The Tale of the Poo-nami


A young strong hand gripped my own.  Her strength surprised me, and her beautiful, juvenile eyes seemed to plead for me to find a way to end her suffering.  Somehow, I needed to dig deep within myself and do what was right, so I did, I ordered the enema.

enema3

Any ER doctor (or nurse (or tech)) in the world who has worked for more than a week quickly becomes an expert on poo.  It can be the bane of our existence.  Though, at times finding constipation makes us feel better.  I am relieved  when the young child with abdominal has an X-ray with so much poo that he/she looks like a Thanksgiving Turd-duckin, having layer upon layer wrapped up inside just begging to come out.  My newest friend was no different, her only problem being that she had not had a good bowel movement for two weeks.

TWO.  WEEKS.

At what point would you come in?  I’m pretty sure I would have been long before then.  Seriously, I’ve flaunted my colonic health since day one on this blog.

So she received half of the enema.

She sat down on her bedside commode.

And…  and… nothing

Some rabbit pellets came out.

She, fortunately, was a complete trooper and asked for the second half of the enema (not her first stool based rodeo).

The second half of the enema went in.

She waited.

We waited.

Being a busy ER, I had to go see another patient.  That patient happened to be quite the talker, so it took over fifteen minutes to gather all the information and do a physical exam.

As I exited that patient room, a 600 pound gorilla jumped out from behind the nursing station and heaved a a fuming barrel of rotting fish into my groin.  OK, that did not happen.  However, I walked into an invisible, nearly palpable wall of heinous, revolting, noxious vapor.

“What happened?” I would have asked if my brain had the oxygen required to formulate thought.

Well, as it turned out, our young hero had managed to keep the enema inside as long as possible (good)

Then she realized she had to get out from under all of her covers where she had trapped herself (bad)

She eventually managed to get out from under her covers (good)

But the bedside commode was not very close to her (bad)

But she managed to make it all the way to the commode (good)

Thus she tried to sit down, but as she sat down . . . it happened (bad).

The cover came down at the same time she sat (very, very bad)

Upon sitting down, she had become 100% committed.  Her brain, her momentum in sitting down, and her colonic pressure had combined into maximum velocity and had reached far beyond the point of no return.  Tragedy struck.  She released two weeks of intestinal madness directly on top of the lid and unleashed what could only be called: a Poonami.

The poonami released a torrent of flagrant, raunchy madness which immediately rebounded off the lid of the bedside commode and cascaded through the room.  This level of chaos could not be contained.  Though the semi-solid ooze was contained within her room, the odoriferous beast was unleashed, and for a short time, it pillaged the entire ER pod with a unfettered reign of terror.

The patient had mixed, somewhat dichotomous emotional reaction, one part utter relief, the other, embarrassment.  Though, to be honest, in the ER, it’s just another Monday.

bad day at work

 

 

Then she felt much better and went home.

The end.

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