When I had my first barium enema test in 1989, I must have been full of "it" as I had dozens of enemas to empty my innards. The nurse seemed to think if a quart of fluid was good, that two quarts was better. My "tank" has never held the fluid the average person holds. When my gauge finally read empty, they took me to this very cold room and started filling me back up. The sweet little nurse there never believed me any more than the floor nurses who gave me an enema and kept telling me I could hold more and more of the barium elixir. No amount of pleading would make her believe me. When my eyeballs almost popped out, she finally stopped and the picture taking began. Everything seemed OK. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I could not get out of that hospital gown and into my clothes fast enough between emptying my tank before the bricks formed. It seems someone forgot about a small Polyp that they found and forgot to tell me or the doctor about until I was ready to escape the clutches of these people.

Back to the drawing room!!! I was taken to an even colder basement room in my hospital gown that barely covered my derriere. While I turned a darker shade of blue and an even redder face, I was guided to a step like thingie. I was told to kneel on it while it was air pumped upward with my caboose lifting higher and higher until it faced toward the moon. I had no privacy or drop cloth to shield the area to be examined or help me keep what dignity I had left. I had become so accustomed to privacy back in the good old days when all areas were covered with the exception of the area being examined.

The worst was when the doctor invited five very young interns into my prison to see how the procedure was performed. They did not even offer to pay for admission! Not only that, even after I had closed my eyes, I could still envision what all loomed into clear view to those five young men who were glaring at my private domain. Especially insulting is that horrendous position they placed me in! Birthing twelve babies never reduced any of the modesty I once had when I was a little girl who was constantly reminded not to let people, especially boys, see my panties when I sat or played.

After I got home, the hospital sent a questionnaire as to how I felt I was treated during the procedure. I immediately fired back a message of my negative thoughts, but never did I receive any reply from them, an apology or even an offer of payment for my performance!

After all, I was the "star" wasn't I?