During late Spring 2008 my husband and I bought a small cabin on a lake in upstate New York. It isn’t large, nor is it opulent, but it is ours and we love just being able to get away from it all and spend several days at a time there. When we first bought it we thought that it would be great to use during the summer, but as it turns out we often find reason to use it for long weekends during the winter when we build a huge fire in the fireplace, open a bottle of wine, and just relax.

About a year later I had taken a trip to a large flea market not too far from home. I like walking around trying to find things at a bargain. In the past I have bought an afghan, some crockery, an old railroad lantern for my husband, and some kitchen utensils for the cottage. This particular day it was somewhat dreary with a light drizzle so there weren’t that many people milling about. I don’t hesitate to put on my boots and a rain jacket so I can just enjoy a day on my own—this day was no different.

I had been browsing through better than half the vendors when I came across one that had a table full of what looked like junk. There were some beat up old toys, odd pieces of furniture in disrepair, and some household items. I was about to move on to the next vendor’s table when a white porcelain object caught my eye. I went over to inspect closer and soon realized that it was an antique enema can—no hose or nozzles, just the can. It was in very nice condition and had only a small chip on the handle. The vendor came over.

“This is nice,” I said without offering any sense that I knew what it was.

“It came out of an old house,” he said.

“I think it would be nice at our cottage, I have some flowers that I can put in it and it would be perfect,” I said. “I can’t imagine what else it would be good for.”

“It’s got some ounces marked inside, so I guess it was to measure out something,” he offered and then added, “But I have no idea.”

I knew exactly what it was, but was hardly going to engage the seller in THAT conversation. Inwardly, though, I had to smile.

“You have a tag that says $10. Would you take $7?” I asked.

“Yeah, that sounds fair. It’s a lousy day and I don’t want to pack up any more stuff and take it back with me. $7 is a deal.”

I paid him, he thanked me, and I took my new prize home. About two weeks later my husband and I decided to spend a long weekend at the cottage. It was going to be a nice couple of Fall days because the air was crisp and clear, the foliage was at its peak, and neither of us had anything else pressing. In the back of my mind was that porcelain enema can, however.

We left at mid morning on Friday and after having stopped for a quick lunch and also pick up some needed groceries got to the cottage at about 3 p.m. A quick look around told us that we would need to spend a lot of time outdoors raking leaves, but we let ourselves into the cottage, dropped our luggage in the bedroom, and put the groceries we bought in the fridge and pantry.

I had also brought a box of miscellaneous and sundry items for the cottage, not the least of which was that white enema can. Knowing that I would also want to see how well it worked I had brought a length of rubber hose, a metal hose clamp, and an extra rectal nozzle that I had lying about at home.

My husband, being an outside kind of guy, went out to survey how much work we were going wind up doing during the next couple days as I took everything into the bathroom. Now you need to understand that this bathroom is nothing special and has not had any part redone in decades. The sink is an old pedestal type that has absolutely no space to put things except maybe a toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and a bar of soap. Both the toilet and sink are white, a bit dull and worn at that. There is a shower, but it is an ancient metal enclosure that looks like it came out of the Sears Catalog in the 1950s. There is a metal towel rack on one wall and a homemade wooden cupboard on the other that was just large enough to hold those few toilet items that my husband and I happen to need.

As I looked around the room the only place where I could put my new can was on top of the cupboard. That’s when the inspiration hit me and I went to the living room and took the bunch of plastic flowers that adorned a shelf in the bookcase back to the bathroom and put them in the enema can. They looked kind of good, I thought.

But by now curiosity was getting the best of me so I went into the bedroom, took off my jeans and sweater, and put on my robe. Upon returning to the bathroom I ran the water at the sink while I got a new bar of Ivory from the cupboard and attached one end the hose to the porcelain can and the rectal nozzle to the other end. Then I filled the can with warm water from at the sink, unwrapped the bar of Ivory and floated it in the can. I opened the clamp and let just a little water through, closed the clamp and hung the can from the hook on the wall that was customarily reserved for our trusty old enema bag.

While I had certainly been making a decent BM every day, a nice cleaning out is always welcome and this was to be no exception. I spread a fluffy bathtowel on the floor, took off my robe, and peeled off my bikinis. Picking up the jar of Vaseline, I took a generous amount on my index finger and lubed myself before lying down on the towel and inserting the nozzle. I have enjoyed a good enema for years and the idea of taking one from my new can excited me to the extent that I couldn’t wait any longer and snapped open the clamp.

Just like from a bag, the enema flowed into me and I could feel the sensation of warmth as it did so. While I always thought that I could accurately estimate the amount that I had taken and that which remained, I immediately felt that doing so with a rubber bag was much easier than with the can. In other words I had no idea of how much I had taken or what I had to still do. My alternative was time so guessing that two quarts is about five to six minutes I looked at my watch, but then realized that I had no idea of the time that I had started.

“Well, I feel sort of full,” I said to myself as I reached around and snapped the clamp shut. Lying on the towel for a couple minutes more to allow the enema to churn away inside of me seemed like a good idea and a few minutes later that distant feeling of having to expel came over me and started to build. Withdrawing the nozzle, I got up and moved to the toilet and fought the urge as long as I thought I could. Finally, giving in to the feeling I let the enema out. At first came some quantity of soapy water, but it was soon followed by some major solids that surprised me since I was not in the least constipated. Over the years I have learned that every enema is perhaps just a little different and this one was not going to be an exception.

As I sat there looking around the room and its dated albeit clean motif I once more sensed a need to release more and was rewarded by an expulsion of a thick liquid that was BM dissolved in warm soapy water. Moreover, it came in the form of several waves, which while I had experienced in the past, was ample notice that I had probably just about due for a good cleaning out.

I let the waves pass and finally was convinced that I had expelled the last of what I had to. Cleaning myself up and then diverting my attention to cleaning up the bathroom I first picked up the towel, folded it, and placed it neatly over the rack. Next I took the enema can off of its hook, disconnected the hose, and rinsed it out at the sink. Wondering what to do with its other components I decided to replace the bar of Ivory in the can, place the hose neatly coiled inside, and then put the bunch of plastic flowers in the can as decoration. The can was placed on top of the cupboard and was just kitschy enough with the old décor of the cottage that I think I’d probably get away with just leaving it out.

Satisfied that my flea market purchase was a good one, I returned to our bedroom where I took off my robe and got back into my sweater and jeans. A few minutes later my husband came back inside and said:

“And what have you been doing?”

“Just cleaning things up,” I replied without elaboration.

He probably had to pee and went down the hall to the bathroom. About two minutes later he was back in the kitchen and said:

“I like the flowers that you put in the bathroom. Nice touch!”

“Oh, good. I found that old container at the flea market a couple of weeks ago. I immediately thought of the cottage when I first saw it.”

“Yeah, it does seem to go pretty well.”

“Oh, if you ever knew!” I thought to myself. He would eventually be told what the porcelain container really was, but for the moment it was my little secret. However, it was a great purchase. lol!

As for using the can, it does seem a lot easier to prepare an enema with it than with a bag, but also to clean up afterwards. As for not being able to see how much I’ve taken or how much I have left to take, that is its primary downside, but one that I’m willing to live with. I love that old can and it will see its share of use, too.