| Subject: Patricia Tillie, R.N. |
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Robbie C
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Date Posted: Monday, August 08, 2016, 03:08: am
Patricia Tillie, RN
When I was about 7, my aunt moved to be closer to my mother. Her name was Patricia Tillie.
Patricia Tillie happened to be a Registered Nurse. She was very proud of this fact & wore her badge nearly everywhere. "P. Tillie, RN". She was fairly tall, very busty with auburn hair (usually in a straightback, severe cut, fairly short,). I nearly always saw her in uniform. That nurses uniform of the sixties: Very WHITE, Very Starched . . .Very authoritarian.
I was not a sickly little boy, but my Mother now insisted that Aunt Tillie check little Robert when any sign of sickness developed.
The treatment procedure was nearly the same; height, weight, listen to the heart, quiz Mother on all habits, eating, digestion, bowel movement, etc. The only thing that bothered me was the discussion occurred as if I wasn't even there, very frustrating. Well . . . not the only thing that bothered me. My temperature was taken rectally . . . and, yes, P. Tillie, RN actually said when I protested, “It’s more accurate this way, Dear”. Of course, being the sixties, everyone smoked . . . even P. Tillie, RN. While my temp registered, she would light up and take her time with her Very WHITE cigarette talking to my mother as if I wasn’t there. And another part of the humiliation was that the pajama bottoms were pulled down and left pulled down around my knees after the temperature taking was done. Oh yes, nearly forgot, cold cream was used as lube on the thermometer.
Peaches & Cream from Patricia Tillie, RN
Of course, a few months later I actually got sick, or more precisely, constipated. And, of course, P. Tillie, RN was called. After the usual group of tests and my temp registered 99.6, it was time for a few things remembered from early childhood: suppositories & an enema. No latex gloves, just P. Tillie’s slightly lubricated, but very nicely manicured, index finger pushing the burning suppository home. But even this did not do the job sufficiently (after another rectal temp, of course) for my caregivers. Next was the long (to me, anyway) tube with the funny tip. I got to lie on my side (bottoms at my knee) and absorb all this water & have P. Tillie, RN rub my tummy when I cramped. But, it did work & I actually felt better.
It’s time . . . from Patricia Tillie, RN
Everything was going well . . . I wasn’t sick, constipated or run down. But that was of no consequence to P. Tillie, RN. She had convinced my Mother (I found they had discussed this in depth, for a few weeks) that to prevent me from becoming rundown, I should receive Vitamin B12 injections at least twice a month.
But “injection” was a word she never used around me or my Mother, at least as far as I could tell. It was always ”hypo”. Her new (to me) vocabulary consisted of:
The “hypo” is in my bag;
I’m going to prepare his “hypo” now;
And, the dreaded, “It’s time for your hypo, dear”
The ritual . . . P Tillie, RN
Every 2 weeks, usually on Wednesday (a half-day of work) she would arrive around 3 PM.
It was Wednesday, I had no escape, & accepting my fate I would retreat to my room. The knock on the door; the pleasantries for about half an hour; then, up the stairs to Robert’s room.
P. Tillie, RN would come into the room with her little black bag; Mother dutifully carrying the tray of implements, setting it down on the bedside table a little below my eye level. In addition, she placed a glass of alcohol containing a nice yellow rectal thermometer. Let the festivities begin!
Being the sixties, P. Tillie, RN used a glass syringe (lure-lok) with a very long needle (“We must get it deep into the muscle, Dear”). Mother would disassemble the syringe(s) before P. Tillie, RN arrived, placing the barrel and plunger on a wire rack in a pot and boil for about 20 minutes. With forceps, she would place them on a towel on a tray while they dried and cooled.
First, rectal thermometer dried, shaken down & a small amount of cold cream applied to the tip. Next, one hand underneath the pajama bottoms, pulled to the knee. Buttocks separated, rectal thermometer inserted. Did she really have to push it in & out three times?
Next part of ritual; flick one gold lighter, light Winston filtered cigarette & talk to my mother as if I wasn’t there. I also began to realize that as she smoked, she placed her thumb at the bottom of the cigarette with 2 fingers halfway up the shaft. Always holding her “hypo”, I guess. How did RJ Reynolds know that the time to smoke a cigarette equals the time to register my rectal temp?
The reading was normally ok . . .So there was nothing left, but “It’s time for your hypo, dear”
Now P. Tillie, RN was really in her element; The “hypo” still needed to be assembled. First, she placed the vial of B12 on the table, next several cotton balls in a small dish, a glass container of alcohol was opened. A cotton ball was moistened with alcohol and she lightly rubbed the entire surface of the plunger (frosted glass); the plunger was inserted into the barrel and push-pulled several times. Now the Needle was attached with a small pair of pliers. A second moistened cotton ball was placed over the tip of the needle and the entire syringe was laid on a bed of cotton on the tray. Now, the vial of B12 was read, shaken and properly, I guess, wiped with a cotton ball of alcohol. All was ready.
Hell . . . & finally, Heaven from Patricia Tillie, RN
At that time, I didn’t really know (or care) about how much P. Tillie, RN, was dosing me. All I knew is that the plunger came almost all the way back while filling with air, then the needle would be forced through the rubber stopper; Air injected, B12 removed. The ritual continued . . . P. Tillie, RN would now study her creation. The plunger pushed slightly until red B12 was at needle tip, the barrel tapped occasionally with her lovely red polished nails. Creation laid down again on its bed of cotton. Now her attention turned to me. My pajama bottoms still down around my knees, I was instructed to lie still, (like I was going to do anything else with 2 women ready to restrain). P. Tillie, RN would now inspect each buttock for the right spot for my “hypo”. I could feel her press some areas with 2 fingers and lightly scratch several other areas. Finally, it WAS time for my “hypo”.
Cold alcohol swab, then a good slap from those firm hands with the glossy red nails . . . THEN grabbing a good amount of buttock, that horrible pain. Burning pain. Of course, what seemed like forever was really a short amount of time.
This ritual went on for several months . . . with an occasional second injection (“hypo”) of penicillin to keep the bad germs away (thanks, Mom). These hurt far worse.
But, through all this, I began to notice a slight tingle of anticipation as Wednesday approached. I would look out the window when it got past 3 PM with no knock, no footsteps on the stairs.
And when “it was time”, I began to notice I was getting aroused to the point of erection. I believe P. Tillie, RN suspected as much. She often would want me to get up from the bed after my “hypos” & carry things to her car. I always had an excuse; she always had a smile.
P. Tillie, RN eventually retired and moved away and finally, passed away.
P. Tillie, RN gave inspiration . . . Anticipation.
I didn’t hate her. I don’t hate Wednesdays.
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