You contacted the paramedics and informed them of the situation. You could hear your mother's body continuing to burp and fart involuntarily from the next room, and could certainly still smell it. Not even ten minutes after the call when the paramedics arrived, your mom was still slowly fattening a little bit. Her hips and ass had gotten wider than the couch and crushed it flat under her weight. The gurgling and sloshing emanating from her guts was ceaseless as gas continued to billow from either hole.
"Thank *BWORP!* goodness you've got gas masks on," your mother remarked to the paramedics, "I might be contagious after all."
"From what we understand," one medic explained as they helped her stand, "It's only contagious if you breath in a gasbag's emissions directly from the source. The masks are just an additional precaution. Now you said you were sat on a few hours before your transformation?"
You approached a second paramedic to ask if your mother would be okay.
"We hope so," they replied, "We'll do the best we can. Look, by all accounts she should be to big to stand up by herself, but if you'll notice..." The paramedic pointed at your hyper-bloated mother who was standing on her two chubby feet. Her butt and thighs alone were as wide as a subway car, not to mention how fat her arms, boobs, and belly had gotten along with it. Her entire body was sweating like crazy, adding to the already horrible stench her incontinent burps and farts were making. Strangely enough, however, the smell was starting to bother you a lot less. Maybe your olfactory nerves were burnt out by her miasma.
"Alright Ma'am, let's get you to the hospital," the first paramedic said, leading your mother by the hand, "We need to get you out of the building before you destroy it."
"How though?" she asked, "I'm too *BELCH!* fat to fit through the door!"
"Not necessarily," the medic explained, "Apparently gasbag fat is impossibly squishy and flexible. You can fit through much smaller openings that it looks like, so long as it isn't much smaller that your skeleton." Sure enough, when the medic pulled her out the door, her fat body squished and squeezed through the frame as though it were made of liquid. It was a tight enough of a squeeze to force a huge amount of gas out of her, of course, but they still got her outside. She was stuffed carefully into a repurposed shipping truck converted into an ambulance alongside one other recently blown up person. You were led by the other paramedic into a separate ambulance and given a ride to the hospital as well.
The ICU at the hospital was packed to bursting with gasbags, their belches and farts a cacophonous symphony of flatulence. Giving your mother one last goodbye before she was placed into a room, you were led to a waiting room where it seemed like friends and family of the gasbags were sitting. You sat down and waited for something, anything, to happen.