I’m just not a big fan of public restrooms. Roadside gas station latrines are at the top of my *eew* list. I still don’t understand the ceremony of going t0 a surly cashier to ask permission for an obscenely giant-sized key that unlocks the outside door-around-the-corner. Why d0 they lock up a room where the toilets are never flushed and surfaces never mopped? And who knows what goulash things transpire beneath a bed of haphazardly strewn toilet paper? Every time I see the Mobil Oil Gas Station winged red horse, Pegasus, I gag a little.
I do come by my germa-phobe mindset honestly. During my preschool years, Mom would preface my journey into a public restroom by briefing me on unknown filth. Upon arrival, she would take me into a stall with clear instructions on how to put toilet paper over each side of the seat if pull-out paper toilet covers were not available. The fear of God Almighty loomed as to my fate should the T.P. fall into the stool and my skin make contact with the shiny porcelain. As Mom helped me shut and lock the monster-size swinging door, she would tell me to resist the temptation to poke my head under the stall to meet my neighbors. Left alone to my own devices, I’d lower my head just enough to check out the shoes on either side of me. With great care, I’d pull my prissy dress and ruffled slip away from waters’ edge, as I attempted to perfectly lower my bum down on the precariously protected surface. That’s a lot of pressure when your five, especially if you have to stand on tip-toe just to get up on the throne. Public peeing was a pain in the watuski.
After our extreme toilet paper routine, hand-washing was a given. I soaped up because mom said so. When I became a mom, it was a natural for me to encourage Megan and Ryan to scrub-a-dub-dub.
By the time my daughter entered second grade hand hygiene was taught in public schools, and Megan’s delightful teacher encouraged students to sing the Happy Birthday song as they washed away. While this concept is endorsed by the U.S. government website, I had never heard of the ritual; but Megan jumped on that band wagon, and hummed the Happy song into her adult life.
Hand-washing became all out war when Megan began chemotherapy. As white blood counts hovered just above zero, clean living was part of the healthcare protocol that helped ensure my girl would see another day…another birthday. Think I’m exaggerating that detail?
Imagine a woman who is just getting over the stomach flu. E-coli and other bacteria lives in the gut, and when doing her ‘business’ it is expelled from her bowels. If she wipes and fails to wash her hands, she puts herself in harm’s way to ingest it again. But never mind her personal choice. And never mind that you saw her $900 Christian Louboutin heels when you peeked under the stall….When she flits by the faucets, her hands carry disease and everything she touches puts the next woman in that territory at risk for the same infection.
If you are in chemotherapy, among the elderly, or have a compromised immune system, the flu can take your life. Mayo Clinic website clearly states:
A low white blood cell count (leukopenia) leaves your body more open to infection. And if an infection does develop, your body may be unable to fight it off.
Wednesday, February 27th is my birthday. Rest assured, I’ll be washing my hands to help ensure another year. And should I need to use a public restroom at the mall, I’ll sing a few choruses of Happy Birthday for my girl, and for ever woman, young and old, that follows behind me.
Sweet Jesus…I’ll be 56.
Valerie Bosselman
Right-Wing Handwashing Advocate
- As a mom, and a caregiver, I’ve cleaned up my share of bodily fluids. Given the choice, I prefer a private restroom to public facilities.
- It’s not ‘mind your own business’ when you are doing your business. Your decisions behind the locked door and at the faucet affect everyone around you.
- The number one way to prevent disease and infection is to wash your hands. It’s not a shot. It’s not an antibiotic. It’s not a vitamin. It’s not chemotherapy. It’s the simple truth that hand washing with soap prevents a host of diseases.
- Dr. Caitlin Foxley wraps it up in a few words. “Wash wash wash! But…. Don’t use antibacterial soap because that breeds antibiotic resistance. Just use soap. Not washing your hands, especially after using the restroom, leads to the spread of disease. It can spread nasty things like Hepatitis A and Norwalk virus.”
- Tired of Happy Birthday To You? Yankee Doodle Dandy is a suitable replacement. The goal is for 20 full seconds of soapy friction.
On a Lighter Note:
- I’m pictured above wringing (not washing) my hands at age 2. If we’re really honest, a head erupting from a perfectly normal cake is a bit disturbing.
- When traveling, I always default to McDonalds for their consistently clean bathrooms across the country.
- To some of my friends SOAP is a four letter word. Because of my handwashing tirade, they now either:
- 1. Wash their hands.
- 2. Pretend to wash their hands, in fear of someone like me confronting them.
- My dear Aunt Mags, who worked in Infection Control at Wilford Hall US Air Force Medical Center (1992-1996) and Coordinated study of community prevalence of VRE (Vancomycin Resistant Enterococcus) for the Dept. of Infectious Diseases at Air Force VA and University of Texas Health Science Center, does stop women who do not wash their hands in public restrooms. As she is washing her hands she will say, “Hold the door open please! I just washed my hands and you did not. It’s your decision not to wash, but its my decision to not want to touch the door after you.“
- I asked Dr. Foxley if she uses toilet paper seat covers? Her candid response was “Depends on how skanky the restroom is.
On a Final Note:
Where was this modern invention when I was five?