Halt Who Goes There Friend or Enema

An impactful word which often causes nurses to cringe is “enema.” An enema most often meant the “3 H’s:” high, hot, and heck of a lot. It wasn’t a small prepackaged enema found in pharmacies or stores of today. Those enemas were mixed when needed. The recipe varied because of the nurse’s individual preference. The main ingredient was hot tap water and Castile soap. Some nurses added hydrogen peroxide or table salt.

The liquid Castile soap came in small plastic packages like salad dressings we have today. The pouch was either ripped or snipped open and the contents squeezed into a plastic bag of hot water. The plastic bag was a much larger version of an I. V. bag. It was attached to a long clear plastic tubing and clamp to control the flow of the solution. Often there were times that one infusion wasn’t enough for stubborn impactions and the task became a bucket and bedpan brigade.

Often an air freshener with a wick was brought into the room to mask the aroma of the enema returns. I always thought it made the client’s bathroom and room smell like a septic tank trunk had hit a florist van.

In a nurse’s career, there are days of routine chores: bandages, emesis, passing medicines, taking vital signs, and charting. Many remembrances are of some horrendous stories of enemas. Some were so dramatic that they almost defy a normal person’s imagination.

One exceptionally bizarre one was for a boy about ten years old. X-rays confirmed a major fecal impaction. Because the parents were worried that he hadn’t moves his bowels in several days and now complained of belly pain, the emergency room physician deemed in necessary to clean the kid out. Believe me, that’s not fun to do on a kid who didn’t want it done. It took three nurses and multiple attempts before success was accomplished. Each enema was followed by a cleanup period to prevent falls and other dangerous situations. It sort of reminded me of the saying, “Where were you when it hit the fan?”

Another remembrance was a near miss. My grandfather Beck was like many elderly who are fixated on moving their bowels. His was to drink hot water to stimulate the desired effect. My mom, Sybil Miner Beck called one morning to say, “Your grandfather needs an enema.” Now that is the last thing a guy wants to hear early in the morning. Reluctantly I agreed. I’d just finished dressing when the phone rang again. “Never mind, your grandfather just called. He had a wonderful passage.” Saved by the bell.