I think it's more about our childhood memories that add to our enjoyment today. There is a real psychological aspect to taking an enema that brings back those memories!
For my 2 years older sister Tess and me, the enjoyment was feeling of the insertion, warm filling, the release, and of course the anticipation watching mom prepare the enema, laying across her lap, the insertion, reaching for the metal clamp, the CLICK, and of course the fill!
We were living on our grandparents farm in West Virginia and I was 5 years old when I got my first "remembered" enema. More on that later. I was in the hospital for a tonsillectomy, mom and I arrived after lunch, nurse had me change to the gown, not happy wearing "girls" clothes, and I laid in bed talking with mom, my room mate, and his mom until visiting hours were over and our moms left.
A little while later a nurse came in pushing a cart. I watched her assemble a white can, red hose, metal clamp and a black "pipe". She went to the sink and was running water, I remember the boy in the next bed saying something like "It looks like one of us is going to get an enema” Or something that. Me not knowing what an enema was I asked "what’s an enema ?" I think his answer was something like "if you never had one, you're going to find out soon enough". She placed a folding partition between my bed and the boy next to me.
Now I'm curious, but I said nothing more, I wondered is it going to hurt? It wasn't long before the nurse brought the white can over and hung it on the pole on my bed. She had me turn onto my side saying something like “just relax, it won’t hurt”, but when she tried to put the nozzle in my butt I FREAKED! This is bigger than mom's thermometer. Wait, OK, it's in, not bad, I calmed down, kind of nice, then CLICK, WOW but not bad, feels warm, but in a short while “THAT’S ENOUGH I GOTTA GO”! The enema continued in spite of my begging and when it was over I was placed on a bed pan. Not possible to stop it, it's coming out and I mean right now and with a vengeance!
After I was done, cleaned up and laying there my roommate asked “haven’t you ever had an enema before”? I told him that I’ve never had anything like that, and he said that his mom gives him enemas all the time with a hot water bottle and a hose, and it’s best to just take it and get it over with, it’s not bad it just makes you poop. OK, I know that now!
I could see the nurse at the sink running water and I'm wondering if she was going to do it to me again, and soon, she brought it back and went to his side of the partition. I heard her give him the same instructions, like “just relax, it won’t hurt”. Then I heard the CLICK and I knew he was getting an enema too. He didn’t say anything, he just groaned a little until it was all done and he was on his bed pan. I remember him saying to the nurse “I think that’s more water than my mom gives me”.
We talked a little more about our enema experiences that it wasn’t bad just that you have no choice, you are going to poop, and his mom gives him enemas a couple of times a month. It wasn’t long before we both got a shot, RT then sleep.
After I got back home I told Tess about the nurse with the can, hose, and black pipe and she told me that mom gave me enemas with as Tess called it “the red squeeze thing” in my butt when I was little, I don't remember those. That's probably not what started my fondness for the hose, but it started in the hospital!
That's the whole story as best that I can remember…………..Iv’e been getting positive encouragements to tell more about growing up on our grandparents farm, Tess and I sharing enemas together when I was between 5 and 12 YO as the memories come back, I think I'm doing pretty good at remembering at 78 YO! I'm remembering more about my hospital enema when in for tonsillectomy. I remember I went ballistic when they put a foul smelling mask on me and I was held down both arms and legs! Then waking up, sore throat, mom was there with another boy and his mom.
Thanks to Tess enemas became a major part of our young years on the farm and after we moved back to Philadelphia around 1961 until puberty interrupted our play.
Marty,
Still LostInThe50s