-6

i remember: enemas.

(author’s note: this is probably not for those of a weak disposition.)

freud, jung and klein all banged on about how our formative years are so important to our future personalities. to an extent these concerns of psychoanalysis are mirrored over in sociology in the nature vs nurture debate.
i can hear you thinking what does this have to do with enemas?
to be honest i am not sure, but if freud et al are to be believed then my early experiences will have had an outcome on the person that i am today. they may be right, but then perhaps that cigar is just a cigar.

anyway back to the story. when i was kid i went through a period when i had real trouble controlling my bowel movements. there were weeks when i wouldn’t shit, and then there were times when: oh my lord i have just erupted and filled my pants (luckily i only got caught short a couple of times, but i am sure that sort of public humiliation scars a chap). oddly this wasn’t what caused the concern of my parents and doctors, it was my persistent inability to have a regular dump.
not having a regular movement is dangerous kiddies; always make sure you go when the urge strikes.

so off to the doctors i went. at this time i was living in a very large pub in greenford and the doctor was just across the road. now like my trip to the dentist, this may have been the moment where i decided: doctors are a necessary evil and you should only see them if you really need to.
mum explained to the doc what she thought the problem was. he nodded sagely. next thing i know i am on the examination table with my shorts down, the doctor is slapping on some rubber gloves, applying lube and starting to play “hunt the turd”. now i am pretty sure that this private humiliation also scars a chap. given the doc was trying to be gentle i am pretty sure i never want to experience an alien probe.
if the finger probe wasn’t bad enough i had to walk home with the lube still coating my arse, so i had a slippy slidey feeling as i walked.

next stop was the hospital where armed with the prescription from the doctor my mum picks up the copious quantities of meds that were going to cure me of the bowel problems.
the pharmacist happily pointed out that if this little lot didn’t work they would have to use explosives.

first a course of medicine that was supposed to make me want to sit and crap. no luck. then a stronger oral laxative was used. no luck. finally it was the enema.
having an enema meant having a district nurse visit to administer the solution. if you have never seen an enema, imagine a small hot water bottle filled with a liquid, which will be forced through a small nozzle. the nozzle is inserted into the anus; the liquid is squirted up the nozzle and into the bowel.
the district nurse is there to make sure the temperature is right on the liquid before it gets to go into the bowel. she is there to calm my mum down, she is there to insert that nozzle and flush that water into my bowel.
i am on my bed, once again my shorts are down and my arsehole is being invaded, but this time it is an inanimate object.
ooh in goes the first wave of liquid. give the district nurse credit she kept up a steady flow.
now you have to remember i haven’t shit for a while, so i am pretty full already. now i have a lot of sloshing fluid in my guts. i am feeling a little bit off. but my moaning gets me nowhere; the district nurse is going to give me it all.
i know what you are thinking – if this is being done on your bed how do you get to the toilet. i’ll tell you: with great speed but with very tight clenched buttocks.
now during all the chit and chat that went before no one bothered to tell me the secret of having an enema. this meant that once i got to the toilet i let out a sigh of relief as i let loose with all the liquid that had been hosed into my guts. it was a mini niagara coming out of my arse.
ah bliss. i felt normal again, no distended tummy, no sloshing around.
all i have to do is wait and i will pooh.
now the secret to an enema is you keep the water in as long as you can, because while it is in there it is softening up the backlog (see, now that was clever…) before it has to exit. how i wish someone had told me that.

i sat on the toilet waiting and waiting. i wasn’t bored because i had a pile of comics to read. one after the other a comic would be read and placed in another pile.
no movement. another comic. still no movement. another comic. was that a twinge? no false alarm. another comic. oh no that was a rumble. here it comes the start of the rock slide. except i don’t have a few rocks what i have is a very large boulder and it wants to get out of a hole that is so much smaller than it is. ok, it hurts, but there is no stopping it. the enema has done its job and this thing isn’t going to stop until it has escaped. this is an alien moment but we have an arseburster in the house. ok now this is pain. it feels like i am having my arse split in two. i am doing some muscle tension things trying to squeeze this boulder into an arsehole-sized log. squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze, squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze, squeeeeeeeeeeeeze. i can see a red mist before my eyes. the veins in my neck are bunched in effort. my forehead throbs. i would scream out in pain, but it hurts too much. the battle between the turd boulder and the arsehole continues. i have my arms out to the side pushing against the wall, there are stars in my eyes, and my breath is coming in strained gasps as i try to expel this evil thing from my body.
a splash. some has broken off, but there is still so much left inside.
concentrate, concentrate. another hard squeeze. come on come on.
another splash.
i can smell something, it is not victory, but the hint of it.
my fingers are digging into the walls. this is as much agony as i ever want to feel, the worst is yet to come, i know this but i also know it will be over very quickly when it happens. pushing and squeezing now. get this thing out of me. expel. void. evacuate. clear the area the turd is coming out and nothing is going to stop it.
nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo it hurts, far too painful.
do it get it out, finish it.
and then like a runaway freight train exiting a tunnel a whoosh and splash and it was all over. tears of pain mingle with tears of relief. i feel 20 pounds lighter.
i am calling for my mum to come and see what i have done.
a certain sense of pride over a job well done.
over. relief. joy.

sadly in a few months i have to have a course of smaller enemas, but this time i know the secret. i am prepared. but that’s a story for another day.

on that day i produced a log to be proud of.