As a kid, the word enema made me very self-conscious. It both secretly thrilled me and made me apprehensive. That whole love/hate thing of jumbled emotions getting an enema entailed.
Mom hardly ever used the word directly with me. It was always obvious when an enema was forthcoming, I could hear the distinct sounds of preparations from the bathroom. If water ran in the tub with the door open that was an unmistakeable sign that an enema was being prepared. Then it was either a, "Let's go," or "Come with me," when it was ready. I could never pronounce the word out loud, either. My protests danced around the dreaded object, "I don't need ONE!"
The times I did hear the word spoken always startled me and caused me to blush. From the doctor or his nurse, either asking if I had had one recently, or advising I receive one or more. Mortifying. Or overhearing telephone conversations - the dreaded, "No, he hasn't had an enema yet." Or the embarrassing, "I gave him an enema this morning."
Seeing the word on rubber goods at the store or in the catalog also made me uncomfortable, yet I had to look and read everything there was to see.
I've gotten comfortable using the word now, though I still have to pause before I utter it to ensure that I don't change my inflection when it passes my lips. Still thrilling, but no longer embarrassing.