Enemas in the bathroom growing up

Describe to the best of your ability if you got them in the bathroom what the usual enema routine would be. For me most times before I would be called into the bathroom or escorted in. The equipment would already be prepared and once in the door would be closed behind me. The Bag would be lying on the hamper with the hose and nozzle in the sink. On the sink was the jar of Vaseline. I would be asked to take off my clothes and lie down on the bath mat and towel on the floor. There would be another towel rolled up to prop up the bum for easy insertion and lubrication. The tile floor was always cold. Once in position and lubed the nozzle would be inserted and clamp released when the bag was half empty mom would hold it from there on until finished. Once done I had to hold for five minutes timed with a kitchen timer. Mom would sometimes leave for a few minutes but always be back to make sure I didn't go early. while releasing she would clean the equipment in the tub and check returns. After it was over I would be sent to my room to rest. If the return was not satisfactory an hour or so the process would be repeated again. They all didn't go that smoothly stalling to take clothes off clenching up during lube and insertion. complaining it was too much and to stop and rest when cramps hit were all part of it most times.

Efun42: Bag with plain water? soapy?

Ivory soapy

Not really IN the bathroom. We lived in a rather small 2-story house with the bathroom on the top floor with the bedrooms and a small powder room downstairs As a result the bedroom was never too many steps from the toilet The bathroom was too small to really lie down in anyway, I never TOOK them in the bathroom Always on the bed, then made a run for it when the time came

My experience is similar to Lisa's: enemas on my bed, legs up at first and then graduated to the left side We had only one bathroom, but fortunately it was only 12 feet or so from my bed and I always managed to make the dash and avoid an accident.

Mom did keep a bedpan handy the first few times, happily not needed. The enemas were given with a 2-quart can, never completely filled.

I can't remember much (we're talking 4-5 years old, and at the time I was much more interested in trying to get out of it than remembering the process).

I know it was lying on the floor in front of the bathtub. The enema was given from a "disposable-type" can with a vinyl hose and the rounded rectal tube with a punched hole on the side as well. Must have been lubed with something, but I don't know what (probably Vaseline. I remember being surprised at there being "lubricant jelly" later when my grandmother gave me a suppository). they were soapy enemas, and I think my mom made them with dish soap (because I later remember seeing the dish soap container in the bathroom "triggering" memories. I'm sure there was retention time, but don't know how much.

My mom would take me by the hand and lead me into the bathroom and close the door behind us. Then she would undress me and place me on the toilet and tell me to try to go. While grunting and straining to try to go and avoid the enema, I would watch as she filled a bowl with hot water and swished a bar of Ivory soap in the water until the solution was milky white. As the strong scent of Ivory soap filled the bathroom she would place some towels on the floor by the toilet and place the bowl of soapy water beside them. Then she would open the medicine cabinet and get out the bulb syringe and a jar of Vaseline. As I begged and pleaded with her not to use the syringe on me, she would place me face down on the towels. She would kneel down on the floor beside me and lubricate the nozzle of the syringe with the Vaseline and I would her the bubbling sound of her filling the syringe. She would spread my butt cheeks apart, insert the nozzle and the syringing would begin. No matter how much I begged her to stop she would use the syringe on me again and again until she was satisfied that she had forced enough of the Ivory soapsuds up into me to make my bowels move. When she finally stopped syringing me she would press my butt cheeks together and tell me to hold it in to let the enema work on me. After allowing me to expel the enema, she would place me back down on the towels and give me another enema of plain water to rinse out the Ivory soap. As I expelled the rinse enema, she would clean everything up and warn me to keep myself regular if I didn't want the syringe used on me again. Despite my best efforts it wouldn't be long before I was plugged up again and the ritual would be repeated.

Always in the bathroom. Sometimes with the door closed but mostly not.

I started receiving regular enemas at age 10. The process evolved the first couple of months before settling into this basic routine. Mom would fetch me for my enema. I'd split off at my bedroom to undress while mom continued to the bathroom to start getting set up. I'd arrive naked to the bathroom a minute or two later and usually check what was yet to do (usually positioning the bathmat and a towel on the bathroom floor, help filling the enema bag or just sitting on the toilet for a final 'go'.) With everything ready I'd get into position on elbows and knees and wait as mom inserted the lubed nozzle in my butt. Once the flow started I'd alternate positions between hands and knees, elbow and knees and knee/chest. At mom's direction I'd sometimes move my abdominal muscles to help move the enema through my bowels. Sometimes mom would grasp my belly and knead it a bit. The goal was to empty the 2 qt. bag. If I could do it in one filling, great. If not, mom would close the clamp and remove the nozzle and I'd sit on the toilet. When ready, I'd get back into position and the nozzle would be reinserted and the clamp opened. Once the bag had been sucked dry the nozzle was removed and I held my position some time. More was better but there was not set time. If I had to empty too quickly, some water might be added to the bag but that was rare. While I was on the toilet the final time, mom would start filling the tub for my bath while she cleaned up.

I was usually asked when was the last time I had a BM. My mom seemed to always know if I was constipated , so I never lied. I was always given a choice of taking a laxative or being given an enema. I hated laxatives so usually I asked to be given an enema which I found to be more pleasant, especially when I got older. My mom filled a basin with warm soapy water and invited me into my sisters bedroom (it was closer to the toilet). I would take off my shorts and panties, but kept my top on. She usually put a pillow on the bed and covered it with a towel and had me lay on my back with my bottom up on the pillow. I raised my legs and was in what I later learned was a missionary position. There I waited for her to fill an enema bulb from the basin and put Vaseline on the nozzle. She would put a little Vaseline on/in my rectum with her small finger then putting a hand on my legs of make sure my bottom was raised she inserted the nozzle slowly until I could feel the bottom of the syringe on my rectum. She would then squeeze the bulb with a slow even pressure, the gush of warm water was very nice. She usually administered 3 bulbs full. After she finished I stayed in the missionary position until it felt like I could go (usually 5 minutes). Then she would help me to the bathroom and sat with me until the enema worked. Sometimes she had to give me one more bulb full to get things moving and I would stand bent over for it next to the toilet. The whole procedure took less than 30 minutes and I remember feeling so much better after we finished.

Over my dad's lap. Two shots from an "infant syringe." Did the job. I was about four and never forgot.

Hi jannet01,

You said, "..After she finished I stayed in the missionary position until it felt like I could go (usually 5 minutes)."

Wouldn't staying in the legs up position after the enema was given have been more difficult to retain the contents? When you have your legs held that way, you cannot squeeze the buttocks to hold it in. Standing up or lying down flat would have helped more, I think?

My mom had enema giving down to a fixed routine. While there was never that much said, the signals that I was about to receive an enema were clearly there. Certainly if I was sick or just plain constipated I more or less knew my ultimate fate. The main signal was when mom would retrieve the combination syringe from the linen closet across the hall from the bathroom. I was very much aware of the distinct noises this would make and should the next stop be the bathroom where water would start running at the sink, it was then a foregone conclusion.

When growing up I really did not enjoy the prospect of getting a quart or two of warm water shot up my bum, so the anticipation was the real agony producer. Eventually, thought, I would be called to the bathroom and told to take off my pajama bottoms. The full bag would already been hung and mom was sitting on the edge of the bathtub where I would be encouraged to lie over her lap. Once in place some Vaseline was primed up by bum and the pipe inserted. There was a short period of time between the insertion and the beginning of the flow--that was the real anticipation that I so disliked and I was known to complain that I had enough even before the flow started.

The enema would flow into me and the pressure would build. I don't honestly recall cramps, but there would be a point when I thought my gut would explode and it usually was just before being told that I had taken the whole bag. The pipe was kept in and I was gently restrained over mom's lap until she thought that the enema had done its thing. Only then was the pipe removed and I was allowed to sit on the toilet to release. When that happened it was just like Niagara Falls cascading out of me and since mom was still in the bathroom it was sure embarrassing, too.

The best part was when knowing that the whole ordeal was over. I never ever had to get a second enema and was always happy about that because my sister Emily did get two in a row on occasion.

As kids, my brother, sister, an I always received our enemas laying nude on towels spread across moms bed. We had to lay face down with our feet hanging halfway to the floor with a rolled up towel under our waist to push our bottoms up in the air just as our legs went down the edge of the bed. At our grandmothers house we received our enemas in the bathroom on a soft rug covered with towels in the knee chest position.

In childhood i toke enema in my bedroom, my mom give me some bulbs of tap warm water. In summer i used to go to my aunt sea home for holiday, there my aunt give me my first bag enema with warm soapy water (i was 11) that happened in bath room because she think i can't able to retain. It was strange because was the first time another woman touched my intimate parts. She said to me to lay on the floor and put a towel under my body then lubricate the enema and the anus putting inside the nozzle. After 10 minutes the enema ended (she said me all time that she will make it go slow for maximize the effect). The result was explosive i fill the shitter with 4 days of waste.

She patted me saying that it was all normal and that if I needed her she would help me again.

Yes, I remember getting my enemas in the bathroom. It was a red bulb with black nozzle, holding maybe 4 oz. I remember leaning over Mom's lap while she sat on a chair from the kitchen, that was placed in front of the bathroom sink.. the sink was filled with soapy warm water. I can still remember the aroma of the Ivory soap when I was called into the bathroom. Seeing all this, made my heart drop to my stomach...

Walking or being taken into the bathroom and seeing the enema bulb sitting on the counter next to the bowl of soapy water would make my heart race and stop at the same time. Just as the smell of the Ivory soap hits me, I would hear the door close behind me and realize there was no escape ?

These’s nothing else that feels quite like that.

My wife received most of her childhood enemas in a bathroom. Here is how:

Her mother summoned her to the bathroom. If at home, this was most often not the main bathroom, shared with siblings and visitors, but the parents' ensuite bathroom. She was told to disrobe, which meant removing skirt/dress/trousers and panties, so she would generally end up wearing a T-shirt and socks. (One of her worst enemas recollections was when she was made to disrobe completely, since her clothes were soiled by vomit.)

Sometimes the enema bag was already ready, sometimes her mom would prepare it while she disrobed. For stomach aches, her mom generally added bicarbonate of soda to water at body temperature (maybe she did not add the bicarbonate in case of mere constipation, she's now unsure). The bag was completely filled, and hung from a towel rack.

She then had to assume the position: kneeling on the floor, knees somewhat apart, head hown, bottom up. Her mom would smear Vaseline on the nozzle, and often smear the excess vaseline on her finger onto her anus. Then, she would warn about incoming insertion and insert the nozzle. She would then open the clamp.

Her mother held the nozzle in, kneeling behind the patient, throughout injection.

The towel rack was not high and the pressure and flow were thus not too high. If the patient mentioned discomfort, the mother would stop the flow for a moment. If discomfort was too strong, the mother would stop the enema altogether.

There was little or no waiting after the enema was given before going potty. My wife generally waited, still in position, until mom was out of the room, so as to expel the enema in private. Sometimes, however, she started to expel in front of her mother; and she also recalls her mother returning to the bathroom to refill the bag for a second enema while she was still on the toilet.

Her mother sometimes asked her not to flush so that she could inspect the results.

An enema could be stopped if too uncomfortable. However, if stopped too early (her mother was the judge), a second enema was given, the bag being refilled in between. On at least one occasion, she got three enemas in a row.

Her mother found enemas in the bathroom quite convenient: little worry about leaks, patient close to the toilet. However, as my wife got older, she realized the position gave her mother a close-up view of her anus and genitals throughout the injection, which embarrassed her.

From second grade through sixth grade the procedure was fairly typical, though memories of those earlier years are faint.

Mom wore what was called a house coat during the day. A one piece dress with sleeves and pockets. A towel was all that protected her lap.

I was taken to the bathroom for the enema, usually without my pants on. Prior to this mom would check my temperature rectally if I was ill.

I knew an enema would follow when she removed my bottoms rather than lower them. While the thermometer registered she got the enema ready. She would read the thermometer and lead me crying into the bathroom. Being sick I did not put up much of a fight.

The enema bag, her old latex douche bag did double duty, would be hanging from the knob on the medicine cabinet. The hose and bat nozzle in the sink and the Vaseline jar by the cold water faucet. She sat on the tub edge, spread a towel over her lap and have me straddle her thighs. Her left elbow pinned me down while the fingers of her left hand spread open my butt for the greased nozzle.

After much trauma the enema would be over and I be gasping for breath on the toilet letting it all out. Despite the fear and embarrassment I felt better once it was over.

My enemas growing up were always given to me in the bathroom that was between my room and my grandmother's room. My enemas were usually given to me on a Saturday morning when Mom was off work and I was off from school. Grandma usually had a beauty shop appointment every Saturday as well, which usually left our house empty except for Mom and me. My enema routine usually happened as soon as Mom and I had the house to our self. She would prepare my enema using her Rexall Victoria Combination syringe and have it already hung and waiting for me. I would always be a sleep while the preparations were taking place and Mom would always wake me up by tickling my ear. As soon as I was awake, she'd kiss my cheek and pull me out of bed. Once in the bathroom, I was instructed to take my underwear off and lie across the toilet. Mom would pull my left hip giving her the access to my bootie hole where she would smear a glob of Vaseline gel. The black enema nozzle would also be well lubed. I always looked forward to her slipping the nozzle into me. I also loved the sound of her opening the silver shutoff and the feeling of the warm, soapy water entering my rectum. As the water flowed, Mom would rub my belly and back. I felt so loved and looked forward to every Saturday.

The bathroom, and more specifically the tub, was the most common venue for my enemas while growing up. I was always jealous that my sisters usually got theirs on mom's or grandma's bed.

I suppose that an accident, or leaking, likely precipitated the move to the bathtub. It was often the dry cold tub that created some discomfort aside from the enema itself. I was naked and laying on my belly as I pondered the impending intrusion. As I got a bit older, the tub was wet and slippery before the ordeal was over.

My mom usually prepared the enema at the kitchen sink. If an additive was used, it was added to the pitcher of water before being poured into the bag. I knew the routine from watching preparations before my sisters were subjected.

I was usually led into the bathroom by grandma, while mom prepared the enema. This resulted in me laying in the cold tub for several minutes sometimes. When mom entered carrying the red bag and nozzle prominently displayed, she would sit on the toilet as she held the bag. Grandma would lubricate and then insert the nozzle. Grandma usually sat on a folding chair as the ordeal proceeded. On many occasions, my older sister would be peering over grandma's shoulder.

Once the enema was administered, it was quite the mad dash for everyone to make way for me to get on the toilet. My mom would be rinsing the enema bag as I let out the rush of solution. If mom could hear the plop plop plop, she sometimes commented on the success. It wasn't common to get another right away.

If I got a bath thereafter, I laid there staring at my nemesis as it hung from the shower arm. That black nozzle sometimes dripped until the next morning.

I can clearly recall, like it was yesterday, just how curious and excited I was when I got my first enema from my grandmother when I was age four. For me, it was love at first.....um.....encounter in the bathroom. Oh how I liked being filled right to the very brim, and sometimes beyond, with warm, soapy water squirting up high and higher inside my colon. My fillings and purging became a semi-weekly 'health' ritual, one that I eagerly anticipated and thought about often. My greatest joy, beginning at a very early age and continuing for many years afterward, was showing my grandmother, through absolute obedience to whatever she had planned for me that day, that I was a willing participant who was quite happy to have her take firm control of my bodily functions. Kneeling naked in the bathtub, I especially liked getting a series of three to four enemas from her over a long morning together in the bathroom, but the ones I recall with greatest affection were always delivered up 'high' into my bowels, often as hot as I could comfortably stand and prepared (my favorite!) with a large helping of Ivory soap shavings so that a trail of glistening white soap bubbles flowed down the front of the rubber fountain syringe hanging high over the bathtub. How I loved the urgency and embarrassment of taking a big, soapy enema and needing desperately to use the toilet for her.

My mom made a point of not giving me much warning so I never had time to get seriously worked up about getting an enema. Usually it was bedtime and she would ask about the last time I went. If my reply was three or more days I just knew that it was enema time.

Mom would go into the bathroom and get everything ready. I got called and would slowly make my way across the hall. When the door got closed the full enema bag was hanging from a hook on the back and mom was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. I'd be told to remove my pajama bottoms and lie over her lap, my bum would be lubed with Vaseline, and the nozzle inserted. A faint click meant that I'd start to feel the rush of the warm soapy water filling my insides. After taking as much as I could, I had to wait some period of time that felt like an eternity before the nozzle got taken out, mom got up, lifted the lid, and let me sit down to relieve myself. I was seldom allowed to do that embarrassing part alone as she would busy herself with cleaning up the bag before hanging it from the towel rack to dry.

Emom: It makes much sense not to announce an unpleasant procedure (assuming you considered it unpleasant) too much in advance. I've heard of parents announcing, in the evening, a spanking for the next morning, this seems cruel.

I recall mom telling me when I left for school that if I had not had a bowel movement when I came back from school she'd give a suppository, and walking back from school knowing what would happen!

In the old days in France, when people were sentenced to the death penalty, as far as I know, they did not know the exact day of their execution, which happened at dawn, so that they did not have the time to get worked up.

In the old days in France, when people were sentenced to the death penalty, as far as I know, they did not know the exact day of their execution, which happened at dawn, so that they did not have the time to get worked up.

Off topic, but up until 1939, executions in France were carried out in public and always drew a big crowd of the curious and morbid. Obviously these were announced ahead of time. So the dates were fixed.

Japan on the other hand, even now does not inform the condemned of their execution date until the morning it will be carried out. In the old Soviet system, condemned were not usually informed at all, but were led into a room where the execution took place. The idea was to make them think they were being led somewhere for an interrogation or whatever. Not so much an act of kindness as to make executions easier to carry out if the condemned doesn't even know it will happen.

I'm going to bet that anyone on a death row gets pretty worked up about things.

I was seldom allowed to do that embarrassing part alone as she would busy herself with cleaning up the bag before hanging it from the towel rack to dry.

That felt so humiliating. Such a weird feeling to look at the equipment that was just used on you.

My experience was substantially like efun's and others'. My mother would call me into the bathroom with no warning of what was to happen next. There the enema equipment would be set up and ready for action. She would ask me when the last time I had a bm was and of course I could not tell her--what child keeps track of that? She would say that I needed an enema. I would have to take off my clothes and lie on a towel on the floor on my right side. she would shove an enema tip lubricated with Vaseline into me and start the water flowing.

After a while I would feel like I had had enough and would say so, only to be told that the bag was not empty yet and I had to take more. After the bag was empty, I had to hold it for what seemed like a long time, but probably was just a few minutes. Then I( could get on t he toilet and release it. She would look at what I had produced and decide whether I needed another one, which I usually did not.

I assume that my siblings had similar experiences, but they would never talk about it because it was so unpleasant an experience to endure.

Today, and for the past few years, I have had chronic constipation because of my Parkinson's and have had to give myself enemas twice a week, but it is a pleasurable or nearly pleasurable experienced that I look forward to doing. Quite a change after so many years.

hankb

Allie: My mother in law would sometimes start cleaning up the equipment as my (future) wife was expelling; sometimes she left before expulsion, so that the girl could be alone for the flow but returned as the girl was still on the toilet making sure everything was gone. Often she would ask the young patient to try to go potty before the enema; sometimes she left her alone for that, sometimes she filled the bag as it was done. Sometimes she would ask the girl not to flush so as to see the results. As my wife summarizes, "none of that was dignified".

In my case my mother left me alone to poop after suppositories, but I recall her requiring me not to flush so that she could check. Not very dignified either having mom comment on your poop and the need, or absence of need, of a suppository after the next meal.

I never leave the bathroom after an enema is given. Sometimes I would start filling the bag for round 2, other times I would just let it hang and supervise her as she released her load. I would tell her not to push butt just let it come out as it wanted to. I think there is a level of trust by allowing me to be in the bathroom for the potty part. It is very intimate and can be embarrassing. The level of trust to do this has to be there.

Moppy the original poster was asking about enema memories with Mothers giving them to you. Your memory does not sound like it is something like this.