Quid Pro Quo

By MCC

Chapter 1

The ad looked inviting, more than most; "Medical Fantasies in a Real Hospital, with Real Staff. Any procedure considered."

I’d been interested in casts, braces, splints and traction for quite a long time, and had also opened my eyes to other, related interests. Finding people with similar interests on the Internet had emboldened me, so I decided to call and investigate this "hospital". Thinking I’d get a sales pitch and a request for a credit card number, I was surprised when the voice on the other end of the line said "Come on by and see the place". That very afternoon I did.

It was indeed a real hospital, although small by modern standards. It was probably built in the late 50’s or early 60’s, was a single-story brick structure, with several wings radiating out from the main building. I was greeted in the lobby by a slender woman in a traditional nurse’s uniform (starched white), whose name tag read "Ms. Lori". She guided me into an office and spoke with me for a few moments about my interests. She explained that they had to be careful who they showed the hospital to, as their discretion was the primary reason for their continued success. I started with my interest in recreational orthopedics, and she asked some knowledgeable questions on the subject. She went on to ask about other aspects of medical fantasies, and I admitted to having looked at some of them on the Internet, while others I’d never considered before.

After half an hour or so, she seemed convinced of my sincerity, and led me back into one wing of the hospital, to see some of the work they did. She explained that it was used mostly by the staff when they were off-duty or "on vacation", and as such their identity would not be hidden. I was advised not to ask any questions, and to keep my hands folded behind my back.

The first room we entered had a young woman laying in a bed wearing a body cast from her toes to the top of her head. Her arms were not encased, but were held down by her sides with heavy-padded, hospital restraints. A tube led from a bag of milky fluid into her nose, and another tube exited from the crotch of the cast, leading to a urine collection bag hanging on the bed. This, I was told, was Mary, and she was spending her two-week vacation relaxing – as relaxed as sedatives could make her without requiring a ventilator. Because of the extended immobilization, Mary would have to spend her first 5 weeks back at work in a Milwaukee Brace. Again. Apparently the prospect of this did not bother her.

The next room had a man in it wearing a shoulder spica cast. This was Tom. He was spending a week exploring a type of cast he’d never worn before. He seemed content, reading a book.

The third room was a little shocking for me. In it was a woman with tubes in every natural orifice of her body, as well as a ventilator tube connected to the front of her neck. Wires connected to electrodes placed all over her body, with others disappearing into orifices alongside some of the tubes. Her name was Margaret, and she was testing her limits of physical discomfort. As I watched, there was a sudden, sharp buzzing, and Margaret arched her back, falling back down into the bed. Apparently electric stimulation was part of the experience.

The forth room I entered had no bed. Instead, there was a frame against one wall, and stretched out on this frame like a drying animal pelt was the latex-encased form of a woman. Several tubes entered her bodysuit at the head and crotch, leading to a white metal cabinet beside the frame. This woman’s name was Erica. I was told nothing else about her.

The last room I was shown was a "treatment room". Seeming like a large operating theater, there was equipment and materials filling it up, stainless steel and white enamel seeming to take up every spare foot along the walls. I couldn’t begin to guess at what half of them did. I was then lead back to the front office.

Miss Lori asked if I might be interested in attending the hospital, and I admitted that it had piqued my curiosity. A small smile played across her face as she handed me a clipboard with several sheets on it, telling me that it was a questionnaire used by the staff to determine what their "patients" wanted, and needed. Assuring me that I would not have to sign anything yet, she explained how to fill the questionnaire out, then left the room. The form had 158 different items on it, each with three boxes next to it: Interested, Not Interested, Don’t Care. Those which I marked as "Interested", the staff would try to integrate into my visit, provided I decided to make a visit. Those marked "Not Interested", would be things I definitely did not want to try, and they would not be forced on me. The items marked "Don’t Care" might be done by the staff, and might not be.

Some things I quickly decided I was for: Cast (with sub categories for every possible type or combinations of casts): Splints (again, many possibilities): Brace (how many different types of braces can you name? Double it and add five – that’s how many there were – I checked them all): Traction (several types – I intentionally indicated "no" on any that were described as "skeletal" – that usually meant pins or wires or something inserted through the skin): Muscle Relaxants (I’d taken muscle relaxers before, and I was all for them): Pain Killers (see the previous - I liked not hurting): Restraints (seemed okay, especially those padded ones Mary was wearing): Anesthetic Gasses (see "Painkillers" above).

Some items I automatically marked "Not Interested": anything that ended in "ectomy" (I guess, since it is a real hospital, they could perform real surgery): Piercing (I’m not particularly fond of needles): Castration (yes, it was really on there): Amputation (there are all kinds of folks, folks): Electroshock Therapy (I still remember Jack Nicholson’s scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest"): Implantation (I have no idea what, or where, they were referring to).

Some things had never really revved my engine, but weren’t immediate turnoffs, either: Enemas: Colonic Therapy: Catheterization: Anal Stimulation: ElectroStimulation: Scheduled Feeding: Assisted Respiration (spending some time in an iron lung might be interesting).

Ms. Lori came back into the room shortly after I’d finished, and looked over my selections. She nodded at most, and smiled at one or two, then picked up a pen and asked me a couple of other questions. If I decided to spend time in their hospital, would I prefer male or female staff to take care of me? Would I want to be in any particular "condition" when I left the hospital? Seeing my puzzled look on that one, she explained that some of their "orthopedic guests" usually left the hospital in some kind of brace or cast, to be worn "full-term" as she put it. Since the hospital staff were authentic medical personnel, they could arrange for all the correct paperwork to satisfy any employer about the "condition". They also had the ability to prescribe drugs if the course of "treatment" was to be continued at home. I replied that it might be interesting to take home a "souvenir", which brought another smile to her face. She then asked if I had any questions, and I asked the big one – what about cost?

Ms. Lori smiled again, and explained that there was a fee for their services, though that was waved in cases of "quid pro quo" – that is, they would help to fulfill my fantasies, if, in exchange, I allowed them to use me to fulfill theirs. My raised eyebrows elicited a further explanation; the staff sometimes had specific procedures they wished to perform on others, or wished to have procedures performed on them, that required someone else be present. If I agreed to the "quid pro quo", and signed a contract and waiver to that effect, I could spend time in the hospital free of charge. I was assured that nothing I’d checked on the form as "Not Interested" would be forced on me, and I would not be injured or have anything permanent done to me that I had not specifically requested. Seemed reasonable, so I agreed, and Ms. Lori scribbled some notations on the form.

Finally, I asked about the amount of time I could expect to stay in the facility. Ms. Lori explained that they could develop a "treatment plan" for virtually any length of stay, although some things, such as having a brace custom-made, took time, and a lot of their patients tended to book in for weekends only. With that she looked at me and asked what kind of time frame I had in mind.

Originally, a weekend visit had been on my mind, but I considered the fact that I’d just been divorced, and had three weeks’ of vacationing coming without anything (or much money) to do during that time. I explained this to Ms. Lori, which caused her to yet again raise her eyebrows. After thinking for several minutes, during which she tapped the end of the pen against her bottom lip, she said that a treatment plan would be worked up and sent to me via e-mail, and that if I was interested, I needed only to let them know the dates I’d be available. I thanked her, shook her hand, and went home.

Two days later I received a sizable e-mail from the hospital, titled "Recommended Treatment". I half-expected it to read like a cheap bondage novel, and was surprised at the content;

"Dear Sir,

I have reviewed the tests and documentation provided to me. That, as well as the examination I personally made have lead me to the conclusion that you are suffering from osteoarthrosis of the spine, as your previous physician had indicated. I do, however, disagree on the course of treatment, and do not think that surgery is indicated at this time. I believe a regimen of rest, coupled with appropriately-applied traction, will reduce the pain and discomfort you are experiencing, and that use of a properly-fitted supportive appliance (i.e, a brace) will allow you to continue at this reduced level of pain and discomfort for the foreseeable future. This treatment, though not as drastic as surgery, will require a hospital stay of 2-3 weeks. If you are interested in pursuing this course of action, please contact my office so that we may make appropriate arrangements.

Sincerely,

Dr. Wilma E. Beckham"

At first I was puzzled as to the content of the letter, but then I realized that they were providing me with an official-sounding reason to use when I asked for time off. I’d often made statements that my back and neck were uncomfortable, so it wouldn’t come as a tremendous surprise. I decided then and there to go for it.

The next day I showed the e-mail to my boss, and asked for 3 weeks off. He seemed overly skeptical, and I imagined that I wouldn’t be the first to try to fake an e-mail excuse to ask for time off. He scribbled something down, and said he’d get back with me. I thought it would be a day or two before I heard from him, but he was at my cubicle 45 minutes later, looking very perturbed. It seems he’d written down the name of the doctor, and decided to call the doctor to verify the message. My heart sank to my stomach. I hadn’t thought that he’d do that. I surmised that he’d found no such doctor, and was about to give me my pink slip. Instead he said he’d talked to the doctor, and asked why I’d kept my condition from him, looking a little bit hurt. I stammered a bit, and then explained that with the marital problems and divorce that had occupied my spare time for the past two years, I really didn’t want anyone else knowing about this additional problem. (Seemed a reasonable excuse, even if hastily contrived.) Boss then explained that he’d called Human Resources, and had arranged for me to take as much time as I needed (paid), and that if any special arrangements needed to be made to my work environment on my return, they’d be happy to accommodate me. He then turned and left.

I sat there with my mouth agape and my mind spinning. Two days before I’d half-heartedly looked into exploring some of my more arcane fantasies, not really expecting too much to occur. Now, it looked as though not only was I going to get to experience them, but on a full-time basis, and in full view of my friends and co-workers (without their knowledge, to boot – and that seemed to be the most exciting aspect of all).

And to top it all off, I’d actually gotten to see my boss act, not just nice, but sympathetic. That alone was worth all the trouble.