It was worse than at home the night before. I pictured big daggers waiting on either side of me. Every time I turned left or right I was stabbed over and over with pain. I screamed out, and screaming hurt, too. I hit the little red button and prayed that my overweight nurse could get to me quickly.
I had to go to the bathroom so badly. I was so embarrassed. So embarrassed. What was I going to tell the nurse?
“I have the runs and need help going to the bathroom!” No way.
I don’t know what was worse- telling the nurse I had diarrhea or actually having painful diarrhea. I imagined that I’d tell the nurse, and she’d walk out to the nurses’ station and laugh it up with the rest of the overnight staff.
The door opened and a big light from the insanely fluorescent hallway came into the room, along with that nurse with the nice make-up. I had no idea how to tell her.
“Um, my stomach really hurts a lot,” I mumbled.
“Ok, we’ll get you something for the pain, honey.” She started to walked away.
“Um, nurse? Could you come back?”
“What is it?”
“I really have to go to the bathroom, but I can’t get up.” I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see her laugh at me.
“You can’t get out of bed?” she asked, not laughing, and with a lot of concern. “Can you move at all?”
“Not really. It hurts too much.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
I heard people talk about bed pans before, but I never knew what they were. I didn’t even know what was in her hand until the nurse said it out loud.
“I’m putting this under your bottom,” she said matter-of-factly and sweetly at the same time. “If you have to go, you just go. I’ll be right outside. Just use your call button.”
It must have taken me ten minutes. I was so embarrassed. I could not believe that I was going to poop in this bowl and this nice woman was going to take it away.
Oh my God, she was going to have to wipe me because I could not move. Oh, God. I couldn’t have someone wiping my ass. My mind was frantic as I clenched every muscle in my body.
But my body wouldn’t let me hold it in any longer. I let it go, and I felt so ashamed. I didn’t move for about a minute. I felt disgusting and I was so scared about the wiping thing.
I finally hit the red button and the nurse came back in a few seconds later.
“All done, hon?”
“Yes,” I barely whispered.
“Ok, hold on," she said and she pushed against my body. "Here we go.”
She grabbed the bed pan and placed it on a cart. Then pushed me on my side. I yelped in pain.
“Just hang tight, kiddo.”
And there she was, wiping my ass with some damp cloths. I started to cry. I hurt so much, and I was disgusted with myself.
Not seeing my tears in the dark room, she pulled me back and said, “All set. Now try to get some rest.”
And that was that.
An hour or so later, I woke up again. Again, I had shooting pain. Walking in from the fluorescent light in the hall was a different nurse. Shift change.
She was younger and bouncier. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Did I have to go through this all over again with somebody new?
“Hi, what's going on?" she asked as she fiddled with some IV tubing.
I was not going to torture myself, so I just said it. “I can’t move and I have to go to the bathroom.”
“OK, let’s do the bed pan again, alright?”
I didn’t realize the woman read my chart and talked to the older nurse before taking over the shift. I was realizing that I didn’t really realize anything at all.
As the ponytail nurse took the bedpan and cleaned me up, she kept glancing over at that bed pan. What was she looking at? I was exhausted from being in so pain. I was emotionally drained, and I didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed.
“I’m going to be back in to check on you in just a minute,” she said.
I heard quiet talking in the hall. More than one person was talking, and they were talking about me. I remember hearing, “It’s dark-colored.”
I fell asleep again and woke up to a room filled with morning light, my parents, another new nurse and a doctor. They had started talking before I woke up. Did they know what happened?
The doctor didn't introduce himself to me. I didn't notice. I was a kid.
“She lost some blood last night,” he said. “I think that’s what’s caused her low blood count. But the blood was very dark colored, and that means it’s ‘old blood,’ meaning that whatever was happening has stopped, and she should be OK. But to be safe, we’re going to run some tests.”
As I would understand for the next 15 years, if it’s a digestive problem, "running some tests" is like having your body get hijacked by aliens. If all went well, I was would have my first hijacking that afternoon.
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