Was mom a bag holder, hanger, or squeezer?

Mom was a hanger, always on the towel rack. Right in front of me so I could keep an eye on how full the bag was.

Growing up in the fifties, my siblings and I received enemas from mom, grandma, and our two teenage aunts. They all hung the enema bag up when they gave us enemas in the bedroom or bathroom. After our RN grandmother taught us personal hygiene as preteens and enemas became our responsibility. And we started swapping enemas with each other, my siblings and I hung the bag up whenever we gave each other enemas.

First she squeezed the bulbs, then the bag was hung up, which was also held and lifted during educational treatments, to give pressure and enema fluctuations.

Since we didn't have any rubber hot water bottles for enema purposes, thank God I was spared from bag pressure. The hydrostatic handling also gave me enough trouble...

@Aquarius,

Fascinating. What was an “educational enema treatment?” Why did she do her hydrostatic changes?

Eric

Mom would always hang the bag on a hook on back of bathroom door about 3’ above my rectum and that ensured a powerfull flow although she would use the clamp slow it some as nessesary.

She started with the red bulb around age five,then a few years later progressed to the 2-Quart red bag. She always started with the rectal thermometer.

In the hospital it was a tripod. But there was nothing like that at home. Probably so as not to spoil the interior. At home, it was not my mother who put it on for me, but a visiting nurse, and my older sister held the heating pad, first raising it and then lowering it. I really didn’t like the way she looked at me then.

@Aquarius,

Fascinating. What was an “educational enema treatment?” Why did she do her hydrostatic changes?

...an “educational enema treatment” simply means a “punishment enema” 😱😂

@Kid

Another small comment on your post #9:

The first enema (with lots of soap) was always a struggle; But Mom always won.

Mom adopted the saying of her friend, "Aunt Erike", which was: "Good medicine always tastes horrible, otherwise it's no good."

My Mother most of the time was a hanger .. she’d hang the bag rather high. In my bathroom, we had one window. She’d hang it from a curtain bracket on the top of the window…( don’t think Mom knew the height effected the rate of flow) and occasionally, however, she’d reach up and squeeze the bag if she felt the water was going in too slow. I sure do miss my Mother!

Mommy always hung the red bag on a towel rack so she would have both hands free to lube me with the Vaseline and then open my bottom to gently insert the hard black nozzle that I craved.

@pear17 same here, never had from mom, but from neighbour nurse and she was a squeezer, using enema bulb. I just loved it, well never showed, but enjoyed secretly.

My Mom was a holder. I can remember looking back at her holding the amber latex bag as high as she could while panicking about the pressure. She always used very hot soapy water that was still hot on the way out.

My mom always hung the bag. In her bedroom, there was a tall floor lamp with kind of a crossbar right next to the bed that she would hang it from. In my bedroom, there was a hook in the wall next to my bed that she'd use.

My grandmother gave most, if not all, of my enemas from age 2 till I left for the military in 1972. I got my enemas from a red Rexall 3 oz. bulb syringe over her lap from age 2 until 7. After that all enemas she administered were given with a red open top 2 quart Davol enema bag which she filled with warm soapy water. She was a hanger as she hung the bag from either the shower curtain rod or a nail on the wall near the toilet. She used an old metal hanger to hang the bag. She always prepared the enema before coming to escort me into the bathroom. Once I was in the bathroom she would close the door and have me undress completely before kneeling on a towel beside the tub. Once in position she would lubricate the black adult rectal nozzle and spread my buttocks and insert it. She left the bag hanging 3 feet above my bottom, which always made the enemas crampy. My grandmother was the bowel manager in our home. She would regularly ask me and my sibs if our bowels were moving. If we answered no, then a laxative at bedtime was given, but she would tell me that she was going to give me an enema first thing in the morning. So my grandma was a hanger.

I wanted to just add some pertinent information to my last post. I was born in 1954 and both my mother and father worked leaving my grandmother, my mom’s mother, in charge of taking care of our daily upbringing. My grandmother used that opportunity to give my sisters and I enemas whenever she felt we needed one. I recall many uncomfortable encounters over her lap. This began while potty training at age 2 and these memories are vivid even to this day. My mother never questioned her mom’s decision to give an enema to one of us as she herself had been given many enemas as a child by her mom. They say you can only recall events from age 3, but I clearly recall sitting on the old wooden potty chair while looking at my grandma holding the red bulb syringe and sitting on the closed toilet seat waiting to see if the enema she just gave me would work. I remember getting up and being put back over her lap where she refilled the bulb 3-4 times as she repeated the enema before placing me back on the potty chair. I have so many recollections and will post in the appropriate categories. Over the years I watched my sisters and my cousins crying as they were given enemas at the hand of grandma. I’ll post more later as enemas were routinely administered to me from age 2 until age 17.

My mom put the bag on top of the covered hamper until it stopped flowing holding the nozzle in with her other hand. Mom would then pick up the bag and hold it with her free hand until empty. The 2 times my Aunt helped her give me one she squeezed the bag while holding it mom held the nozzle in. I think my Aunt wanted to make it uncomfortable she was a cruel woman and would tease me if she knew I got an enema.

The 2 times my Aunt helped her give me one she squeezed the bag while holding it mom held the nozzle in. I think my Aunt wanted to make it uncomfortable she was a cruel woman and would tease me if she knew I got an enema.

You should of told your Aunt now it's her turn and given her the same treatment!!! 😡🤣

My Mom was a hanger. If she was giving me the enema in bed she would hang the bag from a hook on the door of my bedroom cupboard that swung open towards my bed. If it was given in the bathtub she would hang it from the shower curtain rod using a shoelace to adjust the height or if given on the bathroom floor she would hang it on a towel rack.

My Mom was always a holder. When she gave me my first bag enema during a flu bug, I ask her "don't you hang need to hang it up"? She replied, "only if you're giving it. to yourself, do you want to try that"? I said "no, you can give it to me". She rested it on my bum while inserting the nozzle, then elevated it while it flowed in. suddenly saying, "I think that's enough". It wasn't and she had to give me a second enema, which worked well.

Once I hired a visiting nursing service to help prep for a colonoscopy. She held the bag and made a science out of the height of the bag. All in all it was a good experience. When she started the enema she said she would only give me a small amount about a cup or so, and stop the enema once I felt like I had to go, then resume when the feeling passed. I still use this technique today. It works well. Nowadays I have to start and stop the enema several times until about half of the bucket is in, then it flows smoothly.

My mother suspended the enema bag with a wire coat hanger from the ceiling light, once I heard the click, here it comes

I'll never forget the view looking over my shoulder at Mom holding that big Bulging amber latex bag getting ready to empty into my little bottom. Pretty scary for a 6-year-old to see that. But she was always gentle and understanding when she gave it to me.

No need to squeeze. Simply hanging the warm and bulging red bag a couple of feet above her hips and well within her sight allows plenty of flow.... And handing leaves hands free to gently manipulate the nozzle with one while slowly stroking her outer labia with fingertips from the free hand as the warm waters softly swirl within.

Enemas were a two parent thing for me. I early on would fuss scream and cry but once I realized it was not that bad I settled down somewhat. I needed regular flush out enemas because I would hold off going for a long time..

In fact the enema with a bag was the only way that they could help me go. Suppositories really did nothing. Fleet enemas did also very little. So they needed the good old bag enema. My mom took care of the business end of it. The nozzle in my butthole. And my dad held the bag which looked like a big yellow water balloon. Early on my dad squeezed the bag which caused cramps bad for me... Also before my mom got the nozzle in my bottom it usually sprayed a bit over me. We always laughed at that part... I believe a bond is formed when someone does this to another person... As a child it forms a special bond.... I did not like enemas much but I did like them as well....

My mom was a hanger. When I stayed home from school because of a tummy ache, later in the morning she would call me into her bedroom where I would find a bulging red enema bag hanging on a bedpost. I immediately knew I'd soon be lying over lap getting mom's cure for tummy aches!