How were you told you would be getting an enema?

Mom never told us we were getting an enema. We got our enemas in the upstairs bathrrom. Mom would get everything ready--bulb & nozzle on the sink top, vaseline jar plus a RT if she was going to take our RT, pan of soapy water in the sink and a towel laid over the down toilet lid. When she was ready, she would call out the one who would be getting it. When we went into the bathroom, mom was standing by the door and quickly closed the door when we came in. When I saw the bulb, I knew what was to happen and no protesting did any good. Just had to lower my pants & underwear and lay facedown over the towel.

If mom gave us an enema before bathtime, she would get everything ready while we were in our bedroom putting on our pj's. When we came in thinking we were going to take our baths, mom was standing there ready for us. We then had to take all our pj's off and lay naked over the towel.

A funny thing happed one day. I was outside in out backyard when mom called out to me to come inside. Mom was in the kitched and told me that she needed me upstairs. She followed right behind me up the stairs and told me to go into the bathroom (which was right next to the stairs). Whe I went in, I saw my Little brother Ron (who was 10) laying butt naked over the toilet lid. His pants and underpants pulled down around his ankles. I saw the enema equipent on the sink. Ron thought he was going to get an enema and wanted to show mom what a good boy he was. What a sight. Mom told him that it was for me. As he was getting up and probably relieved, mom wanted to know why did he think that it was for him--she asked him if he had a BM today. When he said no, she told him to get back down and that she might as well give him one too.

Mom told me to go stay in my bedroom and I'll get one later.

I heard him protest that he didn't need one but he got one anyway. Later, mom called me in and I got the usual enema.

A nurse friend of my mother's recommended I needed a enema to clean me out.I had been in the hospital and back home 2 or 3 day's and was ask several times if I had a BM.As they say the rest is history.

Returning to this because of something I saw on the 'net yesterday.

Someone on YA was explaining how so many of the idiomatic phrases for "how are you"/"how's your life?" originated as inquiries into someone's bowel functions. In the court of Louis XIV, because unhealthy diets were so widespread, an everyday conversational gambit was "comment allez-vous" (as in "aller a la selle"). "Comment faites-vous" carried the same meaning.

Since childhood I'd always suspected, because of my parents' terminology, that there was a lavatorial basis for the phrase "how do you do".

My parents, both of French descent, have often used "do" to mean "defecate" (as an abbrev. for "do a shit" or whatever). The uneasy conversation I recounted on these pages a few days ago reminded me that as a child if I was asked in the morning "how are you doing" it was their way of telling me that they had decided they needed to give me a suppository to help me "do".

Squigid,

Could you tells us the details of your frightening experience?

To Jasonfrm

See the "was your mom obsessed...?" thread.

The very word "enema" used to scare me, and make me scream and cry;

So I was told : you are now going to get your medicine; it was the same, but I accepted it more easily

Either mom or my aunt would announce (often at the dinner table) that one or more of us cousins or siblings was constipated and would be having an enema after dinner.

Many times I remember being told I needed an enema to help when I didn't feel well

Mine was very straightforward and said, "Think you need a good enema". Is there anything such as a bad enema?

If I had gone two days without a BM, my mother would tell me that if I didn't go before bedtime that she would give me an enema. Since she usually said that earlier in the day, I'd somehow hope that she would forget about it. That never happened though. Sure enough, after dinner was done and the kitchen and dishes were done, I'd hear water running in the bathroom sink. It wasn't long after, that I got called to the bathroom. The sink was full of soapy water and the bar of Ivory was left floating in it.

When I had any illness or cold, she usually would never tell me in advance. It was a sure thing that I would be getting cleaned out. Those enemas were given around mid morning.

I was not usually told dad or mom would tell me to go to the bathroom ware I would get A suppository I know what was coming after that.

My enemas would usually come after 2 or 3 days of being sick, like with the flu or a bad upset stomach. Obviously, when you're sick, you're spending most of your time in bed trying to recover, and that's when my mother would come get me. As I remember my childhood enemas which probably started when I was around 3 or 4 I guess, my Mom would come get me out of bed in the early evening and take me to the bathroom to give me an enema on a towel on the floor. She was always very tender and gentle with them, and I never remember minding them at all, which I suppose is one of the reasons I still enjoy them today. I was too young to be sexually stimulated back then, but when I came into puberty, I sure remembered them, although my Mom was no longer administering enemas to me by then.

Usually I would see the the enema bag hanging in the bathroom and then my mother would tell me that she was going to give me an enema. I would be naked and when I was little she would lay me across her lap but as I got older I would usually be in the tub on a towel. I remember one day my mom telling me it was time for my enema and me telling her that I liked getting enemas, after this it seemed that I received enemas more frequently.

I remember getting very excited when it was time for an enema.

Mom or grandma (very often the two of them seemed to "double-team" my sister and I) would ask, "When's the last time you pooped?" as they felt our tummies. If either one of us answered more than 2 days - we knew what was coming. We both got enemas. I guess they figured if one needed it, it was an opportunity to clean out the other as well. If they only knew how often we "double-teamed" them back by conspiring to give the right answer. We both secretly loved enemas and all the play that we thought we alone did together. I'm constantly and pleasantly amazed by reading here how common sibling enema play was in the old days.

Knew the sounds and atmosphere. Only got them when sick. Sound would come from down the hall. Bathroom door slightly open, storage drawer open, the unfurling of the equipment from its case, the water running, the clicking sound of the clamp hitting the sink, door open and the "come here". My reply "why" the "just come here". Then the no I don't need this dialogue, but I always ended up on my left side on the towel on the floor.

My 'weeklies' weren't announced to me. On Saturday morning, when Mum had finished the dishes, and 'freshened up', she would prepare things in the bathroom, and if I hadn't followed or been dragged in there with her, she would call me from my play; and I didn't dare not respond, as that would result in a BB spanking, and then the session anyway...

When I was sick in bed, there was always the question of when I had last had a BM, and if the answer was not considered satisfactory, of course, the prelims and an enema would result. So the question was the clue and cue; when it got to that stage, I knew what was likely to come...

Occasionally, out of the blue, Mum would ask 'the question'; I don't know why she did this, but I knew what it meant...

Cos.

The first time I was told that an enema would fix me up I didn't know what enema meant but soon found out. The next few times I dreaded what was about to happen. After I began to acclimate to the procedure It was not so bad. Then I got to the point of really wanting one. The announcement was usually as the show was about to begin, when I began the complaints that I knew would end in an enema there was time between what she was doing and when she could get around to it which somehow was more exciting. I have posted elsewhere about the time a doctor ordered enemas for all of the children ( the only time I can recall that more than one of us got an enema at the same session.) On that the intensity of the anticipation brought on my first orgasm, what a surprise.

I had to show every evening if I had "made something" when it was "poopy time." And if I didn't, I got an enema.

It was always called that, "enema," and I would get reminded that I would get an enema if I didn't "make a poopy."

I'd get warned that I would get an enema, then my enema (Fleet) would get set on the edge of the sink while I sat on the toilet for a few more minutes trying to go. I didn't like getting enemas back then, so I would try hard to go. But, usually when an enema got set out I ended up getting it!

There really was never a regularly scheduled enema time in our family, but whenever any of us got sick, we could expect that the enema would be included in the "healing process." Mom would just say, "okay, get undressed and be in the bathroom quickly." There was no reason to put up a fuss because it would only make the situation worse ... for us, not for her. Until I was about 10, we got our enemas over the lap, with the red syringe, but after that it was with the enema bag, usually about a quart. The magic words were always "okay, get undress ... etc."

Mom said, "Go and get on the bed, Bobby. We (Mom and Dad) need to give you an enema." I was 15 and so embarrassed.

The CLANK of the nozzle against the can was followed by the distinct sound of warm water running into the can with a bar of Ivory,

"Come in the bathroom. I'm going to give you an enema. Take off your pajama bottoms and get down on your left side."

Once she slid the enema pipe inside me and clicked the clamp, I thought it would never end. It was miserable. The loud gurgle at the end of the enema was a happy sound.

Similar to speedstick, I remember the sound of the metal clamp or hard rubber nozzle clanging against the enema can as mom passed by my bedroom en route to the bathroom. But she first had put a bathtowel on my bed and had my pants or pj bottoms off, like it or not. There was little discussion.

It was always a fate acomple and I knew better than to argue. The phrasing would differ, but the meaning was always the same, I was going to get the dreaded enema. It was always called The Enema. Many times it would be a warning of what was to come."We're going to do your bowels tonight" and then all day long I would wait.

Other times "Uncle wants you to have The Enema, he thinks you need it." I was in the care of a foster aunt and uncle and they were both very much into giving me The Enema, and they didn't need a reason. Many times I would have to sit on the potty while my aunt watched and she would remind me that if I didn't do my poohs she would HAVE to use The Enema (which was always in sight).

With me it was more of a warning. My mother would say "If your bowels don't move I'm going to have to use the syringe on you". Try as i might, inevitably I would be called into the bathroom where a bowl of Ivory soapsuds and the dreaded bulb syringe would be waiting for me.

It was always a fate acomple and I knew better than to argue. The phrasing would differ, but the meaning was always the same, I was going to get the dreaded enema. It was always called The Enema. Many times it would be a warning of what was to come."We're going to do your bowels tonight" and then all day long I would wait.

Other times "Uncle wants you to have The Enema, he thinks you need it." I was in the care of a foster aunt and uncle and they were both very much into giving me The Enema, and they didn't need a reason. Many times I would have to sit on the potty while my aunt watched and she would remind me that if I didn't do my poohs she would HAVE to use The Enema (which was always in sight).

Sounds like our household, with the watching the child on the potty/toilet and threatening them. Except it would have been suppositories, not enemas, in our house. "We're going to do your bowels" is just the sort of misuse of the language that my parents would've used.

I always had a problem. The nanny knew when I went. Sometimes she would tell me I better go or will get something to make me go. At times I'd be called into my room or bathroom and pants and underwear lowered. A suppository would be inserted and I'd be told to go play. If nothing happened after a couple hours I was in the bathroom or bedroom over the nanny's lap getting soapy enemas with the bulb syringe.

Cody

Mom told me that you are going to get an enema young man. It will make you feel better.

If she saw a streak of brown on the rectal thermometer she would say I'm taking you to the bathroom so I can give you an enema you seem to be stuffed up.

I grew up with my grandparents, my parents were around but worked a lot. I was a sick child and got a lot of enemas, suppositories, and temps from her. She grew up in a time when that was the norm. A couple times a week she would feel my tummy and ask about bowel movements. If she suspected an issue on saturday morning I was simply told I needed to be cleaned out. Normally as she rolled me over in bed before I had even gotten up to insert a supository. She always gave me 3, a smallish one, then a larger soapy one, and a large one without soap. I was normally fed soup and kept in bed those days.

One early hospital visit I remember getting supositories to sleep, rectal temps, and an enema. I needed nausea meds every few hours in supository form. Day and night the nurses would come in and tell me to hug my knees on my side. What followed was a long thin rectal probe for my temp and a cool bullet being pushed before a big finger. Most nurses just pushed to the opening and let it pop in but a couple pushed so deep the big finger made me cry. The first day there the nurse told my parents I had to had a full rectal exam and I needed an enema. It was never explained to me, I knew only from my nana. I was just told to turn over and be still. It was a bulb or a fleet then I expelled in a potty chair. Then I had the most painful rectal exam.

The only advance warning that I would be getting an enema was when the pediatrician told my mother to administer an enema after he examined me.

Otherwise I had to intuit it from what she was doing. I could hear the preparations in the bathroom. She would first take my temperature rectally, leaving the thermometer in me while the enema was prepared. Fairly typical when I was sick in bed. If she thought I needed an enema when I wasn't sick this first I knew about it was when she brought me into the bathroom for my bath. I'd see the enema bag hanging from the towel bar and the jar of Vaseline on the sink. Protests did not matter, it was undressed and over her lap. Cheeks opened and the bat nozzle inserted, then the sharp click of the clamp. She was a good judge of how much to give, enough to get the job done, she would say when I complained that it was too much. Her enemas were Ivory soap solutions. No rinse or repeats.

I was never told. I was called into the bathroom and all was ready. No warning, no debates

Funenemas--that was my experience. No warnings or anything. Just trapped and done to.

hankb