march Xth 2026
NOTE: this story frankly discusses adult themes including: bodily transformation, depression, intoxication (i.e. anesthesia), kink, medical topics, relationships, and sex. reader discretion is advised.
"All right, Ms. Ballard," called Dr. Ashwin as he opened the door to the bariatric ward. "Your fluoroscope results are back."
Sandra nodded glumly at the nurse, who began to roll her ballooned form back to her room. She'd been chatting with Kris, a woman a few years her senior, who had been dealing with type A for almost a decade—and who was, at ten feet in diameter, nearly twice Sandra's size. And since Kris wasn't a Giant, her limbs and head were nearly engulfed by her overinflated form.
The pressure around her face made speaking difficult, so she mostly relied on a chording keyboard strapped to her right hand, linked to a text-to-speech program on her phone. Despite this, she was in high spirits, relieved to talk with someone else who understood tumeotoxin syndrome from the perspective of a patient rather than a medico.
But as Sandra was rolled back onto the cushion in her room, a few feet away from where Jeri sat, she couldn't help feeling more depressed than she had all week. If Kris, dealing with even harsher impediments than her, could still (figuratively) keep her chin up... why couldn't she?
As if sensing her mood, Dr. Ashwin gave a compassionate smile. "Let's take a look at your results here." He pulled a tablet from the pocket of his lab coat, which displayed a translucent image of Sandra's body. The bones in her head, hands, and feet showed up as bright, solid shapes, but her musculoskeletal anamtomy grew fuzzier and more indistinct the closer it got to her middle. Even this tiny 3-D representation made her and Jeri's eyes feel like they were defocusing.
The doctor gestured with his fingertips to zoom in on the area around Sandra's partially submerged neck, where a few dozen tiny, luminous spheroids became visible. "So as you can see, there aren't too many tumeotoxin molecules in the mouth and throat. In fact, if this were all of them in your body, you'd probably only be experiencing some uncomfortable bloating." He pointed to what used to be Sandra's chest. "We don't have the equipment to properly examine the alveolar tissue in the lungs, but since your size has been pretty stable, there's likely not much there either."
Now, Dr. Ashwin panned the image down, passing over the Unknown Regions of Sandra's belly to the constellation of spherules in her large intestine. "But there's a much higher concentration of molecules in the rectum and sigmoid colon, which is very unusual."
Sandra answered the inevitable question of how before it could be asked. "I wasn't using the inhalants orally."
Dr. Ashwin raised his eyebrows, knowing better than to ask why. "That'll do it... Well, this might actually be good news." He paused. "Normally we don't operate on the neck and throat for cases like this, since any scarring can cause all kinds of complications. But because the greatest concentration is confined to the lower part of the digestive tract, there are some surgical options that might be effective."
The full implications of that statement took a moment to register. "Surgical options... like, for removal?"
He nodded. "Probably an endoscopic resection—same as we'd use to remove a tumor. Cut out the portion of the intestine with most of the molecules, attach the remaining ends together, and let the whole thing heal up."
Removing his glasses, Dr. Ashwin wiped them with a soft cloth before switching the tablet to a familiar diagram. It depicted ten human silhouettes, ranging from slightly puffy to completely spherical. "Obviously this wouldn't result in total deflation," he continued, "but you're currently at a seven on the Montgolfier scale, and this could bring you down to a six - maybe even a five."
Sandra's inflated body grew imperceptibly as she took a deep breath. Her height was the only thing preventing her ears from being muffled by her own shoulders at this size. If she shrank to a six, her feet would both reach the floor, especially with platform soles. She'd be able to walk again, or at least waddle.
If she somehow shrank all the way down to a five, she could even wear regular clothes.
"Doctor?" Jeri had been silent this whole time, but she cleared her throat and spoke up. "What would be the potential side effects?"
"Nothing more onerous than the usual post-operative care for colorectal surgery," he replied. "Plenty of rest, plenty of soft foods - yoghurt, mashed potatoes, and so on. Just to keep from irritating the intestinal tissue while it heals. And regular check-ups thereafter."
The two women looked at each other, Jeri picking at her fingernail nervously, Sandra only unable to chew her lip. Neither one spoke for almost a minute, as if afraid to express hope lest it be snatched away. Finally Sandra, her eyes still locked with Jeri's, spoke in little more than a whisper.
"...Could we maybe have some time to think about it?"
"Of course." Dr. Ashwin smiled. "I'll want to call in a surgical specialist for a consult, anyway. You're welcome to stay here overnight - the ward's not even half full."
Jeri mumbled some kind of thanks, and the doctor left them to discuss things in private.
A few hours later, a new presence sat in a spare chair in Sandra's room. Scribbling some notes on a tablet was Eliza, dressed in a dark green pantsuit. Jeri was still sitting on the chair beside the cushion, fidgeting with an ink pen, hand in nervous hand with her girlfriend. Normally Eliza didn't work with couples, but Sandra had specifically asked Jeri to stay for this impromptu session.
"That is a pretty big step," the counselor said after a brief silence. "Did Dr. Ashwin tell you about any potential risks of the operation?"
Sandra did her best to nod. "I mean, with any surgery there's technically a risk of dying—anesthesia and all that. But realistically, the worst-case scenario is that I stay the same size."
"And the best-case scenario?"
"I get to sort-of walk again." She sighed. "Even if I can't reach far enough to do stuff like sweeping or unloading the dishwasher. Maybe I could even go back to my old job, just working remotely. That way we don't have to eat co-op cheese as often."
Eliza smiled. There was certainly no shame in being hungry, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. "What about you, Jeri? How would things change for you if Sandra gets the surgery?"
"Um... Well, I guess this is technically to do with Sandra, but we do live together." The redhead chuckled, playing nervously with a lock of her hair. "But being able to move easier would probably help her mood a lot. Which would also be good for me, because I worry about her."
Sandra looked at the floor, pensive. "I just don't wanna feel like a burden anymore."
Before Eliza could respond, Jeri cut in. "You'renot a burden, babe. I'm helping take care of you because I want to. Because I love you. Not out of some obligation or something."
"Okay." Sandra didn't press the issue, but in the deep pit of her depression, she didn't really believe it.
"Well, let's focus on something else for the moment." Eliza brushed a stray curl out of her eyeline. "If the surgery is a success, and you regain partial mobility... what else could you do that you can't right now?"
She shrugged her hands. "Go outside, I guess?"
"You'd mentioned you used to go on short walks all the time. Do you think being able to do that again would be good for you?"
"It would." Sandra looked over at Jeri. Seeing the tiny spark that still glowed in her eyes, the inflated girl was able to muster a bit of a smile. "And it would be nice to get some pressure out physically, to go along with the mental depressurizing."
The three women sat there for almost a minute, until Sandra broke the silence.
"I think I'm gonna go through with it."
Shortly after sunrise, Dr. Ashwin returned with a rolling IV stand. Jeri, with the help of a nurse, had given Sandra a sponge bath with chlorhexidine soap the night before. Two other nurses were now repeating the process, making sure that there weren't any stray bacteria that might get into the surgical site.
Standing beside Dr. Ashwin (indeed, towering over him by seven or eight inches) was Dr. Denisova, the surgical specialist. As soon as the nurses finished, she swabbed the back of Sandra's hand and carefully inserted the needle for the intravenous drip.
"You're gonna have some bruising after this, I'm afraid." Dr. Denisova smiled and shrugged. "Wish we could do the IV in your arm instead, but your arm isn't really accessible at the moment."
"I won't hold it against you, Doc." Sandra sniffed briefly as a nasal cannula was inserted, to ensure she had enough oxygen. "Sorry, trying not to sneeze."
The surgeon waved Jeri over. "We're just about ready to wheel her in. It'll take six hours, maybe a little longer."
Jeri patted somewhere near her girlfriend's shoulder. "It feels like bad luck to say good-bye at a time like this."
"I'll be fine." Sandra wished she could give her a hug, but under the circumstances she had to settle for blowing a kiss. "I love you, Jer."
"Love you too, Sandy." The pet names were cloying, too sweet to use often; but it was their little way of letting each other know they really meant it.
Then the low, wide stretcher was rolled into the operating room, and the sliding door blocked Sandra and the medicos from view.
When they wheeled Sandra back in, Jeri practically jumped out of her seat in the waiting room. Dr. Ashwin approached; as soon as she saw his gentle smile, the bulk of her anxiety evaporated in an instant.
"The procedure went great," he assured her in a low voice. "She probably won't wake up for an hour or so, and even then she'll be groggy. We'll keep her here overnight, maybe one extra day, just to make sure the swelling from the surgery goes down. In the meantime, you can page one of the nurses if you need anything." He yawned, glancing at his wristwatch. "Now, I'll try to catch a few winks myself."
"Thank you so much, Doctor."
"Of course. You have a great rest of your day." As he walked towards the on-call room, Jeri walked into Sandra's room, where the nurses were locking the wheels of the stretcher down.
Gods, she's cute...
Even now, with Sandra anesthetized and sleeping so deeply that she drooled onto her chest, Jeri couldn't help noticing how sweet and peaceful she looked.
* * * *
"You know what I realized?"
Jeri looked up from her book. "What, babe?"
"We spent a while on the waiting list for this conapt, right? Wide doorways, autoshower with a bidet—the works. Which are all designed so I can get around on my own." She blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. "But now, the doctors said I shouldn't strain myself. So we're right back where we started, with you having to roll me around."
The redhead chuckled. "Well, in another week or so, the stitches should be healed up. Then you can scoot around like an inchworm to your heart's content."
Sandra stuck out her tongue, then nodded toward the silicone straw that snaked over her ear to her mouth, headset-style. "Hey, babe, can I get a refill?"
* * * *
Sandra tilted her head left, then right, as far as she could—about 25 degrees. Though she still couldn't properly crack her neck, this limited range of motion still represented an improvement from how she was before the surgery.
Using the bidet was probably her least favorite part of this whole thing, but getting a full shower afterwards made her feel less icky. As the hot water ran down her back, she rocked back and forth slowly. Pushing against the bars let her set one foot, then the other, onto the smooth floor of the stall. She supposed it was good practice; after nearly two years of disuse, her ankles weren't used to supporting her weight. Left, right, left, right, left and right—
Wait.