Joanie had just been unlucky. A banal accident, tripping and falling with her foot caught in a wrong position — a broken ankle. What’s more, it could not be fixed only with a cast, she had had to get surgery. She spent a few days at the hospital, and then was discharged and returned to her parents’ home. She had had to call of her summer job — there would be less “spare money” available for the beginning of her sophomore year at college. For a while, she’d be moving on crutches, her ankle caught in a kind of orthopedic “boot”.

She was on the toilet when her mom knocked.

“Joanie? Are you doing ok?

— Yes mom, don’t worry.

— Well, I do worry. You know, as long as you use these crutches, you should not lock yourself in the bathroom. If you fall or anything we’d have to remove the lock to rescue you.”

Martha was right, Joanie thought. Especially with the delicate operation of showering. She had been home only one night and had postponed showering until tomorrow. The recommendations were cumbersome — protect the boot with plastic bags, and so on… But for now, Joanie had a more immediate problem: she felt she had to go pooping, but she could not.

Later, Martha broached the topic. “Joanie, I’m sorry for disturbing you but you were taking so long in the bathroom…”. Joanie blushed.

“Well, I have a little difficulty going…

— This is a known problem with anesthesia and painkillers, didn’t they tell you at the hospital?

— No?

— Well then I tell you now. Anesthesia, not moving, and opiate painkillers slow down your gut. How long have you been without doing number two?”

Joanie blushed even more.

“I think… I think since before the accident!!

— Oh dear. No wonder you feel bad. I guess there’s only one solution now…”

Joanie could only look at her feet. Oh yes she knew about her mother’s solution for strong constipation. It involved a red bag, some tubing, a nozzle, and some Vaseline. It had happened only a few times, in childhood and beginning of teenage years, but she definitely recalled it — the discomfort, the embarrassment, and the relief. But really… she had had none since years!

Yet, Joanie knew that her mother was right. There was no way she could go on like this.

“I guess I need to take an enema.

— More like two, actually. You’ve never been that constipated. And I’ll need to give them to you, as you won’t be able to do much with your boot and crutches.”

It is one thing to have mom give you an enema when you’re 6 or 8, even 12, and another when you’re a young woman. Joanie however felt she had no choice.

Later, Joanie was on her left side over a heap of towels laid over her bed, bare bottom, waiting for her mother. When she was a child, she had taken enemas on all four, bottom up head down, in the bathroom; but this would be impractical with the broken ankle. She had a thermometer in her behind. Since she had come back from the hospital, her temperature was to be checked twice a day. The first readings had been oral, but this time her mother had reasoned that, since she anyway had to bare her bottom anyway for the enema, a rectal reading would be perfectly in order.

Martha’s thoughts went to Joanie’s early childhood. Back then, Martha would sometimes trigger a bowel movement by moving a lubricated thermometer in the child’s rectum. For a brief moment, Martha thought about using the “thermometer trick” on Joanie… But Joanie’s problem was about bowels not moving at all due to drugs, not of a lack of defecation reflexes; it would do no good, and, well, she may find it unpleasant. So Martha opted against it and went to the bathroom.

Joanie, as she was waiting in this exposed position, was experiencing strong and mixed emotions. She appreciated being cared for… but, oh dear, mom taking her temperature back there?! This had not happened since she was 8 or so, she thought. And the enema? Her mother had not given one since she was maybe 12 and did not have hair “down there”… It felt so weird being bare bottom on the side, everything on display, thermometer inserted…

Her mother came with the red bag and towels. As Joanie was turned away, she could not quite see the equipment.

“The enema will be soapy. When you were a kid, I did not use soap, but since you are totally plugged up I think it is appropriate for your situation.”

The nozzle was soon in, and Joanie was experiencing again the long-gone but not forgotten sensation of having her rectum filled with warm water. It went on well for a while; the injection was slow, Martha did not want to rush things and make them more uncomfortable than they should be. But then Joanie started experiencing a very peculiar sensation, as though her rectum started moving on its own. It started mildly, but soon she was feeling as though she would expel the enema right here right now.

“Mom! I need to go to the bathroom! Now!”

Her mother, with a little smile of satisfaction, withdrew the nozzle, helped Joanie to her feet, and handed her the crutches. Joanie was still uneasy walking with these, let alone walking quickly as she attempted, so Martha preceded her, making sure all doors were open wide. Joanie was so in a hurry that she did not quite wait for her mother to close the door before she began emptying her bowels. The churning sensation created by the soapy water was something she had never experienced, not even with the plain water enemas of her childhood. She felt blocked up waste exiting her.

Joanie wiped, and laboriously moved to the sink to wash her hands. Martha knocked on the door.

“Are you doing ok? Can I get in?

— Sure.”

Her mother was carrying the bag and a spoon. As she poured two spoonfuls of bicarbonate of soda into the bag, then went to refill it, Joanie interjected.

“Do I really have to take a second one? I feel like… I mean like I uncorked myself, so to speak.

— Yes you do. The soap irritates your bowels, better wash it off. And I think you have more waste blocked up inside.”

Joanie took the second enema in the same position. This time, no pulsating rectum. Just, after enough water was injected, some discomfort.

“Mom, I’m cramping.

— I bet. Clamping the pipe… Do you want to go now and we do another one, or you’ll manage to take the rest of the bag?

— I think I’ll manage.”

The water went in again. Joanie was cramping and regretting her decision to go on with that enema when Martha announced that the bag was empty and Joanie could go relieve herself. Again, Martha helped her daughter to the bathroom, though there was less urgency this time.

Joanie seemed rather embarrassed when, still half naked, she reported to Martha her success at expelling more waste. It had taken a while. The first time she had wiped and began to move on her crutches, she felt again a need to “go”. The second time, she had begun washing her hands (which was awkward, on one foot) when she felt again the need to “go”. The third time was the right one.

“Would you like to take a shower now?

— I guess so…

— Let me help you, as you don’t seem too sure on your feet and I would not like you to fall in the tub…”

Martha helped Joanie wrap the “boot” in plastic bags tied with duct tape, as the hospital had advised, and guided Joanie into the tub. Joanie was a bit embarrassed, as the bathroom still smelled of the expulsions she had made. In addition, she felt very awkward, afraid of falling.

“Maybe it would be as well if you held the handles and I washed you.”

Martha and Peter’s house had been previously owned by an elderly couple who had taken the precaution to install handles above the bath to enable safer entering and exiting. Martha and Peter had left them in, and now they would be put to good use.

Martha started by washing Joanie’s hair. Then she went down to her chest, insisting on armpits. Joanie was a bit embarrassed feeling her mother washing her chest. Then came the belly, the legs…

“Joanie, can you please face away from me and spread your legs? I need to do the dirty bits.”

Joanie’s eyes widened. Her mother would not…

“I think I can do this part, mom.

— Do you think? I don’t want you to slip. It will be over in half a minute if I do it.

— Ok, if you insist.”

Joanie reluctantly faced away from her mother and spread her legs. She felt water on her vulva, then a washcloth washing her genitals. Then her mother carefully soaped her bottom crack and anus, and rinsed it. How embarrassing.

Martha then fetched a towel and proceeded to dry her daughter. Joanie again did not escape having to spread her legs so that the towel reached the “dirty bits”. Martha helped her out of the washtub and removed the plastic bags. Joanie averted her eyes… she had felt like a 4 year old getting bathed by mommy!

Joanie’s embarrassment did not however end there. Her mother had purchased prune juice and had her drink half a glass with every meal. It was better than getting another enema, she thought… And every day, after making sure that she had had a bowel movement since the previous day, her mother would shower her and wash her between the legs.

Joanie was visited every other day by a nurse who gave her an injection of anticoagulants. Joanie overheard a conversation between her mother and the nurse. Her mother was mentioning her constipation, the enemas, and the prune juice! And the nurse approved, advising her mother to give another enema if no bowel movement since two days. A very red faced Joanie then received her injection in the stomach.

At least her mother had reverted to oral temperatures…