I am a 41 year old male that for some time now longed for his mother to again give him an enema like she did some 30 odd years before. You see, Mom had, like so many other people had, changed her feelings about enemas. That to me is sad, for at one time, Mom swore by the healing effects that a good enema would bring about. She swore to me many a time that if I kept all that sludge from building up, that I’d never be sick a day in my life. But now that had changed. She didn’t even own an enema bag anymore.
She told me once, about 20 or so years earlier, right after I married, that her new doctor had convinced her that enemas were not needed except in special circumstances. She went on to say that the good doctor had said that Epsom salts or prunes would do the trick and in extreme circumstances, she might try Milk-of-Magnesia. Mom bought that line – hook, line, and sinker. She was so convinced that she threw the old, faithful enema bag away.
Because of her change in attitude, I began to do a little research back then and sure enough, I found that the medical community had switched their beliefs that enemas benefited human beings and instead, I found that the medial community, as a whole, began to encourage their patients to use EX- LAX or other laxatives in the event of constipation. (Now that really makes me wonder even now how much money the AMA receives annually from companies that make laxatives for such advise. You know without a doubt that there are really a lot of people out there that use laxatives daily…if you don’t believe me, just take one look at the ads on TV, radio, magazines, and even the Internet.)
Mom knew that I didn’t buy into her new found information that her new doctor had supplied and she went about telling me many a day, that I ought to stop using those things and that if I didn’t, that I was going to hurt myself one day.
She even went so far as to tell my wife those things. My wife, and I love her to death, believes that I am crazy too! but she likes that I don’t have to waste money on laxatives. As for her, she has only had one enema given to her in her life, a barium enema, and that was in the hospital when she had colitis. (Cindy, despite her own beliefs, will tell me when I get too cranky that I must be constipated and for me to go and take a good enema. I know that she could just as easily give me a mouth full of Milk-a-Magnesia than say that. I know she knows that enemas turn me on and on rare occasions will even leave the room and go to the bathroom, fill the bag herself, and come get me. I bet you know I am cranky a lot.)
Well, back to my story, it was a Friday afternoon and Cindy had gone to her mother’s for the weekend and I was home alone. Mom called and when she found out that I was alone, she asked me to come down and stay with her. She said that “she would love to have her little boy home.”
I reluctantly agreed, but told Mom that I felt terribly constipated and needed to take care of that first. She replied for me not to use that enema thing, and for me to go get some Epsom salts and take a good dose. I, being a good son, reluctantly agreed again, and asked her how long would it take to work? She said probably overnight and in the morning I’d feel great. Well, I did as I was told and left the house and went on down to Mom’s. After a three hour drive I finally made it, but I didn’t feel too good. Mom greeted me at the door and after a few hugs, she and I went in to eat dinner. She had fixed a huge meal just for the two of us. I, feeling full already, was forced to eat a lot and my breathing became labored as the night went on.
Mom asked me if I took the Epson’s salts. I told her I did and even added a little extra to the water to be sure I had a good evacuation. Mom then told me that that should do it and for me to get a good night’s rest. I gave her a big old hug and proceeded to go back to my old room where I slept.
The next morning came and I had not had a movement. At the breakfast table over coffee, Mom could tell how miserable I had become. She tried to again give me some Epson salt, but I told her I’d rather take care of the problem myself and take an enema. Mom said that she wished I wouldn’t do that. I hugged her neck and said, “Mom, I am miserable and I need some relief before I get too bitchy.”
Mom reluctantly said, “OK then, but I don’t have an enema bag in the house, and I haven’t had one since I changed doctors 25 or so years ago. I guess you could go down to the corner drug store and get one that is, if they even stock them now.”
I quickly got dressed and drove down to the corner drug store. To my surprise, they didn’t have one either. They had their brand and Fleet enemas, but no bags. I checked the feminine hygiene section for a douche bag, but like before, they had none…only disposable types. I was too shy to ask the clerk where I might find one, so I left and went to a different drug store. In fact, I went to three before I found a simple combination bottle set.
I returned to Mom’s place. She was in the kitchen. I went in with the package and told her I was back. She turned and again said, “I wish I could persuade you not to take an enema, but if you must, you know the way to the bathroom.”
I hugged her again and went back to the bathroom to take care of my problem. I sat on the commode and began to assemble the syringe. Mom came to the door and watched for a second then left, shaking her head.
After I had the shut-off onto the tubing and the nozzle and adapter in place, I began to fill the bottle with warm water. When it was full, I attached the hose and began to look for a place to hang it.
Mom had had the bathroom redone and the old nail where she once hung my bags was no longer there. There was a curtain rod on the window, but the kit did not come with a hook even though it was supposed to.
I decided to try to take it while sitting on the toilet. I had just inserted the pipe when Mom came back to the door. There I was sitting on the commode holding the bag about head high with my left hand. No water had even left the bag and even when I even squeezed it, nothing really happened.
Mom stated that if I wanted for it to go in, I needed to get down on the floor. “I told her that I would but that old nail ain’t there any longer and that the bag didn’t come with a hook like it was supposed to and I ain’t going to take it back.”
She said that she would try to find something to help out. I sat there for a moment or so, but decided to try it again. I got down on my knees, leaned over, and held the bottle in my left hand about a foot or so above my rear. Mom returned and said, “Hun, that won’t do either, you aren’t holding the bag high enough. Now give me the bag and I’ll hold it above you and give you this enema like I used to, even though I have reservations against it.”
I told mother “thanks” and handed her the bag and then stated, “You know that I save a whole lot of money by taking enemas rather than buying the stuff the doctors advertise. Ever think about why they want you to use laxatives instead of these? I have, you are padding their pockets! when you buy EX-LAX or Milk-a-Magnesia!”
Mom said, “You do have a point son. I never thought about all the advertising as that!”
I was watching her now, she looked at the bag and said, “Son, you have put an awful lot of water into this bag, you weren’t planning on taking it all, were you?”
I said, “I was and even a little bit more if I can! That is if I can get you to refill it for me? You have to admit now that I am not as little as I once was!”
Mom grinned and proceeded to raise the bag about head high. When she had it just right she leaned against the wall and opened the tube’s shut-off. Water immediately began to enter my rectum and I sorta grinned. Mom seeing that said, “See, I haven’t forgot how!”
Mom continued to give me my enema and I know Mom couldn’t help but hear the gurgling sounds that my stomach made as the water pushed past all the stuff that was up in me.
When the bag finally emptied, Mom closed the shut-off and proceeded to unscrew the adapter from the bottle. She spoke up saying, “Son, you sure you want more?”
I quickly replied, “I’d just love it if you don’t mind!”
I turned around and watched as Mom refilled the bag with warm soapy water. When she had it brim full she re-attached the tubing and again held it about head high. I told her thanks and she proceeded to open the shut-off. A minute or so later, Mom commented that the water wasn’t going in very fast now and that she should shut it off. I asked her to please not turn the enema off just yet, that I wasn’t hurting or anything. She then said “well, ok then” and allowed the bag to go completely empty. She was right, for it seemed to take about 3 times as long for that bag to go in.
Finally when she had drained the bottle, Mom commented, “Son, I am not going to put anymore up into you now. You have at least a gallon of water and crap in you now and I don’t want you to pop. Go expel what you have in you now and we will see if you really need more.”
I sat up and sat down onto the toilet to expel my enema. I had been sitting for about 10 minutes when Mom returned. She didn’t say anything just proceeded to the sink to refill the bag. I flushed the toilet and got down onto my knees and chest. Mom, when she had it ready, slipped the pipe into my waiting rectum and proceeded to give me my second enema. This time though she didn’t stop with only two bags. I took three and one half and I probably could have taken more. I just didn’t want to seem too greedy!
And oh yes, one more thing…Guess where I left my new enema bag?
