When I was about 13 years old, I had to enter the hospital for a diagnostic test. My parents were instructed to “prepare” me before bringing me to the hospital. My parents knew that I would be uncooperative, so they decided that they wouldn’t tell me anything in advance.

I sensed that something awful was about to happen, so I decided to run away from home. I got as far as the abandoned shack across the street from our house. It got dark. There wasn’t anything to eat, and there were bugs. I realized that I was defeated, so I returned home to await my fate.

My “preparation” consisted of several enemas and some caster oil. Because I returned home late, my parents were unable to keep to the timetable prescribed by the hospital. The next morning, my parents drove me to the hospital. They told the hospital that they were unable to keep to the timetable. They also told the hospital that I would be uncooperative. The hospital didn’t want to take any chances, so they decided to clean me out all over again.

Every time a nurse entered my room, there was a major battle. It took several people to hold me down so that the enema could be forcibly administered. Because I struggled, the enema was not sufficiently effective.

I wasn’t allowed to eat anything. Some of the other patients suggested that I was being prepared for surgery. I was ready to run out of the hospital in my pajamas, but the nurses were always watching me.

On the day before the “big event”, someone on the hospital staff decided to use a different approach with me. They sent to my room their youngest, prettiest, student nurse. She couldn’t have been a day over 18. I still remember her pink uniform. She was very petite and was not accompanied by the usual army of warriors.

She talked to me a long time. she put her hands under the blankets and started massaging me. She was the first person in the hospital who was nice to me. She asked me to follow her into another room. I followed her out of curiosity and fascination.

The other room had a regular bed with blankets and pillows instead of a hard examining table. The lights were turned out except for a small lamp. She put me in the bed and continued to talk to me and massage me.

I was amazed at her ability to insert the enema nozzle into me without interrupting her conversation. This time, I didn’t struggle. The enema was highly effective. I barely made it to the toilet before my bowels exploded. I learned in that moment that a pretty girl can do anything to me. Even something as personal as my bowel movements would not be under my control.

The next morning, my student nurse escorted me to the X-ray department. This was a dark room with a hard examining table and some scary equipment hanging from the ceiling. We were met by 2 older nurses. They put me on the hard examining table. My student nurse continued to reassure me while the other 2 nurses were huddled over a blender. They were mixing some kind of white sludge. I saw them pour it into the largest enema bag I have ever seen.

I was about to receive a barium enema. When everything was ready, the radiologist came into the room. He was wearing divers goggles over his eyes. The goggles had red lenses to help him see the faint images from the X-ray machine.

The exam only took a minute. I was then ushered into a small bathroom. A heavy door was slammed shut in front of me. There were several enema bags hanging on the inside of the door. As the door closed, the enema tubes began to sway back and forth. It was hypnotic. I still refer to it as the “Ballet of the enema tubes”. I thought they were mocking me.

After I left the hospital, I never needed to have another enema. Somehow, I didn’t quite understand that. I thought the choice was between me controlling the enemas or someone else being in control. Although I wanted another visit from my student nurse, I knew this wouldn’t happen. I started giving myself enemas and have been doing it ever since.