The event that changed it all
My first enema experience happened in one of those times of need. I was around 9 years old at the time and had just gotten home from a terrible day at school. The teacher was on my case because I hadn’t done my homework and on the way home, some of the other kids started to tease me and call me names. When I got home, I was a wreck; my stomach felt like it was in knots and my heart felt like it was going to explode inside my chest. Mother was home, and when she saw how upset I was, she offered to help make me better, if I was willing to try something new that she used when she felt this way. It would be my choice. She went on to describe how a nice massage followed by a high enema would make me feel better and calm my tummy. Having never had an enema before, I asked her what a high enema was; she said it was nothing more than putting warm water into my body and that it was kind of like having my temperature taken. She went on to explain that an enema was not only good for relieving stress, it was a healthy way to remove poisons from our bodies. She said she and Aunt Evelyn give each other high enemas every couple of months, and that once you got used to the sensation, it was really quite pleasant. She put her arm around me and asked if I’d like to try it. I hesitated a little, but finally gave in and said yes. She patted my fanny and said “let’s get started”. She led me into her office and undressed me completely, except for my underpants, and told me to lie down on the massage table on my tummy. Using pleasantly scented oil, she started massaging my neck and shoulders, then had me turn over onto my back. She worked my chest, arms, tummy, and thighs next. Finally, she had me flip back onto my tummy again and finished by doing my back, lower legs and back of my thighs. She used a variety of pressures, deep and hard on the back and thighs, soft and gentle on the tummy. While doing my tummy, she outlined my colon with a finger, and told me that in a few minutes, that’s where my enema would be. The massage lasted 30 minutes or so; I felt really good and I was beginning to melt into the table, but she stopped.
Mother took great pains to explain what she was doing and how it might feel. She explained that it was time for her to get my enema ready and would be right back. About five minutes later she returned wheeling in an IV pole that had what seemed like a giant red bag hanging from it. The bag had a hose attached and was filled to the brim with a milky solution that had the distinct ivory soap aroma. At the end of the hose was a long, black, curved fitting that had several tiny holes in it. When I asked, she explained that she would be using her 2 quart feminine syringe for my enema. The long, curved fitting at the end of the hose was the douche nozzle (I had no idea what a douche was, and didn’t ask). She told me that even though it was much larger than the size of the rectal thermometer I was expecting, she was sure I could take it with no discomfort, and that it was much better for my enema because it wouldn’t slip out and cause a mess. When I asked about what seemed to be an extremely large volume of water in the enema bag. She explained that for a high enema, there had to be enough water to completely fill my colon. She assured me that there was enough room in my tummy for a lot of enema water, and that I’d be able to take most of it. She told me to move over so she could sit on the table, then she instructed me to lie face down across her lap. She had brought in several towels and pillows that she placed on either side of her lap and began to gently stoke my long hair. She whispered that now was the time to really try to relax, because if I was completely relaxed, my enema would actually be a very pleasant experience. I was a little apprehensive, but I trusted that mother would not do anything to hurt be, and that I just had to trust that what she said was true.
(to be continued)