I, really don't know whether Mom enjoyed giving me my enemas or not, for sometimes I thought that she despised doing it, while other times, she was caring and gentle. I remember one Saturday morning, after I had been bugging her for more than a month to give me one, she acted like I had inconvenienced her something awful. That morning she gave me, If I remember correctly, three enemas. But, it was after I had expelled the first one, that I went into the kitchen where she was sitting at the table smoking one of her Salem cigarettes and drinking a cup of three hour old coffee that I got the feeling she didn't like what she had done. All I had done, was go in there to thank her helping me out. But, I had no more than entered the room, when she jumped up and said "I guess you want another one! right?" and then she uttered "I will never understand this child and his enemas!" With that said, Mom walked past me and headed back to the bathroom where she literally yanked her Rexall Victoria combination syringe off the wall. Another time, though, after her new doctor had told her to stop giving them to me and start giving me oral laxatives such as Castoria or Ex-Lax, she showed her love and kindness for me. That occurred one afternoon when I thought that I had the house to myself. I had gotten the hot water bottle out of her top drawer of her chest of drawers where she had hidden it. I was in the bathroom having just filled the bottle with hot, soapy, and salty water. I was just sitting there on the toilet looking at bottle contemplating my coming enema, when Mom opened the door. She didn't say anything at first. She just came into the room shaking her head. She walked up to me and said "Mike, give it here. You know what our doctor says about those things." I teared up and looked down at the floor. I didn't want to give it to her, but I did. She, then, walked over to the sink where she unscrewed the hose from the bottle and poured the water out. She then left the room. I remained too embarrassed to move. 30 or so minutes later Mom re-entered the room walked over to me and took a seat on the side of tub next to me. She took my hands in hers and tried to explain why she had done what she had done. My eyes, again, watered up and I looked her in the eyes and said "please, Mom, I really do want an enema." She just looked at me with tears in her eyes too. After five minutes or so, she let go my hands and left the room. A minute or so later, Mom returned, but this time she was, again, carrying her syringe. She stopped at the sink, filled the bottle as it had been before and then proceeded to give me the most loving enema I had ever had up to that point. Did she enjoy it? I doubt it, but one thing is for certain, I did....