A Correction Regarding the Enema

My mother called me regarding the prom story (see Prom In New Orleans, 6/8 entry) to voice an objection.
She has never given me an enema, she insisted.
But I had quite a vivid memory of it. We were at my grandmother’s house, and I was begging her to take me to the hospital, and she refused because she said if you go to the hospital with constipation all they’re going to do is give you an enema, so she might as well just give me the damn enema and save us all the time and the money. She probably didn’t say damn; that’s me.
She was adamant, however, that it had not happened, and this is how she knew: Her mother-in-law -- my other grandmother -- apparently had been really big on enemas for her six children, using it to solve any ailment from nausea to a disagreeable nature, which believe me was probably quite common in that house. This makes sense to me because my father finds discussion of anything that occurs in the bathroom to be just short of criminal behavior. Anyway, my mother said that knowing how “WaWas” (yes, that’s what we called my grandmother, no time for that right now) traumatized her children by giving them not infrequent enemas, she had sworn to never give any of her children enemas, ever, much less when they were 17 years old.
I felt equally adamant about my memory, but her logic was more compelling, so I thought about this for a long time.
And then I had a more accurate recollection. My mom actually administered a suppository, not an enema, to cure me of the constipation resulting from the liquid diet I was on following the wisdom teeth surgery which I had three days after my prom.
I stand corrected. Thanks, Mom, for your elephant’s memory. And for, you know, the suppository. I’m sure that it was better than an enema.