We didn't have a term. Around 80% of the enemas I received resulted from the situation when I was sitting on the toilet. If I sat on it too long, regardless of why, my mom would pop in and decide, "I think you need an enema." The word "think" didn't mean to me that I had a choice; I got the enema.
Or she looks in just once, only to come in shortly afterwards, without a word, takes the dreaded rubber bulb from the small chest of drawers next to the toilet, fills it with a warm soapy solution, only says briefly: "bend down" and then the greased rubber tip with the remark : "Let's make it short" stuck in the butt and squeezed the ball. Usually an enema consisted of four to six ball fillings. This was followed by two more enemas to rinse out the remaining soap.
Another 10% came from my perception of real health issues like fever, diarrhea, flatulence, etc. Since these enemas helped me, I accepted them, but still found them terrible. The linguistic term was different here; "Come on, bend down; that will help you", or: "Show me your little butt and you'll feel better again". The tone was much softer here.
The last 10% went in a completely different direction: punishment, or getting me back on track.
Here the sound was a bit rougher. Sometimes I was given a choice, either a spanking on the bottom or a couple of big enemas. Knowing about the pain of spanking, I mostly opted for enemas. I received this either from an enameled irrigator or from a large rubber hot-water bottle. "I'll flush your dirt out of you now..." I still remembered. When I was around 9 or 10 years old, we also had long rubber colon tubes at home for a while. They were pushed deep into my colon. I got the impression it could get more fluid into the colon; in any case, my mother filled the bags and cans up completely and rushed into me once. Those were the worst enemas for me.
Sometimes she said, "I hope that was a lesson for you and I don't have to do that to you again."