I have a hospital story of my own.
I have a good career with the Army. So far nobody’s tried plugging me but when my boy eventually asks me what I did in the war I shall have to say I fixed trucks. We cannot all be Jason Bourne.
My big war wound so far (Fingers crossed) is that I fell off a ladder and smashed myself up. Boom. It was all in slow motion. I was standing on top of the ladder painting when the board it was on shifted. So down I go. I started swearing on the way down with a big “Fu…” but don’t think I made it to the “…ck” as it doesn’t take a long time to fall five feet.
The pain was such damnation I couldn’t call out for a sec. When I did, well, we practice for this sort of thing. Everyone took care of me. We have many assets in Germany so it wasn’t like I was out in the middle of nowhere needing to get transported.
Basically, my knee was all fucked up. (Stop me if I get too technical.) So they put in pins and things. Rather than leave me where I was, they decided to ship me stateside.
If you are ever on a Herc, you’ll notice that everyone scrambles aboard the pallets for the long flights.
Why? Because unlike your regular commercial flight that you have taken there is no sound insulation on these aircraft. Crawling between the pallets and cargo is a great way to get away from the noise.
Not so for me. I was tied to a gurney with a pee catheter on for the flight with my fillings vibrating loose and drugged up like nobody’s business. They must have given me a triple dose because I was damned near hallucinating. Someone was nice enough to put earplugs in me. The good ones. The purple ones are harder than the cheap yellow ones and work better. (Look it up.)
The loud operational noise and the happy juice was not a good combination. Pretty messed up dreams.
I think this was 72 hrs after my accident. So by the fifth day I was coming too in a hospital corridor.
Even with the plastic cast and the white goop pain med, my body said “Don’t move”. I’m happy with the final state of affairs but at the time, the break, the surgery was too much. My body wanted to remain like a mummy. I felt all tense.
Anway after a week since the fall on a Wednesday afternoon. I began feeling more okay.
Now, many of you watch adventure shows on TV or adventure movies. Life in the services is a great career and has been good to me but the movies are never right. They never really get deployment right.
The big secret is the masturbation. In Germany, or places like that, you’re in the middle of the city surrounded by services and the housing is generally good. Out in more operational theatres it’s more bare bones. Everyone is masturbating. Everyone knows it. Nobody says anything.
We get used to it in say, week three of basic.
Basic is to shock you. We take you away from all institutions you have ever known so you lose your compass and replace it with what the Army needs. The Army is your only frame of reference. This makes it easy to explain the Us/Them or Life/Death thinking that is needed for the successful/survivable infantryman. Go see Full Metal Jacket. That’s what the Gunnery Sgt. is doing.
In Basic, you’re sleep deprived and exhausted as part of this. The object is to remove any previous thinking you had. This makes training easier. The punishment and rewards are at a whim because that’s what Combat is like. By the time you’re done, you will take a dump in front of your squad mates with no fear or shame because that’s what you need to do when you’re in the field.
What is the point?
Well, apart from the theory that women’s hormones are in the food in basic to keep everyone from masturbating, even with the total exhaustion, you will all eventually start masturbating together in your bunks and won’t care who figures it out.
Deployments are often the same way. We set up a private bunk with a connection to some porn, paper products to wipe up. Navy is a little more difficult I imagine but not really different.
All that aside, by the time I was getting the horns in my cock, it was maybe ten days after my fall. I was there in a corridor and you’d figure I could spit up and tug off like a champ.
But no way! I was suddenly super paranoid.
No one moved me from the corridor. I was using a bedpan still and there were promises of moving me to a ward but some bug was always going around. So, talk about a mood killer!
I began to get some serious horn. I’d have screwed the crack of dawn if they’d have kept me by a window.
So that night I waited and waited and waited and finally an hour after lights out and the shift change came on I spitballed into my hand put the towel under the covers.
You’d think I was James Bond on a mission I was so paranoid. It was like being a kid again thinking your parents could hear you through the walls.
Without fail my luck was bad. An orderly walked to the desk round the bend. Like an idiot I said “Hi” to him thanks to my guilty conscience. And so he stopped to talk for a few seconds. (I would never make a good crook.)
I began to pull on my cock again.
In case I show this to my wife, I want to make it perfectly clear that I was fantasizing about her.
I remember the towel and the feeling of having to deliberately not wiggle my feet when I came. That come did me more good than any physio.