Last night before going to sleep, I fantasized a story. This morning, while I was infusing, retaining, and finally evacuating a delightfully warm, two liter enema, I worked the story out in my mind. With the exception of the fact that there was a Social Worker’s Conference in Madison, Wisconsin in 1983, it’s all fiction. I hope you enjoy it.

Pam graduated the University of Wisconsin Madison in 1981 with a Masters in Social Work and took a position with Milwaukee County. In 1983, The State organized a conference at UW Madison in late August after Summer session had finished. The organizers did very well in setting up a complicated five-day program for several hundred attendees. They reserved one large dormitory for double occupancy and contracted cafeteria personnel to serve three meals a day. Campus medical facilities and all other essentials were kept open, as well.

In an effort to encourage people to make new contacts in the field, the organizers set up the room mates; no one got to choose. In fact, the committee took care to put same sex people of different ages and backgrounds together.

Shortly after Pam checked in Sunday afternoon, her room mate, Ellen, arrived. In keeping with the committee’s intentions, Ellen, at 58 years of age, was over 30 years Pam’s senior. Despite that difference or, perhaps because of it, the two ladies got on very well. Ellen was a sharp, educated, very perceptive, and well-informed lady with a subtle but engaging sense of humor. That evening was spent in widely varied conversation with self-imposed lights out at 10.

Classes and meetings started at 8 the next morning. Since neither Pam nor Ellen were late sleepers, they were up in plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast of coffee and Danish and still arrive at the first meeting unhurriedly. As they were to discover, the days were jammed with meetings until 5 o’clock. There was so much material and so many notes to organize, Pam and Ellen were at that task until nearly bedtime every evening. The State of Wisconsin had no intention of setting up a golfing vacation. The few people who brought clubs disappointedly left them in the car.

Tuesday morning as they were about to leave the room for breakfast, Ellen remarked, “I enjoy these get-togethers, but every time I travel, I get bogged down with irregularity.”

“That happens,” said Pam. “It’s the change in routine.”

“Has it happened to you?”

“Not yet. But it sure could any day now. Are you constipated?”

“Yeah.”

“Has it been long?”

“Since Saturday night.”

“Three days. Oh, that’s miserable! If I miss just one day, I’m uncomfortable and I have to take something so it doesn’t go on for even two days.” After a short pause, Pam said, “Tell you what. I could go over to the convenience store for a paper and get you something. Would you take some Milk of Magnesia?”

“No need to do that. I took some Correctol last night.”

“And it hasn’t helped?”

“No. Of course, it’s still early in the day. If it doesn’t work by this afternoon, I’ll need an enema.”

“Well, there’s plenty of time, Ellen. I imagine they have Fleets Enemas over there. I could get you one or even a couple, and you could take it right away.”

“Thanks so much, Pam, but I don’t like Fleets Enemas.”

“I don’t, either,” Pam admitted. “They’re not too effective and they’re unpleasant. The only proper treatment for constipation is a high volume bag enema, usually with soap.”

“That’s my opinion,” said Ellen, somewhat surprised at the younger woman’s understanding. “But I think I’m one of the few people who believes that anymore.”

“It may be generational. My mom gave me enemas as a child and, when I became old enough to manage myself, she taught me how to prepare them and give them to myself. In fact, I believe you don’t have to be ill to get the benefit. It’s a good idea, every now and then, just to have a good cleaning out. No matter what’s wrong, even if nothing’s wrong, en enema will always have you feeling better.”

The day went on at its busy pace until 5 o’clock. After the ladies arrived in their room and stacked the day’s hand-outs and notes on the table, Ellen remarked, “I’m going to drive to the drug store and pick up an enema bag. Can I get anything for you while I’m there?”

“No,” said Pam, thinking. “Nothing, thanks, Ellen. For once I packed everything for a conference.”

“I wish I had. Never again will I leave home without enema equipment.”

When Ellen returned, Pam was working on the day’s notes. “They didn’t have the hot water bottle combinations,” Ellen said, opening the package to reveal an open top syringe, a bar of Neutrogena soap, and a small tube of Vaseline. Tossing the things on her bed, she began undressing. “If you need to get in the bathroom, now’s the time. I expect I’ll have it tied up for a while.”

“You’re gonna give yourself an enema in the bathroom?” asked Pam.

A little surprised, Ellen replied, “Well, yeah. That’s the idea.”

“Of course it’s entirely up to you, but wouldn’t it be easier on the bed?”

“Well, I suppose,” said Ellen, tentatively, not quite sure what Pam had in mind.

“I could give it to you. Wouldn’t that be better?”

“Yes,” said Ellen. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No. Most assuredly, I wouldn’t mind. It would be so much easier than your laying on the floor and, after getting a belly full of enema, getting to your feet and over to the toilet. Did you plan on using Neutrogena in the enema?”

“Yeah, that’s the best. It’s mild, but effective.”

“All right,” said Pam as she walked into the bathroom and snatched a towel which she then folded in half and lay on the bed. “You lie down on the towel. We can hang the bag over the top drawer of the chest of drawers.”

Ellen finished undressing. She did as she was told as Pam ran very warm water into the washbowl and rolled the soap over and over in the water until it was a milky color. Then, making sure the clamp was shut, filled the bag to the top.

“My experience, Ellen, is the longer nozzle inserted about five inches, is the easiest to use.”

“That’s right. I use that one. It seems to stay in easier.”

Pam attached the nozzle, placed it down in the bag, then opened the top drawer of the chest and, using the little hook that came with the syringe, hung it over the edge. “With the nozzle in the solution, it’ll stay warm while I lube you up,” Pam said as she pulled a chair up next to Ellen.

Ellen wasn’t to sure about being “lubed up.” Usually, she smeared Vaseline on the nozzle. Pam could see a little concern.

“Mom taught me. The secret to taking an enema is being relaxed. She helped me relax by massaging the Vaseline across my anus. That’s what I have in mind. ‘Course, if you like, you can do that.”

“No,” Ellen decided, “that would be fine.” She’d probably enjoy that and it would be relaxing.

Seated next to Ellen, Pam opened the tube of Vaseline and squeezed a goodly dollop onto her finger. “Tip up pelvis, Ellen,” she asked kindly. “There, now I’m gonna reach under.”

While Ellen was less than completely at ease about this, she tilted up as Pam reached under and rubbed the petroleum jelly across her anus.

Rubbing back and forth, Pam asked, “How’s that? Okay?” It wasn’t bad, actually, thought Ellen. In fact, it was kind of nice and it was relaxing.

After about a minute of massage, Pam reached up and removed the nozzle. “You’ll feel it touch now,” she said as she brought the tip against Ellen’s anus. “You’ll feel it enter,” she said. Gently, Pam inserted the pipe, which was warm. “Feel good?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Ellen, welcoming a new sensation. “It does feel good.”

“Now, here,” Pam said as she clicked open the shut-off. She felt the tube in her fingers become a little warmer and she pinched it part way closed. “Is that coming in now?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s nice and warm. Oh, yeah, it feels fine. You do this very well, Pam, especially considering you have no husband of children.”

“No. Sure don’t. I have a boy friend who thinks he might take an enema if his life depends on it! I think Jeff’s mother was scared by an enema bag! All my experience comes from being my own patient. How ’bout your husband. Will he take it or is he like Jeff?”

“No, he’ll allow me to give him an enema whenever he needs it, although he rarely needs it.”

The enema went along with Ellen asking Pam to pinch the hose from time to time so she could take short breaths through her mouth until it was about half taken. Then it became difficult.

“You don’t have to take it all, if you just can’t hold it,” said Pam.

“No, I have to take it. I’m so stuffed up, if I don’t take it all, I’ll have to take at again later.” They continued, Pam pinching and Ellen breathing. Finally, after nearly 15 minutes, the bag was empty. “I’m going to hold it for five minutes,” Ellen declared. And she did, but not without much difficulty, as Pam removed the empty syringe to the bathroom. At a time when the urgency wasn’t severe, Ellen walked into the bathroom and sat on the toilet.

At first, very little water escaped. Then only a little more. Ellen began sweating as the cramps came on. A little water dribbled out from time to time and some sold waste. She had to bear down and push to pass some really hard stuff. Over all, she passed very little and what she did evacuate, was hard. She massaged her abdomen and that helped. Gradually, the movement was easier. After 40 minutes and Ellen’s legs having gone to sleep a couple times, requiring her to stand so circulation would be restored, she decided she was finished. She didn’t feel nearly as well as she usually did.

“How’d it work?” asked Pam as Ellen came out of the bathroom.

“I don’t know. In fact, I don’t think it was very good, but I still could have more to empty. You go on to dinner. I don’t feel like eating. I’ll just lie down and rest.”

Concerned for her room mate, Pam went ahead. When she returned, Ellen was asleep. Pam left a note, walked over to the Student Union and visited with some of the other conference attendees until around 8 o’clock when she decided to return to the room. Ellen was asleep. As Pam brushed her teeth, she saw Ellen had been up again, and had probably decided to go to bed for the night.

Around 3 AM, Pam heard Ellen in the bathroom. Water was running in the washbowl. “Ellen,” Pam called, “Are you all right?”

“Did I wake you?” asked Ellen.

“It’s okay. Are you all right? Did that enema eventually work?”

“I’m taking it again.”

“Oh,” she paused in thought as she became more fully awake. “Okay. But let me help you.”

“That’s all right, Pam. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep, Ellen. I’m worried about you. C’mon out, let me help you. Please.”

“Oh, all right. I guess neither of us will get any sleep until I get cleaned out. Ya know, if I were home, I’d have had that enema Monday and it would’ve worked easier.” Ellen emerged with the filled syringe and a towel. She threw the towel on the bed, hung the bag on the to drawer of the chest. “You don’t have to lube me. I put Vaseline on my bottom just a minute ago.”

Perceiving Ellen was very ill-at-ease, Pam assured her. “Please don’t feel bad, Ellen. Sometimes enemas don’t work, The thing to do then is take ’em over. This one’ll probably be a lot easier.”

And it was. The two quarts flowed gently into Ellen’s bowel, she held it for her required five minutes, and the evacuation was effective. The waste was of a soft consistency that she passed easily and quickly.

“How ya doing now?” asked Pam.

“Much better! I really feel good.” She stayed up for a while, reading, to be sure she was through then went to bed and slept soundly until the alarm rang at 6:30.

Wednesday and Thursday went well and, by 9:30 Thursday evening, seated next to each other at the desk, they decided it had been a good week and a successful conference They’d check out the next day around noon.

“Ellen,” Pam asked, “Would you give me an enema?”

“Of course,” said Ellen, concerned. “Are you constipated?”

“No, Ellen. I just want an enema. Mostly, I want an enema from you. And I want a hug.”

“Oh, of course, dear,” said Ellen as she embraced her friend and held her close.

Pam’s enema was a pleasant experience for both ladies. Since they both lived in the Badger State, they visited each other a few times a year. The two Social Workers became lifelong friends and, while enemas weren’t the center of their relationship, they were an enjoyable part and a special ritual of every visit.