My mother was a nurse, an RN. She was very old school, having earned her RN in the 1940's.
I was born in the 50's. Guess what, enemas were a very big part of life. An enema was good for whatever ailed you.
It seems like I was always constipated or had gas. An enema always solved the problem.
Mom was no nonsense, very clinical when it came to solving bowel problems. When I was very young, the small red rubber bulb with the black rectal nozzle was the apparatus of choice. She used lots of ivory soap and vaseline with her administration of the enema.
I would hear her in the bathroom, mixing a soap solution. My knees would get weak. I knew what was about to happen, especially since she asked questions beforehand about my bowel movements. "Did you have a BM today? Yesterday?" "No" always meant something was to be done to remedy the situation.
Called into the bathroom, without question, I knew what to do. Over her lap. The tin cover unscrewed on the glass jar of vaseline. She would lubricate the nozzle, lubricate my anus. She apparently would hold my anus open as she lubed me, insert the enema nozzle, then remove her finger. The gentle squeeze of the enema syringe, it felt so good.
I don't have much of a recollection of earlier enemas, but they did happen.
Sometimes she used a suppository in me, I think when she didn't have enough time for giving me an enema. Sometimes they would work. Other times the thin slender glycerin suppository would slide out of me and fall down the leg of my pants. She would always find it on the floor. That meant a trip to the bathroom for an enema.
Her enemas with the bulb syringe went on for a number of years. The volume increased over time. She was always good about asking if I was "full". She encouraged me to take a lot of the fluid. She always left me alone to expel. She left the enema bulb on the sink. I always touched and handled it. Later, she would clean the bulb and the bowl she had mixed the soapsuds enema in.