(Finished) Diapers at Hospital -- (Author) DavyBoy

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Author: DavyBoy
Timestamp: Mar 2, 2025 at 10:36 AM
Content: PROLOGUE
This story took place in France...

What can I say? As someone who has been through a lot, I constantly find myself in a depressive-anxious state. And even though I take antidepressants, they don’t help me much, and sometimes it feels like they don’t help at all.

One day, Lisa and I had a conflict that triggered my negative beliefs, and I decided to end it all. At that moment, I felt my decision was right and the only correct choice: I felt unwanted, unloved, rejected, unworthy of life, and a burden. Of course, all of this was part of my depressive state.

I took a lethal dose of my psychiatric medication, hoping to at least numb my overwhelming emotions. But unfortunately, I didn’t feel anything at all.

Lisa came back from the store at that moment and, finding me in this drugged-out state, immediately called an ambulance. I wanted to stop her, but it was already too late: besides, she did it so quickly that if I had interrupted her call, the police might have come as well. I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I really didn’t want anyone to interfere.

I got dressed and put my transit pass and charger in my pocket so that if the ambulance actually arrived and Lisa wasn’t bluffing, I could at least leave the hospital or stay connected to the outside world.

The ambulance arrived, and they took me downstairs. Even though I was standing on my feet and walking normally, they still put me on a stretcher and strapped me down as if I were disabled or had a broken bone. This made me uncomfortable because I felt like a burden, but at the same time, I oddly enjoyed the fact that someone was taking care of me.

Lisa came with me in the ambulance. The ride wasn’t long, and in the end, they wheeled me into the hospital on the stretcher and transferred me to a rolling hospital bed. I felt like a king on a palanquin: simultaneously ashamed, guilty, and oddly pleased. A strange feeling.

During the process, they took away my shoes and outerwear: just confiscated them. Fortunately, I managed to keep my pants on. If they had taken them off too, it would have been beyond embarrassing, especially considering the fact that I was wearing Kiddo-brand underwear with childish prints underneath. That was definitely a situation I didn’t want to end up in.

Then they wheeled me around the hospital, checking how bad things were. They did an ECG, took blood tests, and measured my blood pressure. Other than the fact that my blood pressure was extremely high, they didn’t find anything unusual.

After that, a doctor came in and tried to ask what exactly I had done for all this to happen. I didn’t give any clear answers, so instead, she went to interrogate Lisa.

STORYLINE
Lisa barely had any internet since the connection in the hospital was weak. I tried to text her, but they wouldn’t let her in where I was, so I kept messaging, asking what she had told them.

Out of all my messages, only the last one got through while she was talking to my doctor:

Me >> I'm alone here
Me >> They took all my clothes, where are you?
Me >> I'm scared
Me >> What did you said to my doctor?
Me >> That I wet my bed during night or something worse?

[End of quote]

A few moments later...

She >> There was a bad internet connection and I had only received your last message, so yes I said that, I'm so sorry
Me >> Are you fucking serious? Don't joke about this.
She >> Yes, you will have a diaper tonight for real

[End of quote]

I thought, this is a disaster. And when they took me to sleep, I figured, Phew, looks like I dodged that one, there is no diapers in sight. I got into bed, covered myself, and stared at the wall and my phone.

Then, out of nowhere, the doctor and a nurse walked in, holding a diaper.

" Je pense que vous avez besoin de la protection pour la nuit." - the Doctress (c)

[End of quote]

Which meant: "I think you need protection for the night," as they showed me the diaper.

At that moment, I was completely stunned. Not just shocked, but mortified. The presence of a well-built nurse behind the doctor also suggested that they weren’t just planning to hand it to me but actually put it on me.

I was conflicted: on one hand, I wanted it; on the other hand, I would never forgive myself for such a thing. So, I reached a compromise: I took the diaper, mentioned how humiliating it was for me, and insisted that I didn’t want anyone else to put it on me.

After they left, I hid it under my blanket and put it on myself. It was some AMD-brand diaper, but instead of black lines, it had yellow wetness indicators. It fit pretty well, despite AMD diapers often being either too small or too big for me.

I calmed down, texted Lisa about what had happened, and went to sleep.

In the morning, I realized I was trapped. The doctors came in immediately to check my blood pressure and everything else. I was still wearing the diaper and couldn’t lift the blanket, afraid they would notice and think it was inappropriate.

Once they left, I looked around to see if there was a bin where I could dispose of it. But in the bathroom attached to my room, there wasn’t one. I panicked, knowing that I wouldn’t get away with this so easily. I lay back in bed, hoping that sooner or later, I’d get the chance to take it off and get rid of it.

But instead of peace, a hospital orderly came in and told me to take a shower. There was no way I could leave my room and go to the shower while still wearing a diaper: that was just a nightmare situation.

Then, another nurse told me that I needed to change my hospital gown anyway and should either go shower or at least wash up at the sink, which was behind a partition opposite the toilet.

As soon as she left, I jumped up and went to the sink to freshen up, hoping to make it seem like I didn’t need a shower so they wouldn’t keep pestering me. That’s when I spotted a small bin for wipes. I locked myself in, took off the diaper, and threw it in. Luckily, it had a lid, so no one would immediately notice what I had done.

Unfortunately, I didn’t clean myself up properly afterward because my social anxiety made it terrifying to shower in an unfamiliar place like a hospital. I just went back to bed and kept lying there.

Then, the doctor from the previous day came in and told me that they were going to transfer me to a psych ward because I was "crazy" and shouldn’t have done something so reckless. Of course, I could have refused since I live in a free country, but I thought, "Alright, whatever happens, happens. Maybe my problems actually can be treated."

They checked that I could walk, stand, and understand things: since, after my overdose, it was probably a miracle I had survived. Though I think my weight played a big role in compensating for the dose.

Then, another ambulance arrived, and once again, they insisted on strapping me to a stretcher to transport me, even though I could walk just fine. I lay down, they wheeled me into the ambulance, and off we went to the psych ward.

At the psych ward, they placed me in a room with its own shower and toilet, but my social anxiety made me too afraid to use them. The staff constantly checked on me to make sure I wasn’t doing anything suicidal. I was terrified that if I went into the shower and they came in to check on me, they might enter and see me naked, which would put me in a horribly vulnerable and traumatizing position.

After some time, when they realized I wasn’t even leaving my room to eat, they started asking me if I wanted food. I kept saying no: my social anxiety wouldn’t let me accept help. Eventually, they just started bringing food to my room.

Over time, I started feeling a little more comfortable: maybe because of the medication and food, or maybe just from getting used to the environment. But I still felt like I was in prison, locked up. I kept messaging Lisa, begging her to get me out.

Thankfully, I managed to get discharged and went back home.