The Fall

Chapter 1 - The fall

Devon looked up at the white, sterile ceiling in frustration. He shouldn’t have been admitted to the hospital. There was no way this was possible; Devon was in denial he let himself slip this far into his gluttony. Who ever heard of a twenty five year old having a heart attack? It was obviously a false alarm, or at least it was at that time. He wasn’t even that big! There were people bigger than he was and plenty of obesity documentaries on television proved it. His friend overreacted. He could still take care of himself. Trips to the bathroom took half an hour, someone always delivered his groceries, and he hadn’t left the house in months, but he could still walk. Therefore, his weight wasn’t problematic and everyone were only trying to scare him. At least this is how he rationalized his situation.

Devon’s friend had an honest reason to be worried. Devon lived in ignorance, but the signs were obvious to everyone else. He was awe-inspiringly huge. In the gentlest way possible his meals were shit that he shoveled into his fat face day by day. When Devon hyperventilated on the phone and yelled about chest pain and numbness, his friend jumped into action by calling emergency services. He didn’t remember much about any of it; his short term memory of the event faded. The room felt like it spinned, which made him dizzy. His vision faded out and the next thing he knew he was in a sterile hospital room on a king sized bariatric bed filled with his blubber instead of his broken bed at home.

He only remembered what happened after being pushed to his private hospital room by grunting medical professionals. He thought back to earlier that evening when he arrived at the hospital and recapped the events. His vision grew dim, but he overheard the hospital staff talk about him in his comatose state.

For someone of Devon’s size and health it’s a medical marvel a crew of EMTs brought him in alive. Being that unhealthy for Devon and the pain the EMTs must have gone through were both nightmares in their own ways. A normal cholesterol level for Devon’s age should be less than 200 milligrams per deciliter indicates by mg/dL. The shocked nurses got a high reading of 262 mg/dL. A heart rate of 148 beats per minute made the professionals nervous that their patient will die before being released. One nurse tested Devon’s blood sugar and the numbers shot up higher than what is considered healthy: 203 mg/dL. When the doctor on call came in he described Devon’s blood pressure a hypertensive crisis as it approached 182/124. Devon’s BMI hit a dangerous 134, a higher number than he expected.

However, these numbers meant nothing to him as he had minimal knowledge regarding medical jargon. Devon’s weight on the bed scale was the only number he understood and even then he thought there was no way it could be accurate. The doctor’s abusive voice replayed in his head: “Nine hundred and eighty nine pounds.” It had to be wrong. Being that close to quadruple digits were so unreal it couldn’t even be sobering for him. Perhaps the doctor didn’t read the bed scale correctly or maybe the bed broke under the weight of another patient.

Regardless, Devon looked every pound the doctor claimed. He refused to wear the scratchy hospital gown. He still thought of it like a normal hospital gown, but the cloths were several gowns stitched together like a circus tent. Instead, he opted for the thin bed sheet. His body wasn’t big; the mound of blubber he called his body can only be described as colossal. He threw back the thin sheet and looked down at the parts of the body not hidden by lard. He looked like a TLC special in the making and naked he looked even bigger showing off every fold that pushed out in all directions. His breasts drooped down and sat on his diaphragm like mountains. They were so large that he couldn’t breathe without the help of an oxygen cannula in his nose. His deformed sides spilled over the sides of the bed like molten lava. The belly crushed his organs hung over his calves only leaving the lower halves visible. Under the belly hid his hips that became more and more dislocated as his swollen thighs spread his body far apart. If he could fit in any x-ray machine he would know that his pelvis cracked from the sheer weight bearing down on it.

The excessive thirst the doctor referred to as “polydipsia” brought on by diabetes left his mouth parched. He needed a gallon of whole chocolate milk stat. All the life saving medical interventions came second to the milk, which he was used to drinking several gallons of each day. Devon reached over to the call button and pushed it to get the attention of a nurse. Doubt entered his mind: they probably wouldn’t let him have his fix of milk and instead would give him water. He wanted to try anyway. He pressed the button again and again with the patience of a toddler.

“For fucks sake. I’ll get it myself,” he mumbled as if it was appropriate to get out of bed and walk down the hall completely naked for banned liquid calories.

The whale of a being panted and reached for the bariatric trapeze bar hung above the bed. The fat bat wing like arms jiggled. A noise came from the bar as he applied pressure on it and attempted to shift himself toward the edge of the bed. He was able to move a few centimeters and moved his leg diagonally of the bed. His breathing became more shallow and quick moving over again. Sweat formed around his forehead. The droplets pooled together and ran down the side of his face while he continued to scoot all his energy away. Several times he scooted his fat ass across the sheets.

The bed creaked until his bulk shifted into the correct position. Finally, at the edge of the bed he moved his feet until they dangled toward the ground, mostly obscured by his belly. He moved his arms to grab onto the walker. The arms he extended for the walker dropped downward and swung back and forth.

He gasped in pain as he tried to lever himself up. His tits moved back and forth like a pendulum from the effort of the attempted escape from bed. As a result he opened his mouth to breathe heavily, which caused his chins to drop down into his moobs. If there was a neck, nobody would have known about it. He slowly pushed himself up relying heavily on the walker. The heft pressed down on his knees. The cartledge disappeared years ago leaving bone to bone grinding. Devon’s knees wobbled and foreshadowed the events to come.

A thought came to his head. Why did he even need the walker? He’d done this plenty of times at home and kept his balance. He let go for just a second to take one step forward. Regret immediately followed. His stubby hands tried to latch on to the metal walker, but the angle was too awkward for him to grab correctly. The walker fell to its side as he came tumbling down like a Jenga tower. The free fall felt like an eternity.

His adipose tissue reacted like a shock absorber from the earthquake of a fall. Waves travelled from his ass and lower belly upward. The violent affair made the tissue around his heart hurt. His blood pressure spiked if it is possible to even be called a spike with its already high tendencies.

He sat on his ass almost motionless for a second with except a yell of excruciating pain as tears welled up in his eyes. Neither of his lower extremities moved, but he felt the sensation of a million tiny pricks on his toes. He tried to budge forward, but the fall was too much for his poor, worn out body. The realization washed over him that his bulk anchored him to the cold floor.

“H-Help! Help!” Devon yelled.

He tried to reach for the remote to alert the nurse. All efforts ended in failure like his legs. For the first time in his life he felt completely rendered useless by his lard. He was naked and afraid on the floor.

Would the hospital’s floor be strong enough to handle his weight for such an extended time after such a fall? The floor cracked, but it wasn’t like he could even see it under all of his blubber. Devon cried out in again in a panic. The full reality of his gluttony hit him while he desperately waited for someone to check up on him. Devon realized his body must be weaker than he thought and took getting out of bed like a normal person for granted. The shock and pain on his face indicated. He found himself in a position he never thought would happen to him: a stationary Hell that few found themselves able to escape once it got to this point. He knew all too well that his brittle bones and atrophied muscles were way to warped to ever carry his bulk again. He would be bedridden for the rest of his life, but first it would take another crew of twelve strong EMTs to get him back into the bariatric hospital bed.

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