I will tell you about my tonsillectomy experience. It was in the fall of 1968, and I must have been almost six. I remember thinking about the procedure for several days prior to the actual surgery, as I remember where I was when I was thinking about it.
On one occasion, I was at my aunt's house, and on another, I was sitting in the kitchen of our house. By that time, I don't think enemas were given routinely prior to a tonsillectomy, but it was on my mind. As we were checking into the hospital for the overnight stay, I distinctly remember asking my parents if I would get an enema. My parents said, "No," and the lady behind the desk laughed.
From a five-year-old's perspective, I must say that the hospital personnel were pretty rough as they drew blood from my finger. I cried, and was told even babies didn't cry over that. In any case, my father worked them over mercilessly and we went to the room.
Not long after, a nurse, whom I might add had no bedside manner whatsoever, came in with the express purpose of inserting a suppository in me. I had gotten suppositories before at home, but never from a stranger. Suffice it to say, that suppository did not end up in my rear end. The nurse got an orderly to hold me down on my stomach, but I tightened my little cheeks tighter than Fort Knox while crying and screaming throughout.
The nurse finally gave up, and I got a shot after my parents made them
stop. It must have been some type of sedative suppository, since most
kids didn't want shots. That experience certainly didn't inspire any
confidence in me regarding the
medical profession as far as I was
concerned.
Well, back at home, I recovered nicely and had my share of the traditional ice cream and that sort of thing. However, being bedridden didn't do much for my bowels. After a few days, I was significantly constipated and obviously needed relief. I remember sitting on the toilet and straining, but to no avail.
Constipation was usually defined as not having a bowel movement in a couple of days, so after three days of no BM, it was time to do something. On that particular occasion, I don't remember receiving an oral laxative, which I did get from time to time. On the third day, which I think was a Saturday since my father was home, my mother asked if I had passed anything. Shaking my head negatively, I remember being led from the toilet into the den where I was placed across both my parent's laps.
My mother then unwrapped a Dulcolax suppository and inserted it several inches up into my rectum. She told me to walk around a little while to help the suppository melt, and to distribute it in my colon. Of course, she didn't use those words, but I have since figured out that this was the purpose.
I remember walking up and down the hall for several minutes, thinking this wasn't so bad, when the burning, closely followed by the cramping, started. My lower abdomen began to cramp in waves and my rectum felt like it was on fire. It was different from the tingle stimulated by the remaining Ivory after an enema, in that it was a truly burning sensation.
My mother said to hold on for a couple more minutes, after which I went into the bathroom and tried to expel the thing. A part of the suppository came out with nothing else, and then the burning and cramping began to ease.
At this point, my mother asked me if it had worked and I said, "No."
My father suggested a soapy enema with the enema bag and that was the course of action decided upon. This was the first time I remember actually seeing the enema prepared. I was standing in the hallway between the bathroom and the den where I could see into both rooms. I saw my mother reach into the bathroom linen closet and produce that familiar green Davol box. It must have been about 14 inches long by about 8 or 9 inches. Once again, the sense of smell is very powerful in these memories.
Mom held up the bag, which already had the red rubber hose attached, and clipped the metal clamp shut. She then attached the black bat-shaped enema pipe onto the end of the hose, and laid the whole thing on the bathroom counter.
Next, she took out an enamel bowl from under the lavatory. She turned on both faucets, and kept testing the water with her hands. After the desired temperature was attained, she ran some into the bowl until it was about half full. I am estimating there was about a quart of water in it. She then placed the bar of Ivory in it and swished it around with her hand. After it was quite milky looking…I even remember thinking that it looked like milk…she picked up the enema bag and poured a little more than half into it. I guess there must have been between 16 and 20 ounces of water in the bag.
She shook it gently, which probably produced even more soapsuds. Directing the enema pipe into the lavatory, she opened the clamp and let a little of the milky solution squirt out. Of course, I didn't know then that she was expelling the air from the enema hose.
She called me into the bathroom and took off my underwear. Dad came in and picked up the enema bag from the sink. Mom spread a large towel next to the bathtub and told me to lie on my stomach. With everything ready, I remember her opening the Vaseline jar and lubricating the enema pipe very well. By this time, I was on the floor and she parted my cheeks.
This is the first time I remember the actual insertion of the enema pipe. Within a second, it was fully inserted, and I clenched down on it although she was still holding it in. She released the clamp and I remember the hose jerking slightly as the water began to flow inside me.
At first, I didn't feel much of anything, but that soon changed. After a few seconds when dad lifted the enema bag higher, I felt the water begin to fill my bowels, and I felt like I had to poo. I told my parents and they said that it was almost finished. Raising my head, I looked back at the enema bag and it was indeed almost empty.
The bag soon made that distinctive sound of emptying and now I really had to go. I really don't remember cramping up, but I did feel very full and distended as if I had to urinate. Also, I think that was the first time that an enema had been injected at this faster rate. Mom clamped the hose shut and removed the pipe. She then held my cheeks together for a couple of minutes and let me up when I really began to squirm.
I remember jumping to the toilet and beginning to expel the enema water immediately. Most of it came out in one huge gush along with a good amount of retained fecal material. At this point, my rectum was burning a little from the soap, I imagine. After a couple of minutes, mom looked in the bowl and seemed satisfied.
As I began to put my underwear back on, I had a second call and sat back down. At that point, I expelled the rest of the enema water, accompanied by little else. I distinctly remember smelling the soap and Vaseline, as well as the unique "rubber" smell of the enema bag a few feet away. As the enema had worked so well in cleaning me out, I didn't get a second enema that time. I did feel a lot better.
Mom let me put my underwear back on and leave the bathroom while she cleaned the enema bag. My lower abdomen still felt a little full and uncomfortable, but I guess that can be attributed to the fact that the water had so recently stretched it. I remember going back into the den and Dad, who was smoking his pipe, asked how I was. I said, "Alright, but my tummy feels funny."
He called me over and rubbed my lower abdomen with his hand, which did help. He then distracted me by blowing smoke rings, which took my mind off my recently cleaned out bowels. When I think back, my parents were very caring and gentle throughout the whole thing.
A few days later, I was constipated again. This time, my mother worked on me all morning with a jar of glycerin suppositories, but to no avail. Every half hour or so, I would lie on the bed on my stomach so she could insert another one. After about three, I started to cramp up and went to the bathroom, only to expel parts of the unmelted suppositories.
By this time, my rectum was burning. I started squirming when I saw mom take the Comfy Davol enema bag out of the closet. She said that half a bag of warm soapy water would help me go. I said I didn't want an enema, and strangely enough, she put the unused enema bag away.
Within the hour, we were at my grandmother's house where a folding orange-colored rubber douche bag dangled from the bathroom cabinet. In five minutes, I was on my stomach on the bathroom floor looking up at the half filled douche bag. I could see the soapsuds through the almost transparent bag.
The white pipe was inserted, and soon my stomach was swollen with the quite warm irritating solution. I was instructed to hold the "enema bag water" in my tummy as long as I could. I remember jumping up and expelling a lot of water and "poo poo." Just when I thought the enema had worked everything out of me, another explosion of water would come!
While I was expelling, they refilled the douche bag about half full with plain warm water in case I needed another one. So, it was back down on the floor for another douche bag of plain water. Needless to say, my rectum was burning big time from the remnants of the suppository and the irritating Ivory soap. However, the plain water enema relieved the burning.
When I got home that evening, I told my father, "They gave me an enema and made my tummy hurt!"
Of course, the Davol enema bag appeared on subsequent occasions during
which times my parents said I needed a little "enema water" to help me
out.
