When I was 12 or 13, it was decided that I was going to get orthodonture. This would be the early 1970s. The orthodontist took one look at me and said I had way too many teeth and had to have 4 molars and 2 bicuspids extracted. I was referred to an oral surgeon. The molars were impacted and the extraction would have to be done in a hospital surgical setting.
Back in those days, you didn't just wander in for an outpatient surgical procedure and then go home. You were admitted the afternoon before and kept for a day or two afterwards. This was also back in the day when parents etc didn't camp out in the hospital when a older child was admitted. Drop ‘em off and come get them when they are ready. Mom’s got other kids, a husband, and a house to take care of.
The first evening was uneventful, my surgery was scheduled for first thing in the morning. I was given a general anesthetic, probably cyclopropane based on my very vague memory of it. The procedure was completed and I was sent back to my room for observation. My mom actually did come check on me, but only stayed for a little while after they figured I had survived.
As I slowly came to my senses, I was checked on by the nurse assigned to the room. She was very young and very pretty. She didn't seem much older than the high school senior that was not too long ago babysitting my sister and me. She seemed very sympathetic to me in a "poor baby" kind of way, almost mothering. A few hours passed and she would pop in from time to time to check on me.
Eventually, sometime after lunch, I got a roommate. He was a middle age gentleman. The nursing staff got him into a gown and in bed. He said "whatcha in for, kid". I couldn't give much of an answer with a mouth full of bloody gauze. Pretty soon, his doctor, the nurse and the nursing supervisor came in. Best I could tell he was having some bad back problems and they were going to do a special x-ray of some sort for diagnosis. They explained that to get the best images of his spine/hips that his intestines would have to be empty. I don't remember what the exact protocol was, but he was definitely at a minimum getting SSE's until clear returns.
Now even at this young age, I was a dedicated klismo. I had a private bathroom in our house and "somehow" the big red bag my mom used on me as a child wound up in my bathroom. My mom had nursing texts from college (although her career went in another direction) and also home health manuals that I read and learned all I could about enemas. I was well into puberty and had also discovered masturbation, and combined that with full bags of hot, strong soapsuds. I was a definite believer in 3H. So I thought my new roommate was pretty lucky to be getting these, especially from a pretty nurse.
She eventually came in with an array of equipment. The sink was by my bedside, so I got to watch her prep his enemas. She had brought in a big handful of clear liquid castille enema soap packets to mix in (I later slipped a few of these in my pocket when I was discharged). She asked him if he'd ever had an enema before. He said no, but he'd given a million of them when he was a medic in the army.
She got him all ready. I couldn't really see because of the privacy curtain, but I could hear everything. Apparently there were issues. She told him she going to come back with her supervisor (I think she still might have been in training). They came back in the room, and the young nurse said that it just wasn't flowing. There was a short pause and then the supervisor nurse said "well, you're irrigating his tonsils", which I found hilarious even in my misery.
They eventually got him cleaned out. The supervisor left, and the young nurse was cleaning up at the sink right next to me. I don't exactly know what got in to me, maybe I was a little high on painkillers, but I gulped and took a chance and asked for an enema too. She turned and petted my head a little bit and said "Oh Honey, your doctor has to order them". I'm sure I looked crestfallen at that news. She gathered up everything and left.
I thought to myself "oh well" and tried to get some rest. Time passed. Later she came back carrying a tray with enema equipment - a clear plastic single use bag with hose and nozzle. She told me the doctor said its ok and she was going to give me an enema. She asked did I want soap and I said yes. She prepped a nice warm enema for me, hung it on the IV pole, and rolled me on my side. She lubricated me, gently inserted the nozzle and started the flow. I was actually surprised and excited this was happening to me, because even at that age I had sexualized enemas. This was the first time someone other than my mom or granny was giving me an enema, or I wasn't doing it solo. The fact that it was a very pretty nurse only a few years older than me was almost mind boggling. It was like losing my virginity.
She kind of gently petted me during the process. I'm sure I looked completely miserable from the surgery. After the bag drained, she removed the nozzle. She asked me if I needed any help going and I told her no, I would be ok. I expelled and she came back in a little while to administer the rinse. She checked on me a few more times, but eventually her shift ended. I spent the night and my mom came and took me home the next morning. The enema was never mentioned.
I have thought and thought about this experience over the years. Probably not a lot of tween boys are requesting enemas from pretty young nurses, even back in those days (in my defense, I was under the influence of pain meds which I'm sure greatly lowered my inhibitions). Or maybe they were. Enemas were a lot more common then. Maybe she got a lot of them too and this just all seemed normal to her. Or because I had sexualized them, it seemed more special and taboo to me than it really was. Maybe she was just eager to do her job and practice a procedure she had had trouble with earlier in the day. In any event, the experience only reinforced the notion that I wanted to share enemas with girls closer to my age.