Cruises had never appealed to me, so I had managed to put off taking my wife on one until our tenth anniversary. Then I broke
down and did the required romantic thing and took her on a one-week Caribbean junket on the best ship I could afford. I had
made a point to lose a few extra pounds, even though I usually kept myself in good shape. I had heard about the round-the-clock
feasting on board and I was ready for it. About the third day out, however, I started to get some bad stomach cramps, which I
ignored, assuming it was simply payback for the constant overeating. I took a laxative and went to bed. The next morning, although I emptied myself rather thoroughly, I was feeling a lot worse. I finally dragged myself to the ship’s doctor.
Dr. Landau was a young man, apparently just finished with his internship, who had decided to opt for the easy life of a ships
doctor rather than pursue any specialty or set up in private practice. He made a comfortable living, got to travel a lot and was able to meet and socialize with a constant stream of passengers. When I got to his office, I was pretty uncomfortable, so he wasted no time. He led me to the exam room, and waited right there while I undressed and he helped me onto the table. Being this was a ship where space is precious, the exam room was an all-purpose facility, small but well equipped.
He began to ask me questions about when the problem began, what I had eaten and so on. All the time he listened to my heart, lungs and abdomen. After a few minutes of this, he told me that he needed a stool sample and promptly rolled me over on my side, snapped on a glove, lubed me just a little and pushed his finger inside me. He twisted it back and forth a couple of times and
withdrew, and smeared the feces onto a paper disk. Then he prepared a slide and looked at it under his microscope.
“Well, “ he said, “you have an unusual intestinal parasite that I have seen here only a few times.” “You probably picked up from
something you ate onshore, but don’t worry, it is treatable and you will be okay in 24 hours.”
I was relieved, at least until he told me about the treatment. It seems I would have to undergo a difficult regimen of medication and flushing of my digestive and urinary tract. He wasted no time in starting the procedures, and gave me a glass of water into which he had poured some kind of strong laxative mixed with something that kills the parasite. I took one swallow and gagged at the taste.
“I was afraid of that”, Dr. Landau said, “we’ll have to use an N-G tube.”
He reached over and took out a sealed, sterile packet and opened it. It contained a slender tube, about as big around as cooked
spaghetti and about 2 feet long. After putting a little Surgilube on it, he told me to sit up and proceeded to push the tube up my nose, slowly.
“This won’t hurt, just keep swallowing constantly and it will pass down into your stomach” he reassured me. “You won’t gag on it, I promise.”
The tube felt odd going down, like something was tickling my throat, but, as the doc said, it wasn’t any real problem. When he got most of it inside he taped it to my face to hold it in place, then he filled a large syringe with the rest of the medication, and slowly began to push the horrible tasting concoction into my stomach. It was actually a great relief to me, since I didn’t taste the stuff, and I could feel the liquid in my stomach. He then proceeded to fill the syringe with plain water twice and injected each dose slowly into my stomach.
“You will need to take about a gallon more water before this is over with, along with some different medication,” he informed me,
“ I think this arrangement will be the best one, don’t you?”
I nodded my agreement. The naso-gastric tube (as I later learned it was called) was not uncomfortable and made the medication
easier to take. Dr. Landau then had me move to another table in the room, which was designed mainly for treating women. It was a cross between a chair and a table, with a back and headrest that could be elevated and leg boards that could be separated and bent. There were stirrups at the end of the legs for my feet.
“I’m sorry if this is a little uncomfortable” he said, “but these are not designed for a large person”. “I have to keep you more or less sitting upright but you will need to be positioned so you can expel into a bedpan when the laxative kicks in.”
Dr. Landau then hung a large plastic bag on a stand about even with my head. There was a tube coming from the bottom of it and
he attached it to the N-G tube. He filled the bag with about a gallon of water and poured some sort of medication in it, then
opened the clamp on the tube and the liquid started to flow slowly into my stomach.
As it turned out, I didn’t have long to wait before the laxative worked. About a half-hour into the treatment I felt the rumblings in my guts that signaled I had to go. I told the doc and he placed a bedpan under me. The first stuff to come out was pasty but then it gushed out in a more liquid form. I felt better, but the doctor warned me this was only the first of many expulsions.
The water and medication had another effect, however. About fifteen minutes after the first expulsion I felt I needed to take a piss, and told the doctor I needed to get up and that. He said I needed to stay seated there and put a urinal in front of me. Unfortunately I could not relax sufficiently in that position to let it flow, and after a few more tortuous minutes the doctor did what he said he had to do.
I had never had a catheter in me, and was not looking forward to it. Dr. Landau called his nurse, Miss Wills, to help him. She
placed a clean drape around my cock and balls, and scrubbed her hands in the sink, then got out a pack of sterile gloves and put
them on. The doctor did the same and then swabbed the tip of my cock with some Betadine. The nurse opened the catheter pack and allowed the doctor to put some sterile lube on it, then he inserted the tip into the opening in my cock. It was a strange,
slightly burning sensation that I felt as the tube was slowly inserted. Then I felt a little pain and it slipped in a little further. The doctor quickly attached a hose from it into a bucket on the floor and squeezed the tube, which opened its protective valve. Then I felt the wonderful, but strange feeling of emptying my overfilled bladder through a tube.
“This will have to stay in for the rest of the time”, Dr. Landau said, as he instructed the nurse to inflate the little balloon that was on the tip deep in my bladder. With a syringe and some sterile water she pumped it up using the little tube next to the outlet tube on the catheter. The doctor explained this was called a Foley catheter. Once the balloon was set, the doctor and nurse could let it loose and it dangled from the end of my cock like a snake. I could feel the urine occasionally flow out into the bucket on the floor.
Meanwhile there was the slow, relentless flow into my stomach, and I felt another wave ready to expel, and I warned the doctor I
needed the bedpan. Much to my surprise, neither he nor Miss Wills reached for the bedpan, but rather they pulled a large, fat
rubber hose out of a drawer. Miss Wills then attached an odd looking nozzle to one end. The nozzle was shaped like, well, like a Christmas tree, rounded and narrow at the top, then wider toward the base, then suddenly very narrow and a wide flat flange at the very bottom.
“This will make it easier, I promise, “ the doctor said, smiling. “Miss Wills, help me with this please.”
The nurse hung the plain end of the hose in the bucket, then put a large amount of Vaseline on the nozzle and onto my ass, then
she used her gloved finger to work some of the Vaseline into my hole. Then she began to push the nozzle into me.
“Hey, don’t rip me apart!” I yelled.
“Just relax and push on it, like you are taking a dump”, Dr.Landau said.
That seemed to help some. It hurt a little as the fat part popped inside me, then my muscles closed around the narrow neck and I was okay. Brown water began to flow out of me into the bucket but I kept feeling the fat intruder inside me. Even with the catheter inside, my cock got embarrassingly hard and I tried to cover it with something handy.
I must have sat there for two hours, water and medication flowing into my stomach tube and the outflow going into the bucket from my bowels and kidneys. It was almost like I was an unwilling living factory, with tubes everywhere. Finally the bag was empty and after about another half-hour the flow stopped from my bowels and my bladder. The doctor caught the last few drops of each on microscope slides and examined them.
“Well, that is a lot better, but I don’t think we are quite finished yet, “ he said. He didn’t seem disappointed at all, however. “Miss Wills, I think we still need some enemas to get the rest of these little buggers out of him”
Dr. Landau reached over and uncoupled the stomach tube, pulled the tape off my face and slowly pulled it out. Then the nurse
lowered the back of the table so I was lying with my head only slightly elevated, rather than almost sitting as before.
“At least we can take this tube out, it won’t be needed any more”, the doctor explained. “The enemas require a slightly different arrangement”
The table I was lying on was lowered so that, although I was in the same position, with my legs spread and feet in stirrups, my
ass was only about eighteen inches above the floor. The whole table was then wheeled over toward the toilet and I was positioned so that when I expelled my enema it would go directly into the john. I wasn’t sure why all this was necessary until
the doctor and his assistant completed setting up their equipment.
They brought out a large tub, about two feet across and placed it on the counter next to me, about two feet over my head, and began to fill it using a hose attached to the sink nearby. I suppose, now that I think about it, that it held ten gallons or more. Then they added some soap and some salt.
The doctor explained the procedure. “All of this has to run through you to get the last of the parasites out of your colon.” “Of course, you will take it a little at a time, then it can run out into the toilet without your having to get up and down.”
They removed the hose from the faucet, then placed that end of it into the tub, and put something in the tub to weigh down the end
of the hose so it would stay put. The other end of the host had a connector, which was then attached to a smooth, flexible rubber
tube, about four feet long and a little more than a half inch thick. The end of this tube had two eyelet’s. Nurse Wills took some time to grease the whole length of the tube liberally with Vaseline, and rammed a large glob of the same into my somewhat sore ass. She was quite thorough in rubbing the lubricant into me with her fingers, which she pushed in and out and twisted around repeatedly. When I was packed like a wheel bearing, she was ready to begin.
She let some of the soapy water flow through the tube into the toilet, to expel any air, Then began to insert it into me slowly but steadily. The soapy, salty water was somewhat hot, and I squirmed as it started to fill me up. Nurse Wills was unrelenting in letting the water flow into me so, in a few minutes, I blasted it into the waiting commode.
The water flowed unrelentingly, but not very fast. Every so often the tube would be pushed a little further into my bowels to reach a deeper part of me to clean it from the top down. Then it would flow down, and when It reached my back door I would expel a
pint or two at a time. This went on for nearly an hour. I didn’t have any way of knowing how deep inside the tube was except to feel it as it slowly crept up then across my belly, and finally down the right side. The warm soapy water irritated me a little so I felt a little nauseous toward the end. Finally I heard the slurp in the tub that meant my ordeal was almost over.
“That ought to do it, don’t you think so Miss Wills”, the doctor remarked to the young lady. “Please remove the colon tube gently
now.”
Nurse Wills slowly and carefully pulled the tube out of me. I asked her to show me how far it had gone in, and she obliged by
pointing to a spot only about eight inches from the top of the tube.
“About 40 inches, I think” she said, “All the way to your appendix, as I’m sure you could feel.”
The doctor again checked the discharge that was dripping from my bowels and pronounced me clean. I was exhausted and glad my ordeal was finally over. The doctor told me to take it easy for at least 24 hours, to eat very lightly, and not to sample any
more seafood onshore.
I returned to my room and my wife was waiting for me. She asked what had happened and I told her about the parasites, but I
spared her most of the details of my treatment. I slept a long time, right through breakfast, but when I woke up, I felt like my old self again.
On the last day aboard I decided to stop back by the infirmary and thank the doctor and his nurse, and ask if there were any last minute instructions. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I looked at the door, and the sign simply said “Suite B-311”. When I pushed the door open, it was just a stateroom although a very large and luxurious one. I left the room and asked the first steward I to point me in the direction of the infirmary, since, obviously, my ordeal had distorted my memory.
I got to the infirmary and went inside. I was greeted by an elderly but distinguished looking man.
“I’m Dr. Bradson, the ships doctor.” he said, “Can I help you?”
“N-N-No thanks”, I stammered, and I quickly left and closed the door.