The hospital had discovered that her kidneys were failing, and in spite of their best efforts they had finally failed completely and she'd been placed on dialysis. Sores were all over her body from lying in her own filth for hours at a time, and several toes had to be amputated from her uncontrolled diabetes. Her liver was swollen and approaching failure, and her lungs, crushed by her weight and destroyed by her smoking, could barely supply her body with oxygen even with a machine pumping them up for her. Her legs were swollen with excess liquid and leaked onto pads placed underneath to absorb the liquid. As far as she was concerned the worst was the diet. She NEEDED food desperately. She was constantly, psychologically, hungry. The smoking hadn't been nearly as hard to quit as the food. She had to eat something and the small portions the hospital provided her didn't come close to satisfying her. It was like a heroin addict getting a low dose opoid every day and that was it. And the pain... She was constantly being moved, she was far to fat and weak to move herself, to be cleaned, probed and massaged. Her wounds were being dressed, her folds cleaned, and her urine was whisked away by a catheter. But the pain in her chest never went away. The anxiety, her heart problems, and the pressure on her lungs, left her in constant agony. Her joints were also in constant pain as the lack of use led to muscles wasting away.
Meanwhile the 6 EMS techs moved in and out of the room, preparing the XL stretcher for her, setting up their equipment, and preparing to transfer her to their ventilator, the heaviest EMT still narrower then her leg. But she didn't care about that. She only cared about getting something, ANYTHING, edible into her mouth that she could swallow. But there was nothing in reach and she was far too fat, weak, and lazy to get up and get something herself. Meanwhile, ignored by everyone, was the commercial currently playing on the TV advertising "A new year, it's time for a new you."
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