Sometimes I would be down with something, home from school. Of course, enemas were good for you, no matter what the ailment. Sick time meant a different style of enema administration. I would be in bed, sometimes with a urinal within reach, because usually I was not allowed out of the bed. My condition was always monitored. Pulse and BP were checked and noted. Then of course, the underpants came off, the rectal thermometer would come out (of course it was always a rectal temp), the vaseline appeared, the thermometer stuck in it for a little lube, then it was stuck in my ass for the usual 3 minutes. This happened several times a day.
As the morning thermometer in the bum was cooking for the 3 minutes, mum would put on a glove. I dreaded about what was going to happen, but there was no way out. Out came the thermometer, a bit more vaseline would be on her finger, and into my bum she would go. It was always a deep probing. There was never a discussion or comment about what she found. It was always time for the enema.
When I was sick, the metal irrigator was placed on the bureau. It was always ready for use, never put away. The vaseline was there, along with a pile of folded bath towels. The dreaded glass container of ivory soap was there. A large glass mixing jug was there. Because of being confined to bed, the metal bedpan was also present. It was like being in the hospital. There was also a sturdy hook on the wall, that was installed at some point, just the right height above my bed.
She would take the irrigator, soap, and the glass jug into the bathroom. I would hear her in there, running the water, checking its temperature, pouring the ivory soap into the jug, mixing it thoroughly, creating a very soapy mixture. It was always a soapsuds enema, to start. She would bring the jug full of enema solution into my room. The irrigator was filled to capacity, with a very milky white soap solution. The rubber rectal tube was coiled, ready for its work. My underwear already off, I was ready for the job to be done. A small rubber sheet and towel were positioned under me. The full irrigator, soapsuds sliding down its sides, was hung above me. “Roll over, so I can lubricate you." Her finger would go into my ass, sliding and twisting. The rubber rectal tube would be in place. “I'm starting the enema, now. Breath deep.” The warmth would start to fill me. “Tell me when you think you are full.” "I don't think I can take any more." She would stop the flow, letting me rest a bit. The flow would resume after a couple of minutes. “Just a little bit more." She knew how much I could hold. The click of the tubing clamp would announce that the enema was over.
The tube was left in me, while she got the bedpan. She would make me hold the enema for awhile. Occasionally she would put her hand on my abdomen. Sometimes she would rub me in a circular motion. It felt good, but the urge to release would always be there. “I need to go.” “Okay. Lift up your bum while I put the pan under you.” Oh God, what a relief it was. I would lay there as the enema came out. I knew always, that if that enema brought forth a stinky mess, I would be getting another. Sometimes 3 enemas. Two soapsuds and a rinse. It was embarrassing to have to use the bedpan, especially when she would stay in the room to see the “results”. But, at least they made me feel good.