I want somebody to know who's responsible. I had a slow evening so posted the following on Facebook. I tagged my little brother Mark, who is now a firefighter in a large, metropolitan city....not realizing that all his fellow firefighters will see this on his Facebook page. If I should stop posting here, you'll know why!
So I'm sitting here preparing to compose a letter to my family, sharing some of the recent events here on the ranch when I'm reminded of a childhood memory that we haven't talked about in a long time. It gave me quite a chuckle, actually more of a "laugh-until-you-lose-bladder-control" kind of chuckle so I thought I'd share it here with y'all. I realize that both my mother and my siblings are going to want to kill me after I share this, but at least I'll go down with a smile on my face
. Besides, what good are family secrets if you don't share them on the World Wide Web?!
This particular incident happened when my "baby" brother was only a couple years old. Keep in mind that I'm eleven years older than Mark, and that Colleen and Denise are both seven and four years older, respectively. I don't remember exactly how the doctor came to the conclusion that baby Mark was constipated, but the diagnosis was made and something had to be done about it, I know we all feared for Mark's life because he was surely going to die if something wasn't done to alleviate this condition. I remember Mom getting off the phone with the doctor and declaring to us all that If Mark was going to survive, he would need an enema.
Now even though I was a very mature thirteen year old, and familiar with most of the ways of the world, I had never experienced watching somebody get an enema before that day. Mom went in to the bathroom and pulled out this humongous, red, rubber bag that looked like it would hold at least a gallon of liquid. We all stood by as Mark played grumpily in the playpen, and watched Mom fill that huge bag with a soapy liquid. This all seemed so strange to us, but if the doctor prescribed it, it surely must be necessary.
This is where things get a little bit cloudy, but I'll try to relate it as accurately as my memory will allow. I remember little Mark laying on a bath towel on the couch and all of us girls gathering around to see what was going to happen next. "Oh no! That can't be what the doctor meant to do with all that soapy water!" I thought. Now we weren't real sure that Mom knew what she was doing, but slowly we watched that bag shrink down as it emptied . What happened next can best be described as a volcanic eruption of soapy water, and well, you know. We all screamed as our baby brother exploded right there on the couch! Mom scooped him up and started the mile long run from the family room to the bathroom. Unfortunately, this excursion required a trip through the kitchen. I don't know what happened next, but I know that a stream...no, a river of brown bubbly liquid was shooting out of my brother with the force that could strip paint off the walls! Mom stopped at the kitchen sink, but unable to control the erratic stream of projectile liquid, it shot all over the sink counters, floor and anything else in it's path. Us girls were now in a total panic, not knowing if either our brother or our mother were going to survive this! Mom then continued her marathon run toward the bathroom, leaving the long, tortuous trail of brown, soapy fluid behind her. I think she tried to balance Mark over the toilet for a minute before she finally decided to just lay him in the bathtub.
Fortunately, we didn't have central air in the house back then, so all the windows were open. Had that not been the case, I probably wouldn't be here today to tell the story. Just when we thought the worst was over, Mom was busy at the tub trying to scrub Mark clean when she turned to us girls and informed us that WE had to clean the toxic trail. Now I may not be remembering this part as accurately, but I'm pretty sure that both Colleen and Denise started retching uncontrollably at this point and in fact somebody threw up in the kitchen, further adding to the mess. We didn't have those thin latex gloves back then, but I do remember finding a pair of Playtex Living Gloves under the kitchen sink. They were too big, and came up to my elbows, but at least they kept the skin from peeling off my hands. Anything that smelled that bad surely had to be caustic!
Well, as you know by now, we all survived that harrowing incident. Mark now has children of his own, and Dr. Leventer is no longer with us....although I'm not sure I'd trust his advice if he were. From that day on, we were given a spoonful of Phillips Milk of Magnesia whenever we had the slightest hint of constipation....and you know what? I've really come to like the flavor of it! Too bad they don't make Milk of Magnesia milkshakes. Do they still sell that stuff? If so, I'd like to buy some just so I can take a spoonful for old times sake, and just to make sure I never have to experience another enema episode as long as I live!
So I'm sitting here preparing to compose a letter to my family, sharing some of the recent events here on the ranch when I'm reminded of a childhood memory that we haven't talked about in a long time. It gave me quite a chuckle, actually more of a "laugh-until-you-lose-bladder-control" kind of chuckle so I thought I'd share it here with y'all. I realize that both my mother and my siblings are going to want to kill me after I share this, but at least I'll go down with a smile on my face
. Besides, what good are family secrets if you don't share them on the World Wide Web?! This particular incident happened when my "baby" brother was only a couple years old. Keep in mind that I'm eleven years older than Mark, and that Colleen and Denise are both seven and four years older, respectively. I don't remember exactly how the doctor came to the conclusion that baby Mark was constipated, but the diagnosis was made and something had to be done about it, I know we all feared for Mark's life because he was surely going to die if something wasn't done to alleviate this condition. I remember Mom getting off the phone with the doctor and declaring to us all that If Mark was going to survive, he would need an enema.
Now even though I was a very mature thirteen year old, and familiar with most of the ways of the world, I had never experienced watching somebody get an enema before that day. Mom went in to the bathroom and pulled out this humongous, red, rubber bag that looked like it would hold at least a gallon of liquid. We all stood by as Mark played grumpily in the playpen, and watched Mom fill that huge bag with a soapy liquid. This all seemed so strange to us, but if the doctor prescribed it, it surely must be necessary.
This is where things get a little bit cloudy, but I'll try to relate it as accurately as my memory will allow. I remember little Mark laying on a bath towel on the couch and all of us girls gathering around to see what was going to happen next. "Oh no! That can't be what the doctor meant to do with all that soapy water!" I thought. Now we weren't real sure that Mom knew what she was doing, but slowly we watched that bag shrink down as it emptied . What happened next can best be described as a volcanic eruption of soapy water, and well, you know. We all screamed as our baby brother exploded right there on the couch! Mom scooped him up and started the mile long run from the family room to the bathroom. Unfortunately, this excursion required a trip through the kitchen. I don't know what happened next, but I know that a stream...no, a river of brown bubbly liquid was shooting out of my brother with the force that could strip paint off the walls! Mom stopped at the kitchen sink, but unable to control the erratic stream of projectile liquid, it shot all over the sink counters, floor and anything else in it's path. Us girls were now in a total panic, not knowing if either our brother or our mother were going to survive this! Mom then continued her marathon run toward the bathroom, leaving the long, tortuous trail of brown, soapy fluid behind her. I think she tried to balance Mark over the toilet for a minute before she finally decided to just lay him in the bathtub.
Fortunately, we didn't have central air in the house back then, so all the windows were open. Had that not been the case, I probably wouldn't be here today to tell the story. Just when we thought the worst was over, Mom was busy at the tub trying to scrub Mark clean when she turned to us girls and informed us that WE had to clean the toxic trail. Now I may not be remembering this part as accurately, but I'm pretty sure that both Colleen and Denise started retching uncontrollably at this point and in fact somebody threw up in the kitchen, further adding to the mess. We didn't have those thin latex gloves back then, but I do remember finding a pair of Playtex Living Gloves under the kitchen sink. They were too big, and came up to my elbows, but at least they kept the skin from peeling off my hands. Anything that smelled that bad surely had to be caustic!
Well, as you know by now, we all survived that harrowing incident. Mark now has children of his own, and Dr. Leventer is no longer with us....although I'm not sure I'd trust his advice if he were. From that day on, we were given a spoonful of Phillips Milk of Magnesia whenever we had the slightest hint of constipation....and you know what? I've really come to like the flavor of it! Too bad they don't make Milk of Magnesia milkshakes. Do they still sell that stuff? If so, I'd like to buy some just so I can take a spoonful for old times sake, and just to make sure I never have to experience another enema episode as long as I live!
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