Living Crash Test Dummies, Part 12

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Length (rounded up): 1450 words, 6 min.
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Living Crash Test Dummies, Part 12

The accident wasn’t as horrible as I had expected before. Giving a hard kiss to the Ferrari I drove, the truck bashed the left side of the sports car. After my battered body was taken out of the wreckage, the experts from Special Vehicle Safety Test Inc. swarmed around the test track to decide how many stars to award the manufacturer for the safety of the vehicle.

Having done my best, I was more interested in the number and size of my casts than in the crashworthiness and safety ratings of the car. It had been many years since I had been pinned to a bed, attached to traction, wearing real casts. And adorably big ones. Made from old-school plaster.

As far as I can recall, I told you that I had learnt a few things about cast-making when I had been a trainee nurse until Mrs Glovers had kicked me out of her clinic. This knowledge helped me to identify the shells while admiring my new, sweet enclosure.

The most notable casing was a shoulder spica cast, which stopped my left arm from moving. Inflexibly captured in a strange L-shaped position, and floating at the height of my shoulder in an uncomfortable and awkward-looking pose, the enormous chunk of plaster took away all the functions of my limb between the armpit and the wrist.

Although this moulding was quite massive and weighty, it alone couldn't be extensive enough to stabilise my broken shoulder. Thus, the SSC also sealed my torso. The firm, fittingly fashioned dressing captured the upper joint, and the solid form tightly went around my body to embrace every bit between my neck and abdomen.

My plaster-casted back sunk into a huge pile of pillows. Like a snugly stiff corset, it was tight and flat, except for the area above my breasts. The bulges appeared to be strange bras made of white stone, and whenever I took a breath, my chest always pressed against the plaster mantle.

The heavy, unbending, and bulkily shaped wrapping restricted the movement of my torso to zero, as I was denied of turning or moving my back. But there's no need to feel sorry for me! It was such a fantastic feeling to possess (and to be possessed by) an enormous cast like this.

My left leg, too, had been injured in the accident. Now the limb, planted into a gigantic long leg cast, was lifted at forty-five degrees into the air, swaying in a wool-padded sling. The freshly made shell, which was white as snow, immobilised my leg, and its top edge pleasantly encircled the highest part of my thigh, and wrapped my knee, flowing down to my foot. The cast was just slightly bent at the joint, making my limb appear almost straight.

How wonderful! I was thrilled that I could do what I adore the most in my life, and I get paid handsomely for it! To cheer myself up, I reminded myself of the situation. A great and massive piece of plaster embedded most of my trunk and the whole of my left arm. My left leg was also incapacitated. The soft padding brushed against my skin. I closed my eyes to fully experience the magnitude of the unrepeatable moment. It was certainly going to be a pleasant night... hmm.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Kessler! I apologise for disturbing your rest.’

My thoughts whirled around my new 'skin' so much that I failed to hear the sound of the door opening or the approaching footsteps.

‘Don't worry, Doctor,’ I said after gazing up at the man standing by my bed. It was easy for me to see him as I was in a sitting position. ‘I wasn’t asleep. And to be precise, my full family name is von Kessler. I would be grateful if you would use it.’

I softened the seriousness of my request with my most endearing smile. Okay, I know that I drive everyone crazy by constantly reminding them to add the ‘von’ to my name. I'm probably going to be killed by some petulant anti-monarchist.

He bowed his head. ‘Forgive me for this mistake, Miss von Kessler. I’m Dr Kevin Castner.’

He pointed to the nametag on his uniform. What a stupid response. I’m not deaf. Nevertheless, I smiled.

‘Are you a new girl at the Special Vehicle Safety Test Inc.? I haven’t seen you in the Cast Room yet. Or are you a lucky senior crash-tester who has never been injured?’

‘I’m just an inexperienced rookie,’ I humbled my position.

‘Did you get two big casts on your first test? You've made a good start, Miss von Kessler.’

He scrutinised the streamlined bandages that closely followed the shape of my leg. Then he checked the masterfully moulded shoulder spica cast, which turned the delicate contours of my arm into some tubular, formless mass. And he studied the plaster armour that held my body in a tight embrace. In particular, his gaze lingered on the two hemispheres concealing my breasts.

He also looked at my face. And once again he caught a glimpse of my plaster-casted breasts. And again. To be honest, despite the cumbersome casts, I wasn't an unflattering sight. The white colour of the dressing on my limbs and body, as well as the snow-white pillows perfectly suited to my skin and my light blonde hair. I liked being admired, but, back then, I didn’t wish to get involved in a doctor-patient relationship. Who wants to spend all her free time in his hospital?

‘I’d like to talk about your breasts... breaks..., I mean, broken bones, Caroli... Miss von Kessler.’ Dr Castner was hardly able to find the right words, as his entire attention was riveted on my charm.

‘Oh, about my shoulder spica cast and the long leg cast?’ I said in a casual manner.

‘Wow. You seem to know a lot about casts. However, it's not surprising, because I’ve seen your X-rays, which showed that you must have broken both of your elbows and the left femur a few years ago. Two long arm casts and a long leg cast aren’t a usual setup.’

‘I fell off a ladder five years ago,’ I said. ‘Yeah, it wasn't easy living with three limbs in a cast. I even had to take my final exams while in a wheelchair.’

With the help of Daddy, Lisa, and my other friends, I had made it through. Good old memories.

‘It seems like you're acting like a magnet for medical casts,’ Dr Castner said. ‘If you've had so much experience with casts, you probably know how long you'll have to wear them.’

‘I guess it usually takes about two to four months for the fractures to heal if there is no complication.’

‘That is correct, Miss von Kessler. Perhaps you're more knowledgeable about casts than I am.’ Dr Castner projected a brief smile. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate patients who knew too much. But who does? ‘And one more thing: our hospital is the closest to the crash test site of your company. On this floor, there are several women who are colleagues of yours. I'm sure they'll be coming to see you soon. Or even you can meet them, when you’ll be allowed to leave your bed.’

Wow, I had completely forgotten about my teammates until now. My boss had told me that they employed about fifty girls, but I hadn't yet had the chance to meet any of them, apart from the handicapped secretary.

‘May I ask you a personal question, Miss von Kessler?’ Dr Castner asked.

‘Of course, you can, but the answer depends on the nature of the question,’ I said, based on past unpleasant experiences. I didn’t want to appear naïve and, after all, he wasn’t a cop. Hopefully, he won’t make a proposal to marry me while I'm in casts.

‘Are you an FTM or an FTP girl?’

I was relieved. At least, we weren't going to get married, but I was embarrassed by the abbreviations I'd never heard before. ‘Pardon?’

‘Are you a For-The-Money or a For-The-Pleasure crash tester?’ he asked.

‘Does my answer affect the therapy you apply, Dr Castner?’

‘No, not at all,’ he said. ‘However, if you would happen to enjoy feeling pain, I could consider reducing the dosage of pain medication.’

‘No, thank you. Money, pain, or plaster? I’m sure you’re wise enough to work out which I prefer.’ I concluded our conversation and closed my eyes.

My uncasted arm disappeared under the blanket. I eagerly waited for the night to fall.

to be continued

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