enema | Watching My Wifes Enema

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Watching My Wifes Enema

By: Anonymous

I was able to observe while my wife was given an enema during a hospital stay. This during the early 70’s. Here’s what happened.

Maryanne and I had been married for about seven years. I’ve been a klismo since a teenager but had never mentioned the fact to her. She was a nurse working at our local hospital. She gave enemas to patients sometimes and seemed to accept them as just part of her job. I was never able to ascertain how she felt about them personally, if they were of any interest to her as they were to me.

One afternoon she collapsed while on duty and was quickly admitted as a patient. To make a long story shorter, there was nothing seriously wrong with her. A combination of being run down from long hours of duty and a virulent flu strain laid her low in a hurry. It took about three days of bed rest for her to begin to get back to her old self. I spent all the time I could at her bedside. This was mostly in the mornings since I worked the afternoon shift.

We were talking the fourth morning and thinking about her coming home, the doctor indicated that he might release her the next day. She thought she might have relapsed a bit, hadn’t slept well and was a little uncomfortable. Her nurse came in and greeted her. “Well, how are we this morning?”

The nurse was a cousin to my wife and they knew each other well. “Oh, OK Janice,” as she forced a half hearted smile.

The nurse took her blood pressure and temperature, then listened to her chest with her stethoscope. “You’re sounding better, feel like going home?” That brought a big smile and a nod. She made some notes on the chart and said “We’ll see if we can get you out of here soon.”, and left.

About this time I decided to get up and walk around, stretch my legs and get myself a cup of coffee. As I walked past the nurses’ station on my way to the cafeteria, her cousin stopped me. “Is Maryanne really OK? She seemed very listless and lethargic.“She’s been complaining that her stomach is uncomfortable,” I volunteered with a twinge of excitement over where that might lead.

“I thought so!! She didn’t seem right. I don’t think she’s done anything since she’s been in here. The doctor said she could go home tomorrow so I was trying to decide whether or not she needed an enema before she’s dismissed. So now I’ll schedule her for one for sure.”

I couldn’t believe my ears!! I got my coffee and hurried back to the room.

I sat in the chair next to my wife’s bed on pins and needles waiting for Janice (my wife’s cousin) to reappear. She didn’t. Time dragged on. It was getting time for me to leave for work and still no Janice or enema was forthcoming.

Finally Janice returned and questioned Maryanne. “Have you had a BM since you’ve been in here, Maryanne ?”

My wife meekly shook her head no.

“Why don’t you try on your own this afternoon? I’d like to have you go on your own before you’re discharged or else we’ll have to get the “dynamite” out.”

I had to leave for work and said good bye to Maryanne. I could barely concentrate on my job all night wondering what was happening at the hospital. I got a bite to eat on my way home the tossed and turned all night. The idea that Maryanne might be having an enema was overwhelming.

I got to the hospital about 8:30AM and went directly to Maryanne’s room. She was awake and smiled weakly as I came in. I could sense that she was upset and felt a bit of excitement concluding she was going to tell me about being given an enema. But she remained subdued and silent. We exchanged small talk but I couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering her.

Finally I asked whether she was really coming home today.

That broke the ice. "Janice was in first thing this morning and told me that I was being discharged today, but she also said that I have to have an enema before I can leave!” she blurted out.

I acted surprised. “Really? Why?”

“Cause I haven’t gone since I’ve been here, so you get an enema,” she explained. “I don’t want one of those things, I hate them! Ugh! It’s humiliating and disgusting and they hurt. I don’t need one,” she complained indignantly.

“Are you sure? You’ve been miserable the last two days,” I tried to be supportive.

“I’ll get better on my own at home.”

“Well, what are you going to do if they come? Can you get out of it ?” I asked.

“I’ll get through it somehow, I guess.”

Pretty soon Janice came into the room carrying what obviously was an enema concealed under a towel. She laid the setup down on the edge of the bed and announced, “Let’s get you ready to go home, Maryanne.” Then she looked squarely at me, “Would you step out for a few minutes while I do a treatment on your wife?”

I reluctantly rose to leave and suddenly Maryanne spoke up, “NO! Let him stay, I want him to stay with me.” I looked at Janice and she nodded her concurrence. I sat back down in the chair and concentrated on concealing my pleasure at this turn of events.

Janice cranked the bed down until it was flat and spread the towel along the edge, then had Maryanne turn on her side and scoot her bottom on to the towel and draw her knees up toward her chest. The enema was a plastic bag with a length of clear tubing exiting the bottom. It was already filled with the soap suds solution and it bulged. The end of the tubing was covered with a green sheath that Janice removed and laid aside. She picked up a packet of lubricant and snipped the end off with her bandage scissors then inserted the end of the tubing into the packet to pick up some of the lubricant. She lifted Maryanne’s upper buttock and inserted the tubing into her for several inches. Janice picked the bag up and held it above Maryanne and opened the clamp on the tubing.

I had stood up and stepped next to the bed and touched Maryanne’s cheek. She reached up and took my hand and squeezed when Janice inserted the tubing. The enema began to fill her and she moaned softly and wreathed on the bed slightly as she experienced cramping and discomfort, all the while squeezing my hand tighter. Her breathing was labored but I could see that she intended to take the enema without showing any open signs of distress in front of Janice. I brushed her cheek with my free hand and smoothed her hair. I rubbed her shoulders and back. The bag was emptying slowly and it became more difficult for Maryanne to hold on. Breathing became labored and a tear slid down her cheek on to the linen. My excitement at seeing my beautiful wife bravely taking her enema rose in proportion to the bag emptying. I was spellbound. Janice, too, was giving her words of encouragement and telling Maryanne how well she was doing. “Only a little more, your doing so well.” The bag was empty and Janice removed the tubing. Maryanne lay there for a few minutes then Janice and I helped her up and walked her into the lavatory attached to the room. We sat her down and closed the door for her.

I took her home later that morning. Maryanne told me how grateful she was that I had stayed with her during “that ordeal.” It was evident that she did not enjoy the experience one bit and was definitely not inclined to be a Klismophile like me. I’ve never told her about my enema interests or about the role I played in prompting her enema experience.

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