The "E" and Me

Author : Jay
 

Part I

The term enema is an interesting word and its mystique has always intrigued me. It is a term that identifies three distinct but related things. The procedure of injecting fluid through the anus into the colon; the liquid that is injected; and lastly the equipment that is used to accomplish this action. My acquaintance with an enema started at a very early age, long before I knew these distinctions or even the word itself. I'll tell you about it..

Looking back, my first recollection of interaction with an enema occurred sometime before my fourth birthday. This is for sure as we were in an apartment house in Manhattan and my junior sibling by three years had not yet arrived.

There hanging from the shower curtain rod was this large white thing with a white hose that hung to the floor ending in a short black nozzle. It was sort of like what Dad used when he put gasoline in the car. And so I did the same with my small toy cars. Driving them up to under the hose and then positioning the black thing back where their gas tanks would be. I don't remember how long I was doing this except that at one point there was my Dad asking my Mother just what I was doing and her response was "Just playing with his cars." Somehow I got the impression that that white thing was bad and I shouldn't have been playing with it. This thought was reinforced as it disappeared and I never saw that bag hanging there again. Sometime later we moved to Long Island following an addition to the family.

One Saturday morning about the time I was in kindergarten, I say this as I was wearing short pants and didn't get my first pair of knickers till in the first grade, I knew, somehow or other, that I was going to get an enema. I don't recall how I was aware of this, I don't remember going to the doctor's office or anything being said about it, but I knew it was going to happen and for some unknown reason I dreaded the thought. All I wanted to do was to stay seated at the kitchen table and work on my coloring book. Mom was out of the house, I didn't know where Dad was and the longer I stayed there the better off I'd be.

The picture I was coloring showed a couple of flat fish swimming above some seaweed with bubbles coming out of their mouths. So that the whole page was fully and evenly colored I took pains to make sure all the water received my crayon's attention Never fully realizing how water would soon be attending to me. I'd just about finished this picture, can still see it in its original light colors, when Dad called me to come upstairs. From this point till sometime later in the day with me again in the kitchen there is a complete blank. From leaving my coloring book till Dad later mentioned that I'd screamed so loud that a policeman had come to the side door I have absolutely no recollection of what took place. It was the only time that I got an enema from my Father but other than figuring that it was done in the upstairs bathroom I have not the slightest idea of how he did it, my position, the equipment used or whether it was hung from the towel rack or hand held.

I remember three occasions during the grammar school years when I was subjected to the administration of an enema. The first was in about 4th grade when not having done the necessary long term homework I pretended to be sick on the Monday morning that the assignment was due. Staying in bed, being out of sorts and complaining of a an upset stomach got me through till Wednesday when it was off to the doctor's office with Mother. After the necessary tapping on and listening to my chest, looking in my ears and having to say aaarrrh with a stick holding down my tongue, the prescription given to my Mom was "Take him home give him a good enema and a couple of aspirin tonight". Well in getting out of the school project I'd put my butt on the line and wasn't too sure what to expect.

When we got home I was told to put my PJs on and get back into bed. About a half hour later Mom called me to come into the bathroom. There hanging on the towel rack opposite the sink was that large white rubber enema bag and hose that I'd seen years ago. Mom had me remove my pajama bottoms and lie down on the towels that she'd spread on the floor. Having me on my side she then dipped the black nozzle into Vaseline had me bend my right leg and spread my cheeks. There was no hesitation on her part whatever, the nozzle went in and with the snap of the stopcock I felt the warm surge of the enema as it invaded my bowels. After some seconds I thought I'd had more than enough and asked her to please stop.

Thankfully she did but that didn't stop the enema as I'd hoped. I was told to rub my tummy and take deep breaths through my mouth. This eased things some, but having done this she reopened the clamp and more fluid was sent flooding into my bowels. As the pressure increased I think I was close to crying and pleaded with her to please stop as I couldn't hold it any longer. This time the click had a pleasing sound as the water flow stopped, the nozzle was removed from my behind and I was told to apply pressure to a wash cloth that had been placed against my anus. Mom then helped me over to the toilet that was only a few steps away and I tried to hold the water in till Mom left the room. As I sat there releasing the pressure that had accumulated in my tummy I realized that there'd been an extremely pleasurable and satisfying sensation at the back of my penis as my belly swelled under the pressure of the enema and this was something new and thrilling.

There on the side of the tub to my left was the Red Cross course book that Mother used and it was lying down opened on top of a flat cardboard box. For want of something better to do, as I couldn't leave the toilet, I picked it up and found that it was opened to the instructions for preparing and giving an enema. Seems she followed the instructions even down to the application of pressure on the anus upon completion of the process. The cardboard box held two other black nozzles, a bigger straight one than the one that hung on the end of the hose and a longer curved one that had a bulbous knob on the end. The cover of the box identified the contents as a Marvel whirling spray fountain syringe.

Looking at that white rubber bag that now hung from the top of the stall shower door I could see that one of the flat sides had a female figure and the words Marvel Whirling Spray stamped up near the open top. When I was through I put things back the way I'd found them and yelled to Mom that I was finished. She checked the toilet and sent me back to bed. There lying on my stomach I fantasized on my getting another enema and before too long that pleasant sensation came back as I rubbed against the bed clothes. The term enema had taken on a new dimension and it wasn't apprehension. After hearing Mother putting things away I discovered that the Marvel syringe was kept in the linen closet and found ways to use it on those occasions when Mom and Dad were out of the house. That pleasurable feeling always accompanied these escapades. In addition all I had to do was think about getting an enema, imagine the feeling of the warm water flooding my innards and that fabulous sensation would erupt in my groin as I rubbed into the bed clothes.

The second school time experience was pretty much like the first, faking sickness so as not having to go to school. It also resulted in a trip to the bathroom as soon as we got home from the doctor's office and Mom had that Marvel Whirling Spray fountain syringe filled up. That one went pretty much the same as the first but it was the third one that was so different.

It happened during the summer vacation before starting high school. We were staying with Aunt Helen and Uncle Bill at their beach house. We'd been there a few weeks and after not eating any breakfast one morning Aunt Helen asked if I was not feeling well. Actually I wasn't as I'd not had a BM for the last two days and was really out of sorts. After determining that this was the problem she told me that she'd let Mom know and had no doubt that that she'd have me feeling a lot better after she and Kevin, my cousin went to the beach. Later that morning after Aunt Helen and Kevin left for the beach Mom told me that it was to get me feeling better and led me upstairs She went into the bathroom and sent me to her room with instructions to undress from the waist down. I'd just gotten my shoes off when she entered the room and draped a folded towel over the side of the bed and put a tube of something on the night stand. She said that we'd do the enema in here and then returned to the bathroom. Finally stripped from the waist down I went over to the bed and leaned forward over the towel and onto the bed so that my bottom was at the edge of the bed with my feet on the floor. She came back in with a sagging amber colored enema bag that was more like a balloon than the white one we had at home and this one seemed to jiggle with each of her steps. She hung the bag on the bed post and sticking the tip into the top of the bag told me that she wanted me around the other way.

As I went around to the other side of the bed she placed one of the pillows on the floor under where the towel turned off the bed. I crawled across the bed and wound up the exact opposite of the way I'd originally positioned myself. My upper body was vertical, supported by my forearms on the floor, head on the pillow and my bottom pointing up to the sky. The only part of me really on the bed were my legs that went back from the towel to the far side. "There we go" was her encouragement, "in this position it will go high up into you and do a good job." By this time she'd lubricated the enema tip and spreading my buttocks up close to my anus she slipped the black tip home. No time was lost before I heard the metallic snap and felt the rush of the fluid as it gushed into me. When I told her that I thought I'd had enough, as I felt awfully full, she stopped the flow and told me to reach around and hold the nozzle in. With that she took the bag off the bedpost and holding it up almost as high as she could reach restarted the flow. What with my holding the tube with one hand and with my other arm supporting me on the floor I couldn't rub my belly which now felt like it was about to explode. "Oh, enough, enough" I pleaded and finally she snapped the clip shut. She withdrew the enema tip and told me to stay the way I was for a few minutes and left the room. When she returned she helped me up and as I ran to the bathroom she told me not to flush the toilet when I finished. I just about made it to the toilet and it felt so good to release the pressure from my belly And there in front of me was that amber bag which now looked so small as it hung from the shower curtain with the hose dangling into the tub. When I was finished I cleaned myself up and called her in after wrapping a towel about myself. "Looks like we did a pretty good job" was her remark as she flushed the toilet, "How do you feel now Bobby?" I had to admit that I felt a heck of a lot better. My tummy felt better to be sure but I definitely missed that super pleasurable sensation that accompanied the previous enemas, especially those I'd given to myself.

Part II

Towards the end of grammar school I was riding my bike home and the next thing I knew was that I was lying in an unfamiliar bed in a strange room. Eventually I found that I' d been hit by a car and had been in the hospital for a week.

This was explained by Miss Betz, a nurse, who tried to get me to eat some breakfast and so start to get better as my parents were very worried. Later that morning a group of doctors came in and after checking the chart at the foot of the bed examined me by checking my mouth, shining a light into my eyes, having me follow finger movement with my eyes, and finally prodding up and down the right and left sides of my belly. When they left the day passed quickly as I was asleep for most of the time and had very little interest when meals were brought in. The next morning when Ms. Betz relieved the night nurse, I later found that Dad had three private nurses for around the clock coverage, she went through the temperature, pulse and BP routine that came to be a normal procedure four or five times a day . After helping me wash up a bit she said she'd be back in a few minutes and left the room. When she returned she had a large covered tray and I thought it was breakfast. Boy, was I to be surprised.

She set the tray down on the moveable bed table at the foot of the bed and then move it to the side of the bed. She then cranked the bed down to its lowest position, not up so I would be sitting. She then uncovered the tray and I saw that it wasn't going to be breakfast. The tray held a medium sized pitcher, a pan that I later learned was a kidney pan, what looked like scissors (later found to be a Kelly clamp), a tube of something. and a funnel attached to a coiled rubber hose, It was kind of fascinating to watch her uncover all these items and I imagined what was in store for me before she broke the news.

"Since you didn't have a BM yesterday the doctors have ordered a good enema for you and we'll get you all finished and feeling better before breakfast." I just nodded dumbly and she asked if I'd ever had an enema before. The "Yes" kind of croaked out and butterflies filled my tummy as I'd never seen this type of equipment before and I couldn't take my eyes off her as she got things ready.

At first it looked like she was going to cut about four inches off the end of the tube but this was the kelly clamp she attached. She then put the end of the tube into the kidney pan and poured some fluid into the funnel end which was held about a foot over the table. Still holding the funnel up she opened the Kelly clamp and I heard the fluid swirl in the kidney pan. She then proceeded to put some kind of clear jelly all over the end of the tube and up the sides to the place where the clamp was located. She then had me roll over away from her and bring my bottom up to the edge of the bed. Having done as she instructed I was left facing the wall as she drew the covers back and rearranged them so that my back and legs were covered with only my hip and thighs out of the blankets. She flipped the open back hospital gown to the side and told me to raise my upper leg up toward my chest. Twisting my head to the left so I could see what she was doing, I saw the funnel in one hand and the other holding a gleaming reddish-orange enema tube just below the scissors looking clamp.

"Reach back now and spread your cheeks and I'll slide the tube into you." I did as she instructed and she deftly inserted the tubing till the scissors thing was against my bum. I saw her pinch the tube as it came out of the funnel, and then telling me to hold the tube in place unclasped the scissors, set it on the bed and reach back for the pitcher. She poured some more into the funnel and told me to let her know when I was ready. I whispered OK but felt nothing for the first few seconds. The size of the tube was much larger that the black tips that were used before and as she poured there was a completely different sensation. Finally I felt the fluid high up in me. There was no pressure rush, just a gradual warmth in the upper abdomen and slight pockets of mild pain as the water crept higher up into me. She must have noticed this as she stopped pouring and pinched the tube. She was telling me "Take deep breaths through your mouth and rub your stomach from left to right and you'll feel better". On about the second breath I felt the pressure increase and she continued to pour till the pitcher was empty. She reclamped the tube set pitcher and funnel back on the tray and then withdrew the tube through a tissue that enveloped the end when it came clear.

Setting the end of the tube in the kidney pan she positioned me on a bed pan that somehow materialized and cranked the head of the bed up so I was in a semi sitting position on a cold metal port-a-potty. Ms. Betz removed the enema tray and I proceeded over time to remove the enema from my innards. When the bed pan was removed she cleaned me up and then brought in a breakfast that either wasn't very appetizing or I still wasn't hungry but I got some of it down.

For the rest of that day and the next the routine was meals brought in which I picked at, a group of doctors coming in to look at the chart, listen to my chest and bowels, again with the flashlight, and the eyes and follow the moving finger. I found out from my parents on the evening of my first awake day that I'd been hit by a car on the way home from school. I had a concussion and large compound fracture in my cranium which resulted in my being in a coma for the week. Actually I didn't feel so bad, just wanted to sleep as I was so tired. On the third day of my awakening Ms. Betz brought in that covered tray again with the information that "As you didn't have a BM yesterday you'll have a good enema this morning" and I wondered why it was always called a good enema.

With that she proceeded with the funnel and pitcher drill with me holding the tube. This alternate day regimen went on for the next week and a half. No BM one day and either a "good" or a "nice enema" as she put it on the following day. At last I was feeling better and the round the clock nurses were no longer needed. It was then that I met Nurse Griffin, the floor head nurse.

On her second day and after morning ablutions and breakfast in she came with that now familiar covered tray. As she started to prepare the equipment I rolled onto my right side and she asked what I was doing. I told her that I saw I was going to get an enema and was getting ready for it. "Oh no" was her response, "you're going to get this one the right way. Now roll over onto your left side." With that she pulled the bed away from the wall and had me positioned on the bed in just the reverse from the way Ms. Betz had me. Things started out pretty much the same except that Nurse Griffin kept shoving that enema tube higher up into me. "How far are you putting that thing in?" I asked. "To where it'll do the job it's supposed to do" was her reply and with that she started to pour. She was using a much bigger pitcher that the one Ms. Betz used and finally I had to tell her to stop that it hurt. "It's got to hurt to be good." was the response and she continued to pour raising the level of the funnel as she did. I complained that I couldn't take anymore to which she stated "It's still going in so you're not filled, keep taking deep breaths." At last she stopped and slid the tube out of me. She got me on the bedpan told me to hold the solution in for at least five minutes or she's have to repeat the process. As her enema wasn't as comfortable as the ones Ms Betz had given me I now understood, what a nice enema was.

On the following day that longed for BM was still a thing of the future and Nurse Griffin told me that I wouldn't be discharged until I was able to do this on my own. While I wasn't getting that special pleasurable sensation from these enemas, they did feel good and I was getting to look forward to these morning treatments, at least the nice ones given by Ms. Betz.. It was a surprise therefore when after breakfast the next day Nurse Griffin didn't come in with the looked for covered tray. "Today you're going to have a BM on your own and a few suppositories will help you to accomplish it. With that she had me on my side, Ms. Betz's side of the bed mind you, and proceeded to insert not one but two slippery long things, and she pushed them up as far as she could with her finger. "You call when you're ready for the bed pan" was her remark as she unsnapped the rubber glove she was wearing and tossed it into the trash can.

Well the suppositories finally worked and at last there was a BM without the fluid assistance. A few days later I was moved to a double room and thankfully nurse Griffin never worked on me again. I did sort of see her in action again before I left the hospital but that's another story wherein I played no prominent part.

Finis