NOTE: Although I remember everything quite clearly, I'm no longer sure
of the dates. I state below that this happened about the time I entered
first grade, but I now realize this can't be true. We moved the summer
between kindergarten and first grade. Our old house was very small and
the bathroom sink had no counter, so all of us kids got our enemas in
the kitchen every Saturday, either on the kitchen counter or the kitchen
table. Since I clearly remember getting many enemas with the bulb
syringe on the bathroom counter, this transition to the fountain syringe
must have taken place some time after first grade. I wish I'd kept a
diary. (My husband wishes I'd had everything video taped.)
When I was a girl, our family enema bag was a Faultless fountain syringe with a "ForceFlow" squeeze bulb in the hose. Oh, how I wish I had that bag now! It came with FOUR nozzles, adult and infant rectal, a douche nozzle something like the ones on modern douche bags, except with a slight bend in the middle and one nozzle that was the most wonderful nozzle I've ever seen.
It was a full sized douche nozzle, the same size (and thickness) you find on modern bulb douche syringes. It had a real big sliding rubber shield and a threaded fitting on the back end that screwed into the end of the hose.
I graduated from a bulb syringe (4 ounce) to the enema bag about the time I entered first grade and I loved it! First, I was so proud, because the bulb enema was for babies and the enema bag was for grownups. I'd gotten terribly jealous two years before when I walked into the bathroom one Saturday night and found my despised older sister up on the bathroom counter with her legs in the air and the red rubber hose from the enema bag going into her seat. Mom was holding the nozzle in with her left hand and squeezing the black bulb with her right hand and the bag was almost empty. She looked at me when I came in and gave me her most superior, big sister smile.
When the bag was empty and she got down from the counter, she gave me another smile and I swear she didn't walk to the toilet, she sashayed! I hoped and prayed that this was a permanent change for all of us, but nope, she put the plastic bowl under the faucet and started swishing a bar of Ivory soap in it as it filled. I asked her if I couldn't please have the enema bag too, but she said no, I was still a little two young for it, which got a third oh so condescending smile from my now hated older sister. The b.i.t.c.h. hung around while I got lifted up onto the counter (how humiliating) and got my soapy enema one bulb full at a time and told me how I really wasn't ready for all the water that "just comes gushing out of the bag" and how I'd be big enough for it someday. I wanted to kill her. Luckily, she left before I got lifted down from the counter and got rid of the soapy water and didn't stick around to humiliate me when I was lifted back up on the counter for my rinse enema.
My older sister is about two years older than me and sure enough, two years later, I came into the bathroom for my enema and to my intense joy, Mom said she thought I was old enough for the enema bag now and proceeded to fill it. I was already getting up and down from the counter myself now (with the assistance of a footstool, but my sister used it too) and I was up there, on my back and holding my legs to my chest in anticipation while she was still reaching into the top opening, swishing the bar of Ivory around in the bag. When it was soapy enough, she hung the bag from a hook on the wall.
She was using the infant rectal nozzle and When she slid it in, it immediately struck poop! I had gotten into the habit of not letting myself poop on Saturdays. Mom used to insert the pipe of the bulb syringe into my rear and the tip would go right into the poop. Then she'd give the rubber bulb a hard squeeze and the pipe would come unplugged and the enema would just squirt into me. I really loved that feeling. I could see I was going to have to change that habit because now mom had to remove the fountain syringe nozzle, fill the bulb syringe and stick it's thin tube into my rear. One very hard squeeze blasted a clear path into my rectum! (It's just occurred to me that she could have just used the "ForceFlow" bulb, which would have done the job. I don't know why she didn't. Habit, maybe.)
Mom inserted the fountain syringe's nozzle for the second time and reached for the shutoff clamp, I tensed up in anticipation of the flood of water that was about to surge into my bowels. And then she opened the clamp and ... I could hardly feel it! I have never been so disappointed in my life! Here I'd been waiting for this great surge of water for two years and I could hardly feel a thing! The pressure just built up and I felt myself getting full and then the bag emptied (Mom hadn't put much water in the bag) and Mom pulled the pipe out of my rear and it was over! I couldn't believe it! Then I got down from the counter and when I stood up, I realized that I was very full and I felt a little better. When I got to the toilet, I really found out how full I was. I must have gushed out soapy water and poop for a solid minute and then it took another five to get the last bits out. That made me feel a little better too.
By the time I'd wiped and flushed, Mom had the bag ready for my rinse. I'm not sure, but I think she'd hung it on a lower hook for my first fountain enema and this time she hung it from the hook she normally used. (Doesn't everybody have a coat hook at about head height on the wall next to their bathroom sink? And another one on the bathroom door? We did! ;-) There was also a nail in the wall next to each of our beds, for when we were sick.)
Anyway, I got back up on the counter and drew my legs up to my chest and she slid the black pipe into my bottom. This time when she opened the clamp, the water did kind of gush into me. It wasn't quite the overpowering flood my sister had bragged about, but I sure did notice it and I filled up quite rapidly. She put more water in the bag than the first time too, and this time I got very full, full enough so I noticed it while I was still laying on my back with my legs in the air. When the bag emptied and she removed the nozzle, I was fuller than I'd ever been before and I was pretty careful getting down from the counter. As soon as I was upright, I really had to go and I wasted no time getting to the toilet. I was starting to get a little more respect for the enema bag.
Mom wanted to look in the toilet before I flushed and there were still some soap suds floating on top of the water, so she said she thought I'd better have another rinse enema and I didn't complain. This time I watched her measure a half teaspoon of salt into the bag and hold it under the faucet. She filled it about half full this time and I was pretty pleased, because it looked like about as much as my big sister got. Thinking back, it was really quite a bit of water for someone my age. She also put a lot of Vaseline on the pipe.
(According to the box, which was kept in the bathroom closet, and whose instructions I virtually memorized, the three rectal pipes were "hard rubber". They looked about like modern plastic pipes, except that they were black and not very shiny, even the thin douche pipe. The thick douche pipe, however, which was about the same length and thickness as a modern bulb douche pipe and came with a sliding rubber shield, was white. It was softer than plastic, but it didn't bend very much like rubber. It was very slightly flexible. I have no idea what it was made of.)
At the time I didn't know what douching was and had no idea of how it was supposed to be used. The instructions on the box were vague and just said you could douche on the toilet, standing with your legs slightly parted or laying down in the bathtub. I think I was well into high school before I realized just what got cleaned out by a douche. I was quite surprised. As for the thick douche pipe, I just thought it was the ultimate enema pipe, for grownups only. I used to wonder why mom never seemed to use it herself. I thought maybe it was for men only or something.
I don't think Mom knew much about douching, either. She never seemed to use either douche pipe and I have no reason to think she ever douched. Eventually, both douche pipes ended up inside my bottom during my solitary baths. It took me until sometime well into grade school before I managed to get the thick pipe up my rear and it hurt like hell the first time I finally got it in. But did I love the feeling of that shield sliding between my cheeks! I could only get about half the length of the pipe in before it hurt inside, so I'd slide the rubber shield down that far and wedge it between my cheeks. To this day, that's my preferred thickness and length for an enema syringe and I still love having something wedge itself between my cheeks when the pipe slides in, whether it's a rubber bulb or a rubber shield. But I digress.)
This time there was a distinct snap as Mom flicked the clamp open all at once and water really did gush into me! I must have squealed or something because Mom quickly shut off the clamp, but I assured her I was OK and she opened it again. She must've only been opening the clamp part way before because the third enema just shot into me! I knew the instant she reopened the clamp. It didn't squirt as hard as the bulb syringe, which mother used to really squeeze hard, but it kept on coming!
I started feeling full very quickly, but I could see that I'd hardly taken half the water in the bag. Mom asked me how I was doing, and I assured her I was doing just fine, so she kept the clamp open. Pretty soon I was full enough so that I couldn't keep my knees right up against my chest and I started to straighten out my legs to relieve the pressure. I'd never had to do this with the bulb syringe! After a minute or two, I was very very full and the enema water wasn't flowing into me very fast. That's when Mom picked up the black rubber ForceFlow bulb and gave it a squeeze. Wow! "ForceFlow" was the word, all right!
I actually had a bigger enema up me than I really wanted now and I think Mom was a little concerned. My tummy was so full that I was holding my legs just about straight up by then and I think she knew I had a little too much in me, but I wanted it all! I wanted to take just as big an enema as my big sister and I could see that there was still more water in the bag. I told Mom I thought I could take some more, so she gave the bulb a second squeeze, gentler this time, but she could tell from the way I winced that I'd had my limit and she shut the clamp off and removed the nozzle from my bottom.
I didn't object when she helped me off the counter and I lost no time in getting to the toilet! I had to hold my cheeks together with my hands and take tiny little steps and as soon as I sat down, the enema started to just shoot out of me. It was almost all water now, with occasional bits and pieces and it felt so good to feel the pressure leave my tummy!
By the time I was done on the toilet, Mom had cleaned the equipment and the enema bag was hanging on the coathook on the bathroom door to dry. This was it's usual storage place. With four kids and Mom to service, it was used just about every day and only got put back into its box when we were expecting company. (I've often wondered if Dad ever used it. I've been trying to get up enough nerve to ask Mom for about twenty years now. She was here last weekend, but I never even thought of asking.)
I was so proud when I walked out of the bathroom! I was getting my enemas from the enema bag, just like my big sister, my big brother and even my mother! And my sister was visibly peeved at my catching up to her. Perfect!
Mom kept pretty close track of my capacity and the next Saturday there was just enough soapy water in the enema bag so I could just barely drain the bag, with a little help from the squeeze bulb, of course. The bag made a wonderful sucking sound when it emptied. I thought that was it, but Mom squeezed the bulb two more times and pumped all of the water inside it plus the water inside the hose into me. The last bulbful bubbled inside me as a little air got pumped in.
