New me

So I’m at a bar with my friend Kate, and we’re talking about shitting. Yeah, I know, it’s high class stuff. So I’m telling her how my guts have been a little sus lately, a little.. whatever. You’re going to get details later, way too many, so for now I’ll leave it at that. Kate says she got an enema, and I point and laugh and say “Tube up your butt” and point and laugh some more. But she says it worked. It was weird, but it definitely worked. She felt healthier than she had in years afterwards. “Why not,” she says, “why not give it a try. At least it’ll be a memorable experience. New guts, new you”.

I forget all about it for a week or so, when suddenly my stomach feels weirder than ever before, and I suddenly get very constipated. Sorry, but it’s true. I start feeling this awful pressure building up, and I think ‘Fuck it, why not’. I call Kate, get the details of her Enema Place, and book an appointment. They walk me through the process, and it all sounds very clinical and reasonable. It’s actually a Colonic Irrigation Place, I find out. I start to feel my guts getting lighter and healthier already, which is obviously just a mental thing, but at least a weight has been lifted off my mind, if not my lower intestine.

The day has come. I park my car and walk into BetterGutHealth with a smile on my face. Today is the first day of the rest of my digestive system’s life. I check in with the receptionist and take a seat in the waiting room. I zone out as The Price Is Right plays on the TV on the wall. “Ben!” the Colon Irrigator calls out. He glances at the TV. “Come on down!” I smile broadly. “Hi Ben, I’m Daniel. Follow me through please.” I follow Daniel, a trim 20-something in light green scrubs, as we twist and turn our way to the consultation room. I feel like I’m traveling down an intestine myself. I wonder if they thought about that when they designed the place.

“Here we are!” says Daniel, and he introduces me to Maria, the other Colon Technician. They walk me through the process again, and then physically guide me through it for real this time. I’m left alone to change into something resembling a hospital gown, ass-out, and I lie on my side on a gurney. The process, as explained to me, begins. Daniel and Maria return to the room, and together they lubricate one end of a garden hose-looking white rubber tube. They gingerly insert the tube into my anus. “Hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable!” Daniel says. “I’ve had worse,” I say, and immediately regret it. Neither of them respond. They turn on the machine that the other end of the garden hose is attached to, and I feel a quick, lukewarm squirt of water enter me. “We’ll let that run for a few minutes, and then Maria will begin the massage” Daniel tells me.

“Hmm.” Uh oh. I don’t like the tone of that. That “hmm” is a “hmm” that says “something is wrong.” Maria stops massaging me as Daniel turns to us and says “Maria, can you take a look at this?”, motioning to the machine that’s meant to be pumping me full of water and herbs and emptying me of impacted stool. They huddle together and whisper for a good 2 minutes, before Daniel turns and says “Sorry Ben, there seems to be some sort of obstruction.”

I immediately start to sweat. What does that mean? What happens when a hose pumping water into and out of your body is obstructed? It may, again, just be mental, but I start to feel very bad in my stomach. Lower than that, really. Between my stomach and my arsehole, something feels wrong. I can feel it now, the pressure against my insides. “What do you mean ‘obstruction’?” I ask, clearly on the edge of panic. “Don’t worry Ben,” Daniel calmly tells me. “This happens from time to time. We’ll just slightly increase the suction and I’m sure it will clear anything right out.” Daniel spins the dial on the machine from “Hand wash” to “Synthetics” and I feel a weird internal tugging on the lining of my anus. My anxiety ratchets up from Amber to Vermilion. “Let’s give it five minutes,” says Daniel.

“Huh” Daniel and Maria both look puzzled, and a little concerned. “It’s still saying ‘obstruction’” Maria says and points to the machine. “Go and get Dr Lawson,” Daniel instructs Maria, and she rapidly exits the room. I start to feel worse, as I feel my insides being drawn into the sucking maw of the hose. “This doesn’t feel good,” I tell Daniel. “Sorry Ben, just try to relax. We can’t just reverse the direction of the fluid right now, as the hose will still contain… all of the refuse from your body. We aren’t able to simply pump it back into you. That wouldn’t be nice at all.” My body starts to engage the one alternative, which is a hearty vomit, but I contain myself. Fuck. Fuck. What’s happening to me? Where’s the Doctor? “Dude you’ve gotta do something, I feel really fucking bad right now,” I tell Daniel, and he looks down at the machine, then nods at me, then runs out of the room. Fuck. Great. I’m going to die alone. Good. I’m going to die alone drowning in my own shit. Fantastic. I guess my high school bully was a prophet. Fuck you Simone. My entire lower body feels like it’s a balloon, slowly filling with water. I can see my stomach start to bloat, just a little. Or am I imagining it? Fuck.

Daniel, Maria and an older man in a lab coast burst back into the room. The Doctor, I assume, rushes to the machine and presses a few buttons. Nothing seems to change. I see a red light on the machine’s little LCD screen. Sweat is pouring off my forehead now, and I’m grasping the sides of the gurney with both hands. “You increased the suction?!” the Doctor demands of Daniel. “Yes, I thought that would clear the blockage!” “God damn it!” The Doctor turns off the machine entirely, and places one hand on my stomach. “Brace yourself, son,” he says, and pulls the tube out. I feel an incredible relief as a disgusting stream of water, shit, herbs, old bits of undigested food and other flotsam and jetsam pours out of me. Everyone in the room begins retching and gagging, including me. I feel dizzy and exhausted, and just before I black out Maria inspects Ground Zero and I hear her ask “Are those fingernails?”

I wake up in a different room. It’s a hospital room, and I’m lying in a clean hospital bed. I tentatively start to move my arms and legs. Okay, those still work. I breathe out. I feel my penis. That’s still there. Thank god in heaven. Time to check the damage. I scootch to the side and inspect the Danger Zone. It seems… fine? It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I mean, who knows if my bowel exploded or my stomach tore open or something, but for now things seem okay. Wait, what was that last thing Maria said? I look to the side and see a crib, with a cute little baby sleeping in it. Weird. Am I in the pediatric ward? I know I’m a bit of a man child, but that doesn’t seem right.

A doctor comes in, a tall blonde lady. “Hi Ben, I hope you’re feeling alright? I’m Dr Hope, call me Jan. I see you’ve already met your brother!”