Life Self Pity—STAT!
posted by February 27 at 15:57 PMon
With all due respect to my friends at MedicalToys.com, I find nothing erotic—absolutely nothing—about the whole hospital experience.
You see, I was on a snowboarding trip last week, and everything was going great—until the last run on our last day. About two hundred yards from the car, I hit the ground. The end of my board jammed into the snow and turned clockwise; my body was thrown counter-clockwise. My left knee and ankle bore the brunt. For a second, as I lay on the ground composing my thoughts over the sound of my own screams, I was convinced I’d broken my leg. I didn’t think it was possible for a leg to bend like that and not break into at least four pieces.
But a few minutes after two Good Samaritans helped me take off my board—I didn’t get their names—I could stand. Barely. A moment later, I could walk. Lamely. But since I was standing and walking, I figured, shit, however swollen my ankle, however stabbing the pain in my knee… I must be okay, right?
Four days and no improvement later, I limped into the ER at a Boston hospital—a hospital conveniently located across the street from the hotel where everyone from the This American Life tour is staying. I’ve been here, in this room, for almost four hours now. I missed call, I missed sound check, and as of 20 minutes ago, I missed dinner. I hope I make the performance.
When it became clear that I was going to be spending a lot of time in this room alone, I decided to haul out my laptop and get some work done. And what do you know? The fifth letter I opened while sorting through my “Savage Love” mail was from a medical fetishist. That prompted me to look around my room. The gurney I’d come to think of as my own, one of those rolling doctor chairs, boxes of rubber gloves, stacks of hospital gowns, the bright and unflattering light. Hm. It would be easier for me to get hard in my mother’s mouth, as Dave Schmader might say, than in this room.
Fetishes are subjective, of course, and not everything is to everyones’ tastes—and how boring sex would be if that were the case. But… still. I’ve been in sexier, well, I was going to say “funeral homes,” but some folks find those places sexy. So I’ll just stop now.
Oh, but to any medical fetishists out there reading this? Eat your hearts out, suckers. I was seen by three doctors—an impossibly cute Asian guy, an impossibly sexy Indian woman, and finally an impossibly sexy blond guy. The nurse who came in and fitted me for a splint was also impossibly beautiful. Tall, blond, skinny. I felt like I was on a bad TV doctor show. Someone with a medical fetish would have really enjoyed the fuck out of my trip to the ER today. Too bad it happened to me, medical fetishists, and not to you.