Standing in the bathroom in my flannel PJs and robe, having dragged myself out of bed and filling a fountain syringe with as warm a water my insides will stand. Feeling sick as a dog (as my mom used to say) with an achy flu, chills, headache, cough and low-grade fever for the last couple of days.
I keep a bar of Conti Castile soap for these rare occasions when the vintage medical books recommended a "warm soapy enema" when I'm actually sick. Reaching inside the bag and swishing the soap until the water is cloudy is the classic prep to taking a "serious" SSE that separates this from any other enema. My brain "says" that my body needs this cleanse to help recover. This isn't emotional therapy after a tough week on a business trip.
I lay myself down on soft towels and take a disciplined enema step by step, like it recommends in the book. Tried to hold it 10 minutes, more like 5. What pours out of me is more than I expected -- and there are cramps. This is good. Indeed, my body needs this cleanse. This feels like a medical procedure, as a nurse would have given in the past when a patient is sick in bed.
After rinsing and cleaning the syringe and hanging to dry, I crawl back in bed and sleep for the rest of the afternoon. Waking up, do I feel better? My stomach feels calmer. I feel more rested. My husband arrives home from work and sees the syringe hanging in the shower. He asks if I'm feeling any better. I think so. Is the feeling "just in my head." He takes my temperature with our oral digital: just 99-something, although I feel warmer. Am I feeling OK enough to get up and have some soup, which he fixes for me? Yes, I'm feeling a little better. I think the enema did, after all, although I may be romancing this notion. However, it was like the book recommended.
January 2015