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[icu-fetish]

What is this place?

— Oh, you’re finally awake?

I still don’t understand anything. It’s a hospital. Machines, IV drips… They’ve put an oxygen mask on me.

— No, don’t try to take off the mask. It’ll be hard for you to breathe. I’ll explain everything now.

It’s the nurse. A medical mask… I can’t see her face. Everything’s blurry… I don’t know why.

— So, most likely, you overdosed. Your condition is still unstable. We’ve done all possible tests. That’s why you still need the IV drips. And the oxygen mask, of course. Naturally, we’ll have to change your clothes. That ball gown — it’s just too inconvenient.

Yeah, I remember something. I was drinking something. Laughing. And… I don’t remember. Maybe I fell. And now I’m in a hospital. It makes sense.

— This is your medical chart. Of course, you need to sign the contract. And of course, we’ll keep treating you. Don’t worry, you’ve got some serious insurance now.

Well, okay. Signing isn’t hard. It still hurts. Even breathing is hard.

— Perfect. Time to change your clothes. That gown is way too fancy. Even I’m scared of ruining such a masterpiece… You’re still too weak… so I’ll give you another shot. Then I’ll take my time changing you. Deal? Yes, I showed I agreed. Maybe the shot will help. It’s painful and scary. But now I can sleep.

I woke up again. They changed me — hospital clothes, comfortable, unlike that tight ball gown. Maybe it was the gown choking me? I’m here again: IV drips, machines, sensors, oxygen mask. My condition’s a bit better, but far from perfect. At least now I can see what’s around me. The usual hospital noise is annoying, but at least it’s steady.

— It’s me again. I get that you’re still feeling rough. To put it mildly. Do you remember anything at all? What you drank? Or maybe ate something… No, don’t take off the mask. Just tell me.

Still — nothing. I can lift my hands, at least — that’s it.

— Alright. You slept for almost two days. Now I need to change you again. And it’s time to change the diaper. It won’t take long. And we need to add another IV drip.

There aren’t any other options. I’ve really become a toy. A nearly paralyzed toy. She’s insanely fast and skilled… I didn’t even notice when she changed me. Of course, she left. And now it’s just me. And the medical machines. Well, the noise is steady — at least my condition is stable.

Finally, the doctor showed up. With my nurse. Those medical masks again… But I’ve got my oxygen mask — they can’t see my face either. It’s fair. They’re standing far away, I can’t hear everything.

— Almost a week. Perfect. After the shots, she sleeps for a long time and doesn’t remember anything. Well — the experiments are quite successful. Time to intubate her.

What intubation? I’m feeling better. I don’t want to become a vegetable — hooked up to artificial machines. I can take off the mask… My fingers reach for my face, but my hands are trembling. The mask feels sticky, heavy. My hands barely move… What’s happening to me?

— Oh, you heard us. Don’t be afraid, you’ll understand soon enough. And now — it’s time for another shot. You’re our patient, so don’t even think about interfering.

The cold liquid spreads through my veins — what are they doing to me? It’s cold. I try not to sleep, but…

Did I wake up? I don’t even know. I can’t open my eyes. But — this noise. Mechanical. I don’t feel the oxygen mask anymore. They’ve hooked me up to an artificial machine. This tube… and holder. It’s the nurse again — she’s saying something. I can’t hear everything, but — at least something.

— It’s been two days since she was intubated. And yes, we added a nasogastric tube — through the mouth. And a urinary catheter too. She’ll get used to it soon. And wake up.

I still can’t open my eyes. But I feel these tubes — they’re creepy, like they’re alive. I’ve become a vegetable. But I remember what happened before that ball gown, before the hospital, before the nurse… These drugs are experimental. Patients are almost paralyzed, they lose their memory — but not for long. I was looking for this hospital myself. Their bosses were supposed to be at the ball. I planned to go too, but — they kidnapped me. Of course, I became their toy.

— Wake up, darling. Missed me? You probably remembered everything? Well — that’s even better. Open your eyes. You can even try to lift your hand.

Everything I feared. I’m intubated. I try to touch the breathing tube — but it’s too scary. Without this tube, I’ll probably die.

— We’ve been looking for you for a long time. Your cunning is really impressive. You could’ve shown the whole world our experiments. And that would’ve been our failure. But you signed all the documents — that’s why you’re our patient now. Of course, we’re not planning to turn off your machine. At least, not yet. We have so many interesting plans for you. Soon, you might even like it.

[icu-fetish]

Chicago Med (S05 E03)

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Revival (S01 E05)

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Pulse (S01 E02, E06, E09, E10)

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Olympo (S01 E02)

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Hudutsuz Sevda (E48)

[icu-fetish]

It’s time

“You’re still in a coma,” I whisper, adjusting the thin sheet over your body. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here with you. They say talking helps, so I’m talking to you.”

The room is warm – 24 degrees, standard for the ICU to keep you comfortable. Sensors on your chest and wrist monitor your vital signs: pulse 72, saturation 96%, blood pressure 110/70. I check them every time I come in. A nasogastric tube, neatly secured near your nostril, delivers nutrition, while a urinary catheter quietly drains fluid into a plastic bag beneath the bed. All of this is necessary, though I know: if you woke up, it would feel uncomfortable. But for now, you’re in a coma, and that makes things easier.

“Everything’s under control,” I whisper, touching your finger to check the pulse oximeter. Your skin is cold, and I linger a little longer than necessary, hoping you can sense my presence.

Last night, they connected you to a ventilator. An endotracheal tube, another catheter for medication – all to give your lungs a chance to rest. It’s safe, trust me. I was there when they did it.

“I keep coming back to your room,” I continue, checking the IV drip with saline. “You probably don’t know how often I’m here, by your side.”

The breathing tube reaches deep into your lungs. That’s normal. But sometimes, it needs cleaning. Mucus builds up and can interfere with the machine. The procedure is quick, though I have to briefly turn off the ventilator. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. The urinary catheter needs changing too – it’s been a week, and it’s necessary for your safety.

My fingers brush your wrist as I check your pulse. Your skin is still cold, but I believe you can hear me. The room smells of antiseptic, but I adjust your sheet to make you more comfortable.

It’s time to clean the tube. I prepare a sterile kit: an aspiration catheter, saline, gloves. My hands move confidently, but inside, something tightens. You’re here, so quiet, and I’m the only one speaking to you. I turn off the ventilator for a few seconds, carefully inserting the aspiration catheter into the tube. Mucus clears with a quiet sound, and I watch the monitor to ensure your saturation doesn’t drop. It’s quick, as I promised. But for some reason, I want to linger, to tell you more.

“Done,” I whisper, reconnecting the machine.

Now the urinary catheter. I take a new, sterile one and lubricate it with gel. The procedure is delicate, and I’m as careful as possible to avoid causing you discomfort, even though you can’t feel it. But I imagine you waking up, smiling, or scolding me for these awkward procedures. That thought makes my heart beat faster. Why have you touched me so deeply? Maybe because I see myself in you – young, fragile, but strong.

I finish the procedure, check that everything is secure, and touch your hand again. The room is quiet, only the beeping of monitors and my voice.

“Your vitals are a bit better today,” I say, glancing at the monitor. “Saturation’s holding steady. I need to reduce the propofol dose to see if you’re ready to wake up.” I carefully adjust the valve, watching the thin tube carrying the medication into your vein.

I squeeze your hand, feeling the warmth of my palm against your cold skin. I want to believe you can feel this touch. Maybe it’s my weakness – getting attached to those I care for. But with you, it’s different. There’s something about you that I can’t look away from.

“You have to wake up,” I whisper. “It’s time.”

Pulseras Rojas (S02 E08)

[icu-fetish]

Even if just for a moment…

I still can’t open my eyes, but I listen to the sounds, feel the smells. I feel everything: the soft gown wrapping around my body, the medical cap, convenient for the nurses so my hair doesn’t get in the way. The cervical collar is rigid but comfortable, though it reeks of sharp antiseptic. My neck is still injured, the pain dulled but throbbing whenever my muscles tense with the slightest spasm.

The tubes, needles, catheters scare me… The urinary catheter has become a part of me – I’ve gotten used to it, to this strange sensation of its presence. Other catheters deliver fluid, sending a faint chill through me, as if cold seeps into my veins. It’s unpleasant. And, I admit, a little frightening.

The oxygen mask presses tightly against my face, its plastic edges digging into my cheeks, leaving a noticeable pressure. The air is cold and dry, my throat parched, each breath a forced effort beyond my control. The rhythmic hissing of the oxygen irritates me, blending with the sharp beeping of the cardiac monitor tracking my weak heartbeats. Sometimes the monitor emits a double beep – a warning of low oxygen levels in my blood. It doesn’t reassure me; it only reminds me that I’ve become a plant, dependent on this hissing that forces my body to breathe. And that scares me more than the catheters. But I’m still alive. And that’s the only thing that matters.

The nurses speak in hushed voices, but the noise of the machines drowns out their words. The cardiac monitor beeps, the oxygen hisses, and I barely catch a fragment: “She needs to be intubated.” The voice is calm, but the words hit like a blow. Is it really that bad? I want to move, to scream, to ask what’s happening, but my body is just a shell that won’t obey. Paralyzed, I hear gloved fingers touch my arm, checking the catheter. A cold, almost mechanical touch. The word “intubation” spins in my head. I know what it means – a tube in my throat, a machine that will take away the last shred of my control. Fear grips my chest, but I can’t even flinch. I can only listen. Only feel. And that’s all I have left.

A light prick in my vein. A cold wave of medication spreads through my arm, and my consciousness drifts, as if in a fog. I slip away. Then – awakening.

Something has changed. There’s a foreign pressure in my throat – a plastic tube, as if it’s grown into me. An endotracheal tube. I can’t feel my lungs, only the mechanical rhythm – inhale, exhale, the click of the machine. The sound has changed: instead of the oxygen mask’s hissing, there’s a dull, rhythmic hum of mechanical breathing. The machine breathes for me. Is this the end? Someone touches my neck – cold, gloved fingers remove the old collar. The new one is heavier, pressing tighter against my skin, smelling of fresh plastic and antiseptic. Why did they change it? A worsening condition? Surgery? An MRI? My thoughts tangle, like frayed threads. I want to cough, to push out this tube, but my body is just a cage holding my consciousness. I hear a whisper: “Stable, but her pressure’s dropping.” What else will they do to me? Something clicks near my shoulder – another catheter? Cold liquid flows through my veins again, sending a shiver through me. Fear pulses in my head, but I can’t even clench a fist. I can only listen. Only feel. And it’s so little…

I’m getting used to it. There are no other options. My consciousness is the only thing that still belongs to me, but even it dissolves in the rhythm of the machines. Cold fluids pour into my veins, one after another. Medication? Saline? I don’t know. They’re always cold, like an icy river flowing through me, reminding me that I’m still alive. But am I alive?

The nurses clean my breathing tube. I feel them carefully suctioning the mucus that builds up in my throat. It’s disgusting, but I no longer recoil in my mind. It’s terrifying when they turn off the machine. The air stops. My lungs are an empty shell, unable to breathe on their own. The seconds stretch into eternity, and I scream in my head: “Turn it on! Turn it on!” But they always manage to. So far, they manage to. Maybe I’ll get used to this too.

They change the catheters constantly. I feel every movement – the slight pain as the old one is removed, the cold touch of the new one. Time has lost meaning. The clock in my head has stopped, and I don’t know if hours, days, or maybe weeks have passed.

But today, something changed. They removed the cervical collar. I felt that lightness. My skin breathes, though the antiseptic smell still clings to it. The important thing is that I understand this. I feel it. Maybe I can wake up?

But what if it’s just an illusion? What if I’m forever trapped here – a mechanical doll, connected to tubes and wires that mimic life? The hissing of the machine, the rhythm of the cardiac monitor, the cold of the medication – this is my world now. But somewhere deep inside, where I still exist, there’s a spark. It trembles, faint, but it doesn’t fade.

I don’t know if I’ll wake up. I don’t know if I’ll ever breathe on my own again. But I listen. I feel. And maybe that’s enough to hold on a little longer. To keep that spark from fading. To remain myself – not a doll, but me. Even if just for a moment…

Zalim İstanbul (E34)

Dila Hanım (E56)

[icu-fetish]

The Escape Of The Seven (S02 E11-13)

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The Trauma Code - Heroes on Call (E4)

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Artikulo 247 (E61)

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Can Borcu (Е20)

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Pulse (S01 E02 - E04)

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Revenge of Others (S1E2)

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Bliss

Hoses, tubes, catheters… You’re still perfect. You lie before me, enveloped in a web of medical devices. Your cervical collar holds your head in place — the hard plastic chills my fingers as I adjust the soft lining, inhaling the sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with the warmth of your skin. A blue nasogastric tube slightly bends the contour of your nostril, secured by a thin strip of tape clinging tightly to your skin. It doesn’t mar you. Your dry, cracked lips still hold the outline of temptation — as if, even in a coma, they carry a heat that overshadows the sterility of this room.

A tracheostomy tube at the base of your neck breathes for you — a small, clean incision with a plastic cannula that rhythmically channels your breath. The hoses from the ventilator stretch toward you, flexible and taut, pumping air in steady pulses. I check the monitor — pulse 74, saturation 96%. Stable.

The bed creaks as I raise its edge, drawing closer to you — it makes your body rest more comfortably, and I feel the warmth of your skin cutting through the sterile chill of the ward. “You’ll like the massage, won’t you?” I whisper, kneading your arms to keep the blood flowing. My gloved fingers glide over your skin, but I imagine how it would feel without them — just you and me.

Your hospital gown is thin, barely held by its ties. “Let’s take it off, it’ll be better for you,” I say, untying the knots. The fabric slips away, revealing your chest, stomach, thighs.

But we have little time. “Time to try,” I whisper, placing my hand on the hose. Sometimes you can breathe on your own — I saw it last week when your lungs, weak but sure, took in air. Today, I want to try again. “Are you ready?” I ask softly, though your eyes are closed. I disconnect the ventilator — the machine’s hum fades, and you inhale. At first, it’s barely audible, then deeper. Your chest rises on its own, and I place my palm on it, feeling that faint warmth. My fingers tremble, catching the rhythm of your heart. Your skin flushes pink, and it’s mesmerizing — how your breath, barely noticeable, pulses with warmth beneath my fingers.

I take a sponge, soak it in warm water, and run it over you — slowly, feeling every curve. Droplets trickle down your skin, and I linger at your thigh, where it faintly quivers under my touch. My gaze slides to your lips, beckoning even in silence, and I freeze for a moment, unable to look away. Your stillness makes my heart race, and I breathe in your scent — a hint of antiseptic, a hint of you.

My lips tremble as they near yours — dry, cracked, but so warm they radiate your faint pulse of life. I pause, feeling the heat of your skin so close to my lips.

And then your eyelids flutter. At first, barely noticeable, then stronger. You open your eyes — weak, but with a faint spark. I can’t move. You inhale on your own, hoarsely, through the tracheostomy tube, and your fingers weakly clutch the sheet.

I touch your hand, barely containing my excitement, and a quiet warmth spreads through my chest, curving my lips into a restrained smile. I lean in and kiss you — gently, carefully, but with all the tenderness I can muster.

[icu-fetish]

สุดร้ายสุดรัก (E23,24)

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สุดร้ายสุดรัก (E23)