#I prefer a lung enema:
“That’s quite a good step, quite good,” Dr. Mirabi encouraged. “Of course, that infection was only the crisis symptom of your syndrome. The next stage of your cure” -he examined the notepad-“is the chronic mucus congestion! We must deal with that chronic mucus, Alex. It might have been protective mucus at first, but now is your metabolic burden. Once the chronic mucus is gone, and the tubercles are entirely cleansed-cleaned…” He paused. “Is it ‘cleaned,’ or ‘cleansed’?”
“Either one works,” Alex said.
“Thank you,” the doctor said. “Once the chronic mucus is scrubbed away from the lung surfaces, then we can treat the membranes directly. There is membrane damage in your lungs, of course, deep cellular damage, but we cannot get to the damaged surfaces until the mucus is removed.” He looked at Alex seriously, over his glasses. “Your chronic mucus is full of many contaminations, you know’ Years of bad gases and particles you have inhaled. Environmental pollutions, allergic pollens, smoke particles, virus, and bacteria. They have all adhered to the chronic mucus. When your lungs are scrubbed clean with the enema, the lungs will be as the lungs of a newborn child!” He smiled. (source)
[…]
“Then you know that sensation when you swallow water down the wrong pipe,” said the doctor, nodding triumphantly. “That choking reflex. You see, Alex, the reason Mother Nature makes you choke on water, is because there is no proper oxygen in water for your lungs. The enema liquid, though, which will be filling your lungs, is not water, Alex. It is a dense silicone fluid. It carries much oxygen dissolved inside it, plenty of oxygen.” Dr. Mirabi chuckled. “If you lie still without breathing, you can live half an hour on the oxygen in a single lungful of enema fluid! It has so much oxygen that at first you will feel hyperventilated.”
(source)
Something was dripping. Thick oily dripping, down at floor level. It was coming from the big trouser-press contraption. Jane stepped toward the machine and played her light across the floor. Some kind of bedpan there.
Jane half knelt. It was a white ceramic pot, half-full of a dark nasty liquid, some kind of dense chemical oil. Grainy stuff like fine coffee grounds had sunk to the bottom, with a nasty white organic scum threading the top, just like a vile egg-drop soup. As Jane watched, a sudden thin -drool of the stuff plummeted into the pot.
Her light went up. It discovered two racks of white human teeth. A human mouth there, with tight-drawn white lips and a stiff blue tongue. The head was swaddled in bandages, a thick padded strap at the forehead. Some kind of soft rubber harness bar was jammed into the gaping jaws. .
They had him strapped to a rack, head down. Both his shoulders strapped, both his wrists cuffed at his sides, his chest strapped down against the padded surface. His knees were bound, his ankles cuffed. The whole rack was tilted skyward on a set of chromed springs and hinges. Up at the very top, his pale bare feet were like two skinned animals. Down at the bottom, his strap-swaddled head was just above the floor.
They were draining him.
(source)
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