hedonisticfeedee
Bad Habits | Chapter 11 | Intervention
Published: February 14th 2020, 12:06:03 pm
[Content Warning: This story will include SSBHM weight gain, queer sex, messy eating, drug use, romanticizing abusive relationships, immobility, and extreme obesity related health issues. Reader Discretion is advised.]
Bad Habits
Chapter 11: Intervention
Oliver wakes up, once again unsure where he is after a medical emergency. His eyes squint at the bright light and the white walls as he comes out of his sedatives with exhaustion. He then notices he is in a bariatric hospital bed, barely sitting up from the way the head of the bed is raised. Then, he hears a beeping in the background. He sighs heavily realizing he’s in the hospital again. “Fuck, another anxiety attack,” he breathes heavily.
“He’s awake,” shouts a familiar high pitch voice. Oliver looks over to his left to a hospital room couch and two figures sitting on it: His parents, Dale and Linda, start to stand up from their sitting position. Linda drops her Cosmopolitan magazine to the floor. “Dale, go get the doctor! He’s awake!” she shouts while looking exhausted. Dale leaves the room doing what he’s told.
Oliver doesn’t look good. Despite being unconscious for almost two days, his eyes look haggard and his skin is pale. Although he can’t see himself, his face and neck look expanded like a massive water balloon. He looks down at his half naked body in a hospital gown composed of several smaller gowns stitched together to wrap around most of his body. Embarrassment rushes through his brain when he realizes several people outside of a fetish site must have gawked at his naked body with rolls of cascading flesh and found a solution to make sure they had a gown for him. After the initial shock he looks around and notices medical equipment: electrodes attached to his chest with the horn hanging low enough to see them, an oxygen cannula line leading from his nose to a tank, and an IV drip pumping a saline solution.
“M-mom?” he asks “why are you here?”
Linda walks up to her son’s bed-frame. They haven’t seen each other in years. The dinner party was the last time and now Oliver looked almost double the size since. When his parents initially arrived at his room they were shocked and thought that they were in the wrong wing of the hospital. As she gets closer he notices his mom looks like an empty shell of a woman; Linda is tired and heavy-hearted.
He could see what she wanted to say just by her eyes. How could her baby boy get like this? She warned him. Dad warned him. They thought he would change and take responsibility for his life, but instead the anger separated them and he blew up even bigger. His situation weighs on her shoulders. She composes herself to prevent a breakdown. “Dylan called us. He told us he thought you were having a heart attack. We got on a plane right away, so here we are,” she gestures with her hands.
“Where is Dylan? Is he coming?” asks Oliver shyly. She doesn’t respond to her son’s question prompting him to ask again. “Mom, he’s coming, right? He’s been here to see me and he’s coming back once he gets more rest?”
“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this. I don’t think he’s coming. He told us it would be too hard because he still loves you, but you two broke up. He hopes you get well soon. This is a personal opinion, but I don’t think he wants to be a caregiver for the rest of his life or watch you eat yourself to the grave. I don’t blame him. We need to get you the help you need,” she says softly and less pointed than usual.
Tears form in Oliver’s eyes. The break up wasn’t just a dream while in a medical induced panic; Dylan actually left him and didn’t even visit him. Oliver is furious and hurting at the same time thinking terrible thoughts - “I wish I were dead. He deserves it. He’s the reason I’m so big and alone. He could have come to the hospital, but he didn’t. He doesn’t actually give a shit about me and I can’t believe I’ve essentially destroyed my life for that son of a bitch. If I were dead he’d feel so fucking terrible. I want him to feel that kind of pain for what he put me through. I want him to fucking suffer for what he’s done to me.” All these things are running through Oliver’s mind as he lays in a bariatric hospital bed and feels wetness streaming down his face. The stress of his body and his complex mental health situation over the last few months made him crash and burn. He’s not thinking straight.
The doctor and Dale walk back into the room as Oliver wipes the tears from his eyes. Oliver tries to compose himself. Dale joins Linda on her side of the bed while Dr. Montgomery moves to the other side. “I see you didn’t bother to get the cast removed. I took it off for you. Jesus Christ, Mr. Dives. You’re significantly bigger since you were last here just six months ago. I’m assuming you didn’t even try the crutches. Did you just sit in bed and get no exercise?” That’s exactly what he did.
“You’re living on borrowed time, son,” states Dale in a flat tone.
“Oliver, I warned you this would happen. You’re digging yourself down deeper with a spoon and now you’re in a situation few people can get out of once it gets this bad. There needs to be a major change because more likely than not you’ll just get bigger until you die just like the others that get to your size.”
Oliver tries to cross his arms over his chest. “I’m fine, it was just an anxiety attack.”
At only 22 years old the doctor confronts Oliver’s mortality. “Oliver, this is an intervention. You didn’t have an anxiety attack. You had a heart attack.”
“I-I...what?” Oliver’s voice shakes with anxiety.
“Do you see those electrodes on your chest, Mr. Dives? I ordered an echocardiogram and the wall of your heart is weak, suggesting it was damaged during a heart attack,” Dr. Montgomery says concerned.
It’s terrifying to everyone in the room that Oliver’s health is this hazardous at such a young age. How is it even possible that he’s been able to put on this scarcely credible amount of weight? Oliver starts shaking.
“There’s no way I had a heart attack. It was anxiety,” he says nervously.
Dr. Montgomery gets annoyed with Oliver’s denial. Then, he has an idea. He pulls out his phone and goes to a free video sharing site. He types in something that Oliver can’t see. A few seconds later Oliver is watching a video on the doctor’s phone. Oliver finds it hard to watch the video displayed by his doctor. His heart thumps inside his chest as he starts to sweat. This can’t be him. This can’t be the reality. It wasn’t supposed to happen to him. This is something that happens to other people! It couldn’t happen to him. Except what else did he expect to happen at that size? It’s something an ambulance crew will only see once in their life time outside of a documentary.
Oliver’s nervousness turns to frustration watching the side of his home get torn down to remove his body on the screen. Despite the door being wide, it wasn’t spacious enough to get the poor boy out in one piece. After minutes of demolition, a massive and unconscious pile of lard on a stretcher gets shifted out the side over the debris. Three more muscular crew members come to the side of the naked beached whale as the ambulance backs up on the grass toward the opening of his home. A few more minutes pass, but finally the crew of eight... nine... ten whole men push the cot into the bariatric ambulance. His frustration changes back to an anxious embarrassment. More than anything he is shocked that he looked so enormous being carried by an entire team of people. The video ends.
“W-what happened next?” he asks nervously.
“Well, after a harrowing encounter with your morbid obesity, the crew dropped you off and the nurses rolled you in here. You were still essentially unconscious, but we tried our best to do some diagnostics on you. Your oxygen level was at 52% and your heart rate was still elevated from your near death experience. During these tests we learned that you’re now diabetic.” Oliver can’t play ignorant to the laundry list of issues the doctor lists off next: Coronary heart disease, type II diabetes, hyperlipidemia, degenerative joint disease, obstructive sleep apnea. The list goes on, but he zones out and starts thinking about how hungry he is getting.
“Do you know how much you weigh?” asks Dr. Montgomery.
“I don’t know. Maybe 10 or 15 pounds heavier than my last visit. It can’t be that bad, especially not bad enough to actually have a heart attack,” he tries to defend himself.
“Honey, I’ve got some bad news for you,” Linda tears up trying not to choke up on her words. Dale pulls Linda into an embrace and loses her composure into his shoulder. “Linda, I’m here for you. Let it all out. Oliver, we don’t want to worry you, but maybe we should leave this up to Dr. Montgomery.”
Oliver tries to swallow as his diaphragm tightens. He tells himself it can’t be that bad, but if the news was better his mother wouldn’t be so devastated. He only remembers witnessing his mother cry a handful of times in his life. He feels faint and confused, especially at why his cock starts to stiffen in his lard at the drama. “H-how much do I weigh, Doctor?” Oliver asks, tears welling up in his own eyes. He’s not sure he really wants to know based on everyone’s reactions.
“Oliver, you’re the heaviest person I’ve ever seen for your age. I’m not even sure how you managed to gain almost thirty pounds a month,” Dr. Montgomery hesitates.
Oliver tries to do the math in his head, but his the shock of this entire situation and his brain stained with food cravings is too much for his mind to process. “I don’t know what that means. How bad can it be? I need a number.”
“Oliver...” Dr. Montgomery hesitates to break the news to his patient, the very patient he warned to which this could happen. “You’re just 5 pounds shy of 800 pounds,” he says solemnly. He continues “being that big comes with all kinds of issues you’re developing. Being this morbidly obese is a death sentence.”
He comes back to reality with a panic. For the first time the doctor’s words burn within him enough to worry and want to make a change. He’s scared, but his penis is still somehow stiff, or at least he thinks it is anyway. Dylan comes to his mind again and he imagines how intense Dylan would be to him in this situation. This time it could be the life or death situation and Oliver doesn’t want to wait to find out its the latter. He’s drowning in his body like wet cement and he has to escape before it permanently hardens, much like his arteries.
“I still think bariatric surgery is in your best interest.”
“Don’t people risk death when surgeons amputate their stomachs?” Oliver reluctantly asks.
“ I mean, yes, there’s a risk of death from the surgery but every day you are this size is even more of a risk” Dr. Montgomery solidifies his solution for Oliver. Deep down Oliver knows something has to change. The issue is he only has food to live for with Dylan gone. Will he be able to do this alone? Why did he have to drive him off? What’s worse: Having Dylan’s encouraging tendencies while trying to lose weight or not having Dylan at all? His heart feels like it’s breaking all over again, or maybe it’s the overworked lard pumping through it. His body is collapsing in on itself like a dying star and dying stars become black holes like his appetite. He makes up his mind knowing the consequences of his choices.
“Help me,” Oliver nearly whispers trying to mask his emotions.
“What’s that?” Dr. Montgomery looks at him with confusion.
Oliver inhales deeper and exhales: “P-please help me. I’m afraid I love eating so much it’ll kill me. I need...just... get this weight off me, Dr. Montgomery.”
“I never thought I could scare you enough to lose weight with as long as you held out. I guess a heart attack at 795 pounds was finally the breaking point, huh? Well, listen. I’ve been a bariatric surgeon for almost twenty years. Together we can make a difference,” Dr. Montgomery says with relief that Oliver is finally getting serious.
“I’ll do anything to get my life back,” Oliver exclaims, but the sentiment is lost quickly.
“You need to get down to at least 600 pounds and be able to stand on your own before I even consider the surgery. If you can do that, we can save your life. Then, I’ll let you go home. Do you agree to that?” Dr. Montgomery asks Oliver.
“What do you mean I’ve got to lose weight first? This is bullshit! Not once did you ever tell me I would have to lose the weight on my own first. Isn’t the surgery supposed to fix everything for me?”
“You just said you’d do anything, Oliver,” Dr. Montgomery says astounded. “Bariatric surgery is a tool, not a solution. It’ll only work if you straighten out your psychological relationship with food and make the hard, but necessary changes to your lifestyle,” he continues explaining this his plus sized patient.
“Fine,” Oliver sighs in defeat. If he fails he will surely die.
“Each pound you weigh is equivalent to 4 pounds of pressure on your knees. Thus, losing weight should tremendously help your lower body regain its strength and hopefully get you back to walking,” Dr. Montgomery says with optimism.
“Four pounds of pressure? If what your saying is correct, you want me, all 795 pounds, to put four times that amount of pressure on my body? That’s impossible,” Oliver whines.
“It’s not impossible if you lose weight first, like I said. Then, when you lose enough weight, we will see if you’re a candidate for the surgery. We start tomorrow.”
*~*~*~*~*
It’s been an entire two months and Oliver is still in the hospital. Nurses assist him with everything in his current state. Oliver is one of the biggest patients they’ve ever had to take care of, which showed on their faces frequently. Despite their best efforts to keep him clean by sponge baths and helping him use a bedpan, he still gives off a scent of musk and death.
The reality of the restricted calorie diet sank in the very next day to his dismay. He complains to nurses who ignore him that he had no idea he would be restricted to only 1,000 calories per day when he was used to eating over 10,000 per day. Each day he feels more uncomfortably sick, almost to the point of confusion on whether or not it’s enough to make him vomit. It feels like his stomach is eating itself with acid because of the drastic diet. He wants food. He needs food, especially snack cakes. He’s even getting hangry, but he is shedding weight like Dr. Montgomery said. He’s already lost 68 pounds from the diet and exercise regime, but he hates the entire process.
Every lunch and every dinner provides a reason to be disappointed and emotionally unstable. The diet sounds too extreme to him, but Dr. Montgomery sees the situation as a race against time; the fastest way to lose weight is a major restriction of calories. Dr. Montgomery also hopes that the new portion sizes and healthy meals are an experiential learning method for Oliver to make the changes after he is discharged. Oliver is stuck eating snacks and meals like plain Greek yogurts, deli meats, salads without dressing, ice chips, and non-starchy vegetables. He thinks about how much he misses his sodas, pizzas, burgers, chips, pastas, and all of the other food he would consume in high quantities without a second thought. He can’t take it anymore and slams his crisp lettuce wrap back on the plate after a nibble.
“I want a triple cheeseburger with pepperoni on it...oh, and an enormous cup of melted peanut butter to dip it in,” Oliver says while looking at his parents.
“Oliver, honey, you have a vegetarian lettuce wrap right here. It looks so delicious! You should eat it. I’m so jealous you get such a good meal. When I had surgery a few years ago, my hospital food didn’t look this phenomenal,” Linda tries to encourage her son to give it another chance.
“I’m sick of all this God damn rabbit food and you’re just letting him starve me,” he responds with contempt.
“I never want to hear you speak like that to your mother again. I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but your attitude is terrible. No wonder Dylan left you,” scolds Dale.
Oliver freezes with anger at his father for bringing up Dylan and suggesting he did something wrong by wanting Dylan to stay with him. His blood pressure rises becoming more furious and also sorrowful thinking about his ex fiance.
“Maybe I could have a small snack,” Oliver says shyly trying to not give his dad a tone that would inferirorate him. His stomach growls painfully, giving away that the piggish characteristics are shamelessly still a large part of him.
“A small snack is not part of your diet,” replies his father.
“Please, mom. I’m so huuuungryyyy,” Oliver looks over in her direction and whines like a child in hopes his mother will give in to his desires.
“I’m sorry, but your father is right. This is critical. We can’t afford to get you off track from the diet.”
“They are starving me in here! Please? Just a small snack! Dylan would let me have a snack.”
“Well, Dylan isn’t here. We want you to get healthy and strong again. One snack will turn into several. We won’t let you hurt yourself with food anymore. You have to stick to the diet so you can have the surgery.”
“The portions are so tiny and they expect me to exercise with no calories of energy. No wonder I’m so weak!” he cries dramatically.
“Suck it up, son. You’re weak because you’ve eaten yourself into a dangerous situation,” replies Dale.
“I hate this diet. I hate this exercise! Food is my one pleasure and you won’t even let me have a small bag of chips or a candy bar. This is worse than prison. It’s like you all want me to kill myself.”
“That’s very serious, Oliver. Do I need to report that to the doctor?” asks Dale.
The thought of going on a suicide watch makes him uncomfortable. “No, sir,” he says uncomfortably disappointed.
There’s a knock on the door to the room and then it opens revealing two nurses: a man and a woman in baby blue scrubs. Over the last few sessions Oliver learned their names are Aria and Colby. Aria is a thin woman with long blond hair she usually puts up in a ponytail when working with patients and green eyes. When she smiles Oliver sees her dimples and thinks she’s kind of cute. However, Oliver always pays more attention to Colby. Colby is a muscular male with his red hair combed with a slightly back pompadour with a side part, a thick orange beard to match, and green eyes. Oliver notices he’s young and cute. He misses Dylan, but he’s not mad about the eye candy of his attractive nurse, but he is also embarrassed to be such a mess in front of them. After all, it’s the only candy he’s getting at the hospital and he’s helpless and afraid his weight will put out their backs.
“Knock, knock. We are just here to help Oliver get some physical therapy. Is this a good time?” asks Aria.
“No, I’m hungry,” pouts Oliver.
“It’s perfect timing. I can’t handle the damn whining. We are going to go out to lunch and be back later,” says Dale while getting up with his wife and walking toward the door to leave.
“Please, bring me back some fried chicken!” begs the bloated balloon of a boy.
“Ollie, we can’t do that, but we will be back later. Be a good boy and eat your lettuce wrap. We love you,” replies Linda shutting the door behind her.
Oliver puts his chubby hands on his face and exhales deeply. Why won’t anyone feed him what he wants? Why won’t they treat him like an adult? “I guess I’m ready,” he mumbles through his fingers. He puts his hands down, breathes in, and sighs heavily again.
Maneuvering his bloated sac of a body proves to be challenging for him. He’s not sure whether it’s the lack of willpower or if his body is really that limited in what it can do. A few moments of scooting his body against the thin hospital sheets he’s already winded and his heart beats faster. It takes about 5 incredibly long minutes for him to scoot to the edge of the bed and get his feet on the floor. He tries to rock back and forth to try to get standing on his knees. The nurses wrap their hands around his arms to try to keep the whale stable as his body shakes violently with exertion to leave his bed. The closer the young fat man gets to standing, the more his belly sags downward toward the floor causing pain like his stomach could rip right off his body. His face quickly reddens, his breathing labored and the nurses supporting him as he officially stands up with struggling knees.
“Look at you! You're doing so much better than before. The last few times you couldn’t even shift to the edge of the bed by yourself,” coos Colby with fake pride in his voice. He is right: a few weeks ago, Oliver couldn’t even stand with the nurses' help. They had to help get him up with a bariatric crane, but as soon as they took away the crutch, he fell back onto the bed. Now, he’s finally able to make it to the edge of the bed by himself thanks to the exercises building up his muscle strength again.
Aria gives her input as well with “the bed exercises must really be working for you. You’re gaining the strength in your calves back. Let’s take a few steps.”
He feels a pop in his lower right knee from the pressure. It scares him at first thinking he broke his leg again. He slowly moves his left foot forward in agony and then his right. At this point he’d rather just be naked and in bed with a bucket of fried chicken. Better yet, Colby or Aria would be feeding it to him and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Oliver tries to clear his head trying to get away from his thoughts knowing he’s here to save his life, not fall back into his old patterns of behavior. However, it doesn’t stop his buried cock from pressing into his fat pad.
The sewn together gowns don’t close in the back, exposing his wide load of an ass. He blushes with embarrassment imagining what the nurses would see if he wasn’t relying so much on their arms and shoulders; cellulite-like cottage cheese spread across an enormous, bottom heavy shelf ass.
“You’re doing good, Oliver. Two steps! Let’s keep going,” Aria cheers on, holding onto his body for his support.
Oliver takes another two steps forward. He looks beside him and sees the oxygen cannula dragging by his side like a leash. Without the cannula his lungs would be burning more than they are now for oxygen, even if the tube is uncomfortably rubbing his nose. He waddles a few more paces forward.
“Such a good boy,” Colby teases him playfully like a dog. Oliver blushes and walks a few more steps, reaching the door of the hospital room.
“I... I can’t! Get the walker! I’m going to collapse. This is just too much for me!” Oliver cries out.
“You’re doing just fine without it, big boy,” Colby encourages gently in response.
“I-... I don't know if I can... walk back to the bed,” Oliver’s voice shakes.
“We will get you back to the bed. There’s no reason to worry,” assures Aria.
Cramps in his lower legs and back shoot through Oliver’s nervous system. The facial expression he makes is scrunched up into a frown as all the air leaves his body with exhaustion from such a simple task. “I’m going to fall! Don’t drop me! Give me my wheelchair! I need my wheelchair!” cries Oliver dramatically as his knees pop again.
“The wheelchair is the lazy way out! Don’t you want to shed those pounds? You can do this. No pain, no gain!” grunts Colby as Oliver pushes more weight onto Colby’s shoulder.
Oliver makes the pathetic and slow shuffle from the door to his bed. Tears from the stress of his overtaxed body falls from his eyelashes. He collapses back onto his bed in pain from the physical exertion, but also relieved it’s over for now.
Oliver watches the nurses leave the room. He’s exhausted and his weak body aches from the unnecessary ordeal of any physical activity. He thought he was in hell when his heart was giving out under his own weight. He was wrong. The physical therapy and nutritious meals were his Hell. A viscous rumble comes from his belly. He can’t take it anymore. This is bullshit. There’s got to be a way to get some greasy, fattening food. He heavily sucks oxygen into his lungs and begins plotting how he’s going to get his grub. No one, not even a doctor, is going to tell him what he can or can’t put in his greedy, over stretched body.