Two weeks ago I had my first colonic.
I didn’t do much research about getting a colonic before I went in because I was worried that if I researched too many details I might back out and not do it. I mean, come on. A stranger inserts a tube up your butthole and flushes literal shit out of your body while said stranger is standing right next to you. How could anything be more physically and socially uncomfortable than that?
Scheduling a colonic had nothing to do with constipation, curiosity, or trying it out for fun.
I have never been constipated a day in my life. I shit two or three times a day like clockwork.
I was definitely not curious about getting my colon flushed out.
And I didn’t want to try it out for the fun of it. I’m not an expert on having “fun,” but I definitely knew that THIS wasn’t it.
I had a colonic because I was diagnosed with parasites a few weeks ago, and I was taking medication to kill off the WORMS IN MY BODY, and I needed those fuckers to be swooshed out of me as fast as humanly possible by any means necessary.
I followed the pre-colonic protocol that the clinic suggested for the three days leading up to the procedure. The protocol was basically to eat only soups, veggies, fruits, and water for three days before the colonic; super easy since this is basically how I already eat. The night before the procedure I rubbed castor oil and peppermint oil into my stomach, covered it with a hot washcloth, and laid on my right side for 30 minutes.
So, the next morning, I arrive at the clinic wide-eyed and innocent, not knowing the horrors that await. Before the colonic, I spent 30 minutes in an infrared sauna to “loosen everything up.”
Next, I showered off and made my way to the bathroom where I spent 10 minutes debating whether or not I should keep my menstrual cup in, or take it out. I mean, leaving it in was the safer bet, but there was going to be a lot happening in that general vicinity of my body, and my instinct told me to take it out. It was the last day of my period, so I probably didn’t even need it. Then again, I wouldn’t be wearing underwear, so if my red little friend decided to come out for a final hoorah, we would have a poop AND a blood situation on our hands.
Then again, this process was going to be quite intimate, so if a little blood came out of me would it really be that big of a deal? Then again, I didn’t want blood running down my thighs as I was getting poop sucked out of my butt. Fuck it. I kept my menstrual cup in, changed into a sarong, and made my way to what was sure to be the most awkward room in the history of rooms.
I met my colonic therapist, Pam, a very nice woman who acted like everything was normal. I laid down on the table and followed her instruction to lay on my side with my knees pulled up towards my chest and then move my sarong aside so that my butt was exposed.
Not vulnerable at ALL.
I then saw sweet Pam put a rubber “finger condom” over her pointer finger as she reached for the lube. Oh shit. I’m about to have a stranger’s finger up my butt was all I could think. But Pam was chill, so I followed her lead and played it cool. She told me she was going to fit me for the right size “scope” and to take a deep breath. Cool, no problem. I took a breath, and in it went. Pam’s finger directly into my asshole. Deep impact was happening.
She pulled out her finger and announced that I was a size small. She then grabbed a metal scope from the shelf, arranged some tubes, and proceeded to insert the scope into my anus. Christ on a cracker.
I took a momentary sigh of relief because I was fully prepared for THAT to be the hardest part of the whole thing. But oh, how very, very wrong I was.
I would say there were at least two parts of my colonic that were distinctly worse than Pam’s finger up my butt or the scope being inserted.
I will tell you about one of them.
Once the scope and tubes were in place, we were ready for takeoff. Pam turned the water on, and it proceeded to fill the tube and go straight into my colon. This was not a pleasant sensation, but it was not painful either. So far things seemed par for the course, but this was about to change.
About 5 minutes in, I started to get horrible stomach cramps. It felt like the worst period cramps I’ve ever had, combined with the feeling you get right before you have explosive diarrhea. I was nauseous, and my skin had goosebumps all over. All I wanted was a toilet.
I told Pam that I needed to go to the bathroom. She said that the feeling is normal and that if I relaxed and released, the water and the tube would take care of the rest. Yes, I was supposed to let it go and have diarrhea right there on the table. The shit wouldn’t actually go on the table, it would go into the “exit” tube and then be carried away. But this was so counterintuitive. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I relaxed and let go and poop didn’t come cascading out of my butt, making its way around the scope and gushing all over the table and onto sweet Pam.
I told her that I had to get up and go to the bathroom. She said no problem and that she wanted me to be comfortable. She took the scope out of my butt, and I made a mad dash to the toilet.
To get to the toilet, I had to exit the room and pass the hall that led to the reception area. As I was scurrying as fast as I could, trying to keep my sarong from falling down, I felt water and poop free-falling out of my butt and onto the floor. I could not stop it from gushing out. I was doubled over, doing the fastest crab crawl I could muster, squeezing my butt cheeks together with all my might, as I made my way to the bathroom.
As luck would NOT have it, the receptionist happened to be walking down the hall just as I passed by, a trail of water and poop behind me. I reached the bathroom knowing that it was too late, but also knowing that I was nowhere near done. I took off my sarong, I sat on the toilet, and I shat for a good 10 minutes. It was a never-ending stream of brown liquid, racing out of me with urgency. When I was done, I cleaned myself up and I took out my menstrual cup because at this point it was clear that a little blood was the least of my concerns. I changed into a new, clean sarong and walked back to the most awkward room in the universe, ready to try again.
Someone had cleaned up my trail of poop because when I walked back to the awkward room, the floors were squeaky clean. Whoever cleaned up my shit, I thank you. I told Pam what happened, and she said that it was no problem – that whether I released it in the tube or in the toilet, the most important thing is that it was out. I told her that I was determined and that I wanted to try again.
So, up on the table I went, onto my side, sarong moved out of the way, knees up, scope in, water flowing. It was not comfortable, but I did it. I was on the table for the next hour. When it was all said and done, I had 3 pounds of poop, dead parasites, and fecal debris swooshed out of me. When it was over, I thanked Pam, got dressed, and walked out to my car feeling thoroughly cleaned out. Later that night, I learned the valuable lesson to never trust a fart after a colonic.
I am no longer a colonic virgin and sadly, this will not be my last. My parasite story is far from over, so there will be more colonics in my future. I am in the process of ridding myself of the parasites that I likely picked up in Southeast Asia in 2019. They are stubborn little fuckers, and I don’t know exactly what it’s going to take to get them gone, but I am on a quest to find out. They have definitely worn out their welcome.
Have you ever had a colonic or parasites? Am I the only one who shat on the floor? Bueller?
Talk to me in the comments below, I would love to hear about your parasite / colonic / shitting on the floor woes.
Wishing you a happy week. May it be filled with finding the humor of it all.