When flying solo, I’m usually silent and aiming for that.
With my dear former enema giver, whom I often appealed to when I was in a very bad way with IBS, I’d sometimes ask how much water was left if filling was uncomfortable, but I initially tried to be very stoic through cramps and might only suck in my breath if something hurt more than anticipated.
However, he was good at checking in with me verbally and visually, and when asked if something hurt or if what he was doing was helpful I felt I could be honest. Eventually I’d ask for him to help me in various ways, like rocking my hip with his hand to take tension off my belly during waves of cramps or pressing gently just next to the area that felt in spasm.
He was very tender and would comment if he felt it was a worse IBS episode than usual or how he hated to see me in pain. I always felt seen and supremely cared for.
After I’d begin to feel better, I’d tell him and thank him profusely. He was shockingly patient with me and sometimes massaged me until his hands cramped up.
We’d finish when I’d say something like “I’m feeling so much better I want your hands all over me,” and then that would happen, much to my delight.