Hospital Stories

Childhood Hospital Story

This is a repost of a story I had posted a year or two ago. It is a true story although I didn’t write it

down until 25 years later so a few details had to be fictionalized. Have fun!


I am sitting on my bed coloring in the children’s ward of Sacred Heart Hospital, a place I have come to know all to well. There is about ten other beds in this room, most of them filled. I notice two young student nurses enter the ward with a gurney making a direct route over to my bed. My heart stops as they lightheartedly tell me we will be going for a little ride. Going for “a little ride” could mean a variety of unpleasant destinations. They are both surprisingly young and attractive wearing the usual uniforms of the nursing school attached to the hospital. Immediately they start involving me in cheerful conversations about a variety of subjects. They are both questioning me so rapidly that I can’t ask where we are going when all of a sudden we make an abrupt stop in front of the door marked ‘Treatment Room’. This is one of my worst fears as past experiences in this room usually meant I was going to get an enema by a very determined nurse. I had a reputation from previous visits to this hospital for not always being the most cooperative when it came to enemas and they normally reserved only the strongest nurses for the occasion.

We enter the large room as the two young nurses continue their non-stop chatter. I am then moved onto one of the two examination tables in the room and much to my surprise I don’t see the customary equipment suspended above the table. They then happily explain to me that they will be giving me an enema, but not to worry, we will not be using the ‘big one’, only a small bulb syringe. I am somewhat bewildered since the task of giving an enema is usually performed by a regular nurse who does it with a minimum of dialogue and an abrasive manner. These student nurses are making it sound like it’s a fun way to spend the afternoon. I am then shown a small syringe type enema that is about the size of the one that is used at home for my regular trips to the bathroom. Although not something to look forward to, I am not in the normal state of panic that goes with getting a large sized enema with a bag and a hose.

With the nurses help I am rolled over on my stomach and the smaller of the two goes to a sink and fills a container with warm water. She carefully adds a small amount of liquid soap to the water and stirs it, making sure that few bubbles are formed. The solution is then brought over to the table, all the while talking about her younger brothers and sisters and their many interests. I am very relaxed under the circumstances, usually by this time I’m starting to put up a good fight. The taller nurse then puts the syringe into the soapy water and squeezes the bulb to fill it up. The sound of the air being released under the water is very familiar to me, reminding me of the many times at home I have heard it just prior to having it injected into my rear. No matter, at least its not a bag enema that flows in constantly without any relief.

The tall nurse, who seems to be a bit more experienced, then removes the syringe and lubricates the tip. She also applies a small amount of lubricant directly to my anus. I can feel the tip being inserted into my rectum. I am then informed that we are about to begin. The warm water begins flowing into my bowels as the bulb is gently squeezed. The first one is never bad, sometimes even feels good as it enters, which is hard to explain by a seven year old. She empties the contents and removes the enema while holding my checks together. I am encouraged to help hold the fluid while I hear that sound again, signaling a refill. This is repeated a number of times with each injection increasing the pressure in my belly.

Occasionally I can feel some of the water running out but I am continually encouraged what a good job I am doing. I have tried to be as cooperative as possible but I now complain that I think I’ve had enough. I am quite full and really feel the urge to go. The small nurse than says warmly that just a couple more should do it. I grin and bear it as I hear my stomach gurgle with another refill. Amazingly they both agree that one more squeeze should do it. I feel about to explode! A small bedpan is slipped under me and I am allowed to release the fluid. The soapy solution pours out of me with a great wave of relief, although little else comes with it. As the last of the enema trickles out, a relaxed feeling comes over me, almost as if I could fall asleep. I’m quite happy with myself for not making a scene and I wish all the nurses would be as caring as these students.

The small ‘candy stripper’, as they are sometimes called, removed the pan as the other started to clean me up. Both then went into the bathroom that open into the treatment room. I could hear some whispers and then they returned to announce that they would have to repeat the enema since the last one didn’t give the desired effect. I am disappointed but I know the alternative would be far worst, so I roll over on my stomach once more. Suddenly a rapid knock is heard on the door and an orderly comes in pulling a gurney behind him. He quickly declares that the next ‘customer’ is here and could he leave her inside since the halls where being cleaned.

Both nurses smiled and said sure, each recognizing the patient and calling her by name and return to their tasks. I look over from my awkward position and see a pretty girl a few years older than me lying on her side a couple of feet away. I thought I would die from embarrassment! Here I am laying with my butt in the air as the nurse is preparing my next enema and I’m face to face with a girl! She doesn’t seem the least bit put off by this or the fact that she’s next in line for a table, when she then introduces herself as Mary Ellen. She talks fast and makes a comment about lunch being really gross and that she wouldn’t have eaten it in a million years. I agree, trying to sound nonchalant, she then says that she likes getting an enema in here from the candy strippers rather than in her room with the head nurse Mrs. Moyer. Again I agree since I to have experienced this rather nasty woman. She goes on to say that she is partially paralyzed from the waist down and everyone always seems so concerned about her having bowel movements. I am comforted by the thought that I’m not the only one who finds them self in this situation.

The nurses return only this time the solution is in a larger container and I notice that the small infant syringe has been replaced by a larger one capable of holding considerably more. I try not to show that I’ve notice when I realize that the curtains that would normally be drawn around the table is missing. Nobody seems to notice or care other than me and I am in a panic over the prospects of a semi-public enema in front of a young girl. I turn my head away. The candy strippers resume their active dialogue, now including the newest member of our group, Mary Ellen. I hear the familiar sound of the syringe being filled only this time it takes longer than before. The nurse makes a casual comment that ‘we’ are using a larger bulb and that I should try extra hard to hold it in. Mary Ellen adds that she hate when she ‘loses her water’ because not only do you have a mess but you usually have to get another enema. I shudder from the thought.

The nozzle of the enema easily enters my rectum although I can feel that it is going deeper than the previous one. As the soap suds flow in I am conscious of my bowels expanding greater than they had before, but the whole syringe is emptied and removed without any discomfort. Curiosity has now gotten the best of me and I turn my head to see Mary Ellen, who is watching this whole procedure while chatting away. She doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable with it and gives me a smile. As the next one is administered I decide that I won’t look away but continue listening to Mary Ellen. It was a very strange feeling to be given an enema while someone who was not a medical professional watched and talked to you. A curious feeling indeed. It took my mind off the discomfort for a while, but eventually I could not help notice that the ‘fullness’ was now tuning to cramps. The need to let go was intense although under the circumstances I was determined not to ‘lose my water’. The nurses seemed to sense this and continued refilling the enema until the last of the solution was used. After the last was injected they started praising me for doing so well then announced that we would hold it in awhile and recommended that I take deep breaths.

The one nurse continued to hold the cheeks of my buttocks together as the other collected the equipment. She cleaned up quickly then brought the bedpan over, helped turn me over and slipped it underneath me while I laid down. This time it was apparent that the enema had worked. The sound of my bowels emptying could be clearly heard, but the relief far outweighed any embarrassment I felt. I remained in this position for quite sometime. They apologized repeatedly for not letting me use the bathroom, but doctors orders didn’t allow me to get out of bed. I had forgotten about Mary Ellen being there until I noticed the candy strippers preparing the other examination table. The nurse had wheeled in a pole from which there hung a large red enema bag. A rubber catheter was then attached to the end of the tubing and clamped. I looked over at the girl but she didn’t seem the least bit concerned, she just asked me if I had felt any better. I said I was feeling better now that it was over.

The nurse filled the large bag with the solution that was in the pitcher and then asked if I was finished so they could take me back to my room before starting on their next ‘customer’. I assured them that I wasn’t and was told to take my time. They then proceeded to roll Mary Ellen’s gurney along side the other examination table. It was hard to believe that I was about to watch this girl receive an enema, but she seemed to enjoy the company and the nurses made no effort to move me.

Mary Ellen needed a lot of help to get on to the table and a few times her gown opened in the rear exposing her. It was sad to see such a pretty girl having so little control over her body. She was laid on her side with her facing me so we could talk. It took a few minutes to get her into a comfortable position. The nurse now inserted the tip and asked her if it felt all right. She said it was fine and the clamp was quickly released. As the enema ran into her she asked about my family and school, which I explained in great length, since I come from a large family. All the while the bag got smaller. I said I was astonished that someone so small could take such a large enema without batting an eye, but she said she got one every few days at home and that she was use to it. I told her I was also in the same situation, but I doubt I would ever get use to it (oddly enough, years later I actually did). After the bag was empty the nurses removed the nozzle and turned Mary Ellen over on her stomach. Her backside was completely exposed by this time and I started to feel rather embarrassed for her and excited at the same time. It was at this time that she started to say she was having cramps and that her belly really started to hurt. One of the nurses held her buttocks together just as she had done to mine a few minutes earlier. She was encouraged to hold it in ‘just a little longer’ although it was apparent she was very uncomfortable.

Quite abruptly the head nurse, a rather mean, large woman, came barging into the room. She quickly surveyed the situation and with a sneer ordered one of the nurses to take me back to my room and then stormed out telling them that she wanted to see them both in her office when they were done. Without hardly a goodbye (Mary Ellen was still holding her water) I was whisked back to the ward. The young nurse repeatedly thanked me for being such a ‘good boy’ and she would see me again real soon. Unfortunately this was the only time I had seen either of them and my next ‘treatment’ was anything but a pleasant experience.

But that’s another story….